Lazarus Shunned

by Two-Eyed Charlie

Cerberus has spent billions of credits trying to bring Shepard back from the dead, and despite the odds it seems to be working. Then a saboteur makes his move and Shepard's resurrection takes a horrific turn, leaving both the Alliance and Cerberus scrambling to control the situation...all while the Collectors begin their harvest of humanity [PREFERRED EDITION ON AO3]

36. Chapter 35: Nutters Pt III

Chapter 35: Rise of the Nutters: Part III

1.

Then…

Vancouver, some eleven years ago or so. Just two weeks after that memory of his, the one with him and Shepard eating a burger: her refusing to talk about the Plains of Abraham, him trying to figure out how deep this funk of hers went. His memory cut out after that because what happened after she finally gave up on lunch wasn't the least bit important. What happened two weeks after, though? Yeah, that was important.

Vancouver, some eleven years ago…Hastings was scheduled to head for Arcturus in three days, the Attican Traverse four days after that. The person he was going to see—the person sitting in the Naval War College "brig"—she'd been out in the Traverse already, and he'd convinced himself that a goddamn burger was all she needed to acclimate back to Earth.

Then-Lieutenant Commander David Anderson opened the "brig's" door and watched Service Chief Jane Shepard snap off a crisp salute. The rank was in flux: she'd gone into that room a Service Chief, but there was a better than zero chance she'd be walking out with something less.

Anderson reminded himself of that, given how that crisp salute was just the prologue to a fight neither of them wanted to have, deep down.

Anderson stood in the doorway, let the light from the hallway leak into the room. His cap was under his arm, which was good, otherwise he would've been folding them like some kind of pissed off parent. Not the kind of thing to be today, if he could help it.

"Do I even need to say anything?" he said to Shepard.

Shepard maintained her salute, kept looking out towards the back of the room, far away from Anderson's eyes. "All disciplinary action requires a written and/or verbal report per OPNAV Instruction 3120.32D, sir!"

Anderson flung his cap at Shepard's feet. "Cut the bullshit, Shepard. You have any idea the delays you caused making me haul ass over here? The Hastings launches in three days—three days. And now I'm stuck at the War College, because you punched out the Provost and the Navy thinks that's my problem!"

Shepard kept her salute, arms steady like they'd been covered in plaster. "Sir, I am not in control of which problems the Navy thinks are yours, sir!"

"Enough goddammit!" Anderson bounded towards Shepard, nearly grabbed her arm to force her hand away from her forehead. Showed you how angry he was—he didn't feel the bile rising at that thought until well after this whole thing was over.

But he was in Shepard's face now, and he was jabbing his finger as close to her nose as he dared get it. "You put on that uniform and the last thing you do is act like a child, am I clear about that?"

Shepard stared him down…but slowly she lowered her hand. She lowered her hand, but then all that was left was her expression. Nothing to hide it behind now—it was a look that cut through the Everest, if she wanted it to.

"If the Navy thinks you've gotta be involved in this," Shepard said, "then their priorities are fucked enough to get us all killed."

"The Navy thinks I've gotta be involved because the last thing they want to do is piss off the first N7," Anderson said. "Now you're right that that's as assbackwards as it gets, but I don't have a lot of control over it. I don't have a lot of control over any of this. The only person who had any semblance of control was the you from two hours ago, except she decided to take a vacation right around the time you punched out the Provost."

"I knew exactly what I was doing."

"You'd better hope to God that's not true, because if it is, the only time you'll see that uniform," he pointed at his dress blues, "is when it marches past the cameras on Armistice Day."

And there—right there—was a sign of life. A sign he'd cut somewhere she'd done everything in her power to protect, to hide, to keep away from the claws out there in the world. And the moment he saw that, Anderson deflated.

"Goddammit Shepard," he said, walking away, running a hand through his still-uncut hair. He took five paces then turned back to Shepard; she wasn't sporting that Dreadnaught-killing look anymore. The way she looked…he'd tried to forget all the other times she'd looked like that.

"How…how the hell am I supposed to respond to that?" she said. "You…what kind of response do you honestly think I can give right now?"

"I don't know, Shepard, I don't—"

"'Yeah, no, I had no control over myself'; 'yeah, no, I knew what I wanted so I attacked'—I mean, I…Anderson, do you know what he said to me? Do you know what Admiral Simmerson told me, because just saying 'no' wasn't enough? He said: 'Any potential officer looking for nothing more than revenge ought to be put down,' he…" Shepard hung her head for just a second, before looking back at Anderson with nothing but pleading in her eyes. "How am I supposed to respond to that?"

Anderson stood, five paces away. He stared at Service Chief Shepard and watched her fight to find the next word, any word, and it was just like…just like trying to watch a sixteen-year-old kid explain what happened to her family's farm.

"I thought I…I thought this was past me," Shepard said. "I thought…people still won't let me move on. I-it's always, I'm always—always—going to be that f-fucking colony kid who's out to kill batarians, and that's—they just…" Shepard looked down again, crossed her arms, bit at her lip. "I got put in a cage once and…and I never left. It's…times like this, it's like I never left."

Anderson took another five paces, slowly—this time in Shepard's direction. He nearly stepped on his cap and just kicked it aside. He pulled Shepard in close, and no, she wasn't going to let herself get more emotional than that, but that's what scared him. Times like this…bottling it up was too much like she was back in the cage, as far as Anderson was concerned. He couldn't tell her that, but that's what it felt like to him, selfish bastard that he was.

She held him, and she breathed heavily—always on the verge—but eventually she settled. When she did, she lessened her hold, just slightly.

"Sorry," she said. "I'm sorry you…I'm sorry they dragged you here."

"No," Anderson said. "Ignore that. I was talking out my ass." No excuses—none of that.

"I'm still sorry. About this and…and the Provost, and everything else."

"Later. We worry about that later. Right now, we get through this thing—then we'll worry about the rest."

Now…

Now Anderson was on the ground in Westerlund's HQ, and a body he couldn't see had collided with him and sent him tumbling to the floor, and his voice was trying to rise above everything but nobody was listening, nobody was listening until something blue arced over his head, and then a new body hit the floor.

The receptionist—the goddamn receptionist. Someone had unloaded a whole charge from their omni-tool, given how far back she'd flown...

Everybody except her and Joe slowly stood up, and their eyes turned to the new figure standing in the doorway, her omni-tool glowing orange.

Anderson was the only one smiling.

"Kahlee…" Anderson said, feeling like panes of glass were breaking in his knees as he stood up. Never felt more his age than when she was around—almost like the years multiplied on him just to turn the screws a bit more.

Kahlee gave him a cautious smile, but then quickly looked over his shoulder, towards where the receptionist had been. Joe, who's ass was still planted on the ground, picked that moment to open his mouth.

"Bloody fried the fucking skin off her," he said.

"Oh god," Kahlee said. "Oh god, I—" she looked at her omni-tool. "That wasn't—"

"Ignore the stray," somebody said, just beside Joe. The air shimmered and then the hooded mystery woman was standing there, arms crossed and face still hidden behind her hood. "She's fine. Well...she's breathing. And she's still got all her skin." The woman looked down at Joe; Joe tried to crawl inside his shirt.

"Oh, thank god," Kahlee said. She finally put her omni-tool away. "I was queuing up a sabotage program but the, the thing was taking too long…I guess it doesn't really calibrate its electrical strength on a target-by-target basis, does it?"

Anderson couldn't help it—he chuckled and shook his head.

"It's on me…for not thinking you'd work your way here faster than's physically possible."

"I may've been halfway out the door during out last chat. So our friend in the hood had a pretty accurate assessment, all things considered."

"Damned if you aren't a sight for sore eyes."

Kahlee looked around Anderson's shoulder again. "Lots of sights for sore eyes to see, by the looks of it."

Anderson turned around, and…damned if Kahlee didn't sum it up. Half the Citadel might as well've been in that lobby—and Anderson could see everyone from Westerlund's News Director down standing just out of sight, down a long hallway and past the newsroom, a bunch of shadows with fuzzy faces standing behind the frosted class of a meeting room. This was going to get contentious if things slowed down for even a second. Speed, time—the usual: it was of the essence.

Anderson started marching towards the still-down receptionist when the muscle-bound guy that had Leng practically in a headlock fired off a crisp salute. "Lieutenant James Vega, Delta Squad of the one-oh-third—sir!"

Anderson stopped just long enough to roughly salute back. "We'll get to formal introductions in a second—help me secure the scene. I want to know who the hell else is so trigger happy all of a sudden." He turned to the mystery woman, then pointed at the other woman who Joe seemed so cock-sure was Cerberus. "If you're sticking around, keep an eye on her."

One of the two civilians stepped forward—Anderson recognized her, Emily something. Not Westerlund, not Khalisah, who'd he'd be able to spot just based on whether he'd gotten the sudden urge to punch something.

"I can help," Emily said.

The possibly-Cerberus woman rolled her eyes. "Certainly tips the odds out of my favour, I suppose."

"Do anything strange and you'll be the next one flying over that desk," Kahlee said.

Possibly-Cerberus woman rolled her eyes again, but not nearly as aggressively as before.

And Leng…Leng just glared at everybody that bothered to look at him, which happened to be Khalisah more than anyone else.

Deal with all that later; focus on the armed combatant than nearly took his damn head off. Anderson bent down and, with Lieutenant Vega, grabbed an arm. The receptionist stirred just enough for them to know she'd been awake for at least a minute. Just stayed down after she got hit—didn't try to nail them when their backs were turned. As good a sign as it got, if you'd just had bullets take out the wall behind you.

They hauled the receptionist to her feet and made sure her hands were precisely where they could see them.

"So," Vega said, "I know Westerlund's got a rep, but taking shots at the Councilor? Hard to say that's just free speech, no?"

"We'll let her confirm for us that she really is a Westerlund employee." Anderson checked down the hall: nobody'd moved. Could mean anything. The lack of an ocular flashbang going off in his face made him think it had more to do with office politics than something he'd have to deal with, though.

Then the receptionist spoke.

"You probably won't…ugh, you're probably gonna think I'm lying," she said, holding her head, "but I'm just exercising my right to protect myself."

"You shot at us," Vega said.

"Because I have the right to protect myself! And the right to bare arms if I so choose—which I do."

"Neither the Alliance Charter nor the Citadel Civil Code includes a right to bare arms," Anderson said.

"It's Natural Law—your rules don't cancel out Natural Law just because they're so obvious nobody writes them down."

"Fucking preach," Joe Wexler said, from the asshole of the universe. Mystery woman looked back down at him again and into his shirt he hid.

"If a certain somebody hadn't knocked you down, your head would've been the first thing hit," she said.

"Irrelevant, you stupid fucking bint," Wexler said. Didn't bother making eye contact with the woman, though. He just kept living inside the collar of his stained dress shirt, looking like a turtle with a nosebleed.

That was all Anderson needed for confirmation. "Clear the scene," he said. "Whatever questions C-SEC asks you, tell them to direct it all my way."

