.
Shadows extending into the night
To hunt and haunt her
A sacrifice of virtue, made her see
Flame burns deep
Blade cuts deeper
Shaping flesh and soul as one
Carving a new beginning
From death unleashed
From shadows spawned
Siebenbürgen - A crimson coronation
Chapter 1 ~ Death's rejected
Thump…
Thu-thump…
"..pard…"
Thu-thump… thu-thump…
"…ake up…"
Thu-thump. Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
"…won't wak…"
Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump
"Shep… eed… wake…"
Air. Noises. A pulsing drum. Was this… My. Heart? Cold. Dark. But not black.
Pain.
"Shepard!"
BREATHE!
I inhaled with a sharp gasp and awareness rushed into me as through a flood gate opened wide.
Darkness greeted me… I… I couldn't see! Alarm and confusion rocked my mind until I realized that my eyes were still closed. For a small eternity I struggled against the weight of my lids. The dark split into a line of light. There were… blurry shades and bright patches. From somewhere to my right I heard soft beeps. Their unnerving pattern disrupted by a distant alert's rising and falling. I wrinkled my nose at a biting scent. Antiseptics.
Where? Where was I… ?
I shivered. Below me was a hard cool surface and its chill had spread from by back throughout my whole body. Heavy arms protesting, I hugged myself for warmth. Numb fingers touched bare skin. My bare skin.
"Shepard, you need to wake up!"
The high-pitched female voice that had wakened me cut through my consciousness again. Was this hell? It certainly wasn't heaven, for heaven would have greeted me with a bourbon and a nice chair on the beach, instead of freezing limbs and voices yelling at me.
Slowly, my vision cleared and I tried to make sense of my environment. The first thing I saw was a white ceiling and neon tubes. One of them was flickering faintly. I turned my head sideways. Cabinets. Flasks. Screens. Strange apparatus. Was this… a lab? There was more. Tubes. Syringes. Infusion bags. Gray walls forming an optical symbiosis with stainless steel equip. In sum the room radiated all the charms of a high-tech morgue. Somehow I had always imagined hell to be more the fire and brimstone kind of place...
And then an orange emblem caught my eyes as it rotated idly on one of the screens. Hexagon-shaped, open at the bottom and flanked left and right by a line.
Oh fuck, shit.
Paralyzed I stared at it, my thoughts jumbling about like a freaked-out squirrel that couldn't find its nut. I squeezed my eyes shut.
This isn't real. This isn't real…
However, when I opened them again, the emblem was still there.
Cerberus.
Heaven help me, I had woken in a fucking Cerberus lab. On a steel table! Naked! My stomach heaved. Vivid images of gross experiments performed on defenseless bodies crawled into my thoughts unbidden. There had been dozens of victims in that facility on Binthu. They all had died in pain. And then there was Akuze… Quickly I subdued the memories before they could initiate a chain reaction that would only end with me falling into mindless terror.
"We have a Code Red! Get up and move, Shepard, damn it!"
Even with my mind hovering on the brink of panic I stiffened. My urges to act on orders issued by random strangers ran already low on ordinary days – and this one dragged 'ordinary' out to the backyard and blew its brains out with a sawed-off shotgun. Plus the voice came clearly over speakers. Speakers! This was absurd. The whole situation was absurd and it triggered a natural reflex, not even a decade of Alliance drill had managed to subdue.
I opened my mouth to tell that woman exactly where to shove her Code Red – and all that came out was a meager croak.
What the…
An explosion boomed somewhere below my location and cut off my unspoken tirade. A split second later its shock wave reached the room with a low tremor, rattling flasks and vials. I smelled smoke. Short bangs started pounding in a furious staccato not far away. Gunfire. I gritted my teeth and pressed my heels further against the hard surface.
"Shepard, what are you doing for god's sake? MOVE!"
Fat chance. My fingers clasped the edges of the table in a death grip. My muscles tensed and I clenched my jaws. The smoke thickened. The gunfire drew closer. And closer.
Arrg. Fuck this.
