The elevator rattled as it made its way up the central shaft, the worn, cantankerous system setting Shepard's teeth on edge. She kept to the farthest side of the platform, her fingers curled anxiously around the lines of her gun as she watched Aria and Nyreen pace around the gridded metal floor. They did not seem nearly as uneasy as she was about the questionably sound framework of the lift – in fact, both seemed completely unfazed by the amount of noise the out-of-use elevator was making as it pushed its way up through the heart of the station. Zaeed came over to stand by her, leaning nonchalantly against the rickety railing of the elevator and crossing his arms across his chest. Turning to look at her, he gave her a quick look up and down, before letting out a soft, tired grunt of breath.

"Long day," he commented, offhandedly. "You tired?"

"A little," Shepard admitted, trying to keep her voice low so as not to draw attention. The sound of Nyreen talking on her earcomm wafted over to them from the other end of the elevator, causing Shepard to look up, intrigued, but Zaeed did not bother to react to it, merely crossing one heavy, plated ankle over the other and looking down at his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Gavorn," Nyreen reported, talking loudly so the turian on the other end could hear her. "We're coming up from the tunnels and we're about to head into Afterlife. We need a distraction to get past the troopers on the lower level. The time to strike is now." Letting her hand drop back to her side, Nyreen looked up, her gaze falling on Aria, before frowning and giving her a quick, enquiring once-over. "Why are you grinning, Aria?" she asked, trying not to sound as wary as she looked.

"We're almost there," Aria answered, her voice barely above an excited hiss. "Once the resistance strikes and the status quo is interrupted, this war can finally begin."

"For some of us it started months ago," Nyreen reminded her, tiredly.

Aria smirked, shaking her head. "That wasn't war, babe," she told her, running her fingers eagerly along the smooth surface of her pistol. "That was just a warm-up."

As if on cue, the elevator began to slow, before finally rumbling to a stop at its destination at the top of the shaft. The gates of the elevator slid open with a click, allowing the four armed passengers to step smoothly off onto the sturdier floor of the docking station, looking around to make sure they were still alone and not about to be ambushed by troopers hiding in the shadows. "All clear," Nyreen assured them, making her way through the nearby open doorway. The next room over was a long, dimly-lit hallway, walled in on either side by what appeared to be thick glass windows showing into two identical rooms beyond, one on each side of the main, centre hall. The display rooms were brightly lit, and almost eerily clean, but it did not take long for them to figure out what their purpose was.

Shepard jumped, raising her weapon as a familiar, bone-chilling shriek reached them, and turned towards the nearest display window in time to see an angry-looking Adjutant ram its head into the glass, cracking it and causing the entire viewing wall to shake. The creature howled, splattering a foam of blue liquid across the now-cracked window, before running from one end of the display to the other, scratching at the windows, trying to get to the party on the other side. "Those idiots are keeping these things down here," Aria hissed, on edge, bringing her weapon up to her chest. "It's like they want to get infected." Shaking her head, she motioned for them to follow her over to a thin, shaky-looking ladder at the far end of the hallway, leading up into a tube in the ceiling, obscuring its eventual destination. "Up here," she told them, pointing upward. "Shepard, you go first. If somebody gets shot coming out of that tunnel I don't want it to be me."

"Your faith in this plan is overwhelming," Shepard returned, sarcastic, stashing her gun on her back and starting up the ladder. It held surprisingly well for something so small and spindly, and as she made her way up into the darkness she could hear the sound of Nyreen's two-tone breathing behind her in the pipe. It did not take long before her head made contact with something solid, and, flinching, she reached up, feeling around for the trapdoor, wondering if this had been Aria's intent all along. "Get ready," she warned down the pipeline. Then, banging noisily on the heavy trapdoor, she pushed it upward with her shoulder, straining with the effort as she felt it start to give way above her, the sound of gunfire and shouting starting to leak in the closer she got to pushing it open.

Suddenly, the trap door popped open, and Shepard found herself squinting into the bleak, artificial neon light of the lower level of Afterlife. A broad, dark face crouched over the trap door, apparently the one who had pulled it the rest of the way open, and Shepard's brows shot up, surprised, as she realized who she was facing off with. "Patriarch!" she exclaimed, happy to see him. Without responding, Patriarch reached down, grabbing her by the upper arm, and lifted her easily out of the tunnel. Setting her down a little rockily behind the bar, he reached in again, this time pulling out Nyreen, followed by Zaeed, with Aria climbing out last of her own accord.

"Welcome back, Commander Shepard," Patriarch told her, his deep voice morbidly amused, before turning his attention to Aria again. "Aria. Took you long enough."

"Yes, well," Aria shrugged, popping the nearly-spent heat sink out of her weapon and replacing it with a new, cool one. "Things came up, Patriarch. You know how it is."

Patriarch nodded, amenable. Then, turning away from the party, he cupped a clawed hand around one edge of his broad mouth. "Friendlies incoming!" he boomed, garnering a response from Gavorn across the room which none of them could quite make out. Turning his attention back to Aria, he gave a deep, satisfied chuckle, adjusting his gun more sturdily in his arms. "Never thought I'd be fighting for you as the lesser of two evils," he told her, grinning crookedly and showing off several chipped and ragged crocodilian teeth. "We got you covered. Now get up there. Go show these bastards who the real queen of Omega is."

