The first thing Shepard heard when she woke up was the sound of muffled explosions.
She could not tell which direction the explosions were coming from, or how loud they actually were – her ears were still ringing from the Reaper blast, making everything around her sound muffled, warped, and distant, as if she were listening to the world around her through a thick plate of bulletproof glass. Her vision, too, was murky and dark when she tried to open her eyes, and she frowned, only half-aware, before allowing them to close again, letting her blurry vision readjust to the concept of living sight. She could barely feel her own body under her at first, merely an inhuman weight that slowly began to give way to dull, sore, throbbing pain. Her body felt broken, flattened, and bruised, her limbs burned, blackened, chilled in the open air where her faulty armour had broken away to expose her undersuit and bare skin beneath it. Dust had gathered in her open wounds, congealing them with dirt and pebbles, causing her lacerations to sting as she tried to shift her weight, to check if she were still all there, to little avail. Taking a deep breath, she let herself lay on the blood-soaked ground another moment longer, listening to the sound of explosions from somewhere in the distance as she tried to regain her state of being, her breathing slow and steady as she tried to calm her racing heart.
Though she could barely think through the haze of semi-conscious pain that clouded her mind, she was fully aware of one fact: the sound of explosions meant that wherever she was, she was still at war, and if she was at war, that had to mean that in some way, she was still alive.
"God… they're all gone…!" Zabaleta's voice suddenly echoed in her head, causing her to open her eyes again, now much more alert than before.
"Did we get anyone to the beam?" a second, desperate voice wafted through, causing Shepard to squint, still not quite sure where the voices were coming from. Reaching out with one shaking, burned hand, she started to drag herself forward along the ground, only to slip in a puddle of something thick and wet and land, hard, back on her hands and knees. Looking down, her vision wavered as she realized what she had slipped in was a pool of blood – her blood. Her armoured legs ran thick with it, streaming, glinting sickeningly in the murky light of the Citadel beam, causing a rush of bile to form in the pit of her stomach, threatening to come up. Kicking feebly away from the puddle of blood, she dragged herself forward, inch by inch, her legs floundering under her as she struggled to pull herself up from the ground, still too weak to stand. Looking up, she watched in disconnected, dream-like captivation as the enormous form of Harbinger lifted away from the ground, its massive body streaking up easily through the blackened sky with an ear-splitting hum like a fighter jet taking flight. Her ears rang with white noise, dissonant and bloody, as she turned her attention towards the beam again, dragging herself forward another few inches before starting to shakily push herself to her feet, barely able to stand.
"Negative," Zabaleta's voice came through again, and this time, Shepard could just barely recognize that the sound was coming from her in-ear comm. "Our entire force was decimated." Reaching up a hand towards her in-ear comm, she pressed in on it, trying to speak, to tell them that one still remained alive, but she found that her voice would not work, her lips numb and heavy, her throat too choked and dry to even make a sound. Letting her hand fall exhaustedly back to her side again, she turned her heavy eyes up towards the beam once more, listening as the radio chatter continued over her partially-melted in-ear comm, the voices sounding like they were coming through a wall of thick glass, with her on the other side. "It's too much," Zabaleta insisted. "We need to regroup! All men to the buildings!"
"All forces, retreat! Pull back, pull back!" the second voice agreed. Shepard took a shambling step forward, her right leg dragging under her as she pulled it along, feeling it twisted the wrong way, her knee and foot turned inwards towards her body, unable to register the pain. Her fingers fumbled at her belt, drawing her bloodied Carnifex, causing her artillery belt to fall away from her waist as she did so. She barely even seemed to notice as she limped right over it, her gaze fixed forward, unwavering, heading in the direction of the Citadel beam. The muddled sound of screaming suddenly reached her ears, and she looked up, raising her weapon, ready, as a stream of Husks began running towards her from somewhere behind the beam, their blackened mouths gaping open as they ran with arms outstretched, intent on their target. The Husks felt like they were moving in slow motion, their shrieks garbled and distorted in her ears as they took long, leaping strides across the rubble, seeming to linger endlessly in midair before falling back to the ground soundlessly. The infernal ringing in her head made everything sound shrill, warped, almost otherworldly as she raised her gun, her finger shaking on the trigger as she pulled it again and again, taking out each Husk as they approached with careful shots between the eyes.
She barely even noticed the bodies of the fallen Husks crunching under her boots like wet leather stretched over fresh twigs as she walked across them, until she suddenly stumbled over something warm and soft, realizing too late that it was the fallen body of an Alliance comrade. She fell to all fours, the wet, rocky ground scraping her knees, the cold, soggy sensation of rotten black Husk brain matter on her hands delayed as she dragged herself forward a few inches, trying to regain some sense of cognizance. The Husk she touched did not even feel human anymore, its skin like sharkskin, its body cold and rigid as she gripped hold of it, using its distended ribcage to push herself shakily back onto her feet. Blood covered the ground around her, the colours nearly indistinguishable as they pooled together, black and red, purple and blue, green and orange, overlapping, carried away by rancid puddles of rainwater. Her own red blood blurred her vision as she took another staggering step forward, and then another, driven by pain, determination, a sense of knowing where she needed to go, even if she had no idea how to get there.
Just then, a sharp pain hit her, the shock of the impact shooting through her body and sending her staggering back two steps as a plasma bullet sliced through her undersuit, burning a deep hole along the side of her ribcage. Looking up, Shepard could barely make out the backlit form of a Marauder through the haze of her vision, its dark outline swimming conspicuously against the white-blue glow of the Citadel beam. Raising her weapon, Shepard fired again, almost blindly, her finger squeezing the trigger, letting off shot after shot, hardly even seeming to notice as one of her bullets found home between the husk creature's eyes, causing it to fall backward into a bloody pile with a garbled, electronic-sounding shriek. Limping over the mangled form of the Marauder, Shepard dragged her wounded leg forward into the light of the beam, looking upwards towards the Citadel as she felt the air shift around her, almost as if the atmosphere had somehow become inexplicably lighter and cooler within the confines of the beam. Then, suddenly, she found herself jerked bodily from the ground by an invisible force, feeling as if she were being drawn by an enormous industrial magnet as the energy of the beam flipped her unceremoniously upside-down, dragging her by her heavy boots up towards its inevitable source.