I rolled to the side and worked myself upright, each movement sending short painful pangs along my nerves. Finally, my legs dangled over the tables' edge. Wet strands of hair clung to my neck and nourished small rivulets that snaked down my collarbone. Too thick to be water. I brushed away a drop tickling my nose. The viscous substance had no distinct smell but started to dry onto my skin in a thin, sticky layer. I looked down. An army of electrodes plastered my chest and I ripped them off, forcing the ECG machine into a fit of anxious shrieks before it died down. Steeling myself with a deep breath, I slid down the table. Only… at some point, my femoral muscles had turned into a numb, useless mass. My butt hit the ground with a loud thump.
Behold Commander Shepard, mankind's elite soldier. Tremble with fear.
A sharp tug at my right arm brought my attention to the IV sticking in there. I pulled the syringe out, fighting another moment of nausea at the feel of the needle twitching under my skin. Goddammit. I really hated those little bastards.
I pounded at my numb thighs. Like watching a slug taking the stairs, sensation returned with painstaking slowness. The gunfire had stopped. Great. I had to get going. Like yesterday. I reached up to the table and hoisted myself up. Somehow I even managed to stay upright and hang on to the last shards of my dignity.
Serves you right. Why didn't you go down with your ship, as any decent commander would have?
The thought froze me. Wait… I had gone down with the Normandy… I had shoved Joker into the emergency pod and then…
A noise from the door slashed that particular line of thought. And once more the Cerberus woman's cutting yell, "Watch out! Mech!"
Caught up in reflex, I shoved the table at the sound's direction and dove to the side. A bullet hissed, an ass hair away from my temple. The table crashed into something and I rolled back on my feet. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, overriding any feelings of pain or modesty. The world around me sharpened. I tossed blonde sticky hair out of my face and found a sprawled mech under the overturned table, struggling to get free. The table heaved. With two leaps I reached the mech's arm trapped on my side. It was the one holding the gun. Jackpot. Just two damaged robot fingers later and I leaned over the table's edge. The pistol spat thunder and the synthetic's motions stopped permanently.
Exhaling, I rested my forehead for a short moment against the blissfully cool surface of the tabletop. That Cerberus woman had saved my life. It felt ugly and wrong. I rather liked my biases unambiguous and unquestioned.
Still hidden behind the overturned table I sneaked a glance at my loot. The gun felt good in my hand; nice grip, decent balance, minimal recoil – though packing more punch certainly wouldn't have harmed. I could swear it looked almost like one of Elanus Risk Striker's – if it hadn't been a version I'd never seen before.
In the distance the fire alert was still rising and falling. I pushed away from the table and retreated two steps. Carefully I eyed the door, gun held high.
What now, Sherlock?
Somehow the thought of roaming buck naked through the burning halls of who-knows-what freaked-out Cerberus compound utterly failed to appease me. Maybe this was some weird kind of hell after all…
"Shepard, you need to go. There will be more hostiles soon," the Cerberus woman spoke up again.
No shit. "Look." I forced out the croaky monosyllable. It sounded as if it had been stuck in my throat for far too long and rubbed my vocal cords raw. "I don't know who you are or why you're helping me. But I know you are Cerberus." I paused, waiting for an objection. There was none. "I wouldn't trust them with my rotten garbage. Why should I trust you?"
"I'm not your enemy. The mech…"
"Proves nothing!" I said, loading my voice with menace. "Who are you and where are we?" And why the hell did I wake naked on a goddamn operating table, while we're at it?
"Shepard, we have no time…"
I turned my head away from the door and scowled at the corner where I had spotted the surveillance camera. Flashing my lady bits to be preserved forever on some Cerberus high-sec cluster servers. Such a glamorous life I had...
"Fine. I'm CO Miranda Lawson and this is the Lazarus Research Station; headquarter to one of the most ambitious projects Cerberus ever raised."
"Aha. Which is…"
"Later. Our security was breached and the mechs were turned against us. They already killed most of the station's staff." There was a long exasperated sigh. "So, please; will you get out? I'll try to keep contact and guide you to my location. I tell you the rest then."
Like I was born yesterday.
"If this is a trick..." I began and finished with another hard stare, refusing to let my act of intimidation be demoralized by my own awe-inspiring appearance.