The receptionist left, and then it was…too many. Him and Kahlee, Mystery Woman and Joe—that was four. Leng and Vega six. Emily and al-Jilani (unlikeliest goddamn pair he'd come across today, somehow), they made eight. And the other Mystery Woman, who Joe'd burst his vocal cords accusing of being Cerberus, made nine.

Frankly, out of all of them, only four—Kahlee, Joe, Vega, and as of right now, himself—he trusted not to shoot somebody by the end of this thing. Only reason Emily got excluded from that list was he remembered—finally it came to him—that she did some work with Shepard, and god rest your soul, kid, but people who've done work with you usually end up shooting somebody at some point.

He turned to Kahlee because that only seemed right, after bringing Shepard up like that.

"If you called the Embassy—got us a secure room—we can finally start getting to the bottom of this."

"Got it, Anderson," she said. "Speaking for everyone here, but I've sure had enough of this lobby."

"The feeling's probably mutual." Anderson turned back to the crowd. "Emily, Khalisah—you're civilians. Whatever authority I have to detain you, I'm not planning on using it. But we were told somebody in this office had information from just about the most trustworthy source I can think of, and—"

"I have it," Emily said. "I have what you're looking for. I'll go with you."

Anderson nodded, looked at Khalisah...and couldn't read a thing from her face.

He turned back to the rest of the group.

"Everyone with a uniform," Vega, Leng, and—yes, even Kahlee—all stared directly at him, "I'm not an officer: I'm something worse. Defense Command Authority places me right next to the Prime Minister, so I'm pulling rank."

"Aye sir!" Vega said. Leng just stared.

Anderson turned to the Mystery Woman that Joe claimed was Cerberus. "And you—"

"Alliance," Leng said. "Survived a massacre. Probably one of the chosen few to know the truth of what went down on the Midway. And surprise surprise—somebody's accusing you of wearing false colours. Knew I made the right call leaving you behind—would've tried to save your pet resurrected God."

"Oh for—" the woman (Alliance Cerberus both, god, if it was both…) nearly broke the bridge of her nose with her own fingers. "Will somebody please fucking shoot him already?"

But Leng was making his way to the door, not that anybody bothered to raise a gun. "Idiots—parade of fucking idiots. Whatever you think you're doing, it won't even register on my radar in an hour."

Anderson stepped in front of Leng. "I just gave out an order, Lieutenant. Fall in line or be put in line, are we clear?"

"I'm lightyears away from any of this being worth my time," he said. He made a move to get around Anderson; Anderson made a move to push him right back where he'd been goddamn standing before.

"The shit you've done? Even if you weren't scrapping with another serviceman, or being told you work with Cerberus...I'd have to wonder if you were involved."

"You wanna keep me here, Captain?" Leng took another step forward. "Back it up with something other than words. I'm done pretending they mean anything, coming from you."

Anderson took another step forward too. "Stand down, Lieutenant. This ends poorly for you one way or another."

Leng stood there, and stood there, and for the first time since word crossed his ears (not his desk; nothing'd been passed across his desk yet) he got a look at the prosthetics, at what the Midway's drive core failure had done to him. Face, arms, two new knees and a dead eye hiding behind a Dulmcore Overlay. Word from someone in the Fifth was that Leng barely survived...except this mystery woman was apparently on the ground with him, too. Details weren't forthcoming at the moment, but if Leng was nearly taken down by something as random as a drive-core failure, and he'd only walked away because someone else was there to haul his carcass from the fire...after all that bluster about him understanding the awful truth of the universe better than anyone in the Alliance...

Anderson hunted for some nugget of sympathy and could only think about how good a knife would look, sticking out of the part of his face that was still Leng's real skin.

Leng stepped forward, Anderson followed suit…and then Kahlee stepped forward, too.

"Hey—hey," she said. Her arms were up, holding the fighters to their corners. "C'mon, I'm not a referee. I shouldn't have to be a referee. Brawling in public is something other militaries do, right?"

Kahlee wasn't looking at Anderson—she was looking somewhere in between him and Leng, a complete neutral party. And god if Anderson didn't feel like he was twelve years old, being relieved that she wasn't busy giving him a disappointed glare…

He took a step back. "She's right…she's right. But everything you said before—about this mystery woman surviving the Midway with you—I shouldn't need to quote the regs for you to realize why I need you back at the Embassy."

"Bet it felt like chewing glass, saying that," Leng said.

"Hey," Kahlee took a step closer to Leng. "Just because I'm standing in the middle doesn't mean I think the fault's equally distributed."

"Oi, Councilor," Joe said, "you always get women to fight your battles?"

"Shut up!" Anderson said. And Kahlee. And Leng, too.

"Wow," Emily said, "Joe Wexler—diplomat extraordinaire."

"Heh," Vega said. Mystery woman with the hood laughed too.

"…fuck the entire lot of you," Joe said, and promptly went back to living in his collar.

Anderson ignored all that and took another step closer to Leng, finger raised like a teacher disciplining a student. "Step outside the victim-complex you've been fortifying for the last decade and think about this objectively: someone from Terra Firma just claimed you're working with a Cerberus mole. That Terra Firma-someone is on the run from Cerberus assassins. Any other officer in the Alliance asks you to come with them, you'd do it with the bare minimum amount of fuss—am I right?"

"Just say Lindholm," Leng said, face contorted behind all those prosthetics. "Save the tip-toeing for the civil servants and try beating me over the head with that stick—probably get a few more swings out of it before it finally breaks."

"Admiral Ines Lindholm wasn't even on my radar, Lieutenant."

"Poetic—wanna say it again? See if I believe it this time?"

Kahlee was in between them again. "What do you want, Leng? What's Westerlund have that you need?"

Joe's head popped out of his collar like it was connected to one of those old whack-a-mole machines. "Wot…? Leng? Sorry, guy with half a face is Kai fucking Leng?"

Up went Vega's brow, on behalf of everyone else in the room. "What, you didn't know? Didn't you just make a big scene saying he's working with Cerberus lady over there?"

Cerberus lady's brow was, decidedly, raised in a different way. "A crazy concept, I know, but I've a name."

"Bet you've got at least three, no?" Vega said.

Cerberus lady went back to crossing her arms and refusing to make eye-contact; Joe was busy looking at Leng.

"Never said I knew who he was," Joe said. "Just assumed he was one of 'em Cerberus freak-shows gets built every other Sunday." Joe shook his head, but kept his eyes on Leng. "This what the Alliance does with their fucking rejects, is it?"

Leng made a move that would've turned a crisis into a shitstorm, but Anderson's arm was already primed to grab Leng's. Leng's fist looked primed to create some separation, but a twist—subtle, probably didn't look like much more than Anderson's wrist spasming—and Leng was off-balance…just enough for Anderson to force eye contact and line up his torso, show Leng what kind of torque could be unleashed on his prosthetics if Anderson wanted to escalate things.

Felt well within his rights to escalate things…probably as clear a sign as any that this needed to wrap up. Those kind of thoughts, you start having those and you ought to kiss any sort of command goodbye at the earliest convenience. Everyone but the body-bag manufacturers would thank you for it later.

"Just answer her question," Anderson said. "You came in here on a mission: you tell us what it is and we'll work out a deal."

Leng hesitated, and Anderson waited a few more seconds longer before he released Leng's arm. The Lieutenant's posture didn't relax…but he didn't look like he was going to swing at anyone the first chance he got, either.

"A voice," Leng said. "Somebody who'd report on the Midway without the Alliance's bullshit."

"Yeah, 'cause you want your own shit to stand out more, right?" that was Vega, jabbing his finger at Leng like he hoped some kind of blade would shoot out of it. Kahlee was already on it: she'd stepped aside and was holding her hand up towards Vega.

"Easy," she said, "we've all done plenty of shouting today. Let this show finally get itself on the road, all right?"

Vega backed down; Leng didn't. "The whole world's insane, you go to the town crier who refuses to buy in. Doesn't matter whether they're useless the rest of the time: you find a tool, you use it."

Vega looked at Khalisah—Khalisah didn't look at anybody. Vega only stopped when Emily slowly, like she had to warm the motor in her neck up, started shaking her head.

"So why's the Midway wrapped up in this?" Anderson said, ignoring all that movement. "This part of your anti-Shepard crusade? I've already had to deal with Wexler longer than I can stand: now I've gotta deal with you going after a whole other crew too? Why? Just because they had the damn misfortune of being first-on-scene at Horizon?"

Then he saw it—he saw Leng's face, what was left of it, change. Surprise…then like he'd just pounced on a wounded gazelle.

Kahlee noticed too. Cerberus woman noticed. She'd taken a step forward and ignored the move Vega made towards her and, with her hand up, was saying: "Leng he doesn't—"

But Leng cut her off, and when he did that…what was left of the bastard's face was smirking.

"Mission accomplished, Captain," he said. "You just convinced me to come along. Might've even found a reason to stick around, just so I can watch what this does to you."

Leng brushed past them…and the first person Anderson's eyes went to was Kahlee's.

Neither one of them liked the way the other was staring, the worry behind those eyes.

Westerlund's lobby was silent for a second longer before Vega lightly kicked Wexler's leg and nodded his head towards the exit. "C'mon, up and at 'em." He looked at Cerberus woman. "And you're planning on behaving, right?"

Cerberus woman—Maya Brooks to Leng and soon everyone else in that room—stared at nothing, her mind blank save for the fact that everything on the Midway—everything she'd barely managed to escape from—was about to be drudged back up from the red muck of Agebinium. That putrid, inescapable muck…

She started moving, her eyes on the ground, the shuffling of Wexler's feet behind her. She stopped when she saw Anderson and this Kahlee person's boots. Then, then her eyes felt inexorably drawn upwards.

They met Anderson's eyes, and this had been no doubt the only time in…god, decades that someone saw the legendary David Anderson look worried.

As if there was any hope of relief for this man in the future…

"For what it's worth," Maya said, "were it just me…I would have ripped the band-aid off far sooner."

Maya's eyes went back to the floor, because what did that even mean? Not semantically: in the grand cosmic sense of things, what did that sentiment even really amount to?

Wexler shuffled behind her and didn't stop—this Vega person would be behind him. She could risk running…but where, precisely, was she to run to?

So she kept walking, following in Leng's footsteps…

And back in the Westerlund offices, Anderson and Kahlee left too. It was just Emily and Khalisah, until Emily began to follow the others.

Khalisah grabbed her arm.

"Wait," she said. "You're going with? He just—Anderson just said we didn't have to."

Emily yanked her arm free. "Yeah, and? Doesn't mean we shouldn't."

Emily closed the distance, and Khalisah…Khalisah hesitated. She eventually followed, but she recognized that out of all of them, she was the only one that hesitated.

Westerlund's lobby was empty. But the rest of the building? The rest of the building had been in lockdown in that meeting room of theirs for the whole thing. And during that whole thing, the News Director had been furiously sending updates under instructions that this would, somehow, reach Alliance Parliament—whether it was the Moderate Party or Terra Firma or even the goddamn Sergeant-at-Arms.