The path of the beam was not, as she had hoped, gentle, or even particularly smooth. Shepard could feel the blood rushing to her head as she struggled to right herself in the slipstream, but the journey was over so quickly she did not even get a chance to register what was happening before she found herself abruptly dumped into a cold, fetid, stiff pile. The pile was slick with rancid black and red clumps, the details of whatever was making it up barely discernible through the wan, hazy red-black light of the hallway she found herself in as she finally blinked her eyes open enough to take a wary look around. "Shepard," Anderson's voice suddenly fizzled in over her in-ear comm, causing her to look up, startled, convinced she was just hearing things. Then, a moment later, the radio hissed in her ear again, causing her to look down this time, a bit more aware of what was going on. "Shepard," Anderson repeated, more fervently this time, trying to get her attention.
"Anderson?" Shepard choked, the tinny flavour of blood heavy on her tongue, making her speech feel numb and obtuse. "You up here, too?"
"Followed you up," Anderson answered, evenly, breathing heavily from his end of the comm. "But we didn't come out the same place—ohh." He groaned, his connection crackling, causing Shepard to look up, worried, distracted from her own state of affairs for a moment as she waited for him to come back online. "At least, I don't think we did," he finally added, panting, still clearly in pain. "What's your surrounding look like?" Spitting out what blood she could, Shepard coughed, shaking her head, trying to pull herself back to the moment, before looking up to take a quick look at her surroundings, feeling suddenly sick to her stomach as she did so. The walls of the Citadel were covered on every side with piles upon piles of mangled dead bodies, some of them so mutilated or rotten that they were barely recognizable. An overpowering smell of death emanated from the piles, one she had somehow not noticed before now, causing her to gag, before leaning to one side and emptying her stomach on the Citadel floor. Grunting in pain, Shepard pushed herself to her feet, giving herself a moment to steady her bearings as her legs shook beneath her, threatening to give out. "You okay?" Anderson asked, concerned.
Shepard shook her head, taking in a deep, ragged breath. "I feel like death," she answered, honestly, her hoarse voice cracking as she reached up to massage her sore shoulder. "But I'm moving." Taking another deep breath in, she took a step forward, and then another, limping, moving slowly but steadily along the winding path carved out between the piles of broken bodies. She steeled her gaze ahead, forcing herself not to look down at the path of dark red blood that trailed behind her as she walked, puddling in her heavy boots, leaving drips and soaking footprints in her wake. "It's… dark," she added, still narrating to Anderson, her breathing heavy as she struggled to fill her lungs. "There's… human remains, scattered…"
"Sounds familiar," Anderson breathed back, still not daring to speak above a cautious whisper. "I'm in a dark hallway… reminds me of your description of the Collector base."
Spotting a faint, flickering blue glow coming from one of the piles of bodies, Shepard stopped, dragging her foot forward and taking a moment to catch her breath, before crouching down to the pile of corpses to pick up a blood-covered Carnifex. The weapon had been so caked in acidic entrails that its previously white paint had started to peel, but Shepard quickly cleaned it off against the leg of her ruined armour, wiping off what blood she could before tucking the weapon into her threadbare remaining ammunition belt. "Makes sense," she conceded, nodding to herself as she pressed the weapon flat against her leg.
"You think they're making a Reaper in here?" Anderson hissed, speaking even lower now, as if afraid he might give the Reapers some sort of idea.
Shepard frowned, grunting in pain, feeling a sickening stream of blood start to trickle down her leg now that she was standing still. "Sure," she answered, still out of breath, turning away from the pile of bodies. "They round them up on Earth… then send the people up here to be processed."
"Goddamn abomination," Anderson whispered, before grunting loudly in pain, almost startling Shepard. Taking a deep breath, Anderson wet his lips audibly over the transmission, clearing his throat and swallowing back hard. "I'm going to keep moving," he announced to her, arduously. "The sooner we blow these bastards back to hell, the better. The troops don't go on forever. But… where the hell are we?"
"Yeah," Shepard agreed, choking out her answer past gritted teeth, trying to ignore the shooting pain in her ribs from where the plasma bullet had clipped her side. "Doesn't look like… any part of the Citadel… I've been to." Turning to glance towards the far wall, she watched as one of the Citadel Keepers looked up at her from its work, hardly seeming to notice that its entire body was caked in rotting blood and entrails. Its enormous, bug-like pincers clicked as it considered her, thoughtful for a moment, before starting to slowly wade through the pile of corpses towards another work station, obliviously dragging along what looked like a bloody small intestine as it went. Shepard gagged again at the sight, but quickly lifted a hand to her mouth, stopping the bile from coming up, before turning away from the sight of the Keeper and starting again down the dark hallway.
The longer she walked down the cramped, bloody antechamber, the more painfully aware she became of her body in the dark, of her distended stomach hanging in front of her, feeling unbearably heavy and alien, like baggage strapped around her waist. The taut, bulbous skin felt cumbersome and unseemly, burdensome, unpleasant, like something she should have been able to take off with her armour but somehow could not find the clasp to do so. Shepard pressed a hand to her stomach, attempting to settle her nerves, hoping to feel the warmth, the sense of peace, of hope, but instead her midsection only felt strange and unsettled beneath her fingers, like a bowling ball in a bag of water inside her undersuit, weighing her down. Taking another pained step forward, she stumbled, barely sparing a glance for the severed leg she had tripped over before taking a deep breath and holding it in, setting her sights for the hall ahead.
"Whoa," Anderson's voice suddenly breathed through her in-ear comm, causing her to stop short, looking up, attentive. "One of the walls here just realigned itself. The place is shifting… changing." Shepard frowned at the walkway ahead, taken aback by this new development, as if expecting to see some sort of movement in the walls of the hallway where she stood, but everything remained unnervingly still save for one of the harsh lights lining the footpath starting to flicker somewhere further down in the dark. "There's a chasm here," Anderson spoke again, causing Shepard to look down, now staring at the bloody floor at her feet. "And more hallways like the one I was in."
No sooner had Anderson said these words when Shepard suddenly heard a loud rattling noise, and, looking up again, she realized that what she had thought to be a dead end wall at the end of the hallway had started to slowly slide open in front of her, revealing a dimly-lit hallway beyond. The hallway was metal, bare and stark, the wider path dropping off into a chasm over which stretched a sturdy-looking metallic bridge, a string of harsh lights like the ones in the bloodied hallway lining the path on either side. The glare from the floodlights blinded her momentarily, and she lifted a weak hand over her eyes, allowing her vision to adjust as she took another few uncertain steps forward towards the bridge, the open air feeling cold and eerily still against her exposed skin. "I think I'm near an exit," she told him, hopefully, taking another step forward towards the expanse of the chasm. Blackened burn marks lined the floor of the bridge, enormous smudges in what seemed to be the shape of organic bodies, and when Shepard turned, she noticed that some of these bodies had been left where they fell, just like the bodies in the room before, the lifeless corpses draping, undignified, over the edges of the railing.