"No tricks. There must be some clips in the locker behind you. There should be clothes in there, too."
Clips. As in ammo clips? Really?
I stomped on the sigh and turned around to open said locker's steel doors. Bright pink sweats with rows of black Cerberus emblems running down legs and sleeves stared back at me.
Oh, goodie. I had no doubts anymore: I was in hell.
.~'*'~.
My world got clusterfucked at 25 minutes past noon.
I probably should mention for your benefit that – quite unusual for me – it didn't happen with havoc and bright lights, but rather unspectacular in form of a few words exchanged in front of a shuttle ready to take off, where I cornered two Cerberus henchmen long enough to finally spill out the truth.
"Don't you remember, Shepard?" Miranda Lawson – dark-haired, fair-skinned and armed with a lithe body that shamelessly advertised the Final Victory of jugs over gravitation – asked and my gaze shifted from her to Jacob Taylor – dark-skinned, broad-shouldered, military man, and from the looks he gave her probably her booty call. Their faces were caught somewhere between awkward silence and pitying commiseration. It caused an abyss to rip open at my feet and swallow me.
The problem was I did remember.
I had been sitting in the Mess and listened to Pressly lamenting once again how far our efficiency had dropped since the aliens left the ship. Alerts. Joker, shouting about the Normandy being attacked. Me, getting spaced. Suddenly, it was all there, including this fresh feel only a recent memory could have had. The pain. The fear. The anger at realizing I've failed. A cold darkness enfolding me. And then: nothing.
I had died. No, I just had died. This was what my brain was telling me; that just two fucking hours ago I had died, while my crew and ship were ripped apart. And yet… and yet I was back in the game, frigging impossible as it was.
Congrats, Shepard; rejected by death. What's next? A batch stating "Universe's joke of the year"?
Miranda Lawson suddenly came one step closer and peered concerned at my eyes.
"You're alright, Shepard? Shepard?"
She snapped her fingers twice and I blinked, finally catching the loose threads of reality that had started to unravel around me. "How long…"
"Today is the 29th of August, 2185."
I rubbed my temples. Two years. Dead for two goddamn years. And at the same time, it was just moments. Oh, hell. I was firmly trapped on a ride that was racing full tilt towards Mad City; brakes and seat belts, all off.
Dragging my feet along in resignation, I followed the two Cerberus agents into the shuttle. Sure, I trusted them about as far as I could throw them but let's have a look at my choices... Ah, yes. There were none. Behind me, Lazarus Station was slowly burning to ashes. And unfortunately, this was quite usual for me.
So I sat down across Lawson, the shuttle lifted off and I took a moment to listen to my body; because, frankly, that's what you do when you realize you've been dead. Unobtrusively I sniffed. But no, there was no lingering odor of decay, no shuffling edge to my motions and – I assure you – no overpowering need whatsoever to jump at my illustrious vis-à-vis to gorge at her highly sophisticated cerebral cortex.
Mhmm, brainz.
I snickered at my own thoughts then cringed at being watched while insane. I needed to get a grip. I took a deep breath and watched the blackness of space outside. The sight washed away all my twisted mirth like fresh paint in a downpour. If I closed my eyes… No. I was alive. For now. I couldn't fight off all memories, though.
"Please, give me the list," I said to Lawson, holding out my hand.
"What are you talking about?" The woman asked in ignorance. I was buying not an inch of it.
"Miss Lawson – Miranda – I just found out that my dead ass was resurrected by an organization that ranks in my personal opinion not far behind politicians, batarian slavers and people clubbing baby seals to death. How much patience do you exactly think I have left in me? So, stop dicking around and hand me the goddamn list or I swear you'll regret waking me before the mechs had the chance to eviscerate me in my sleep."
There. All nice and friendly. Why Taylor flinched in his seat was beyond me. Lawson finally released a huff, typed something into the datapad she had been clutching all the time as if it was her purse and this was Omega, and placed it in my outstretched palm. I scanned it and it was long. By the time I reached the last entry, I felt like sickening up.
21.
21 names glared at me from a list that had a big fat 'you suck at your job' written all over it.