He'd been doing that until his omni-tool buzzed, and a man with an angry Scottish accent began explaining the situation to him.

"The last politician who threatened us this way had a short—comically short—career," the News Director said.

"Let me assure you, Bloom, that following through with that threat would end poorly for you, one way or another," the voice on the other end of the line said.

Bloom hesitated. "You're a sunovabitch, y'know that Udina?" he said eventually.

"I serve at the pleasure of the Councilor," Udina said back.

The line went dead.

2.

They'd made it back to the Embassy—about as awkwardly as possible, given the foot traffic and the fact they were a convoy of eight (other mystery woman vanished, but that was fine, just one less body to keep track of). The rational side of Anderson managed to win out over the side that wanted to know, soon as possible, just what the hell "ripping off the band-aid" meant. So everyone was led into a secure room, then Mystery Woman followed Anderson and Kahlee into a separate secure room, and they grilled her: name, rank, serial number, and what she hoped to accomplish walking into Westerlund on the Citadel, of all places.

The answers:

"Maya Brooks."

"In the Alliance? Operations Chief in fatigues, Second Lieutenant whenever I'm walking around the Arcturus Nerve Centre. As far as Cerberus goes, we've yet to formalize ranks: you're either the Illusive Man or you're not, with one or two exceptions."

"I'll answer that question in two parts, so long as you advise me on how much Ms. al-Jilani needs to know about what's being said in here."

Anderson and Kahlee gave each other a look at that. "Everything's need-to-know," Kahlee said eventually. "Unless you think she needs to know something, she won't hear it."

"Bit surprised that what she does and doesn't need to know is up to me," Brooks said.

"Read the room, 'Brooks'," Anderson said. "We're playing this as it comes. How many Cerberus operatives end up in interrogation rooms with a Citadel Councilor?"

"Precisely none," Brooks said, "because under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have a head."

Mmph, weird way to have a rumour confirmed…

What Brooks said after that was: she was planning on defecting, but took a detour at Westerlund HQ to warn Khalisah al-Jilani that Cerberus no longer appreciated her contributions to the betterment of humanity. The fact Joe was there made little sense given how her contact (who was not to be named, not yet, not until some guarantees were made) seemed exasperated but not ready to kill him. Read between the lines on that, yes? Read between the lines and derive your own conclusions, because all Maya could raise herself to care about was the formerly-friendly journalist that order from on high had declared her next target.

"And if that all sounds fantastically altruistic," Brooks said, "then consider what might happen if I turn up dead after spilling the beans on Cerberus, their plans for Ms. al-Jilani, and how many moles they have in the Alliance's intelligence network."

"You raise their profile," Kahlee said.

"They raise their own profile. And even if the Illusive Man's gone off the deep end, he's still likely to realize how utterly bad that would be for him."

"You hope," Anderson said.

"I'm allergic to hope, Councilor. It's why I joined Cerberus."

The room fell silent then, until Brooks let out a sigh.

"So you've been informed about the Midway, then," she said. "You let Leng have his kicks?"

Anderson shook his head. "We're settling this, first. Leng can sit there and wait."

A pause, then Brooks looked down at the floor. When she looked up again, it was like somebody'd taken ten years off her life.

"I'm not sure how you'll take this, Councilor," she said, "but you're a good man."

How'd Anderson take that? He took it as a threat.

Brooks stayed in that room—ready to have those same answers poured over again, by a new set of eyes and then a second set after that—while Anderson and Kahlee crossed the hall. The hooded mystery woman's claim that Terra Firma was in league with Cerberus just got more believable...not that Anderson had a hard time believing it in the first place. Joe's claim they were after his head? Maybe—not enough intel to say one way or another. But instinct said to trust Joe's word, because Cerberus apparently had no issue going after a Westerlund reporter. Why the hell wouldn't they go after one of their patsies, too?

God, not like he had enough to worry about...

Two rooms: one secured by two marines and Lieutenant Vega, the other containing two civies—Emily and Khalisah. Next stop was there. Then they'd deal with Leng.

Emily did all the talking. Said a package had been delivered to Westerlund's office with an unbelievable amount of information. This was big: it would've made every political scandal since the Charon Relay was discovered look like a minor RICO case. Terra Firma, Cord-Hislop, CDR Holdings, some grassroots movement that came out of nowhere and tried to turn the Greens into ecofascists—Cerberus had hands in a ludicrous amount of Alliance business, and that web only looked like it'd been growing. The mystery woman in the hood had only scratched the surface: the full data package—the full leak from Liara—it aired enough of Cerberus's dirty laundry to implicate thirty percent of last week's political headlines and almost five percent of the Alliance's GDP.

Hackett had briefly mentioned that Alenko and Williams hadn't been able to recruit Liara—said she'd shipped off with suspected Cerberus agents and disappeared after leaving Illium. The kid knew what she was doing, then. Getting her hands on all this, the kid absolutely knew what she was doing.

Liara's data even confirmed another longstanding rumour: Oleg Petrovsky, the last Director of Operations and Plans Alliance Intelligence Command ever had, was on the ground floor when Cerberus was first formed.

"Bastard," Anderson said.

"It's…a bit of a cold comfort," Kahlee said. "Cerberus wouldn't've taken off the way it has if he hadn't tied our shoelaces together."

"Cold comfort? Try absolute zero, Kahlee."

"I just mean it wasn't a fair fight. Take him out of the picture and Cerberus stays a minor threat at best. And if Oleg was as high up in Cerberus as this data makes it seem, then we've got another advantage: we can narrow down just how much of this web is a legitimate problem and how much just makes Cerberus look big. Oleg did the same with Operations and Plans, back in the day—tried to make STG think we were a rival."

"If he's still alive," Emily said. She was standing; Khalisah was sitting. The former cleared her throat; the latter looked like she was going to punch Emily for being a collaborator…or maybe that was just in Anderson's head.

"Sorry, s-sorry," Emily said. "Um…I just mean…when our algorithms looked through all this they flagged the fact that he just…stops showing up after a while. Um, I think around 2181?" She looked towards Khalisah for assistance, got none, then just sighed. "Sure, 2181. Don't hear any objections."

Kahlee looked at Anderson. "Is that year special? I can't think of anything off the top of my head."

"It's special," Anderson said. He straightened his posture…and tried to give his brain some room to put the pieces together. "That was the year work on a prototype stealth frigate started."

"Jointly with the turians, right?" Kahlee said.

"Exactly."

"Oh god…" Emily said. "So Cerberus—"

"Maybe don't paint a picture nobody wants to see," Khalisah said.

"Sorry what?" Emily said.

"There's such a thing as wasting your breath."

"Are you backing out now? Is that what this is? We find out this whole thing somehow gets worse and all of a sudden the…the supercilious Khalisah al-Jilani can't handle it?"

"Proud of that word, aren't you?"

"You came to me with this! You started everything but you really don't get to control how fucked up the story gets."

Khalisah scoffed. "Grow up—I didn't say anything about 'backing out'." Now, Khalisah finally made eye-contact with Anderson. "But look who we're talking to. If the Alliance or the Council or both don't bury all this, I'll quit my job. I'm serious: I'll cross the floor and I'll even share an office with you, Emily."

Udina's face flashed across Anderson's mind. Would any of the people in this room spike the story? Wasn't ever a question Anderson had to contemplate—he wanted to say no, but you didn't get to speak with confidence about these things until you had to make a real choice.

Udina, though? Udina was out there, hell-bent on burning Terra Firma to the ground, and would he spike the story? Of course he would.

Why? Who the hell knew. Maybe he was being honest. Maybe he thought this would ruin the Alliance. Maybe he thought this would ruin Cerberus. God, Oleg or not, that web was massive. If he had a turncoat on his staff this entire time…

His omni-tool buzzed. Private channel: message from Kahlee. Read: We'll worry about Udina later. We'll—she'd said "we'll." He turned to the woman next to him—the woman that could read minds and had enough sense not to say anything out loud—and tried his best not to smile. He just nodded: message received. Everything else? All the personal gratitude? Hell…he owed her for more than just this. Someday, hopefully, he'd be able to pay her back.

"All right," Anderson said, turning back to Emily and Khalisah. "What you've told us checks with other information we've received. We're starting to get a clearer picture of things."

"Clearer?" Emily said. "Um…I…just curious but, what more do you need?"

"Enough that when they destroy all the evidence, our story is gone for good," Khalisah said.

"Oh, good, you're fine putting words in people's mouths even when they're right in front of you."

"It's called 'reading between the lines' and, Emily? I'd be doing a lot less if you weren't so busy trying to find reasons for everything. It makes you look like you're twelve."

"Oh my god, you'll even do it when they're standing right next to you! Did I already say something about why everyone always punches you?"

"Hey easy," Kahlee said. "Easy here. Nobody gets punched and let's just…hold off on attributing motive to things that haven't even happened yet." Kahlee jumped in again before Khalisah could add another comment. "I mean hypotheticals. Press people, Jesus—you guys are exhausting, you know that?"

"It's a vital service," Khalisah said.

"Oh for…" Emily said.

Anderson held up a hand. "We don't need to hold either of any longer. Didn't need to in the first place, so consider yourselves free to leave with thanks from the Citadel Council. We'll contact both your employers and, in Khalisah's case, we'll word our thanks in a way that doesn't ruin your promotion prospects."

"And then you'll kill the story," Khalisah said.

"Jesus Khalisah—!"

"If you were worried about that," Kahlee said, "you'd have made a threat by now. A legal challenge, calling your MP, screaming bloody conspiracy from the rooftops. I'm starting to hear a bit of desperation in your voice, Khalisah: do you want us to kill it?"

Anderson barely kept himself from smiling; Emily didn't, except she killed that smile quickly when her brain conjured up images she'd been trying to suppress since the whole thing started. Khalisah looked…blank. Like a mannequin. Then she crossed her arms and looked off to the side. Be good to get her out of here; looked to Anderson (and Kahlee sure caught onto this, too) that she didn't know what she wanted out of this…

…goddammit, except he couldn't let her go given that Cerberus had a hit out on her. God, if he just let her walk out, take a bullet to her head, and then connect the dots in public between the death of humanity's biggest right-wing shitslinger and Cerberus…

Time to get out of this job. Time to get out and far away, so thoughts like that never had to take up space in his brain.

"I'm staying," Emily said. "I already said I was and nothing's changed. Khalisah, if you leave, I'll 'read between the lines' of everything you've said and make sure all of it's quoted in the most friggin detailed article I've ever written. And guess what? I've got witnesses, so good luck trying to claim you were never a part of this."

Khalisah hesitated…and then said, "Fuck you, Emily." But she didn't get up to leave.

Well…that'd keep her alive, at least. For the next little bit. Small victories, built on the back of blackmail—goddamn this whole thing.

But that was that—one more task down. Anderson and Kahlee started shooing the press towards the secured room next door. Khalisah was out in the hall with Kahlee; Emily, though, stopped in the doorway and blocked Anderson from leaving.