"I see something up ahead," Anderson's voice came through her comm again, causing her to turn her attention back towards the crossing. "Might be a way to cross over."
"Don't get too far ahead of me," Shepard told him, quickly, limping towards the stretch of bridge. She paused, peering once more over the side towards the vast chasm, before starting to make her way slowly across the expanse, trying not to think about how far of a drop it would be back down to the ground where she had come from. The bridge seemed endless as she walked, and she stumbled wearily to one side, giving her injured leg a rest, leaning a hand against the sturdy barrier as she struggled to push herself further forward.
"Where do you think you're at?" Anderson asked, his voice barely above a wary whisper, causing Shepard to stop short, frowning faintly, breathing heavily as she looked over across the stretch of chasm again. As she did so, she heard a loud whirring sound, and as she watched, a series of metal plates began to shift across the chasm, moving downward, almost as if the Citadel had developed a mind of its own.
"I just found that chasm you were talking about—" Shepard started to answer, frankly, swallowing hard to keep from panting openly into her comm, but Anderson quickly cut her off, talking over her, not allowing her to finish.
"Hold on," Anderson told her, his voice quickening, causing her to look up at the sudden change of tone. "I see something… a control panel, maybe? I'm just gonna go o—" But before his message could finish transferring, the connection between the two comms fizzled out, obscuring the rest of his statement in harsh, crackling white noise.
Shepard frowned at the interference, reaching up a hand to tap her in-ear comm, trying to figure out if it was just a connection error. "Anderson?" she asked, pausing in her tapping to listen for an answer. When no answer came through the static, she let out a deep sigh, letting her hand fall back to her side as she turned her attention back towards the waiting end of the bridge again. "Damn it," she swore, quietly, before pushing herself away from the wall of the bridge and starting to move towards the end again.
Between her wounded leg, her diminishing strength, and the low, lingering burning sensation that threatened to take hold of her heart and lungs, the incline up the last stretch of the bridge was nearly impossible for her to climb, but, as she finally rounded the crest of the pathway, she found herself facing what looked to be a large, circular, suspended platform. The platform was broad, made of plain, polished metal, with pathways just like the one she had come from leading off in several directions. It did not seem to have any sort of barrier surrounding it, or anything else that might keep them from falling into the bottomless abyss of the Citadel below, but a wide wall of panoramic glass encircled the entire display, offering an unhindered view of the glinting lights of the closed Citadel arms. Across the deck from her, near what she guessed was the front of the circular platform, Anderson stood with his back to her in front of what appeared to be some sort of control panel, likely the one he had mentioned before their comm connection had been severed. He leaned heavily against one of the metal sides of the control as he slowly peck-typed in some sort of override code with his one free, blood-coated hand. His left leg was bent awkwardly under him, bloodied and twisted to one side, crippled and apparently nearly useless as he hopped forward a bit more, trying to balance on his one good leg.
"Anderson," Shepard called out to him, her voice strangled, her throat dry. Anderson turned, limping as he dragged his injured leg around to face her, his arms held precariously out to his sides as he tried to keep his balance. His lips were cracked and bloodied, his cheek split open, and one of his eyes was so bruised it had swollen shut, a nasty, ragged cut slicing open the purple flesh, causing pus and blood to dribble down his face, pooling at his jaw. Shepard started to take another step forward towards him, but suddenly found that her feet would not move, her legs frozen under her in suspended animation, her arms feeling numb, limp, and impossibly heavy. Her vision swam with black, swampy blurs, her head feeling overfull, heavy, and agonizingly busy, as if it were suddenly filled with the buzzing of thousands of angry hornets, making it impossible to think. Whispered voices echoed in her ears, unintelligible, overlapping, angry and hateful, becoming more and more desperate the louder they became.
Looking up at Anderson again, Shepard recognized that something seemed off about him as well, and as he took another step forward towards her, she realized that his motions did not seem to be his own, but rather as if he were being pulled forward on the strings of a giant, invisible marionette. "Shepard," Anderson croaked, sounding worried, trying his best to warn her. "I… can't…"
"I underestimated you, Shepard."
The smooth, self-satisfied voice came from behind her, and Shepard felt her hair start to stand on end at the sound, a hateful chill trickling down her spine as she struggled to turn her head to look back towards him, but found herself unable to move at all. Even without seeing him, she knew exactly who it was, and as the Illusive Man came around to face her, she felt a rush of blood coursing through her, her pulse speeding up with anger at the sight of him. His looks had deteriorated since the last time they had come face to face, his outward appearance now a far cry from the pristine, composed image of his holo-projection. Dark circles had formed around his glowing blue eyes, shadowy and sunken, like the eyes of a Husk, while blackened, burn-like streaks trailed down his face like bloody nail marks, with pockmarked, bright blue cybernetic implants flickering under the greyish skin at every turn of his head. His flawlessly pressed suit was rumpled and uneven, the first button left undone at the top of his shirt, and his usually immaculate silver hair was dishevelled, untamed, and overlong, as if he had not run a brush through it in days. His generally pristine, manicured nails were uncut, yellowed, and blackened at the nailbed, belaying his faintly shaking hands and making him look as if he had not slept in weeks.
"Nice to see you could make it, Shepard," the Illusive Man told her, his voice chillingly calm, almost aloof. He had a particular way of saying her name that made her feel as though she were the subject of some morbid nature documentary, and while she had always been able to tune it out before, the tone of dismissive superiority now rang violently in her ears, causing every muscle in her body to tense at the sound, making her see red. Pausing in front of her, the Illusive Man took his lighter from his jacket pocket, clicking the flame into life and lighting the new cigarette dangling from his lips, before taking the cigarette from his mouth, wetting his lips, and exhaling a sharp huff of smoke. Then, turning to look at her again, he grinned at her, mocking her helplessness, before making her watch as he took another deep puff of his cigarette, savouring it, taking his time.
"What—?!" Shepard choked, barely able to force the single word out through her gritted teeth.