21 people, I had been in charge of, who had trusted me to keep them in one piece, just dead and gone. Killed by a species, considered a myth among the rank and file of Citadel space. Yah. The day those myths stopped coming to life and pound at my door, I would surely thank the universe on my knees.
My eyes fell on the names again. Draven, Talitha. Suddenly, I wanted very badly to hurl the datapad against the wall.
22 then.
Damn you, girl! Why didn't you tell me earlier?
This was useless. No matter what, Talitha and her unborn child would still be buried six feet under. Or rather not, considering the footage of the crash site attached.
This was so…
I clenched my fist and locked my jaw. The constant string of revelations, varying from unpleasant to outright shattering, was finally taking its toll. An almost forgotten hot feeling was rapidly pushing its way towards the surface. Rage. Pure, luring and oh-so-dangerous. A spidery hairline crack fissured across the crystalline shell that was Shepard.
And inside me, something snapped its eyes open.
Oh no, you won't…
I shoved the snarling beast back into the dark pit where it had crawled out, and started counting from ten backwards. When I reached four, I was calm, collected and most important, in full control of myself.
Oblivious to my inner struggle, Lawson took the datapad back, her face shifting from sympathy to this certain blend of sophisticated confidence and mild contempt that she couldn't quite hide. "I'm sorry, Shepard, I can imagine this isn't easy for you, but we have to make sure you are fully operative."
Translation: I want to confirm that you're not nuttier than a fruitcake before I let you off the leash.
I barely kept myself from snarling at her. She had saved my life after all. A little civility wouldn't kill me. Unfortunately, I knew her type better than I'd have liked to. Correct to the point of pain-in-the-ass and not far off from having an unhealthy obsession with little checklists – Alliance Administration was grooming them into perfection. We usually didn't get along too well.
"Miranda," Taylor then interposed, "do you really believe those questions necessary? One might think if something's off with the Commander, we'd have realized it by now."
I gave a small start but he just kept looking at me with this open, trust inspiring expression that made me itch all over and scan my surroundings for hidden knives. There was no such thing as benevolence in the world where I came from. It didn't matter that my mind and my gut told me that this was an honest attempt at help – some instincts had simply been drilled in too deeply to be ever overwritten with common sense.
With a nod I acknowledged Taylor's concern, then focused again on the dark-haired woman.
"Thanks, but let's just get over with it. What do you need to know?" I asked in resignation. We locked our eyes for a moment. Yeah yeah. Refusal is nothing but a great waste of time. I dug an energy bar I had found back in the lab from the pocket of my hideous outfit. Flavored vanilla.
Yuck. Why me?
.~'*'~.
I glared at the man sitting across from me. Perhaps "sitting" wasn't quite the correct term. Wearing a suit easily three times a soldier's monthly salary and eyes filled with an unnatural bluish glow, the Cerberus honcho did his best to look the king reclining in his throne. A king pestered by an especially ignoble peasant. After giving me another muster – yes it's pink, get over it! – the Illusive Man spoke up again.
"Well, Shepard, how will you decide?"
This offer… It smelled worse than fish three weeks dead. No, make that fish three weeks dead, which had been lodged up deep deep deep inside a vorcha's ass. Of course I had to decline. Who gives a crap about passing GO and collecting 200 creds, anyway? In the back of my head, though, the voice of reason rambled on about the all the magnificent bargaining power pennyless cast aways held, so…
Dammit. You might have realized by now, that I'd rather have died than cutting a deal with –
Oh, wait. Heh, heh. Too late.
"Let's assume for a minute, I'd go with this. What makes you believe I'm able to stop the events coming for us single-handed? What if there are hundreds like Sovereign, or thousands, or millions?" Of course, just as well the Sovereign could have been the last demented relict of an ancient race, sputtering tons and tons of bull. But that would be almost like finding a beach bar on Noveria – impo-shove-it-up-your-ass-ssible. I couldn't hold back my short bitter laugh, though. "Last time I checked I was still mere mortal. Whatever you did to me in your labs, I highly doubt you could have changed that."
"There's more to you than you might think, Shepard. You're not just another soldier, no matter how hard you try to deceive yourself. You are a symbol. When the forebodings of war arise, you will be the guiding light humanity needs to be at their strongest."