"Um…Councilor? Just a…just a quick question, um…off the record."

Anderson paused, then nodded. "Go ahead."

"Everything we just told you…it…d'you think the Reapers are involved? Somehow, I mean? Like with how widespread Cerberus's network might be and all the, the chaos they might be causing…um…argh fuck me, I don't know how to word it."

But Anderson got it.

"Why do you figure that?" he said.

He watched Emily's eyes, waited for her to say something that proved him wrong—he could speak publicly about the goddamn nightmare breathing down their necks…

…but she just shook her head.

"I'm tired. I…I don't know. Just a random thought I…I heard somebody in the newsroom mention that myth yesterday."

Yeah, great work Emily. Great, great work. Call them a myth because you didn't want to get into how Dr. T'Soni is dead, and you've been thinking that killing Shepard's people is exactly what the Reapers would want to have happen. Great work Emily, great great work.

She kept those thoughts off her face, she hoped, and followed Khalisah into the next room.

Kahlee took a step towards the last secured room, but Anderson grabbed her arm, held her in place.

"Hold on a second," he said. "I need to run something by you—while my head's still in the right place."

Kahlee slowly turned around. It was just them, alone in the grey and blue hallway of the Embassy. She was wearing a worried look, more-so than at any other point that day.

She hesitated, but only for a second.

"Go for it," she said.

"Emily just asked a very important question. Something a lot of people around here should be wondering, every second of the day. 'Are the Reapers involved'?"

"Meaning the Terra Firma thing? Cerberus? Are the Reapers involved in that?"

"Yeah, exactly. It's…it's a damned good question."

"All right…all right we did actually have this conversation already, right? That major wave of déjà vu I just got hit with, I'm not just going crazy, am I?"

Anderson shook his head. "You're not crazy. Not from this."

Kahlee crossed her arms. "Okay, so…okay. Well…are they? I get this is…above top secret, or whatever you want to call it, but Reaper's aren't my area of expertise. Do they go for political subterfuge? Or do they just walk into the galaxy and start laughing like Sovereign did?"

"Sovereign wasn't laughing—so far as anyone can tell. Shepard…she said a prothean V.I. told her Sovereign must've been desperate, trying a frontal assault on the Citadel like that." Anderson's face darkened. "Subtle seems to be the way Reapers normally operate."

"Cause a crisis and mop up whatever's left, huh?" Kahlee shook her head. "Guess Sun Tzu is Sun Tzu, whether you're a two-kilometer long dreadnaught or some farmer with a pike." She shrugged. "So, okay, I get it's an important question, but how's it apply to Cerberus? If I'm remembering correctly, you're pretty convinced they brought—uh, god, sorry, tried…jeez uh, I don't—"

"Cerberus wanted Shepard to throw her weight around against the Reapers," Anderson said, giving Kahlee a gentle look.

"Remember trying to sneak past your parents and you end up knocking a lamp over? That's me, trying to string sentences together."

Anderson reached out, gave Kahlee's shoulder a squeeze. "You're doing just fine." His expression grew serious again. "Fact is, most people don't know they're a pawn. These things, they know how to bend a person's mind."

"Are we talking master strategists?"

"We're talking nightmare stuff—stuff I don't want to get into. Not when we've still got work to do." Because it's their tech that does it—their tech eats your brain. And right now…right now we're standing in the middle of their tech, and for all we know, our mind hasn't been our own for as long as we've known each other.

They got Saren—who's to say they didn't already get us, too?

Anderson pushed that thought away. "Emily's asking questions, that's the important part. She's smart—she can put things together without completely losing the plot. And she's not the only one."

Up went Kahlee's brow. "That sounds like a recruitment pitch. What're you planning, David?"

Anderson took a breath, readied himself for a fight with his own conscience…but what he said, it came out as easy as if he was exhaling.

"Trying to convince the galaxy that we've got a Reaper threat will be next to impossible. For some reason, people I thought were perfectly sane took one look at blatant, realer-than-the-hand-at-the-end-of-your-arm evidence and said: no, threat's over—we beat them. We beat the boogeyman and Eden Prime's gonna be the extent of our casualty lists." Anderson felt his posture turn defensive like somebody's flipped a switch on his back. "I had three Councilor's tell me Saren convinced the geth a ship they built was some kind of god. A lot of days I choose to believe they're just keeping me out of the loop, but even if they are, they're wasting a hell of a lot of resources making everyone buy their story. The fact is, Kahlee…we're just not goddamn ready for them."

"The Reapers."

"And any other abomination they throw at us."

Kahlee stayed quiet. It was in her face: she'd put things together, like she always did. She was letting Anderson say it out loud.

"We've got a Cerberus mole telling us that a friendly journalist is on their hit list," he said. "We've got her, two different reporters, and a data trove from Liara T'Soni saying that major political parties, corporations, ballot initiatives, merc groups, and half the wolfpack squadrons in every numbered fleet have Cerberus' fingerprints on them, somehow and someway."

He moved closer, lowered his voice. "We go public with this, and there'll be inquiries. There'll be investigations. Divestment. We can't ground two thirds of the Navy just to check their engines, but we can start calling for new ships, additional crew, people that've never had a chance to get compromised by Cerberus. We can kill Terra Firma, because nobody's going to copy their platform without risking serious heat. Whoever's Councilor will have to lean on STG to fully debug our intelligence networks, and that means Sur'Kesh gets bumped up a state of readiness. That happens, Palavan follows suit. Given that level of movement, at least some asari Republics will do the same."

"All of a sudden we're mobilized," Kahlee said, "and nobody had to scream 'Reaper' to do it."

"Exactly. Instead of wasting time convincing everyone there's something under the bed, we just keep the news cycle going."

"They played god once already," Kahlee said, finishing the train of thought. "Do we really want to let them try again?"

Exactly…except Anderson couldn't say it. His conscience finally showed up and told the rest of him to drop his weapons.

Kahlee read the silence—read his face, too. Her face was…it wasn't unreadable, he just wasn't expecting to see what he saw. Or maybe all his hope and expectations were getting in the way.

Whatever the case…Kahlee looked annoyed.

"Was I supposed to push back on all that? That's what you meant by 'run something by you,' isn't it?"

"It's a maniac's plan," Anderson said. "I'd be holding democracy's head under the water and hoping to god that history plays out differently this time. A mass military build up caused by a politician screaming 'boo', Kahlee."

"Fully aware of that!" Kahlee said. "What I'm objecting to is why you think I'm your Udina all of a sudden."

"What?" Anderson took a step back. "Kahlee you…" He took a breath, ran what she said back in his head. "You're right. I'm…sorry. Third time I've come to you out of nowhere—"

Kahlee clued into how her words were interpreted. "Jesus, David no I—no I'm fine, this is fine. Coming to me with these things is fine."

"I shouldn't be putting this much on—"

"No David, it's fine. It's—what I was saying was, I didn't get why you thought I'd automatically talk you down. That's…sorry, I'm sorry—that's on me. I should've…sorry."

Anderson was silent; Kahlee was silent; the Embassy wasn't, but none of those noises were intruding on them.

When they'd first met—when they'd first encountered Saren—life had been…life had been simpler. Somehow, life had been simpler. They'd been kids, more or less, and life had…been simpler.

"That's fair too," Anderson said. "I just…wanted a clearer head then mine to think this over with me."

"Clearer head?" Kahlee said. "I don't know about that but…Anderson, I can tell, you're fighting with yourself more than anything else."

Anderson sighed. If he had more energy, he could've quipped—could've said something like, that obvious, huh?

But he'd been short on energy for two years.

"It's easy to say blowing up a refinery is wrong when you know there's an alternative," Anderson said eventually. "Dealing with the Reapers, though…"

"Trying to keep your principles when you're staring the Apocalypse in the face is a good thing, you know."

"Is that you saying I shouldn't follow through with it?"

Kahlee paused, then shook her head. "I just barely processed the first sentence, Anderson. Give me a few minutes and we'll see."

A few minutes…they'd have more than that.

Problem was, the bastard waiting for them would want to eat every last second…and hold them hostage for twice as long, right up until they begged for mercy.

Goddamn this job…

3.

The last room had two Embassy Marines standing sentinel at its doors, Vega and two other Embassy Marines guarding the inside. Wexler was in a corner by himself; Emily and Khalisah were now leaning against the opposite wall. Leng was sitting at the table in the middle, staring straight ahead at Vega and the marines. Or maybe he was staring past them, didn't make a damn bit of difference.

Anderson and Kahlee stopped at the door, far enough away from everyone else that nobody could hear their whispers.

"What's about to happen?" Kahlee said.

"He'll throw punches," Anderson said. "He'll make sure I'm good and bruised before putting me out of my misery."

"Is there any way for you to skip all that?"

Anderson shook his head. "I've spent two years eating shit on a regular basis. If there was a way out of these things, I'd've found it."

"What if all he does is rile you up?" She grimaced. "God, I didn't—that's got nothing to do with you. I just mean, what happens if he doesn't say anything?"

Anderson looked at Leng, then back to room they'd just come from. "We've got a willing participant. We'll find out what we need to find out."

"You could just get it from her now, take the wind out of his sails."

Anderson shook his head again. "If their stories match, we save everybody months of work."

Besides, he had a feeling he knew exactly what Leng was going to say anyways.

They walked into that other room, and Anderson cleared his throat.

"All right," he said, "everybody listen up. Order of operations is: Leng says what he needs to say, then he's free to go. Emily, Khalisah, Joe—next is we figure out exactly what the hell we're doing with all you."

"Me'n 'em?" Joe said. "Right, only my fucking problem's a bit bigger than some fucking journos." He looked at Emily. "Fucking quote-unquote on that, being truthful right 'ere."

"Oh, we know," Emily said. "We know exactly how big your problems are."

"And Joe?" Khalisah said. "On the record? Go fuck yourself."

"Oi! S'it fucking pick on Joe day today?"

"Every day since you were born, sin polla," Vega said.

Anderson raised his hand. Then Kahlee cleared her throat.

"This'll be quick," she said. "Everyone who's got someplace else to be will get there ASAP. That means the more you cooperate, the smoother this all goes."

"They make a good team," Emily whispered to Khalisah, in the back of the room.

"Emily?" Khalisah whispered back. "Fuck off."

"All right, jeez…"

And Anderson and Kahlee, at the front of the room, paused for what felt to them like three eternities.

Mmph, "quick," ripping off the band-aid…harbingers of something, even if Anderson wasn't fully sure what it'd end up being. A fuzzy picture of it, sure, but he was bound to be surprised—you didn't get as far as he did with a red stripe on your arm without thinking that way.

Anderson felt Kahlee squeeze his shoulder, then flank Leng on his right. Anderson went left. Same position as Brooks—an admitted traitor who was here to kill a Cerberus-friendly journalist—and, yet, Leng was the threat. Leng set off warning bells, made him check exits and hidden weapons and just what posture Anderson was assuming. Leng was all that…

And then Leng started to talk.