"I warned you," the Illusive Man told her, dismissively, staring down at the end of his cigarette as he exhaled another lungful of smoke, as if it had become the most interesting thing in the world. "Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers… and of you, if necessary. Though, to be honest, I've come to realize that controlling you isn't that hard… not really." Having said this, he brought the cigarette back to his lips, taking a long, pensive drag of it as his glowing blue eyes trailed slowly down from her dishevelled hair to her scuffed, heavy boots, before moving back up the slope of her blood-soaked legs, finally coming to rest on her stomach. His gaze settled there, considering her, until, after a moment of contemplation, a sick, smug smirk began to pull at the corners of his thin mouth. Taking the cigarette from his mouth again, he wet his lips, flicking glowing embers from the end as he exhaled a long, fine stream of smoke, his eyes dropping from her stomach to the floor, as if to afford her some disparaging decency.
"Putting Cerberus' money and the galaxy's time to good use, I see," he informed her, self-satisfied. "Though I have to say, from the reports I got while you were still working for us, I knew it was only a matter of time. How the Alliance managed to keep you from getting pregnant years ago is beyond me."
"Take your petty insults and… shove them up your ass," Shepard growled, repeating her mother's sentiment, forcing her words through frozen, clenched teeth. "I'm not here to measure dicks with you. I came here to… activate the Catalyst, and you're… in the way."
The Illusive Man looked up at her again at this, bouncing his cigarette almost nonchalantly between his fingers, his cybernetic blue gaze moving between her stomach and her face as the sickeningly complacent smirk on his face grew wider. He lifted his cigarette, nearing it to his mouth again and taking in another deep breath, as if trying to see how long he could keep her waiting before she lost her cool completely. "The only thing I'm standing in the way of is you making a terrible mistake," he told her. "The Catalyst will be activated, but not as a means to destroy, as you intend. When I do activate the Catalyst – and I will – it will be as a means to control."
"They're controlling you," Anderson insisted, jerking his head to face the Illusive Man, grunting in effort as he struggled to perform even such a simple motion. In response, the Illusive Man smirked, holding up his hands, as if to show how easily he could do it.
"I don't think so, Admiral," he told Anderson, bluntly, before shaking his head, amused.
"Controlling me is a lot different than controlling a Reaper," Shepard hissed, grunting as she forced her head a few inches to one side, getting a better look at the Illusive Man.
The Illusive Man paused, considering this, bringing a thoughtful hand up to his chin, before offering another soft, dark chuckle and shaking his head, letting his hand drop back to his side. "Have a little faith," he told her, turning to face the massive, panoramic window, looking out on the lights of the closed Citadel arms. Bringing his cigarette up to his lips, he took a deep, pensive drag of it, tucking his free hand into his pocket as he made her wait for his next words. "When humanity discovered the mass relays, when we learned there was more to the galaxy than we imagined, there were some who thought the relays should be destroyed," he told her, exhaling smoke in a thin, concise stream. "They were scared of what we'd find – terrified of what we might let in. But look at what humanity has achieved." Turning away from the window, he began to pace slowly across the floor towards her, bouncing his cigarette between his fingers as he locked his cybernetic gaze on her, intent. "Since that discovery, we've advanced more than the last ten thousand years combined," he told her, inspired. "And the Reapers will do the same for us again – a thousand fold. But…"
He stopped, holding his free hand out towards her, before lifting it slowly, as if conducting a private orchestra. As he did so, her hand raised independently from her side, holding up her Carnifex and aiming it at Anderson. "…Only if we can harness their ability to control."
"Bullshit," Anderson spat back, grunting in pain as his injured knee popped, causing Shepard to flinch at the sound. "We destroy them, or they destroy us."
"And waste this opportunity?" the Illusive Man insisted, rounding on Anderson. "Never."
"You're playing with things you don't understand," Shepard hissed, choking out her words, her jaw rigid, locked together by whatever morbid influence he was using against her. "With power… you shouldn't be able to use."
The Illusive Man paused, taking a thoughtful breath in, before turning away from Anderson again to stare once more out the panoramic window. "I… don't believe that," he answered, disinterestedly. "If we can control it, why shouldn't it be ours?"
"Because we're not ready," Shepard insisted. Her hand shook violently as she fought to drop it, but she could not break his influence, and her arm remained suspended, frozen in place.
The Illusive Man shook his head in response, resting his hand against his chest. "No," he told her, matter-of-factly. "This is the way humanity must evolve."
"There is always another way," Anderson hissed, shifting his weight to try to relieve his wounded leg, but to little avail.
The Illusive Man huffed, unimpressed, before turning away from the panoramic window again to face the two of them once more. "I've dedicated my life to understanding the Reapers," he maintained, flicking ashes impatiently from the end of his cigarette. "And I know with certainty the Crucible will allow me to control them."
"And then what?" Shepard insisted, causing the Illusive Man to turn his attention on her, his expression growing suddenly dark.
"Look at the power they wield!" the Illusive Man pressed, taking an insistent step forward towards her. "Look at what they can do!" As he said this, he lifted his free hand, clenching it into a fist, causing an aura of muddy purple light to radiate out from his palm. All at once, Shepard felt every muscle in her body contract, her finger jerking on the trigger, causing the gun to go off, hitting Anderson squarely in the stomach. Anderson shouted in pain, his body jerking, unable to move to cover the bullet-wound, but Shepard could barely hear him over the feeling of a rush of blood running down both her legs, pooling in the crevices of her boots and causing a large, bloody puddle to form on the floor around her feet. Anderson gave a grunt of pain, breathing heavily through his nose, his breathing practiced, trying hard to keep his pulse low, but when Shepard looked up at him again, he did not even seem to be concerned with his own injury anymore. His dark eyes grew wide as he stared at the pool of blood she now stood in, his expression ashen and gaunt, and Shepard gritted her teeth, giving one choked, strangled, dry sob as her entire body began to shake, her hand vibrating so violently she could barely keep hold of her gun. Steeling herself, she wet her lips, taking a deep, shuddering breath, before turning her stinging red eyes on the Illusive Man, hateful, not letting him see her so weak.
"I see what they did to you," Shepard told him, her voice trembling, threatening to break with indignant anger.
At this, The Illusive Man turned on her again, his glowing blue eyes flashing as they widened on her. "I took what I wanted from them," he insisted, harshly. "Made it my own! This isn't about me, or you, or that disgusting creature you're carrying. It's about things so much bigger than all of us!"