There it was. The hero stamp I'd always dreaded. If anyone was ever in for a closer look, they would see I was anything but a hero. Just a mere soldier caught in her never-ending battle against disaster spreading. I lost my ship; I lost my crew. Why anyone even bothered to search for my corpse was beyond me.
"I understand that working for Cerberus presents a certain moral predicament for you, but what about the colonies? Don't you want the means to help them; to save them?"
Motherfucker. He had me with that, and we both knew it. Despite the fact that life had tried very hard to turn me into an uncaring sociopath there would always be this part of me which would rather lop off my right arm before walking away from those whose life I could save. It was the reason why I still felt a weird kind of guilt for leaving New York and why vivid dreams of death, blood and acid rain haunted too many of my nights.
I allowed the silence to stretch a little longer, just for the sake of it. Cornered, desperate and still too obstinate to go down without a fight – yup, the story of my life.
"I might help you – might – but there are conditions," I slowly began and held up my index finger. "First, I'm in command; if I say a risk isn't taken, you'll accept it. Second: The team? Who's in and who's not? My decision. And the efforts to contact my old squad are kept up." I stared at him in defiance.
"Anything else?" he asked smugly.
"I need resources freely at my disposal. I'll tell you beforehand; a mission like this is cost-intensive. You can have Lawson monitor the expenses if it makes you feel better. Ah, yes – and no screening of private communication, neither mine, nor the crew's."
"You voice high demands for someone on whom I spent four billions to revive." He took a deep pull on his cigarette and exhaled through his nose. Like an angry krogan just about to charge.
"You missed one crucial point: I never asked for you to bring me back from the dead." I stabbed the air in front of me to drive my argument home. "You did all of this just for one friggin' reason – because you realized the Reapers aren't just a pretty little myth – and now you need someone to carry the can. We both knew that Sovereign was just the scout, the forerunner, of something much more dire. I will see that we are as prepared as we can get – but it's done my way. Ahh, and one more thing."
He gave me a sharp look. Too bad I just ran out of fucks to give.
"My terms are not open for negotiations." I crossed my arms before my chest if only to keep myself from shaking my fist at him.
At that he started to clap his hands in a slow applause. My eyes narrowed. Why, why was his smug ass sitting in a classified location billions and billions of klicks away?
"Still very much yourself, I see. Shepard, I never expected you to accept my offer without reservations. You may have your way – as long as you don't forget who finances that expedition in the first place."
"Most unlikely. I assume Lawson will be my XO?"
He inclined his head. "Your assumption is correct. She will report your progress to me."
Which meant, she was going to spy on me for all her cute little ass was worth, duh.
"And Shepard? We have a common goal in this. Don't fail because of the inability to put your distrust on hold for a time."
"Don't worry. The Reapers make sure my tolerance limit has risen significantly."
"I'm glad that you see the prudence of this cooperation. In the meantime, you should go to Freedom's Progress and see the extent of the menace for yourself. The colony was the last to be abducted. We suspect someone is working with the Reapers. Investigate the site and find out as much as you can." His fingers tapped the console on his chair, breaking the communication.
Why did I feel as if I had just invited the devil to rape my body and run off with my soul?
.~'*'~.
When I left the holopad, the spy-to-be was already waiting for me.
"Shepard, here's someone I'm sure you'd like to meet."
Miranda chimed and a slim man wearing Cerberus uniform topped by one of those obnoxious baseball caps turned from his place at the observation window. My eyes widened. I knew this guy.
"Hey Commander, long time no see!"
"Joker? What… What are you doing here?" Thank the gods, I didn't faint while shaking hands with one of the last persons I expected to meet since waking to this nightmare.
"Well, I was offered the chance to take part in another neck-breaking adventure with my most favorite commander. I couldn't resist. Besides, after we lost the Normandy, the Alliance had me grounded and you know I'm only half a man without my pilot seat… Are you alright? They told me you wouldn't be up for at least another month…"
"Not sure if I'd call it 'alright' but it's definitely improvement. Compared to 'very dead' at least," I quipped for the sake of my mental health. More bullshit, less drama. You get the drill.