"With pleasure, friend," Aria returned, giving him a reassuring nod. Then, ducking past Patriarch and out from behind the bar, Aria weaved her way stealthily through the civilian battlefield, taking cover behind an upturned table before leaping over it and making a beeline for the entryway of the lower floor. The rest of the party followed closely behind her, their guns pointed outward in all directions, returning whatever fire came their way. A plasma bullet grazed Shepard's shoulder, leaving a burnt, pockmarked trail in the paint of her shoulder-guard, and another barely missed Nyreen's head, causing her to have to duck out of the way to avoid being shot. Even so, it did not take long for them to finally make their way to the door of the club and duck outside into the stairwell, safe for the time being from Cerberus ground troopers.

Up the stairs, the door to the upper level of Omega glowed orange, waiting for an activation key to override its lock. These locks were always the weakest kind to overwrite, and Shepard quickly passed the scanner on the top of her omni-tool sensor over the orange icon, causing it to give a loud, thinking beep before quickly flashing green and allowing them easy access. Passing through the door into the upper level, Shepard quickly raised her weapon, ready to defend herself, scanning the room for any troopers who might have been guarding the floor from trespassers, but it seemed that the upper level of Club Afterlife was completely empty but for a large, gaudy display of vid screens that stretched in a panoramic view nearly halfway around the circumference of the club. As they moved further into the room, they could see a single tall, broad black chair sitting on the high, far balcony in front of the wall of screens, its back to the entryway of the club, making it impossible for them to see who – if anyone – was sitting in it.

"Petrovsky," Aria growled. Gripping her weapon, she ran up the stairs to the balcony, skipping every other step in her haste to reach it. Once there, she crossed the floor determinedly to the chair, reaching out an eager hand to turn it around and face her.

"Aria T'Loak!"

Retrieving her hand from the chair, Aria spun on her heel, barely taking a second to think before bringing up her weapon and firing once in the direction the voice had come from. Shepard's hand immediately shot out, knocking Aria's weapon down towards the floor, but it was too late. Petrovsky looked down, examining his shoulder with detached interest, which, miraculously, did not seem to have taken any damage from the plasma bullet. Reaching up a hand, he tapped the place where he had been shot, giving it a few dismissive scratches with his manicured nail, before letting out a short, unconcerned grunt of breath and looking up at Aria again, unfazed. "Aria T'Loak," he repeated, his accented voice deep and commanding. "I commend you. Your plan of attack was impeccable."

"Where did you come from?" Aria demanded, yanking her gun out from under Shepard's censorious hand. "You weren't here a second ago, I would have seen you!"

"Would you?" Petrovsky asked, pointedly. "Or were you so entirely distracted by how you think things are, or how you feel they should be, that you overlooked the reality of the situation completely?" He sneered, eyes moving down to her weapon, before his gaze returned to her face again. "That seems to be your general modus operandi," he told her, taciturnly. "And really, it would be a shame for you to change it now."

"I take it we were expected," Shepard commented, darkly, resting the butt of her Marauder warily against her hip.

"I knew Afterlife would be your primary target," Petrovsky informed them, his cold, black eyes still trained on Aria. "Of course the queen would try to come and reclaim her throne."

"It's too bad you're on the Illusive Man's side, Petrovsky," Aria told him, giving him an apathetic once-over. "We could have been great partners, you and I."

"I'm on humanity's side," Petrovsky corrected her, coldly. "You're the one trying to start a war – for the glory of Aria. It's too bad it's already over."

"This isn't over until your next of kin can't identify you," Aria hissed, taking a threatening step forward towards him.

Petrovsky did not even flinch. "I love your bravado," he told her, unmoved. "But… have the sense to know when you're beaten. Your petty resistance is outnumbered four to one, and even if you did decide to go with your better instincts and retreat, you've got no way off this station. Not for all of you. You might as well just give up."

"Never!" Aria spat, taking another step forward. "I—" Just then, she stopped, her expression clearing from one of rage to one of bewilderment. "Wait a minute," she said, quietly, frowning, confused. Reaching forward towards Petrovsky, she faltered, her hand drawing ever nearer, inch by inch. Then, taking another sudden step forward, she jabbed her hand right through his abdomen. Aria gasped, moving her hand around in the empty space of the hologram, before retrieving her hand again, wriggling her fingers in front of her face to make sure she was not imagining things, and looking up at the hologram again. The hologram of Petrovsky flickered faintly, faltering from the convincingly solid form it had had only moments earlier, and Aria frowned deeper, baring her teeth, annoyed.

"I knew it," she growled. "I knew you were just a stooge! Where's the real person in charge of this operation? Huh?" Grabbing up her gun, she aimed it at the ceiling, firing several loud shots into the panelling. The hologram of Petrovsky exclaimed in garbled distress, and then, after a moment of violent disjointed malfunctioning, flickered out completely. "Show yourself!" Aria shouted, moving further into the control room, holding her gun at the ready. "I know you're in here. Petrovsky was just a patsy, but there's someone in charge of this operation – I know you're here, now SHOW YOURSELF!"

"Calm yourself, Aria," cooed an older woman's voice as the large, black, swivel-back chair in front of the vid screen hub began to turn slowly on its axis. "There's no need to get so upset." Turning around to face the party, the woman smiled, knowingly, steepling her thin, bony fingers together in front of her, her elbows resting carelessly on the rigid, comfortable armrests of her overlarge chair. Her silver-streaked hair had been pulled back away from her face, and her large, dark-grey eyes were cold and intuitive. There was something familiar about her, unnervingly so, but it was not until Aria identified her that Shepard knew why she felt so uneasy to see this woman again.