"He's wrong," Anderson coughed, his breathing ragged, his words frothy with blood. "Don't listen to him."
The Illusive Man scoffed at this opposition, turning sharply on his heel and flicking angry ashes from the end of his cigarette as he rounded on Anderson, his hateful gaze burning into him. "Yes, don't listen to me," he sneered, seething, baring his blackened teeth. "Don't listen to me, of course. You're probably fucking her, too, aren't you? That always was the only thing that seemed to motivate her." Then, turning to face Shepard again, he indicated harshly towards her with his bent, battered cigarette. "Tell me, Shepard, whose baby is that?" he insisted, coldly. "Or do you even know?" Letting out another hard, mocking snort of breath, he shook his head, taking a shaky drag of his cigarette, before wetting his lips and exhaling the smoke in a huff. "So who will you listen to, Shepard?" he demanded, spreading out his arms to indicate the room at large. "An old soldier stuck in his ways? Only able to see the world down the barrel of a gun?" Letting his hands fall back to his sides, he moved across the floor towards Shepard again, before leaning down to look into her face. "And what if he's wrong?" he hissed, intent. "What if controlling the Reapers is the answer?"
"If we destroy the Reapers, this ends today," Shepard answered, her voice stronger now, insistent. "But if you can't control them—"
"But I CAN!" the Illusive Man shouted, cutting over her, his voice breaking in desperation as he threw his cigarette to the floor, forgotten. "I CAN control them!"
"Are you willing to bet humanity's existence on it?" Shepard challenged, her voice growing stronger with indignation, feeling the murky black influence he had over her starting to slowly trickle away the more upset he became. She tried to move her gun arm again, fighting hard against the force that bound her, feeling her heels dig more firmly into her boots as she struggled, the sickening lukewarm slush of blood seeping further up the sides with every motion.
The Illusive Man shook his head again, more adamantly this time, his singed silver hair growing wild as he ran his hands back through it, desperate, before holding his hands out in front of him and staring down at them, half-curling them into claws. "I… KNOW… IT WILL WORK…!" he insisted, his voice halting, shaking, threatening to break as his hands began to tremble in front of him. Lifting his hands to his head again, he held them away from his temples, still vibrating, before tucking his head down and shaking it violently, trying to clear it, looking as if he were having some sort of psychosomatic fit.
"You can't, can you?" Shepard pressed, her voice cutting, unrelenting, doing everything she could to get inside his head. "They won't let you do it."
"NO!" the Illusive Man shouted, righting himself again, pointing an accusatory finger at Shepard as he looked up at her with wide, wild, indignant eyes. "I'm in control! NO ONE'S telling me what to do!"
"Listen to yourself," Anderson begged, his voice hoarse as he coughed in pain, the dark supernatural influence clearly the only thing keeping him on his feet. "You're… indoctrinated…!"
"No!" the Illusive Man insisted, indignantly, turning sharply on Anderson now. "NO! The two of you, so self-righteous! You think power like this comes easy?! There are sacrifices!" Wheeling back towards Shepard again, he pointed one blackened finger towards her stomach, irate. "What could you possibly know about sacrifice – look at you!" he told her, harshly, spittle flying from his mouth as he spoke. "Four, five months pregnant in the middle of a war?! You think this is a game, Shepard! This is no game, not for me! Not for humanity!"
"This isn't a game," Shepard told him, her voice hissing as she shook her head. "Not for any of us. But you've sacrificed too much."
The Illusive Man bristled at this accusation, his chin jerking sharply upward as he lifted a shaking hand towards his face, holding it there for a moment, frozen, as if trying to think of something insightful to say but coming up with nothing. "Shepard, I… I only wanted to protect humanity!" he finally told her, turning away from her towards the panoramic windows of the Citadel. "The Crucible can control them – I know it can! I just…!" He stopped, his voice cracking, before trailing off and turning back around to face her again, bringing his hands down in front of him and starting to wring them anxiously. She could see him fidgeting with the blackened nail of his ring finger, and as she watched, she could see the nail start to lift slightly from the nailbed, but he did not even seem to notice as he stared at her, intent, preoccupied, obliviously picking away.
"It's not too late," Shepard told him, half-exasperated, her voice taking on a reassuring tone for the first time since she had started talking to him. "Let us go. We'll do the rest."
The Illusive Man faltered, his hands stopping in their fidgeting, his entire body seeming to come to a standstill as he stared at her, his eyes wide, as if seriously considering her offer. Then, bringing his hand up again, he bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger as he let out a deep, shuddering exhale. "I…" he said, his voice wavering, his hands still visibly shaking even as he tried to appear collected and in control. Then, letting his hands drop back to his sides again, he took a deep breath, looking up at her again, before shaking his head, his hands curling into half-claws at his sides. "I… I can't do that, Commander," he told her, his voice breaking even through his determination.
"Of course you can't," Anderson growled, dragging his leg a few inches forward as he strained to look over at the Illusive Man. "They own you now."
Turning his flashing eyes on Anderson, the Illusive Man stiffened, his expression instantly hardening into the look of a dog detecting an intruder. Then, making his way over to where Anderson stood, he reached down to the older man's belt, pulling his weapon from its holster and holding it up, inspecting it in the wan light of the Citadel control. "You… you'd undo everything I've accomplished," he told them, dropping the hammer of the Carnifex and listening as it powered up, watching the red lights flicker on in almost detached interest. "I won't let that happen."
"Because of you, humanity is already undone," Shepard hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.
"That's not true!" the Illusive Man insisted, his voice breaking audibly as he threw up his hands in desperation, the gun flailing half-forgotten in his palm as he gestured wildly towards her, almost begging her to take back her words.
"They have the Citadel!" Shepard shot back, harshly, not giving him an inch. "They've got us fighting each other instead of fighting them!"
The Illusive Man let out a cry of anguish at this, his free hand flying to his head, running anxiously back through his hair as he began to pace in front of her. The hand with the gun moved up and down, pausing to aim at nothing before falling back down to his side again, as if he were too upset to have any real idea of what he wanted to do with it. "I just need to—!" he started to justify himself, but he did not even get his words out before she shouted over him again, cutting him off, not letting him finish his train of thought.
"You've done exactly what the Reapers wanted!" Shepard told him, her voice rising in angry pitch, causing him to bring his hands to his head again with a strangled shout, trying in vain to block her out. "You're still doing it because they control you!"