"Cheerful as always. Hey…" He stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. A quick look around showed Lawson out of earshot and discussing the contents of a datapad with Taylor. Poor guy probably messed up some lists. "How was it? Dying, I mean…"
Aww shoot. I flinched. I'd spent the last hours more or less successfully ignoring the obvious and the question stirred up more dubious things than poking around a pit of manure with a stick. Quickly, before my memory could sabotage this conversation any further, I said, "Dark, cold and very unpleasant... Look, I'd rather not talk about it."
"Commander, I… I'm sorry." He begun with a face contorted into a mask of anguish and guilt. "Really. If it wasn't for you coming back… It should have been me going down with the Normandy, not you."
I waved it away with a wry grin. Trust me, downtrodden is a look you want to avoid on your flight lieutenant at all costs. "Don't mention it. You know me, given the chance, I would do it again every time. Besides," I added a small laugh for good measure, "do you really think Cerberus would have spent a fortune to bring you back?"
"Probably no- Hey! Are you telling me I'm not the most awesome helmsman this galaxy has ever seen?"
I winked at him, grateful that he tagged along. "For me? Anytime. I'm just not so sure about Cerberus. Their skill at detecting awesomeness seems to be lacking to an alarming degree."
He snorted. "At least they show potential if it comes to the revival business. I don't know if they already told you, but you're not the only one they dug up from the grave."
I dragged my hand over my face. "Seriously, Joker. Those kind of puns have to stop like..." I trailed off. He had turned into the very image of a man with a new and really expensive toy.
"Look," He nodded towards the window front of the space station, "They take her out for her first ride."
There was a ship. A huge ship. A ship I was somehow eerily familiar with… The… Normandy? "Wow…"
"Beautiful, isn't she?" he whispered solemnly. I had never seen Flight Lieutenant Jeff Moreau anywhere near solemn.
Unobtrusively, I pinched my arm. Perhaps it was all just a really twisted fever dream and I had merely nodded off at Pressly's drone. I stopped eventually because my nails drew blood. Fuck. Not dreaming then.
"And she's all ours… Well, aside from our two Cerberus nannies." He turned to me again, a big grin plastered on his face. "By the way, nice touch. I like this new outfit. It projects this air of 'I ditched collecting homicidal aliens and went for coins, commemorative plates and used tin cans.'"
I threw up my hands in despair. "Miranda! Please, please tell me there are clothes on this blasted station! I don't care, even yours are probably better than this... thing."
The taller woman stalked over to me and bestowed me with one of her small, precise smiles.
"Don't worry, I've something even better," she said and led me to a small armory at the far end of the station.
She wasn't lying. On the armory's table, next to a bundle of functional clothes was black armor, obviously made for a woman. With mixed feelings I ran my fingers over the aramid fibers. Cerberus had been thorough with their homework. Worryingly thorough. Despite the color, the thing looked exactly like my old armor – if you were willing to ignore the small obnoxious Cerberus logo where the N7 used to be. Nothing a quick brush with the magic marker wouldn't fix and yet… As the Illusive Asshole had so nicely observed, the moral predicament its existence presented was undisputable.
So you're officially a terrorist now? The sarcastic bitch in my head dripped her acid once more utterly unfazed by my lack of reasonable and ethical correct choices since waking – and I think you're with me in this – held hostage until I eventually changed my mind followed reason into a dark alley and hit it over the head.
Cerberus. On the bright side I probably no longer had to write a report every time I got shot.
Quickly I undressed and shoved the pink sweats into the trash – here's hoping someone would do the galaxy a favor and spaced them into the next black hole. I put on the spandex and armor then left the room; geared up and snickering despite the guilt worming through me for accepting Cerberus bribes. At least I didn't have to greet my new crew looking like freshly broken out from Moron City. Yay.
From here things could only go upwards, right?
.~'*'~.
I heaved a sigh.
So much for investigating.
Instead I stood in the entrance of one of Freedom's Progress' modular living complexes, trying to force a clue at what had happened into announcing itself by the sheer power of my will. If my life were a video game, by now there would have certainly been a huge arrow popping up somewhere, stating "Check out this box – major hint inside". As it was though, I was confronted with the sobering reality: all I had was an empty colony and a gazillion of unanswered questions that helped me to nothing but a sure shot at Galaxy's Worst Detective.