"What d'you think happened out there, Councilor?" Leng said. "You think a drive core meltdown makes sense? You had the Normandy for two minutes, got a look at the insides: you think a core like that goes and people walk away? Everyone without a uniform gets a pass because they're never gonna hear the full story. But you? Moment you saw my name—Brooks' name—you had to've known this was a cover-up."

"And if Anderson's kept in the dark?" Kahlee said, jumping in before Anderson could say anything.

"Top of the DCA," Leng said. "From his mouth to the flock's ears."

"Anyone capable of thinking things through would know it's a hell of a lot more complicated than that. C'mon, Leng—this doesn't need to be cruel."

"Truth finally comes out." Leng looked over at Vega. "You know what the meatgrinder says behind your back, now, don't you?"

Anderson stepped forward, cutting of Vega (keep your head, kid) and just into Kahlee's view—gave her half an appreciative look but, Kahlee, we talked about this. "What I know is my own damn business. You can waste everybody's time as much as you like, but that door isn't opening until I'm good and satisfied, we clear?"

Leng chuckled. "Tell's me all I need to know." He leaned back in his chair. "Whole thing kicked off right after your speech. You stood up there, media eating your every word, and before you even got off the stage, the great big machine in Arcturus woke up, started working on the best way to do what everybody that calls themselves human entrusted it to do—defend the realm." Another chuckle. "Part of me thought you did it all on purpose: took a page from your protégé's playbook and dressed the whole thing up to be inoffensive, pull the wool over the eyes of everyone who bothered to look. Soldiering with a humane face. Too bad I know you well enough to see through your bullshit, Councilor. You and everybody else? You're just scrambling. Got taken for a fool and you're just fucking scrambling."

Kahlee pushed back from the table, turned to Vega. "Lieutenant," she said, "find everyone else a separate room. They don't need to hear this."

"They stay or I keep quiet," Leng said. "Up to the Councilor."

"Better idea," Vega said, stepping forward. "I drag you behind the Embassy and we figure out what body part you want replaced next."

"Stand down," Anderson said. Deliberately avoiding looking at Kahlee; deliberately avoiding looking at Leng. "Lieutenant, I hear you threaten anyone again and you're out of the Navy—am I clear?"

Vega fell back in line. "Aye sir," he said.

And Anderson turned back to Leng, deliberately avoiding looking at Kahlee yet again. "You want an audience? You've got one until Westerlund and FCC start asking, where the hell did our reporters go? Piss around, it doesn't make a difference to me. But if you need other people to see me squirm then you haven't got all day."

Leng's good eye, just barely visible behind the overlay, glared into Anderson. That glare lingered in silence—total silence, neither Wexler nor Wong and Khalisah so much as ruffled their clothes.

"Admiralty Board hears your speech, what d'you think happens next?" Leng said. "Directive 31 gets activated, Joint Special Operations Command goes hunting for the right kinda ships, and now the whole thing's a solo-N7 op? They need somebody to lead the charge. How many ships you figure handle JSOC missions? How many N7s on those ships? It was me, the Midway's N7 crew, and a bunch of other red stripes they pulled from every Fleet out there in Alliance Space. Then they told us the target was on Agebinium and we'd better start praying, because the thing we were after? Alliance'd built a religion out of it, thanks in no small part to you, Councilor."

Anderson gripped his hands behind his back. Take your beatings, old man—take them and for god's sake, you let this bastard win and that's the end of your commission.

"I knew what might happen once I got in front of the cameras," Anderson said. "Yeah, I wanted to save Shepard, but whatever happened to her—whatever Cerberus did to her—I knew she was still a threat. I spoke out because a Councilor, an Admiral, and two other officers shouldn't've been the only eyes on the problem." Anderson freed his hands, pointed a finger at Leng, and would tell himself later that this was a calculated comment. God knows whether it actually was or not, but that's what he'd tell himself, he was sure.

Anderson said, "The fact I've got more bodies on my conscience is something I'll have to deal with, but the fact a whole frigate was lost? That's on the officer in charge. You got your fellow marines killed again, Leng. Don't think I'll let self-pity prevent me from seeing that."

Leng just leaned forward. "Except you don't give a shit about that. None of you do. Hell, as far as I'm concerned, that's the right way to look at things. The problem is you care about the two names on board that shouldn't be there. Because nobody in their right fucking mind should've assigned them to my crew…and because everybody who did thought Shepard would spare them."

Leng's good eye burned with the righteous fury of a monk condemning a whore to hell. "Stand there and tell me I'm wrong. Let's see how much you give a fuck about the concept of honesty."

Anderson pushed away from the desk. "All right—you had your kicks. I've got what I need from you so you're dismissed, Lieutenant. Enjoy all the warm feelings you'll get from replaying this conversation in your head."

"No," Leng said, "no the last thing I'm gonna do is waste my time on this. Day from now? I'll have moved on. Rest of you can rot in the lies you've built."

Kahlee stepped towards him, but Anderson maneuvered around her, made sure nobody was blocking his view of the bastard. "Bullshit," he said. "Soon as you walk into a room you warp it around your obsession."

"Call it whatever you want. Way I see it? People've been trying to suppress what I know—what everybody in here with us knows, if they're honest with themselves—for as long as I've known it. Doesn't matter how obvious it gets: somebody'll stomp it down until the world looks the other way." Leng stood up. "Obsessed? Sure would look that way to somebody like you. Once I make sure people know how Shepard tore her old crew inside out, I'll let the six or seven rational people take it from there. Won't need me anymore to keep the truth afloat."

"Everything you just said," Emily Wong said, stepping away from the wall she'd been leaning on, "I'll tear it inside out. If you actually—honestly—think anybody'll believe your BS, then trust me—trust me. I just need six hundred words to make you look like an idiot, and then you can go right back to…" Emily's brow scrunched, then she shook her head. "Fuck it—I was gonna say jerk it to your trauma porn but, y'know what? The way you literally obsess over Commander Shepard? Yeah—it sounds sexual. You sound like a fucking stalker."

Leng spun around, started marching towards Emily. He was pointing at her like a gun was going to materialize in his hands at any second. "Try it. Stick your neck out for her. Let's see how much effort I have to put into cutting it."

Emily backed into Khalisah; Kahlee pushed aside the table; and behind her, Vega was starting to charge and the two marines were raising their rifles.

None of it mattered.

One minute Leng was advancing on Emily, the next his head was being driven into the wall hard enough to shatter his overlay, the wall, hell the goddamn prosthetics stitching his face together snapped and caught in the plaster like an unraveling sweater. Leng's shoulders were seized and he was yanked out of the wall, and right in front of him was the face of humanity's Councilor, eyes burning like at any second—at any fucking moment—red red light was going to leak through and eat away at Leng's skin for the second time.

Leng's knees buckled as a fist was driven into his stomach, and tried to move away from those eyes that might leak red just like just like just just just Leng tried to back himself against the wall. Anderson grabbed his collar and hoisted up him to eye level again...

…and Anderson called on every goddamn bit of training, every goddamn trick he'd pulled to make sure the trained N7 killer never lost control, and somehow managed to keep himself from driving Leng's head the rest of the way through the wall, or breaking his neck, or throwing the stupid motherfucker who attacked a civilian on his watch into the table at just the right angle so Leng's one good eye landed on the sharpest corner in the universe.

That left Anderson holding Leng up by his collar while the world around him waited, almost like it was begging him to do it, do it Captain, put Leng in a box with an Alliance flag draped over it so the only maniacs who wanted to spit on Shepard's grave were Wexler and the Council and Cerberus and Khalisah and god knows Udina loves to get his punches in where he can, god knows he could see how it looked with him defending her at every waking turn, god knows that the only people in this universe who saw a sixteen year old Shepard with her parent's blood covering her face were him and the fucking batarians who'd spilt it in the first place, but what God never seemed to understand was how any marine from any military would eventually collapse if their retreat was cut off and support was never on the way…

Anderson held Leng up by his collar for a long, long time. And then…he just dropped him. He'd dropped Leng and kept the waste of everything alive and then there was a loud shout, not the other way around. Every now and again—from that point on until the sheer weight of everything else in his life ate up all the memory in his brain—Anderson would remind himself that he'd kept his hands away from Leng's jugular, and it wasn't because Udina had entered the room to put Anderson out of his misery.

Just like he'd tell himself that you couldn't summon Udina just by speaking his name…and that he wasn't halfway between feeling relieved and wanting to punch his sonuvabitch in the head.

"What the HELL is all this?" Udina said, voice echoing like somebody'd shot a church bell. Nobody saluted, but everyone's eyes were turned one way and one way only. "I was told all our secure rooms were booked for a reason—I didn't realize it was because we needed space to throttle our subordinates in plain view of the press."

Kahlee jumped forward; Anderson stepped in front of her. "This is all on me," he said. "None of the marines or any other personnel were involved in setting this up."

"Believe me, Anderson, were that not already the truth we would quite shortly make it the truth." Anderson watched Udina's eyes drop to the crumpled heap of shit that was Lieutenant Leng. Whatever was going on in Udina's mind, someone was going to pay. Standing in front of Udina at that moment was like standing in front of a glacier…and damned if Anderson could tell whether he was the target or not.

Then Udina's eyes shot to the reporters.

"Ms. Wong, you're free to go. My deepest apologies on behalf of everyone for keeping you from your work." His eyes shifted just to the right. "Ms. al-Jilani, you are not. Alliance Intelligence and Citadel Security have reason to believe your life is in danger. I'd recommend remaining here, until we've a better idea of how to ensure your protection long-term."

"You can't keep me here!" Khalisah said. She jumped to her feet and jammed out her finger and for the first time all afternoon, she looked like a Westerlund reporter. "I have rights—I have a right to evidence and I have a right to tell you to stuff it if I don't think you're convincing enough."

"As of three years ago, yes, you have all the right in the galaxy to the method of euthanasia of your choice," Udina said. "But my job requires me to protect this office from conspiracy theorists who'd rather blame us for everything than hire journalists with common sense. If you insist on being difficult I will not hesitate to do everything but claim that you put the gun in your own mouth."

Now Udina's eyes were…everywhere. They looked like they were everywhere.

"The rest of you: I cannot dismiss you so I leave it to the Councilor to do so. I wish to inform Staff Lieutenant Kai Leng, though, that I am obligated to report any confrontations between members of this office and the general population."

"What?" Vega—that was Vega. "You fucking serious? Guy comes in here spewing bullshit and—"

"If Staff Lieutenant Leng wishes to report anything, he can rest assured that we will vigorously interrogate every detail of his claims until all investigative avenues are exhausted," Udina said, not even bothering to look at Vega. "In the interest of fairness, of course."

Up went Vega's brow. "Shit," he said, "idiota would probably rather have Shepard shear off the rest."

"Indeed he might," Udina said. He was looking at Leng, now…

…and Leng? Leng was sitting up, staring at Udina, but his one good eye—every now and again—his one good eye would catch Anderson's hand, just to see if it was moving, just to see if he'd do something—something to show the world…something. Anything.