"I…!" the Illusive Man shouted back, uselessly, his voice cracking loudly as he brought his free hand back to his head, gripping a handful of silver hair as the barely-visible whites of his eyes began to turn red with the start of angry, desperate, frightened tears. "They're too strong…!"
"You're stronger!" Shepard insisted, shouting over him, getting in his head as best she could. "Don't let them win! Break their hold! Don't let them control you!"
At these last words, the Illusive Man looked up, his cybernetic gaze flat and blank, his mannerism seeming almost aimless as he took a deep, shuddering breath. Then, still holding the readied gun in one hand, he let his arms drop back to his sides, turning to look at Shepard again, defeated. His eyes lingered on her for a long moment, saying nothing, his lips drawing into a thin, conquered line as the tension in the room rose higher, razor-thin, shrill and ringing, like a single, tinny note drawn out painfully long. "What will your child think?" he finally asked her, his voice fading in and out as he spoke, his throat dry and raw, too weary to fake proud bravado any longer. "Knowing his mother sacrificed his future to attain her own selfish goals. Knowing he could have had a future of promise, a future of progress, of knowledge… but you just wanted a future of hollow victory and unnecessary bloodshed." Swallowing hard, he frowned again, his blackened fingers shifting warily on the grip of the gun as he swayed ever so slightly in place, tilting his ruined head to one side, regretfully. "You're nothing but a soldier, Shepard," he told her, shaking his head, slowly. "That's all you ever were. You never shared in my ambitions. I wish you had, but… you never could. It's my fault, I suppose… for being so blind. I should have been able to see that from the start."
Having said this, the Illusive Man paused, his gaze drifting slowly away from her before finally coming to rest somewhere past her, stopping midway between the floor and the panoramic glass. Then, after a long moment, his thin mouth twisted into a bitter, twisted half-smirk, and he let out a soft huff of cynical, humourless laughter. "Who am I kidding?" he asked, speaking to no one in particular, his usually self-assured voice thin and weak. "It doesn't matter anyway. That child is probably not even human." He stayed that way another moment longer, his brow furrowing into a hard, silver line, seemingly lost in thought. Then, turning his attention up towards Shepard again, he steeled his expression, his eyes growing hard and cold as he stared at her, his hand tightening determinedly around the grip of the gun. "I… tried, Shepard," he told her, honestly, no sign of hesitation in his tone. Then, before she had a chance to object, he brought the gun up to his temple, squeezing the trigger, and ended his life, collapsing into a defeated pile on the floor of the Citadel observatory.
With the Illusive Man dead, the eerie hold that had taken control of Shepard and Anderson immediately subsided, allowing Shepard to finally drop the arm holding the Carnifex at steady gunpoint with an exclamation of pained relief. Tucking her gun back into her belt, she started across the observatory towards the control panel, dragging her injured leg under her, forcing herself to walk on it as she made her determined way towards the Citadel control, intent on doing what she had come to do. As she worked at the control override, she heard a heavy thump from behind her, and, turning, she watched in grave concern as, with nothing left to hold him upright, Anderson's injured legs gave way beneath him, and he collapsed, half-conscious, to the floor of the observatory. Pressing his hands to the bullet-wound in his stomach, Anderson grunted, letting out a sharp, hard breath as he tried to stop the injury from bleeding as much as he could manage. Turning her attention back to the controls, Shepard slowly finished her system override, her vision starting to swim as she entered the last crucial numbers and took a step back from the panel, listening in proud, injured satisfaction as the massive arms of the Citadel began to thrum and vibrate, preparing to open to accept the Crucible.
"This is it, everyone," Hackett's voice suddenly crackled in over her in-ear comm, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin at the sound. With everything that had gone on since the last time she had utilized her comm, she had almost forgotten she still had it in, and even the sound of a familiar voice in her ear was not enough to quell her surprise that she still retained some contact with the outside world. "The arms are opening. Ten seconds to contact." Taking another step back from the controls, Shepard steeled her footing against the edge of the panel, watching as the enormous arms of the Citadel began to slowly peel open like a massive, morbid metal flower blooming in slow motion. Just then, the deep sound of Anderson's voice pulled her attention away from the Citadel controls, causing her to turn quickly in place, giving a soft hiss of pain as the sudden movement exacerbated her open bullet-wound. Pressing a hand to her exposed side, she held onto the control panel to help keep her balance as she moved back away from the edge of the observatory towards where Anderson had pushed himself upright and was now sitting in place, watching her thoughtfully.
Sharp, cutting pain coursed through her wounded leg as she limped forward towards him, the throbbing ache shooting up her spine, making her lungs feel as if she had inhaled shards of glass. Finally coming to stand in front of him at the edge of the raised central platform, she paused, the hand that had been covering her side now resting absently against the small of her back as she stared down at the empty spot beside him. Her gaze shifting over to Anderson, she hesitated, anxiously watching him as he looked up at her, his dark eyes trailing over her weary form, pausing momentarily on her obvious stomach, before moving the rest of the way up to her face, stopping only when he reached her eyes. "Commander," Anderson acknowledged her, gently, giving a short nod and indicating for her to join him against the platform. Taking his invitation, Shepard lowered herself slowly downward, faltering as she reached out a hand to steady herself, before she suddenly felt Anderson's hand on her arm, reassuring her, helping her make it all the way to the ground to sit beside him.
Stretching her tired legs out in front of her, Shepard let out a soft, drained sigh, sliding her hand under the curve of her stomach to feel it resting reassuringly in her lap. She figured, with everything out in the open, there was no point in hiding it anymore, but even so Anderson did not stare, instead turning his gaze away from her to look out the panoramic windows towards the open expanse of Earth below. His chest rose and fell evenly as he watched the soundless destruction playing out like a silent vid below, his thick brows furrowing into a hard, pensive line as he stared straight ahead in thoughtful silence, his expression solemn but serene. Turning to look over towards Anderson again, Shepard hesitated, unsure what there was to say. Then, letting out a soft, relieved breath of tired laughter, she smiled, her face feeling sore and weather-beaten as the edges of her mouth curved ever slightly upward. "We did it," she told him, proudly, feeling her heart give a short, soft flutter at the words she never thought she would hear herself say out loud.