I picked up a discarded green plush dino. "Hey, Rexi, you know something, don't you?" Alas, Rexi wasn't willing to share his knowledge with the likes of me. Dammit. They even took the kids… This was wrong. Just fucking wrong.
Sure, the Terminus Systems weren't a particularly safe part of the galaxy, which meant that most of its colonies had at least a small militia and some rudimental means to defend themselves against pirates, slavers and other criminals, who'd believe the colonists easy meat. However, the absence of any noticeable signs of resistance worried me. Either Freedom Progress' colonists had known the attackers or… or the enemy had stroke out with sheer overpowering force.
"Commander! I think we found something!" Taylor announced with a shout.
"Stand watch, 'kay?" I sat Rexi onto the cabinet near the door and headed out of the building, towards the two Cerberus agents. They hunched over something on the hard-packed ground.
I looked over Lawson's shoulder at a… bug, the size of my palm. No, not really a bug; a small synthetic unit looking like an insect, perfectly constructed with translucent wings and a brown, glistering carapace; and my guts told me that we weren't looking at some new fancy toy. Finally.
"What the friggin' hell is that…"
"No idea, Commander. I've never seen its like," Lawson stated. She shifted the white satchel bag, similar to those carried by field medics, that was slung over her shoulder and carefully nudged the bug with her finger. Suddenly it started to glow as if powering up; clapping its wings in a wild staccato. It rose for several centimeters and we all drew back. As abrupt as it had started though, the energy vanished again and the bug dropped to the ground once more.
I eyed the mini bot askew. "Whoa – guess we better take you with us."
"Agreed." Lawson nodded, set down the bag and procured a small plastic box devised to contain probes. Carefully, she grabbed the bug and put it into the box. Then pulled out a roll of Duct Tape and wrapped it tightly around the plastic. She shrugged at me. "Better safe than sorry."
She stored the taped box in her bag, and I sneaked a peek inside. Hello, OCD. How was it even possible to keep anything you took out in the field in such meticulous order? Let alone a bag that bounced around with every step? Somehow my bags always turned into a rather dismal grave for loose change, old chapsticks, stripes of chewing gum and the occasional switchblade.
"Hey… You don't have by chance anything eatable in there? I'm starving…" I asked, fantasizing about that chewing gum which probably had already formed an inseparable unity with old nickels and lints. Oh boy. Was there anything to stop my free fall into patheticness?
She tossed me another energy bar and I wolfed it down, smiling at her as if she had invited me to… what was this new place everyone bragged about? Ah yes. Ryuusei sushi. She snickered softly while rearranging the plastic box for a second time. Perhaps there was some hope for us after all.
Taylor had turned away and was watching the perimeter. We were in a wide corridor, flanked left and right by the standardized two-storied living complexes, the Systems Alliance's Frontier Division built up in all its colonies. His posture tensed. "Something's off. We should…"
There.
"Heads up! Hostiles from the left!" I shouted and skittered into cover behind the stairs leading to the second floor of the left building. Right in time – for only seconds later a small fleet of security drones arrived, firing missiles at us. A low boom made me peek around the stairs. Oh great, they brought a YMIR Mech to the parade. And all I had was my little pistol and the doubtful capacity five of those thermal clips provided. Damn, I wanted my old guns back.
I gestured towards Lawson, who kneeled behind a crate across from me and she send an EMP to overload the shields of the mech, allowing Taylor a critical hit at its sensors. Rockets sizzled around my ears and I took the nearest drones out with my gun. Two down, and another six to go. Piece of cake.
"Shepard?" A new voice suddenly shouted incredulously over the gun fire from above me. I raised my head to find a very familiar and utterly unexpected shape, hooded and armed with a shotgun, looking down from the balcony.
"Hey Tali, care to lend us a hand?"
.~'*'~.
I stared at the paused video tape, feeling like hit between the eyes. "Damn it, are you sure?"