"Helena Blake," Aria hissed, her nose wrinkling in disdain. "I should've known it was you. You always did have too much ambition and too little drive to achieve it for yourself."

"Aria T'Loak," Blake answered smoothly, not bothering to get up from her seat. "I should have known you would find me here. How do you like what I've done with the place?" Lifting her hands from the arm-rests, she indicated all around her, at the walls lined with vid screens showing her images of goings-on all across Omega. Two of the screens had gone blank, the corresponding cameras apparently shot out, but on the screen directly next to them, Shepard could see a tiny moving image of the fight going on directly under their feet. Turning her attention back to Blake, she frowned, her hand squeezing angrily around the grip of her gun as she fought to resist the urge to use it. She would not allow her feelings to get away from her when she had fought so hard to keep them in check up until now, and she knew she still needed Blake alive to get important information out of her.

Gritting her teeth, Shepard pursed her lips, taking a stiff step forward and jabbing an accusatory finger at Blake. "I let you live!" she told her, angrily. "Back on Amaranthine. I could have killed you – I should have killed you, after what you put me through! But I didn't. I gave you a chance to walk away. And this is how you repay me?"

"Commander Shepard, your foolish sympathy on my part is in no way my fault," Blake told her, frankly, her voice a dark deadpan. "You gave me the freedom to walk away from my old life. And I did. But where was I supposed to go from there? My whole life, all I'd ever known, all I'd ever been good at, was crime. Did you expect me to suddenly turn my life around? Start volunteering at homeless shelters, laying bricks and preparing bottles for baby hospitals?" She chuckled darkly, shaking her head and lacing her fingers together in front of her, appeased. "Cerberus had heard of my… reputation," she went on, complacently. "They welcomed me with open arms. Especially once they'd learned how I'd had some past dealings with you, Commander. That especially seemed to tickle the Illusive Man's fancy."

"That still doesn't answer my question," Aria cut in again, irritated. "Why are you here, Blake?"

"Isn't it obvious, Aria?" Blake answered, incredulous. "I own this station. Omega belongs to me now. The Illusive Man put me in control of the station once Oleg Petrovsky proved to be…" She paused, thinking of a word for it. "…Unsatisfactory," she finished. "I've continued to use his image as a front, however, as you cleverly figured out. He's served far more use to me that way than he ever did when he was actually operating in a position of power."

"You killed Petrovsky?" Aria asked, taken aback, slitting her eyes at Blake.

"Oh no," Blake answered, shaking her head. "No, no. He's not dead, but he no longer holds any power. Not until he's proven himself worthy to the Illusive Man again."

"And what did you do to prove yourself worthy to the Illusive Man?" Aria asked her, her restraint growing steadily more razor-thin.

"Who do you think set the Adjutants loose in the first place?" Blake demanded, opening her hands, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "They didn't get out on their own. Those things don't have enough logic sense to open a door on their own, let alone fly a craft from one system to the next. That was all me, Aria – all me. And the Illusive Man rewarded me handsomely for it."

"You… BITCH!" Aria howled, lunging forward, her hands outstretched towards Blake's throat, but Zaeed and Nyreen quickly stepped forward, grabbing her by the arms and pulling her back again. "You took Omega from me!" Aria shrieked, thrashing to get away from her restrainers. "You were the one who—the one who—!"

Blake gave a short, harsh scoff of a laugh, amused by the sight of Aria being held back against her will. "Of course I did," she answered, simply. "What, you think I was going to let you – you, who have done nothing but sit on your throne and gloat as the common man toiled and starved in filth and obscurity – lay claim to Omega? Cerberus has opened my eyes, Aria. They've made me aware of just how unfit a leader you really are." Pushing herself up from her chair, Blake approached Aria, leaning in towards her until her face was barely a foot away. Aria yanked at her arms, struggling to break free from her constraints, but to no avail. "With my help, Cerberus will wipe Omega clean," Blake jeered, all humour gone from her expression. "They'll burn it down and build it back up in their image, like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Humanity will save this station, Aria. Under Cerberus, Omega will flourish in ways you could only imagine."

"You're crazy," Aria hissed, giving another jerk at her held-back arms. "Omega is my home! The people who live here, they have families! I look out for the people, Blake. Cerberus could never understand that. All they understand is power." Still breathing heavily, Aria slowly composed herself, leaning back away from Blake, and jerked her arm forcefully from Zaeed's grasp, pulling the other one smoothly from Nyreen's, much calmer now, though still just as angry. "They don't want to raise this station up to its former glory," she told Blake, shaking her head, her breath still shuddering with anger. "They just want to use it as a pawn in their grab for ultimate political power. They won't build Omega up, they'll destroy it."

"Like you already did?" Blake shot back, venomous, crossing her arms. "Face it, Aria. Under your rule Omega became a slum. It became a hellhole of biblical proportions – your so-called home is a glorified, rehashed Sodom and Gomorra, and Cerberus are the angels sent down to cleanse it."

"I have no idea what you're babbling about," Aria told her, her tattooed brow darkening into a hard frown. "But I'm getting tired of hearing you talk." Drawing her weapon from her holster, Aria shoved it up against Blake's forehead, the hot metal digging into the soft flesh right between her eyes. With a sound of scared surprise, Blake dropped back into her chair, her dark-grey eyes crossing as she stared at the weapon aimed squarely at her brain. "Tell me who's in charge of this operation," Aria demanded, climbing up onto the chair after her, pinning her down with her knees, her free hand shoving Blake's frail shoulder, hard, into the material of the seat. "Tell me who's really calling the shots around here."