Anderson grunted, giving a short, stilted half-nod, before turning to glance over towards her, his dark eyes fond as he regarded her. "Yes… we did," he agreed, just as proudly, his deep voice hoarse, stilted with pain. "We both… did." Clearing his throat, Anderson shifted his weight against the platform, forcing himself to sit more assuredly upright, one knee tucking up halfway towards him as the other stretched out in front of him, relieving it. "It's… quite a view," he added, quietly, giving a soft, resolving sigh.
Shepard nodded along with the comment, giving another sharp gasp of pain as her bullet-wound twinged again, her fingers curling around the open burn in her side as she tried to ignore the blood that had soaked through her undersuit. "Best seats in the house," she agreed, weakly, giving a small, pained smile before shifting to sit a bit straighter as well.
Taking a deep breath, Anderson's eyes narrowed faintly as he stared out the window towards the slowly-nearing expanse of Earth beneath their weary feet. "God…" he breathed, letting out a heavy, tired sigh, his chest heaving with exhausted effort as he wet his dry, chapped lips. "Feels like years since I just… sat down."
Shepard gave a soft, pained gasp of a laugh in response, tucking her knees a bit closer to her body as she did so. "I think you earned a rest," she said, glancing over towards Anderson momentarily before sliding the tips of her fingers inside the torn material of her shirt to feel the charred rash the gunshot had left behind. She could tell, even without inspecting it, that it was not going to be an easy or painless fix, and she let out another overwhelmed sigh at the thought, dropping her hand back to her side, defeated. Turning her attention towards Anderson again, she looked down towards his hands, sitting, open-palmed and weary, in his lap, and, reaching over towards him, she picked up his calloused left hand, turning it over in the light. A tiny, pained smile inched over her cracked lips as she noticed a blood-stained, faded gold metal ring around his third finger, and she gave a soft breath of laughter as she looked up at him again, expectant. "You never told me you were m… married," she told him, taking a short gasp of breath as a searing pain pierced through her ribs, her expression flinching for a moment before she wet her lips, tasting blood, steeling herself as best she could.
Anderson hesitated, glancing down towards the ring on his finger, as if surprised by the revelation himself, before letting out a hoarse, tired chuckle in return. "I never told anyone," he confessed, coughing a bit as he turned the ring towards him, reflecting the coarse light of the Citadel control. "Didn't want to make a big fuss about it. Me and Kahlee Sanders… we tied the knot in secret right before the push for Earth. Over vidcomm. Not very romantic, but times being what they are…" He coughed again, louder this time, cutting himself off short as he dropped his hand back to his lap, blood trickling down his chin as he took in a long, ragged breath. "We'd planned to… renew our vows in person after the war was over," he added, taking in a deep breath as his eyes began to flutter again. "But now I don't know if… I'm going to make it to the ceremony."
"You'll make it, Anderson," Shepard assured him, stifling a shock of pain as she gave him a sharp, determined nod. "Even if I have to… carry you there, myself."
Anderson opened his eyes at this, giving a thin, doting smile at her words, but the smile soon faded from his face as he stared straight ahead, his dark eyes pensive, distant, almost glassy as he took in the silent carnage below. "You ever wonder…" he suddenly spoke up again, his words thoughtful, drawn-out, his brow furrowing faintly as he turned the words over and over in his mind. "How things would have been different… how our lives would be… different… if this hadn't happened?" A thin silence settled following these words, and for a long moment neither of them spoke, merely staring down at the world spread out below them, silent and surreal. It almost felt as if they had become somehow detached from their bodies, as if both of them were ethereal otherworldly beings looking down on a universe they were no longer a real part of it. Shepard had never been one to believe in such fanciful things as God or heaven, but she had to imagine that if such a place existed, it would likely be something very much like this.
"I never had a family, Shepard," Anderson suddenly spoke again, breaking the thoughtful silence, a strangely longing, almost sad ache to his deep voice. "Not really. Not the way I… imagined it'd be." He paused, his brow furrowing faintly in thought, the tip of his tongue moving slowly out to wet his cracked, bloody lips. "I have my son… from my first marriage," he added, his gaze drifting pensively down towards his boots. "But we never talk. I wish… I wish I'd spent more time with him. I wish…" Taking another deep, laboured breath, he raised his brows, his eyes still distant as his lips drew into a thin, penitent line. "I wish… I could have had children with Kahlee," he said, quieter. "She wanted children… so much."
"There will be time enough for that, now," Shepard told him, reassuringly. In response, Anderson gave a soft, wheezing cough of a laugh, the edges of his dark eyes pinching at the thought, his cracked lips parting to reveal blood-stained teeth before he closed his mouth again, hiding the telltale crimson from view.
"I… I think that ship has sailed," he told her, his voice faintly choked as he wet his lips, turning his gaze down towards his hands still sitting in his lap. Then, after a moment of pause, he turned to look towards Shepard again, his gaze moving momentarily over her stomach before returning earnestly to her face. "What about you?" he asked, gasping a bit, causing her to look over at him, surprised. "Ever think about… settling down?"
Shepard hesitated, trying to figure out if he were joking or not, before finally letting out a faint, almost sad breath of a laugh in response and shaking her head. "Yeah…" she answered, half-sarcastic, turning to look back down towards her stomach again, before letting out another soft sigh. Anyone who knew her well knew that she was the least likely person in the world to give up a military career in exchange for a life of suburban comfort, but, even so, she could not help but find something oddly appealing about the idea. Something about the notion of being able to vanish into a life of monotonous anonymity, to disappear from the history books as suddenly as she had come into them, was so surprisingly tempting to her that for a moment, she paused, the smile fading from her lips as she found herself seriously considering this suggestion. "I like the sound of that," she finally said, her voice faint, distant, almost longing. She hesitated a moment longer, before suddenly catching herself again and giving a short, soft, injured hiccup of a laugh. "Not sure I'd be much good at it, though," she added, looking up at Anderson again, before giving a hiss and clutching at her bullet wound again as it gave another sudden twinge of pain.