"I'm afraid so, Shepard…" my quarian friend said, her usual crisp accent thick with worry. She pointed at one of the figures on the screen, "Look here, the triangular head, the chitinous exoskeleton; they match the descriptions perfectly."
I released another string of vile curses and kicked against the nearby wall. If that was some kind of joke, then it ranked with pocking a socket-outlet with a needle or sticking your hands into a cage full of rabid varren.
Alright, the universe had coughed up the requested clue and what could I say? It did so not hint at some ragged thugs suffering of the delusion to come back at the Alliance in some dubious act of revenge. No-ooo, of course it had to be some obscure race of baleful insectoids, which suddenly had the brilliant idea to pimp up their afternoons with ransacking human colonies. Had right this moment a cloud shaped like a middle finger drifted across the sky, it wouldn't have surprised me much.
"Okay," I said, while massaging my temples. A headache was coming. No surprise there. "So what facts do we have about the Collectors?"
Tali shrugged. "As I said, the Flotilla itself never encountered them, but the records state of occasional sightings in the Terminus Systems. It's presumed they come through the Omega 4 relay, but so far I haven't heard of any proof of this theory."
"Bastards are trading tech and weapons for slaves," Taylor said, scowling from his look-out at the bunker's entrance. In unison, three pairs of concentrated female skepticism fastened on him and forced him into elaboration. "I once engaged a band of slavers on Omega and they had disturbingly advanced tech with them. Claimed it to be of Collector's origin."
Peachy. Just damn peachy. "So essentially, we knew close to nothing, right?" My question was met with silence, so I turned to the dark haired woman, who was uploading the video footage into the Normandy's database for further examination. "Well, Miranda; now would be the perfect time to reveal that Cerberus entertains secret archives with detailed information about the Collectors' bio data, combat strategies, breakfast preferences…"
"It's just that simple for you, isn't it?" she replied sourly. "We have classified records on non-council species, but our data concerning the Collectors is just as scarce as the Flotilla's. That's why we should take Veetor, his knowledge might be crucial for our mission."
"No, Shepard," Tali huffed, arms akimbo in a display of angry bravery that somehow still managed to send out these cute vibes. "I won't allow Cerberus to abduct him! He needs the care of his people and no interrogation by those terroristic xenophobes!"
"I'm NOT a terrorist!" Lawson hissed like a little indignant tea kettle, face reddening. "Shepard, he is evidence!"
I snatched my hand away from my temple. In front of me, Veetor, the object of their dispute and the colony's only survivor, was hugging himself, rocking back and forth in his chair, all the while mumbling to himself. The only word I caught was sakysh – a quarian word for demon. The poor guy was scared out of his mind. I gazed at the dark haired woman in disbelief.
"Will you just look at him? He's done. The only thing he can possibly evidence is that his wits made a run for the next solar system!"
The Cerberus agent was about to object again, her complexion darkening even further. She clearly wasn't used to someone else running the show. After another eternity in which we stared at each other like strange cats in an alley, she exhaled, forcing down her ire.
"Fine, Commander. It will be as you say."
I nodded. "And I'm sure Tali's willing to send us all the details as soon as Veetor remembers anything important. Isn't it so?" I asked the quarian mechanic with a raised brow. Better to choke off any smug replies of hers beforehand; otherwise the Cerberus agent might yet explode like a box of lit firecrackers.
"Yes, I'll do. I promise. Thank you, Shepard." Tali said and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze before maneuvering Veetor out of his chair.
She was about to head for the exit, as I touched the alien's arm, halting her steps. "Tali… I know this is rushed but… Will you join me on the Normandy? You know… like the good old times? Joker and the Doc would love to see you, too."
God, I was so pathetic.
She turned to me. I tried to peer at her face but all the opaque mask of her full-body bio-suit gave away was my own faint reflection. Then she sighed and shook her head with sincere regret – at least that was what I told myself. "I'm sorry, Shepard. Really. But the mission for the Flotilla is my first priority. And Cerberus…" She pointedly raised her chin at the two agents. "You might have your good reasons for this… but I don't trust those treacherous bosh'tet. I hope you know what you're doing. Take care. I'll contact you, okay?"
I dropped my hand, resigned. I had my serious doubts about that.