Whatever.

Leng stood up and walked out of that room. Vega and the marines followed. That left…well, everyone else.

"What about me?" Kahlee said. "Am I being sent on my way?"

"I am statutorily prohibited from being stupid, Ms. Sanders," Udina said. "You will do whatever most suits you." Now, Udina turned to Joe, still crumpled in the corner like a pile of dirty laundry. "The insurrectionist you're hiding, however—"

"He's staying behind too," Anderson said. Felt like the first time he'd said anything since Udina walked in…and god if he didn't hate himself for that. "He's got reason to believe that someone's after him."

"He's just too shy to say so himself," Kahlee said.

"Oi, can speak for meself, yeah?" Joe stood up…and not a word left his mouth as he stared down the Irishman in the fancy suit.

That silence went on longer than was comfortable.

"He burst into my office with blood all over him," Anderson said. "A witness confirmed that someone had tried to kill him. This is the only time I'll vouch for him: if he says Cerberus is after him, then Cerberus is after him."

"This is news to me," Udina said, hand on his chin. "But fine. The same principle applies to your lot as it does to Ms. al-Jilani's: I'd rather we waste time protecting an ingrate than empower the tinfoil hat brigade."

"Heh," Emily said. Khalisah went for an elbow but Emily smacked it away. Udina ignored all of that.

"Given that Mr. Wexler and Ms. al-Jilani are apparently imperilled by the same organization—"

"Oi what—?" Joe said.

"Beg your goddamn pardon—?" Emily said.

"Excuse me—?" Khalisah said.

"As I was saying," Udina said, putting up a hand like he could part whole bodies of water, "given the facts of the matter, I'd recommend the two of you move into the same secured room—preferably one that's in less need for of imminent repairs." Udina's eyes were now squarely—and solely—on Anderson. "Unless, the Councilor, has a different read of the situation."

Different? No. And whatever came out of his mouth, it was just going to sound like he was saying things to make sure he said something.

But he said something anyways.

"Triple the guard and liaison with C-SEC," he said. "Keep it internal, though. Same number of external guards. Last thing we want is anyone suspecting there are high value targets on the premise."

"Of course, Councilor," Udina said.

Udina started for the door, but Emily stepped in front of him.

"Everything you just said, about how the Alliance and C-SEC knew Cerberus was after Khalisah…would you be willing to go on record about that?"

"I regret to inform you that this matter is outside my jurisdiction," Udina said, not missing a beat.

Khalisah tried to grab at Emily but Emily tugged free.

"We have another story," Emily said. "We think Khalisah and Joe—Mr. Wexler, sorry—being targeted is part of it." She looked back at Anderson, tried to leach off some of his confidence, then turned back to Udina. "Even an official statement from the Councilor's office would—"

"My dear," Udina said, taking her hand, "I couldn't possibly comment on the internal workings of a news organization. I would recommend you consult with your News Director and Managing Editor to see what they think your next steps should be."

Two marines appeared in the doorway; Udina turned and briefly acknowledged them. "Her and him," he said, motioning to Khalisah and Joe. "Find them a room. Triple your presence, of course."

The marines hesitated…but a nod from Anderson sent them moving. And as everyone cleared out, Emily took up the rear and said, "Son of a bitch"…

…and that was that.

Kahlee took the first step out of the room, then Anderson followed. Behind him was a hole in the wall where Leng's head had been, some force putting him there just as Anderson reached for him.

And in that cracked plaster? Probably the remains of the last time Anderson would've had the political clout and authority to do something about Leng, once and for all.

A wasted effort…bordering now on a wasted political career. And with Udina in play, an end to the brief and terrible reign of Anderson's very own Red Scare. Question was…would the galaxy regret that idea never getting up off the operating table?

The fact that Anderson's brain couldn't even conjure up the alternative scenario was scary enough. And scared was something even N7's had a hard time managing…

4.

They were in Anderson's office now, but the dynamics…it was his office. In the two years he'd been trapped in politics, though, it'd never felt as much like he'd been renting the place as it did right then, right there—Anderson and Kahlee on one side of the circular conference table, Udina on the other.

Skycars were shooting by, just past the open balcony. Somewhere on the Presdium—just a few floors down from him, most likely—Din Korlack was yelling. To the rest of the galaxy, not a damn thing was out of place.

Shouldn't be like that…weird time to make that decision, but it shouldn't be like that. The beating heart of galactic civilization…if something was going wrong in it, everyone else should have a right to see it. No secrets, even if it meant telling every sentient species with space capabilities that a doomsday clock had been set, long before their ancestors even knew how to write.

No secrets…even if a strategic lie just might square the circle of increasing galactic readiness without ushering in total panic.

Goddamn this job.

Udina looked like he was going to sit down five or six times; each time he yanked a chair out from under the table, it got pushed right back. Then he just sighed and unfolded his hands on the desk, leaning over it like gravity was pulling his forehead straight down. The thinly veiled insults would be starting, soon. That's the way it always was, seemed like.

"I should apologize to you," Udina said.

…except this time, apparently.

"Really?" Kahlee said, her arms crossed. "Don't feel the need to join Ambassador Korlack?"

"If yelling did me a damn bit of good then surely after two years…" Udina stopped, sighed again. "The fact of the matter is, this whole Councilorship has been a sham." He held up a hand before anyone else in the room could say anything. "Let me expand on that: you've been set up for failure, Anderson. Through no fault of your own, this whole experiment was fated to crash and burn."

"Experiment?" Anderson said. "What's the point in authorizing an experiment when nobody wants it to go through? Including the test subject, I should add."

"Parliament wanted to see how far the influence of our new Spectre could reach," Udina said. "The expectation was that you'd resign in disgust after less than six months. As I've said before—to the surprise of no one who knows you—things did not go according to plan."

"Sorry for sticking it out," Anderson said.

"Your facetious apology is unnecessary. I meant what I said: I should be apologizing to you." Udina walked around the desk, stopped just a few places away from where Anderson and Kahlee stood. "You're a Councilor on the most powerful political body from here to Andromeda—you should have a staff of one hundred, and an advisory corps of at least twenty-five."

"Would've been how you decorated the office, right?" Kahlee said.

"With an additional QED device leading straight to the Prime Minister's Office, yes." Udina folded his hands behind his back. "All you received was a token budget and me. Me and four or five untouchables that Gerwig couldn't find a better use for."

Anderson scowled. "And where have you been hiding these four or five untouchables, Udina?"

"Stow the hostility, Anderson. And jettison the sarcasm, too. We need to figure out what the hell we're going to do about today's mess, and then we're marching to Parliament with a request for resources." Udina pointed out the door, at the galaxy at large and everyone that lived in it. "If this office is to take on Terra Firma—all the while one of their most infamous members is allegedly targeted for assassination—then we're not doing it on a shoe-string budget. I won't allow that."

"Now pull the other one," Kahlee said.

Again, Udina just sighed. "What do I need to do to convince the both of you that this is genuine? Are the self-serving implications not obvious enough as is?"

Anderson turned to Kahlee, and they both stared at each other, saying nothing. Saying nothing…yeah, meaning neither of them had an answer to that, sarcastic or not.

Now it was Anderson's turn to sigh. Hopefully Kahlee actually could read minds. He could probably use some backup on this…

"It isn't that," Anderson said. "Well…that only covers part of it." Udina went to say something, so now it was Anderson's turn to interrupt. "You convinced me once already that you're doing this because you think you need to. The problem is…I'm done playing politics."

Udina looked…unreadable. Annoyed, Anderson could read that loud and clear—but that was the default state of Udina's face. Anything past that, and Anderson couldn't see it.

"What are you implying, Councilor?" Udina said.

Kahlee gave Anderson's hand a covert squeeze, and Anderson took in a deep breath.

"The experiment's over—that's what I'm implying. We've been dragging this out for far too long—I should've resigned right around when Parliament wanted me to."

"Think about it this way," Kahlee said. "There's no way in hell the news cycle will care about what happened in that interrogation room, even if Leng can't take the hint and tries something stupid."

"Leng will be dealt with—he always has been," Udina said. His brow was slowly sinking. Not…quite the reaction Anderson was expecting. Then again, he hadn't really gone into this with expectations. He'd gone into this just like it was maneuvers: be a receptacle, let the world tell you what you needed to know and don't ignore it for God's sake. Still…you'd think Udina would've been going stark-raving mad. Or jumping for joy. Or he'd be stuck in some liminal space between the two. Not…whatever this was.

Udina cleared his throat.

"You're absconding from your post after an elaborate assassination plot has been uncovered, in the midst of an ongoing legitimacy crisis, whilst screaming bloody murder about genocidal starships from before time began." Udina's brow dropped the rest of the way. Now his face was scowling, clear enough that it'd be visible for lightyears. "No, Ms. Sanders—you pull the other one."

"I thought you said you were statutorily prohibited from being stupid, Donnell."

"God save Ireland," Udina said. "From all the pestilence and anarchy he keeps throwing at its children." And in one motion he was storming towards the balcony…and Kahlee was looking neutral. Professional, collected—neutral. Anderson barely got away with calling Udina by his first name…but then again, Anderson wasn't Jon Grissom's daughter. She had smarts and she had clout—you could tell just the way Udina's eyes always went to her first. God…if Anderson had just asked her to be on his team, instead of feeling like he owed her enough to stay out of her life…

Kahlee caught him staring. "You okay?" she said.

Anderson nodded. "Just…watching you work."

Kahlee smiled, but it evaporated almost immediately. "How are you playing this?"

"By letting him make the next move. Worst case scenario, I tell him what I told you in the hallway."

"Worst case? As in he doesn't let you leave?" Kahlee blinked. "Wait, you mean the plan with—the Cerberus plan? You're telling him that?"

"If that doesn't convince him I've gotta go, I don't know what will. It's a political something-or-other: he'll hate it before I even finish speaking."

Kahlee looked at Udina, then turned back to Anderson. "I've got your, uh, six, Anderson."

Anderson nodded. And with that, they moved closer to the balcony—closer to Udina and whatever gesticulations he was making towards the Presidium.

Udina acknowledged them with half a head-turn, but his eyes were still looking out at the trees and artificial sun and the passing skycars, all blissfully unaware of the shitstorm brewing in that office.

"You've picked a horrendous time to collapse from exhaustion," he said.

"I've got energy to spare," Anderson said. "And I've got a plan. I wouldn't be stepping down if I didn't think I could do more good elsewhere."

"Regale me, Councilor, on where your energies are better spent."

Anderson folded his arms behind his back again. "I'm seeing things in the data that you're missing. That everyone's missing. Terra Firma is being propped up by Wexler and his military record, his criticisms…him beating Shepard's legacy to death every chance he gets."

"I think I can see where this is going."

"No, Udina, you don't," Kahlee said.

Anderson held up a hand. "Thank you, Kahlee…but I've got this."

Kahlee looked sheepish, but that look only lasted a second too. And that was fine: Anderson appreciated having her cover his six.