Anderson frowned, his brow furrowing in concern as he watched her grasp for the wound in her side. "Sure you would," he finally answered, deciding against mentioning it. He stared at her for a moment longer, taking her in, his dark eyes conveying every emotion, every fatherly notion. Then, reaching out a blood-stained hand, he took hold of her shoulder, gently coaxing her over closer to him, letting his arm rest around her waist as she shifted her painful way next to him against the platform. Laying her head against his shoulder, Shepard took a deep, thoughtful breath in, inhaling the familiar scent of his aftershave, the smell of metal against his skin, feeling as he moved his hand up a bit more, slowly, before finally letting it come to rest against her stomach. Lifting his dark, weary gaze back to her face, Anderson smiled, the gesture pained but sincere, the corners of his mouth twitching as they pressed upward into his dimpled cheeks. Shepard stared back at him, realizing for the first time that while she had seen him smile before, it had never been this heartfelt, this bright, this genuinely happy, and she could not help but feel a certain air of foreboding at the sight of it.
Lifting a blood-caked hand, Shepard rested it on top of Anderson's on her stomach, her fingers drawing over the rough, dark skin, noting how cold he felt to the touch. Anderson's eyes did not leave her face at the gesture; he simply continued to watch her, his smile fixed, his eyes gleaming, though whether that was from the emotion he was feeling or the pain, it was difficult to tell. "I think you're going to make a great… mother," he finally told her, breaking the quiet that had fallen between them.
Shepard paused, taken aback, touched almost to tears by his words. Then, giving a soft, heavy-heartedly humoured breath, she offered him a gentle, sad smile in response. "Uh-huh," she answered, forcing a playfully dismissive tone, unsure of what else there was to say.
Anderson said nothing at this response, hardly seeming to even notice her concern as he took a deep, shaking breath, his calloused thumb stroking gently across the curve of her stomach, lost in thought. "You'll have… so many stories to tell," he finally told her, raising his thick brows as he turned to glance over towards her again, his dark gaze moving down to her stomach as he considered his words. "So many… heroic stories. Think how proud your kid will be, telling everyone… his mom is… Commander Shepard."
"I don't know about that," Shepard answered, half-jokingly, trying her hardest to stay positive for Anderson's sake, but it was proving difficult the longer the conversation went on. She did not want to disappoint or upset him, especially not now, but with the Reaper blast that had nearly taken her out right before the beam, she knew that there was no way her child would make it to full gestation, especially with how much blood she had lost from places she did not even want to think about. It was a startling realization, but she had been so completely distracted with trying to get up to the Catalyst to open the Citadel arms that it had not really even crossed her mind before now. As she looked down at the slick crimson that coated her legs, however, causing what was left of her undersuit to cling nauseatingly to her skin, she could not help but feel sick to her stomach, and she closed her eyes, her grip tightening faintly around Anderson's hand as she leaned back against his welcoming shoulder, trying to keep herself from being sick all over her own lap. Wetting her lips, she tasted the tinny flavour of blood, and, taking a deep, shaking breath, she finally opened her eyes again, before looking down at her and Anderson's hands pressed together against her stomach.
"Not everything I've done is… something to be proud of," she told him, quietly, her voice broken by soft gasps of pain as she tried her hardest not to cry. She would not cry. She could not cry, not here. Not now. Not in front of Anderson, with everything that was at stake. Perhaps later, when she had had the time to go over everything that had happened, time to reconcile and make sense of what had happened, she would allow herself to have a good cry alone in her quarters. Right now, however, she knew she needed to be strong, at least for Anderson's sake.
Anderson looked up at her at these words, his expression stern but kind, forgiving, tender and understanding as he stared at her, seeming almost to be looking through her exterior and straight down into her soul. "I'm proud of you," he told her, decisively, swallowing hard as he stifled another pained, ragged cough of breath. "You did good, child. You did… good."
Shepard clenched her teeth at his answer, feeling her expression start to slowly crumple as she tried hard to hold back a wave of tears, to no success. Tucking her head into his shoulder, she gave a soft, pained gasp of breath, wetting her chapped lips as a pair of warm tears skated down her dirtied cheeks, streaking dried blood down her chin. "Th… thank you, Sir," she finally answered, her hand holding tighter onto his as he slid his hand further across her stomach until it rested nearly on top of it. A wistful silence fell on the two of them as they sat staring out the panoramic window of the Citadel, the still, fateful quietude of space surrounding them, consuming them, with neither knowing if there was anything left to say. They watched as enormous Reapers were blown apart by the force of the Crucible weapon beam, torn to pieces by silent explosions, the entire spectacle seeming almost to be moving in slow motion as the lonely, twisted pieces floated freely around them in open space. Shepard's thumb passed distractedly over the tough skin of the back of Anderson's hand, barely even seeming to notice as he closed his eyes, his head coming to gently lean against the top of hers, still and silent.
"Anderson?" Shepard finally asked, quietly, breaking the pensive silence. "You still there?"
Anderson paused a moment, taking in a deep, shuddering breath, before finally letting out a weak, acknowledging grunt in response. "Hm," he answered, his deep voice faint, opening his eyes ever so slightly. "Still here. Not sure for how much longer, but… I'm still here."
At these words, Shepard frowned, feeling a hard, sick lump rising in her throat, threatening to choke her, causing her eyes to water once more with the sudden start of stubborn, inevitable tears. "You have to stay with me, Anderson," she told him, forcing her voice not to shake as she spoke. "You have to… stick around so you can be my baby's godfather."
Anderson paused again at this, considering her request, before a crooked, pained smile began to spread across his face. "That sounds… nice," he finally told her, taking in a deep, shaky breath before letting out another wet, injured cough. "Gonna have to get used to the idea that… he'll probably be spoiled rotten."
"She," Shepard corrected, gently, her reddened lips cracking painfully into a small, lopsided smile at the tentative confirmation. "And I'll get over it. Eventually."
"She…" Anderson repeated, closing his eyes again as he gave another light cough, dark red blood speckling onto his chapped lower lip as he did so. "A little girl. Even better. I always wanted… to spoil a little girl."
Shepard smiled softly at these words, blinking to keep herself awake as she watched the scene playing out beneath them. "Anderson?" she asked again, making sure he was still alert, though she was barely able to keep her own eyes open as she did so. Her lashes were caked with blood, and they stuck together stubbornly every time she closed her eyes, making the exertion it took to peel them apart seem less and less worth the trouble every time she blinked. She could feel a dark, heavy blanket of exhaustion settling over her as the overpowering prospect of sleep began to overtake her, and she had to catch herself from nodding off a few times as she took another deep, conscious breath. "Anderson, stay with me," she pleaded weakly, her bloody fingers curling more tightly around the hand pressed against her stomach, her hoarse voice cracking as it faded in and out. "We're almost through this. We'll make it through this. Anderson?
"…Anderson?"