"A-Armistan Banes!" Blake exclaimed, holding up her hands, her previous bravado seeming to have left her all at once. "It's Armistan Banes, he's the one in charge! The Illusive Man just has me running numbers, Banes is the one who's in charge of the troops!"

"Armistan Banes?" Shepard asked, frowning, confused. "Armistan Banes is dead. A group of marines found his body on a derelict ship in the Sparta system years ago."

"That wasn't Banes," Blake gasped, wetting her lips, her voice trembling as she stared intently at the gun lodged against her forehead. "Banes isn't dead. He faked his death, then had those marines killed before they could change their report and revise their information with the true identity of the body they found."

"Where is Armistan Banes?" Aria insisted, jamming the gun even harder between Blake's eyes. "Tell me, Blake! Or I swear to the spirits I'll blow your head clean off."

"He-he-he's not here!" Blake exclaimed, holding up her hands, pleadingly. "He's hiding out in the apartment where Archangel was killed. I swear to you!"

"Fine," Aria growled, retrieving her gun, which had left a hot, red ring in the middle of Blake's forehead. Blake let out a deep, grateful sigh, reaching up a hand to gingerly touch the spot on her head where the gun had been, before Aria pushed herself back off the seat, turning to face Shepard and the rest of the company. "We're gonna go find that son of a bitch Banes," she said. Then, turning back towards Blake, she aimed her gun at her again, causing Blake to quickly lift her hands again in a sign of surrender. "But I swear, Blake," she hissed. "If he's not there, or if there's some other funny business waiting for us when we get there, I'm going to come back here, and I'm going to blow your fucking head off."

"Understood," Blake stammered, her face pale with fright.

Retrieving her weapon again, Aria made a quick, dismissive gesture over her shoulder. "Watch her until I get back, Nyreen," she said, causing Nyreen to look up, surprised. "Make sure she doesn't try anything stupid. Shepard, Massani, you're coming with me. Let's see that rat bastard try to fake his death this time."

The apartment where Shepard had reunited with Garrus after two long years of being declared dead, where they had come together just like old times to fight off an army of mercs almost single-handedly, was exactly the way she remembered it. She knew that should have been her first tip-off that something was very wrong, but she followed Aria through the open entryway and into the front room of the apartment anyway, keeping her gun trained at the ready just in case something decided to jump out and attack them. Aria had been less than subtle in her campaign to get them to the apartment, and, once there, she had all but come barging through the front door to let herself inside. Banes had had plenty of time to prepare for their arrival, and even to perhaps throw together some particularly nasty surprise for them if he so chose, but the further they got into the apartment, the more apparent it became to Shepard that prospective booby traps were going to be the least of their troubles.

The first thing she noticed upon entering the apartment was the overwhelming smell. It seemed no one had bothered to clean the place up since the last time she had been there, and she had to cover her mouth and nose with her hand to keep herself from being sick. The mercenaries they had killed had been left to rot where they had fallen, and what skin had not fallen off the bone and pooled in the scarred but surprisingly still intact armour still clung, sunken and desiccated, to their inert skeletons. Careful not to touch anything, Shepard stepped precariously over the body of the salarian Eclipse leader, which had been left strewn across the upward-leading stairscase. His eyes had rotted out of his skull, leaving two large, gaping holes staring straight up at the ceiling, and a delicate, prickly mould had begun to grow in the now dark-green splatters of blood that had sprayed up the side of the railing when he had been shot.

"This place is a mausoleum," Shepard commented, quietly, making a face as she hurried to catch up with Aria and Zaeed. Reaching the door at the end of the upstairs hallway, Aria pushed it open, lifting her gun and pointing it at the far end of the room. Shepard and Zaeed, too, moved into the room after her, panning their guns from one corner of the room to the other. The pool of dark blue blood where Garrus had taken a hefty artillery blow to the side of his face had congealed and dried, leaving a crusty, bluish-black stain on the taupe tile floor. "Armistan Banes?" Shepard called, loudly enough to be clearly heard. Then, letting out a sharp, frustrated huff of breath, she dropped her weapon again, frowning, frustrated. "Shit," she swore. "Banes isn't here. I don't see any indication he ever was, either."

"Shit!" Aria returned, much louder. "That sneaky two-faced bitch tricked me!" Turning away from the empty room, Aria quickly pressed her fingers to her in-ear comm, connecting to Nyreen's channel. "Nyreen," she told her, hastily. "Hold Blake there, do you hear me? Banes isn't here. We're coming back, and I've got a bone to pick with her."

"Aria, Blake got away," Nyreen reported back, giving a hiss of pain that caused the comm channel to crackle faintly. "She had a pistol I didn't see and she got me good in the shoulder. She's fast for an old woman. I'm sorry."

"Shit!" Aria repeated, angry. Picking up a nearby miniature potted plant, she smashed it on the floor in frustration before turning back to Shepard and Zaeed, her breathing heavy. "She got away!" she exclaimed. "Blake tricked me and now she's made a run for it. This is not the way I wanted this to go!"

"Maybe you can intercept her escape," Shepard suggested, taking a helpful step forward. "You've got people on the perimeter. You told me so – an army of merc ships. Give them the order to capture her if she tries to go off-world."