"The fact is, the Alliance Navy earned a lot of good will over what happened here two years ago. And Wexler's using that and malaise about every other institution in the galaxy to drag people over to his party—to Saracino's party. What I can do—what I'm in a unique position to do—is go after Wexler, tear him down, put a military voice out there that says: follow Terra Firma and we'll all end up dead."

"The same Wexler that's apparently being targeted for assassination?"

"And who just came sprinting into my office for help," Anderson said. "After which I took him seriously and did everything except jump in front of a bullet for him."

"He's trapped, too," Kahlee said. "If he tries disputing what Anderson just said, we've got some dirty laundry that he'll do anything to keep buried. Literally anything: Saracino's whole plan goes out the window if Joe's forced to tell the truth."

"A worrying statement," Udina said. He turned back to Anderson. "Whatever reasons you give me now, understand that others will assume you were forced to resign—as retaliation for your public announcement about Shepard. And if enough people shout that ad nauseum, then the Council may feel compelled to shout along with them."

"Meaning you're out of a job," Kahlee said.

"Meaning the good will Anderson mentioned will be spent by this time next week. And while Wexler has all the political tact of Henry the Eighth, even he won't find it difficult to connect all of this to your relationship with Shepard."

"So I'll go with Plan B," Anderson said, taking a step forward and puffing out his chest. "I'll stick around and I'll go with Plan B."

He waited. He waited for Udina's paranoia to get the better of him. He waited and waited…

"What is Plan B?" Udina finally said.

"You said the Alliance and C-SEC already knew Khalisah bint Sinan al-Jilani was a Cerberus target," Anderson said. "Now we know that they were after Wexler, too. And that poor girl you stomped all over on the way out of the secured room? She has a treasure trove of data connecting Cerberus to major military and business interests—and Terra Firma. We've got a witness that swears by this data that Wexler's being fed information by Cerberus for propaganda reasons—I bet you Emily Wong's story confirms that, too."

"Emily and Khalisah's," Kahlee said. "They're working on this together. I know—strange times indeed."

"So Plan B is to get all of that out in the open. You want to kill Terra Firma? The fact they're connected to terrorists means we've got the legal clearance to go after them. You want them dead in the polls? The fact that the party would openly target one of its most popular members and a friendly journalist will confuse the hell out of supporters—maybe even cause a few of the smart ones to defect. And if our intelligence folks are hunting for moles…they've got all the political capital they need to start a serious hunt."

And now…Anderson waited. Waited for whatever red-faced insults Udina could throw his way, whatever self-centred backtracking Udina'd have to do just to make sure it was clear—perfectly clear—that he never thought Anderson was cut out for this job. It'd sting and he'd lick his wounds later, when his commission was reinstated and he'd found a job and a soapbox. Selfish as it sounded…Hackett owed him a few. Somewhere in the Fifth Fleet would be fine, and god only knew Anderson would be fine taking orders from Hackett again, if that's what it took.

Anderson kept waiting…and waiting…and waiting…

Kahlee looked at Anderson—dammit, his nervousness must've been showing (or she really was capable of reading minds…how many times had he said that to himself today?)

"Obviously the fallout from this would be—"

"I am well aware of the potential fallout, Ms. Sanders," Udina said. He was holding his chin with one hand…Anderson only saw him do that when he was plotting. Plotting wasn't supposed to be what happened after Plan B. What was supposed to happen was…

Goddammit, he felt that—he felt a twinge somewhere in his body that said, good, he's actually taking this seriously.

"Mmph, this fits with some of Saracino's tax records," Udina said. "I had forensic accountants try to send a love-letter to Capone, but there wasn't anything traceable on the number of 'lucky bets' Saracino made on the stock market. Nor, might I add, where the unrestricted dark money was coming from."

"If that's all you need—" Kahlee said.

"When did you come up with this plan?" Udina said, looking solely at Anderson. "Today? It was only today, wasn't it? For God's sake tell me this wasn't shared with the press."

"Udina, listen—" Kahlee said.

"You can do both." Udina stepped in front of her, directly towards Anderson. "You're clearly looking for an exit—we can facilitate that, if you agree to nominally remain in this position for at least another week. We'll drip-feed rumours that you're on your way out and then close the story when everyone's on their way home for the weekend. You won't find any opposition to an Admiral's commission in the Navy, I'm sure…"

Udina walked away, to the other side of Anderson's desk. No, no—Udina's desk. The torch had been passed—there wasn't any way to grab it back now.

"We'll need to finesse your plan, but loathe as I am to admit it, I see the benefits of…a more scorched earth approach—no pun intended. We can lean on the salarians, too: we know STG is spying on us, but evidently, this grand infiltration of our ranks somehow slipped by their nets. We lean on them, we potentially gain political capital to expand our fleets—we'll need funds to purge our ships of Cerberus influence, of course."

Anderson went to say something; Kahlee did, too. But Udina had all the momentum.

"We'll likely wait for you to start making waves on your own. Your message will be more effective if there isn't an active investigation ongoing. But that should give us time to prepare."

Udina was on the move: he shot past Kahlee and Anderson, heading towards the door. "The ball remains in your court, Anderson. I'll make sure all necessary security arrangements are made for Mr. Wexler and Ms. al-Jilani—though if Cerberus kills the former it may do us some good in the long run. Certainly make your job easier. I'll speak with Ms. Wong's employers, too: her story deserves to be heard, it's true, but we may need to massage its release into a more advantageous timeline." He stopped, turned, quickly looked at Anderson, then trained his eyes on Kahlee.

"Good day," he said.

And then he was through the door.

Kahlee looked at Anderson…and she was unreadable too. Then she was heading for the door.

Anderson could've stayed. It was still his office.

But, eventually, he followed Kahlee and Udina out into the hallway.

5.

Kahlee had hung back, waited for Anderson to catch up. A more professional person would've waited to explode—would've waited until they were out of ear shot of any suits or marines or, god, journalists.

Anderson was long past being professional. Why the hell shouldn't he be? Only reason he was in this nightmare situation was because someone opened their mouth and everybody—including him—were too stupid to realize—

No. No. Not looping her into this. Let her rest. God knows nobody else in the galaxy was.

But professional…that wasn't something Anderson was capable of acting, at this moment.

"Outmaneuvered," he said, pulling up to Kahlee. She didn't flinch. "By a politician, for Christ's sake. The Navy could write a textbook about what I just did."

"Anderson," Kahlee said, "the son of a bitch pulled the rug out from under you, but—"

"David, please it's—" Anderson sighed, paused. He held up a hand as apologetically as he could, but he was mustering half, maybe even a quarter of the energy needed to make it worth anything. "It's nice just to be called David, Kahlee. Especially at a time like this."

Kahlee was quiet…but, after a second or two, she moved closer to David and squeezed his shoulder. "I get that. I understand. It…if it makes you feel better, if I'm calling you by your last name, it's just…because I figured that was what people did when things are…serious business. If…that makes sense."

Anderson found enough energy to light chuckle. "Yeah…yeah, it does. That might just be part of the problem, though…thinking serious business has to crowd out the personal." Anderson wiped at his brow. "Or hell, maybe I've got it backwards. Doesn't matter now: this phase of my life is over—good riddance."

"All the same, Udina liked your plan."

"That makes me even less confident in the ethics of the thing." Anderson tried on a weak smile. "Appreciated the backup, though."

"Full disclosure, it is a pretty multi-faceted plan." Kahlee crossed her arms. "Even forgetting all the…unmentionable stuff it's supposed to be, y'know, pumping the breaks on."

"Playing Cerberus's game isn't gonna work for us—same way it isn't gonna work for them."

"Who says it's playing Cerberus's game? None of this is manufactured. Saying Cerberus is in deep with Terra Firma, some major economic players—none of that's a lie."

"Keeping the Reapers out of this is stretching the truth a bit, though, isn't it?"

"If Cerberus wasn't a real threat, sure. But after everything you've said and…well there are stories in Grissom Academy. Rumours of where some missing students might've ended up. If what we've found is any indication of the sick and twisted shit Cerberus does to its own species…"

"Nightmare stuff, right?"

"Right. So let them burn. Trust the public to be sane about this, but let the bastards burn. It's what you did with Shepard—your speech earlier—just at a larger scale."

"Maybe…maybe." Anderson grunted, slumped against the nearest wall. "Larger scale…phrases like that scare the shit out of me now. Maybe I'm too old."

"Maybe you've just been in politics for too long," Kahlee said.

"That's true no matter what comes out of my mouth. God I was miserable here."

"Well…the most important thing is—I mean, above anything else, David—is that you already wanted to quit and Udina's taking your plan into his own hands. Hardly sounds like you got outmaneuvered by a suit to me."

Kahlee was smiling while she said that. And goddammit, Anderson started smiling too.

"You're right," he said. "Most important thing about all of this. I could play the game, I just choose not to."

"A better man there never was."

"Your father excepted."

Kahlee's smile disappeared.

"Sorry," Anderson said. Goddamn that mouth of his.

"It's fine," Kahlee said. Her smile slowly returned. "Really, David. It's fine. Dad was Dad." She lightly punched Anderson's shoulder. "Not your fault all Navy personnel get indoctrinated into the Cult of Grissom."

"In my defense…" Anderson trailed off. "Mmph, never mind. Speaking of cults, my one big regret might end up being the fact that Leng is still free to soil the uniform."

"At least you'll get to take Wexler down, eventually," Kahlee said. "Still…can't help but wonder why those two have such an obsession with her. I'd heard stories from you, to be sure, but seeing it in person? You probably undersold just how much their world's revolve around Shepard."

"Leng? That's easy to figure out." Anderson looked off in the distance. "It's a long, bloody story…but it's easy to figure out. Wexler, though? Even I don't know where to begin with that—where to even start guessing."

"Jealousy? Something…darker than that?"

"Maybe. Thing is, Wexler knew Shepard before the ICT days—before Elysium. When she was younger…she stepped on a few people's toes, every now and again."

"Would've had to have stomped on them pretty hard if that's the case. The man literally built a political career out of it."

"Yeah." Anderson pulled his eyes back to the real world. "Something to ask him after he stops being relevant."

A shuffling from the other end of the hallway, followed by a voice saying "Councilor!" Anderson turned and there was Emily Wong, with Lieutenant Vega closing the gap behind her.

"Hey, Lola! I said he's probably available—I didn't say bum-rush the guy!"

"At ease, Lieutenant," Anderson said. Emily slowed her pace, though, so at least he didn't have to worry about a hundred-off pounds of determined reporter slamming into him. "I'm available. Ms. Wong, what can I do for you?"

"Confirm a hunch for me," she said. "When we were walking out of that secure room, Udina said my story was spiked. Right? That's what he was implying?"

Anderson looked at Kahlee; Kahlee looked back at Anderson.

"Aha—thanks. That confirms it."

"On the record, we didn't say anything," Anderson said.

"And off the record, we also didn't say anything," Kahlee said.