Aria stared at her for a moment, her ringed blue eyes wide, processing this proposition. Then, turning away from Shepard and Zaeed again, she pressed her fingers into her earcomm once more, patching herself back into Nyreen's channel. "Nyreen, do not lose track of her," she instructed, harshly. "Make sure you keep eyes on her at all times. Get your people on her, make sure they know where she's going. If she tries to go off-world, be sure and tell me what type of craft she's taking." Spinning on her heel, Aria began to pace, agitatedly. "Nobody pulls a fast one over on Aria and gets away with it," she growled, gritting her teeth in fury. "Nobody."

"Aria, Gavorn says he's got her in his sights," Nyreen reported back, readily. "She's taking a Cerberus escape pod. What do you want me to do?"

"Nothing, you're good," Aria told her. Then, switching the channel of her in-ear comm she pressed her fingers to it again, waiting for the telltale sound of voices to let her know it had been picked up on the other end. "Bray," she insisted once she had gotten through. "I need you to be on the lookout for a Cerberus escape pod leaving the station's surface. Single-person capacity. You see it?" She paused, waiting for an affirmative response, and Shepard glanced over at Zaeed, who was staring at the bulky corpse of a krogan mercenary leader lying at the far end of the room, seeming more intrigued than anything else by the deflated hump and leg so ravaged by decomposition it had actually detached from the rest of the body.

"I knew him," he commented, casually, lifting his gun half-interestedly in the krogan's direction. "He was a bastard, that one. Nobody deserves to end up like that, though. Should get in contact with his mum when we get back to the ship. See if she wants to collect him."

"You see the escape pod?" Aria cut over them, drawing their attention back to her. "Good. You got her in your sights?"

"Shouldn't we try to take her alive?" Shepard asked, frowning. "So we can get information out of her about Cerberus? What they're planning?"

"I don't care what they're planning, Shepard," Aria told her, shaking her head vehemently. "I just want the bitch dead. You got her in your sights, Bray?" Hearing the affirmative, she took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders triumphantly and letting her gun drop back to her side. "Good," she hissed. "Now… open fire."

Helena Blake's death at the hands of Aria T'Loak had been the first domino to fall in what was quickly becoming apparent had been a partisan structure already on the razor-thin brink of collapse. Between Aria's fleet of merc ships breaking through the Cerberus line as she had planned, and the resistance making short work of the troopers on the lower level of Afterlife and taking to the streets to chase the remaining Cerberus troopers out of Omega, it did not take long before the Cerberus threat began to show hopeful signs of having been effectively overturned. Several strong reminders of their occupation still lingered all over the station, from the huge, neon symbol erected over the sign for Afterlife to the now-aimless attack mechs that still wandered the streets, searching for relevant commands, to the remaining Adjutants still prowling the dark, abandoned underbelly of the station.

Still, none of that did anything to dampen Aria's mood as she took to the station-wide vidcomm system, announcing the end of Cerberus' rule and the reinstatement of her own, promising to work side by side with Nyreen Kandros to clean up Omega and make it the station they both believed it had the proclivity to be, better and brighter than ever before. The red sand trade would cease on Omega, and everyone would be given a paying job helping to clean the station up to mirror its former, nearly-forgotten glory. The slums would be cleared out to make way for proper housing, and new businesses would be built on Omega, inviting bigger and better opportunities for the people living there to earn a decent working wage doing clean, honest work.

Once safely back on the Normandy, still beaming with the thought of what Omega now had the chance to become, Shepard had retreated to her quarters to strip and change back into more comfortable clothes. Her bare feet cooled against the sleek, metal floor as she carefully tied the waist of her pyjama pants into a loose, easy bow, pulling her hoodie on over her shirt in case someone came in to check on her. The contents of her ammo pouch had been emptied out on the comforter of her bed, and, reaching back, she picked up the scuffed, rectangular box, opening the lid and looking inside again. The heat-sealed packet of red sand stared back at her, challenging her to take it.

She had never done red sand before, but everything she had heard about it made it sound like a drug best taken in the company of someone well-trusted. People who used the drug had a tendency to become extremely paranoid and highly destructive, both towards themselves and to those around them, or so she had heard from those with more experience than herself in these things. Vega, in particular, had nothing good to say about the drug – while he was not extremely keen to talk about his experiences, he had let slip to her once that he had a relative (he would not say which one) who was addicted to red sand, and who had tried to attack him once while under the influence. It was a scary thought to lose control of one's functional reasoning, but there was also something morbidly fascinating about the idea of doing harm to one's self without having the state of mind to feel the pain inflicted.

"That would probably do the trick," she murmured, picking up the straw apparatus and turning it over in her fingers, thoughtfully. Just then, the gentle sound of the comm monitor on her desk turning on made her look up, the gentle pinging sound telling her she had an incoming transmission. Dropping the straw back in the box and stuffing the lid on, she quickly hid the box of drugs under her bed, padding over to the vidcomm and dropping herself down in front of it. Reaching out, she selected the button to turn the vid monitor on, and, waiting, she watched the screen as it flashed the yellow standby symbol, fiddling anxiously with the pull-ties of her hoodie as she waited for the videocomm to connect. Finally, the screen flickered into operation, and, smoothing out the creases of her uniform, Hannah Shepard settled more comfortably into her seat across the vidscreen, offering her daughter an affectionate, greeting smile.

"Mom," Shepard exclaimed, surprised to see her mother on the other end. Then, wetting her lips, she cleared her throat, tucking her legs up into a more comfortable criss-cross position in the seat of her chair. "What's up?" she asked, trying to sound as conversational as possible.

"I'm in need of a trim," Hannah answered, frankly, giving a gentle sigh as she reached up a hand to brush her bangs out of her soft green eyes. "It's not nearly as easy as you'd think to find someone capable of cutting hair on a military vessel. Last time I cut my own bangs I ended up looking like one of those post-century android pinups – you know, with the really short bangs straight across? What a nightmare."

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Shepard told her, chuckling.

"If you say so," Hannah conceded, leaning forward on her desk and folding her hands in front of her, eager. "So. I heard about how you're trying to collect an army to fight the Reapers. My daughter, out saving the galaxy. Do you need any assistance with anything? Do you want the Orizaba to join in the fight with you? Just give the word—"

"No, Mom, I… no," Shepard answered, holding up her hands and shaking her head. "We're fine. We've got the krogan fighting for us, the turians are fighting for us, the asari said they'd be willing to fight for us if I were to do a few recon missions on Thessia, which is where we're headed now…"

"Right, the asari," Hannah said, shaking an indicative finger towards the screen. "Isn't your girlfriend an asari? How is she doing, anyway, by the way? What's her name… Liandra, or Lis… Lisa…?"

"Liara," Shepard corrected her, laughing. She knew that Hannah knew perfectly well what Liara's name was, but she enjoyed teasing Shepard about it just to get a reaction out of her. Her mother always knew how to make her smile, which was one of the things Shepard loved most about her. "Liara's fine. She's helping us to get ready to launch an attack on the Reapers. We're not dating anymore, though. We… broke up."

"You mean because everyone thought you were dead," Hannah answered. "There are better ways to end a relationship, Jane."

"Mom, I was dead," Shepard corrected her. "I was dead. Liara was entirely in her rights to move on because of that, but no. That's not it. We just… we grew apart, is all. We just didn't want the same things out of our relationship."

"She wanted a relationship and you just wanted a booty call, is that what I'm hearing?" Hannah asked, arching a telling brow. She had never been one to sugar-coat things.

"Mom, that's… it's not important," Shepard answered, quickly changing the subject. "What is important is that you and the Orizaba don't have to worry about a thing. We've got the best technological and medical aid in the galaxy, the Normandy is in top shape, and we're gaining more allies every day. The rachni even promised to help us out."

"Oh, well that's great," Hannah answered, raising her brows, surprised. "You've got giant bugs working on your weapons of mass destruction. What could possibly go wrong?"

"They're actually really intelligent," Shepard told her, smiling despite herself. "And they know how to build, oddly enough. I guess that's… termite psychology? Something instinctual like that?"

"Super-intelligent giant termites," Hannah returned, deadpan. "Excellent. On second thought, I don't think we'll be helping you bomb the Reapers after all."

"Thanks, Mom," Shepard chuckled. After a moment, however, the chuckle faded from her lips, her smile slowly disappearing as she looked down towards her lap, her hands balled into fists, hidden in the pockets of her hoodie. "Mom," she finally spoke up again, her voice quieter this time. "There's… there's something I need to tell you. You can't tell anyone I told you this, but it's… well… it's kind of important."

"What is it, Jane?" Hannah asked, folding her hands patiently in front of her on the desk.

Lifting her gaze, Shepard looked up at her mother again, before biting down on her lip, anxious. "Mom," she said, preparing herself and taking a deep breath in. "I'm… I'm pregnant. And before you ask whose it is… it's Garrus'."

Hannah was silent a moment, staring at her daughter, blankly, through the vidscreen. Then, clearing her throat a bit, she leaned in closer to the screen, her expression uncertain, as if discussing something highly confidential. "Garrus?" she asked pointedly, her voice lower. "The… the turian?"

"Garrus Vakarian, yes," Shepard said, nodding.

Hannah paused again, processing this, before frowning, pensive, trying hard to hide her confusion. "Are you sure?" she finally asked. "I mean, is it possible that there's been some mistake? Or that it might be somebody else's? How sure are you that you're actually…" She faltered, cutting herself off, and glanced quickly over her shoulder, making sure no one was listening in on their conversation. Then, turning her attention back to Shepard, she bit her lip, looking just as confused as ever. "That you're actually pregnant at all?" she asked. "I mean, those tests, they're not always one hundred percent accurate, you know—"

"Mom," Shepard cut her off, shaking her head. "I'm sure. I'm sure it's Garrus'. And I'm sure it's real." Taking in a deep breath, she let it out in a heavy huff of a sigh. "Believe me," she assured her, raising her brows. "I'm sure."

"How far along are you?" Hannah asked, leaning back in her seat and pulling a mug of hot tea towards her from outside the vid frame. "Do you know? I mean, have you been keeping track?"

"About three months," Shepard answered quietly, shrugging her shoulders, a bit sheepishly. "Maybe a little less."

"So then you've got a tummy now, have you?" Hannah asked, bobbing the tea packet in and out of the hot water before blowing on the liquid to cool it. "A little baby bump?"

Shepard hesitated, suddenly uncomfortable, feeling a hot red blush rising to her cheeks and ears. "Kind of," she answered, monotone, trying to force the blush down again. "I mean… I guess."

Hannah nodded, taking a sip of her tea, before setting it down again and wetting her lips. "Can I see it?" she asked, indicating eagerly towards the screen.

Again, Shepard hesitated. "I'd rather not," she finally answered, frankly, pressing herself as flat against the back of her chair as she could manage.

"Oh come on," Hannah urged, clicking her tongue disappointedly. "I spend all day surrounded by the most boring, stuffy old men you can imagine, clearing pathways for bigger warships from space debris. Can't your mom have at least a little bit of joy in her day?" She paused, waiting, staring expectantly at the vidscreen, before finally seeming to realize she was not going to get her request and letting out a soft, disappointed sigh. "Well, can you at least tell me if it's a boy or a girl?" she asked, pulling her tea towards her again. "You can at least tell me that much, can't you? I'm dying here, Jane. You're killing me."

"I don't know what it is," Shepard answered truthfully, shrugging again, resisting the urge to run her hand over the small bump hidden beneath her roomy hoodie. "I haven't gotten an ultrasound to determine the sex. I don't know if I'm going to, either. I don't think I really want to know, all things considered."

"You're keeping it a surprise?" Hannah asked, bringing up her tea and taking a sip.

Shepard sucked in on her bottom lip, thoughtful, before giving a toss of her head, clearing her shaggy bangs out of her eyes. "Something like that," she replied, evasive.

Hannah nodded, finishing her sip of tea and giving a soft, satisfied exhale as she set the mug down in front of her again. "The first time I got an ultrasound with you, they told me you were going to be a boy," she said, looking up at her daughter again, a conspiratorial twinkle in her soft green eyes. "Of course, that's been thirty or so years now, so the technology's probably gotten better, but…" She paused, tapping a contemplative finger against the edge of her mug, before looking up at Shepard again. "How old are you, now?" she asked, teasingly. "Thirty? Thirty-five?"

"Mom," Shepard scolded her, unable to help but crack a smile. "I'm thirty-six. You know I'm thirty-six."

"I know," Hannah said, smiling back at her daughter. "I just wanted to see if I could make you laugh. Good to know I haven't lost all of my talent."

"Is that true, though?" Shepard asked, taking her hands from her pockets to lean forward on the desk towards the vidscreen. "Did they really think I was going to be a boy?"

"Lord, yes," Hannah answered frankly, nodding. "I was going to name you John if you were a boy. But I had an inkling they were wrong, even with all their fancy tech, and – wouldn't you know it – I was right." Letting out a short, vindicated laugh, Hannah let a pleased hand come to rest over her heart, rolling her eyes at the memory. "I wish you could have seen the looks on those doctors' faces when you came out a healthy, beautiful little girl," she told Shepard, shaking her head and grinning widely. "Priceless. Absolutely priceless."

"So you decided to call me Jane instead?" Shepard asked, smiling back uncertainly, a little put off by this until-now-unknown fact about her life. "Instead of John? Your originality, Mom…"

"Hush," Hannah told her, curtly, but it was obvious from the tiny, embarrassed smile on her face that she was thinking the same exact thing. "Jane is a good, strong name for a girl. There are lots of influential women in history named Jane."

"Like who, Jane Austen?" Shepard asked, leaning back in her chair again, her hands returning to the pockets of her hoodie. "Please, Mom… please tell me you didn't name me after Jane Austen."

"Well, what about Jane Goodall?" Hannah asked. "I could very well have named you after her. You don't know. She was a renowned animal activist and scientist. You like animals, don't you, Jane?"

Shepard paused, taken aback, before arching a brow, suspicious. "Is that a trick question?" she asked.

Hannah scoffed, turning her gaze down towards her mug and pulling it quickly in towards her. "You malign your dear old mother," she scolded, picking up her tea for a sip. "I would never make dirty jokes like that at your expense. I love you far too much for that."

"You're a terrible liar, Mom," Shepard told her, smiling.

"So what are you going to name your little one?" Hannah asked, quickly changing the subject. "You've picked out boy and girl names, haven't you?"

"I… no," Shepard answered truthfully, dropping her gaze as the smile quickly left her face. "No, I haven't. It's… it's not… none of this is written in stone yet, Mom."

Hannah paused, her hand poised on the mug of tea, the steam curling upward from the liquid the only thing moving on the vidscreen. Then, finally, she took a deep breath, her expression turning suddenly stony. "You're thinking of getting rid of it?" she asked, her tone flat, hard for Shepard to interpret.

Shepard hesitated, more than a bit thrown by her mother's sudden shift in attitude, but merely shrugged in response. "It'd be for the best of the galaxy," she answered, lamely, feeling the world like a child in trouble again.

"Do you really believe it's what's best for the galaxy?" Hannah asked, her tone hard, testing her daughter. "Or is it just what you believe is best for you?"

Leaning back in her seat again, Shepard crossed her arms, frowning and feeling suddenly very defensive against her mother's accusatory tone. "If you'd heard the initial doctor's report you wouldn't even be asking me that," she said, flatly. "He said it'd be a miracle if the thing survived gestation. Let alone trying to survive outside the womb." As soon as the words had left her mouth, she made a face, cringing at the heavy, clinical weight the words carried. The idea of her having a womb, and something gestating in it, made her want to cross her legs tightly and never open them again. Instead, she kept her composure, staring austerely at her mother through the vidscreen, and watching as her mother stared just as sternly back.

"Jane," Hannah told her, leaning in towards the vidscreen again, intense. "Do you know what they told me when I found out I was pregnant? They told me that I couldn't be a mother and an officer at the same time. And you know what I told them?"

"To shove it up their ass?" Shepard returned, monotone, so used to hearing this answer that it barely even fazed her anymore.

"To shove it up their ass," Hannah told her, leaning back in her seat again. "I didn't care what they said I could or couldn't do. I was going to have my baby girl and remain an officer in the Alliance, and they were just going to have to deal with it. And you know what? I did."

"But you wanted me, Mom," Shepard argued, letting out a sharp, agitated sigh at the end of her story. "I don't even know if I want this baby. Besides, what kind of mother would I even be? I'm not like you. I'm not… superwoman. I can't do everything you do."

"How can you say that, Jane?" Hannah demanded. "Look at how much you've accomplished so far! What makes you think you can't do that and raise a family, like I did?"

"Like you did?" Shepard scoffed, crossing one swollen ankle over the other and stretching her legs out under the table in an effort to get more comfortable. "Mom, you're in command of a ship nobody's ever even heard of. You clear paths for warships, you're… you're the snow plough of the Alliance, Mom, that's basically what you are." A hard, ringing, razor-thin silence followed this statement, filling the airspace between them with suffocating awkwardness, the quiet broken only by the soft bubbling of the aquarium filter. Finally, giving a soft, tired sigh, Shepard broke the silence, dropping her gaze and pushing a hand back through her hair, exhausted. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said, her voice quieter, looking up at her mother again. "I didn't mean that. You're… an amazing human being. I've always looked up to you for everything that you've done, for me and for the galaxy. But…"

She fell silent again, pursing her lips, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she tried to think of something, anything to say that would explain how she was feeling. "If I have this baby, that would be it for me," she finally told her mother, shaking her head, defeated. "That would effectively be the end of my military career. I couldn't go back into space knowing that I have a child somewhere that needs my care. And if he does wind up actually making it to full gestation… or, she…" Here, she paused, staring straight ahead, her gaze unfocused, unseeing. She had never thought about the baby as a girl before; for some reason, it had always occurred to her that, should she ever decide to have a child, it would undoubtedly turn out to be a boy. Now, for the first time, she found herself realizing that there was a distinct possibility that the baby growing inside of her might, in fact, be a girl.

The thought was strangely startling to her, and even a bit frightening. She had no idea how she would be expected to know how to take care of a little girl; she barely knew how her own body worked, let alone that of a little girl whose needs were not altogether human. "She's going to need special care," she finally went on, barely noticing the gender slip. "Lots of special care. I'm not just going to leave my baby in the hands of some doctor while I go out exploring the galaxy, that's…" She shook her head, her eyes distant, reaching up a hand to massage her collar-bone distractedly. "I'm not that selfish," she said, her voice quieter, her lips feeling almost numb.

"Is it really less selfish to spare the child the misery of living with medical infirmities than to allow it the chance to live?" Hannah asked, pointedly, her mug of tea all but forgotten. "Do you really think the child would not prefer a hard life to no life at all?"

"I can't… Mom, I can't," Shepard pleaded, feeling her defences starting to chip away and willing herself very hard not to tear up in front of her mother. "I can't keep this baby, Mom. Not with everything that's at stake. I just can't – and you know that."

"What if you were born with infirmities, Jane?" Hannah asked. "Would you have preferred I killed you? Would you rather be killed than, say… lose a limb?"

"It's a false equivalency, Mom!" Shepard exploded, slamming her hands angrily down on the desk on either side of the vidscreen. "I was born healthy and strong! I was a perfectly normal human baby, not some, some… half-turian freak baby who will fall apart if you breathe on it too hard! Think about me for once, Mom – have some compassion for my situation! I'm your daughter, for fuck's sake!"

"Commander Shepard?"

Shepard faltered, hearing her name over the intercom, and looked up, trying to keep from blanching. She had to wonder how long Traynor had been listening in on her conversation before announcing her unseen presence. "Yes, Traynor?" she asked, working very hard to keep her voice as casual as possible. It was difficult when she could almost feel herself start to shake with anxious, unwanted nerves.

"Commander, you have an incoming message from Admiral Hackett via vidcomm," Traynor informed her, sounding, to her credit, completely casual. Her level tone gave Shepard hope that Traynor had not actually heard anything that was being said, and had only tapped in at the exact moment she had announced herself.

"Thank you, Traynor," she told her, listening for the intercom to click off before turning her attention back to her mother again. Hannah stared at her tellingly from the other end of the vidscreen, her hands clasped dutifully around her mug of tea, the liquid seeming to have cooled by now so only a few stray wisps of steam escaped the brim every so often. "I have to take this call, Mom," she told her. "It's from Admiral Hackett." She paused, chewing her lower lip fretfully, wishing there were something else she could say, anything to add to the conversation. "I hear you got promoted to Rear Admiral," she finally said, her voice weak.

Hannah stared at her daughter for a moment, frowning, before giving a soft, tired sigh. "I should go, Jane," she said, reaching for her display screen. "I've got a snow plough to run."

"Mom, wait," Shepard said, holding up a hand, stopping her. Hannah did as she was told, hesitating momentarily, her expression interested but patient. Shepard bit her lip again, frowning faintly, before taking in one last, deep breath. "I love you, Mom," she said, her voice quiet.

Hannah considered this, watching her daughter, before finally letting out a gentle sigh in return, her expression softening, almost sympathetically. "I love you, too, Jane," she said. Then, reaching forward, she pressed a button on the edge of her vid display, and with a sharp flash, the communication screen went black.