"Please, you think I'm someone who goes around looking gift horses in the mouth? Don't answer that—I know what my reputation is." Emily pulled out her omni-tool, brought up an email from what looked like her FCC News Director. "As of no-word-of-a-lie five minutes ago, I got this. Story is a go. With no major revisions! And FCC's even going to take most of the flak from Westerlund's lawyers since Khalisah's life is in danger."

"Congratulations…?" Anderson said.

"Yeah, except: even before Udina got involved, this thing looked dead in the water; and after Udina got involved it sure as hell was dead in the water. And now it isn't—with Udina more involved than ever! A major, major win for journalistic independence from somebody who probably hunts journalists on a farm."

"Doin' a looooot of horse-staring there, Lola," Vega said.

"This is for personal use only," Emily said. "I just wanna know what's going on and if this is some plot to get me killed by Cerberus too."

Again, Anderson looked at Kahlee and Kahlee looked back.

"Yeah doing that? Reeeeeally doesn't make me feel better," Emily said.

"Ms. Wong," Kahlee said. "I can guarantee that your story being greenlit does not, under any circumstances, intentionally put you in danger."

"Intentionally, huh?"

"Couldn't've worded that a bit better, doc?" Vega said.

"Doc?" Kahlee said.

"Sorry, I heard Grissom Academy at one point. Assumed you were a…doctor, I guess. I dunno what goes on over there: they only let smart kids in."

Kahlee shook her head, turned her eyes to Emily. "I hate to say it, but that's as well-worded as I can get it. You know how trigger-happy Cerberus is: I'd be lying if I didn't say this story made you a potential target."

"But Udina's not just setting me up?"

"No," Anderson said. "I'd stake my life on that. I can't tell you what's being planned, but I'll swear on my own grave that your story got pushed through because it helps, not because Udina needs you out of the way."

Emily looked long and hard at Anderson…but eventually, she sighed.

"That's…all I needed to hear. That some of our institutions are run by sane people, I mean. Me being a target is…sorta something I expected when Khalisah first…yeah." Emily looked towards one of the secure rooms. "Still don't know why she did it—especially since it sure looked to me like she wanted out."

"Press people, right?" Kahlee said, just a hint of a smile there.

Emily gave her back just a hint of a smile, too.

"Any way we can make her a bit more secure?" Vega said. "She's got spunk, I'll give her that. Great for a marine but for a civie? That's probably gonna get her killed."

Emily turned around. "You really are almost sweet, aren't you?"

"You know it," Vega said. "My nickname in the Academy was 'decaf'."

"S…sorry what?"

"Uh, never mind," Vega said, rubbing the back of his neck. "That…sounded wittier in my head."

"You should get your tinnitus checked out," Emily said.

"All right," Anderson said, holding up his hands again. "Witty repartee aside, Emily, if you're worried about your safety, maybe…we can find some place to embed you. Someplace a bit more secure."

"Where? Grissom Academy?" Emily pointed at Kahlee. "No offense doc—dammit Vega you've got me doing it too—but, no offense, gifted children are fine and all that but it's not really what I'm paid to cover."

"You're sure?"

"Y'know, Fist's people tried to kill me once. I actually got shot in the leg! This was right before Shepard found me. And, look, I know Fist and Cerberus are two entirely separate things, but I figure that works in my favour. Because if that was a Cerberus sniper? They would've missed by a parsec and probably hit their backup." Emily smiled. "So thanks, but I think I'm good. Just…needed to know there are some good people left, is all."

Anderson…could respect the hell out of that.

"Then off the record," Anderson said, "I've got a big project in the works, and some things to say about the general state of the galaxy. Seems only fair that you get the exclusive, after all the hard work you put into this Cerberus story."

Emily's smile got wider. "I'm holding you to that, Councilor. Aaaaand on that happy note, I should probably get back to NewsNet HQ and make sure they remember my name."

"Lieutenant Vega," Anderson said, "mind escorting her? If you've got other business here then don't worry, but—"

"Nah, it's fine," Vega said. "I mean I do have other business but…uh, here." Vega handed Anderson an OSD. "Just…read past all the angry comments. There's some good data on the Collectors in there. And make sure Captain Toni gets that Medal of Valor. I'd bump it up to Star of Terra levels if it was up to me but…kinda got the impression the Alliance brass didn't give a rats ass about us being out there."

Vega took off before Anderson could say anything, so he just cradled the OSD in his hands. Omni-tool compatible so…if he wanted to, he could take a look. If he was going to pretend to be Councilor for a few more weeks, he could at least get a look at a soldier's medal request…and information on the Collectors was good to have, given the "special project" he needed to start on.

"Want me to make a copy?" Kahlee said. "Be good for your 'big project', if it's half of what I think it is."

Anderson blinked. "Reading my damn mind…you know that?"

"Nah, just…putting some pieces together. You want to stop the Reapers and I know you're not going to just sit back and let Udina take the lead. You'll be heading back to the Navy now, so…what else could it be? A way of fighting the Reapers without it looking like you're fighting the Reapers, but with a more personal touch."

"I need to talk to Hackett about it," Anderson said. "But something like a…'Distributed Operations Laboratory', under command of the Fifth—that's what I'm thinking. Stretch our maneuver warfare doctrine to the maximum: get our people prepared to find and exploit every force multiplier out there. Even the Reapers have an OODA loop—we just need to be nimble enough to get inside and tear it apart." Anderson looked at the OSD, slotted it into his omni-tool. "Or at least buy us enough time for a miracle."

"You came up with all that while everything else was going on?" Kahlee said.

"Came up with a while ago, but…didn't want to speak it into existence until a few other steps were made. First thing first: resign. Second thing after that: convince my replacement that this wasn't just a waste of money."

"Hackett will help ring the bell."

"He'd better. He owes me at least one, assuming he hasn't gone and gotten himself court martialed over the Williams and Alenko thing."

The OSD was downloading, so all his focus went back to Kahlee. She looked…mmph, he'd seen this look before. This was the "fun while it lasted" look. The look that ended a relationship with her father…and someone else.

He'd been trying to plan ahead this time, though.

"I wasn't going to bring it up until later," Anderson said, "but…this lab will need computer experts. For our own people and to understand whatever the Reapers send our way. I can think of one qualified expert for that role."

Kahlee smirked, but her arms were crossed. Dangerous combo.

"You weren't gonna mention that until later, huh?"

"You've got your own career," Anderson said. "Just because it sounded good in my head doesn't mean I'm taking your needs fully into account. I'm a marine—unless someone's in uniform I'm trained to not see them. Your words."

"Those weren't my words."

"Those were your exact words, Kahlee. I couldn't forget them. And you were right goddammit. So…I'd love to work with you on this, but you've got Grissom Academy. I didn't want to force you or make it seem like the most important work is following me around. Hell we need everyone finding breakthroughs in everything if we're gonna stand a chance against these things…"

"But you'd love to work with me," she said.

"Yeah," Anderson said. "I'd love to work with you."

Kahlee took a breath, closed her eyes, and opened them with a measured smile. "Let me think about it. Let's…go get some dinner, relax, and then tomorrow, I can think about it. You still got an apartment around here, right? Did Intragalactic Affairs give you enough of a budget for take-out?"

Anderson nodded, and smiled a measured smile of his own. "Hmph, just barely. But…all right, I can't see a fault in that…plan…"

The OSD had finished downloading, and Anderson's eyes were immediately drawn to the flashing, piercing orange of its contents. It wasn't the stuff on the Collectors—that would take time to process. It was everything else: the calls for backup, the pleas for reinforcements, the response that all available units were occupied. Vega calling BS even though Captain Toni—CO of the SSV Hastings, god, Anderson hated when life spun circles like that—tried to justify the decision.

Maybe Vega was right; maybe Toni was. What mattered was which Fleet the Hastings was assigned to.

That connected dots that Anderson hadn't even realized he was puzzling over.

"What is it?" Kahlee said. "Something about the Collectors?"

"No," Anderson said. "Something else. Something involving Brooks." He turned to Kahlee. "I never asked Brooks this—I meant to, but I never got around to it—but what I should've was: how the hell did she managed to impersonate an N7 on the Midway mission. I know N7, Kahlee. I practically wrote the whole Manual—operations side and how to deal with the chain-of-command. Bare minimum accountability was that every member of the Admiralty Board knew who's N7 and who isn't. And Brooks? Everybody on the Board had to have known she wasn't N7—she was Intelligence Command and not much else."

"So…so you're saying someone put her there fully aware that she was a mole? At least an Alliance mole?"

"Exactly…and there's only one Admiral I can think of that would've made that request."

Anderson looked at the downloaded OSD, looked at the fleet the Hastings was assigned to.

First Fleet.

"Lindholm…" Anderson said.

Postlude

Then…

The crowd was—not unexpectedly—massive. The steps leading up to the British National Museum in London were filled with reporters, supporters, protestors, security…for all the concerns of "competing lines of authority," he'd been right to remind everyone of the influence the Old Man had. And there wasn't any harm in referring to him in such a sentimental way, at this point. Sir Arnold Powell had served his purpose, but—alongside all the other monuments to conviction that nonetheless had long since enjoyed their time in the Sun—the world was ready to move on.

Jack Harper stood near the bottom of the steps, just a few rows from a cordoned-off group of protestors, screaming obscenities and trying to drown out the crackling voice on the microphone. Somewhere in that crowd was Oleg's plant—a former agent of the Operations Directorate who was willing to pretend to be something he was not, one last time, for the cause. One shot would create a martyr, boosting the legitimacy of what Cerberus stood for as the "galactic cosmopolitans" turned to violence.

And…Cerberus would be down from four heads to three. A simpler structure, much easier to manage. Should anything go wrong, that number could be brought down to two fairly expediently—the Alliance would want to know what was happening with their Operations Directorate, after all.

All necessary for the cause. Everyone was, ultimately, expendable if it served the best interests of humanity.

Sir Powell's speech was reaching its crescendo. The crowd was threating to pour over the barricade. Soon a shot would ring out, and history would see the rest play out as intended.

"We…are not calling for hate," Powell said. "Hate is an ugly word fit only for ugly people. Hate is the dominion of the small minded and the weak spirited. That our critics see only hate in our words…it is because they hate what it is that we say. And what we say, is that humanity…is not all powerful. We are not all-wise. We are mere infants compared to those, who have inhabited the stars for untold millennia. They hate that we say this because they want so desperately to believe, that godhood is one benevolent alien away!"

The crowd roared, mixes of boos and cheers and everything in between. Jack eyed the protestors. He saw movement. Oleg's plant would be getting ready.

Jack turned back to Powell.

"Humanity cannot survive against alien hordes that think themselves our natural superiors. The aliens, with their towers of technological wonder, can never be our friends. The Iron Law of Life does not permit them to be thus, just as it did not permit us to abdicate the conquest of the lands, from which we built our many empires, in favour of friendship with all God's creatures."

Protestors were being shoved to the sides; a man with a fading goatee was pushing his was forward.

Soon.

"We do not hate!" Powell said. "We do not want humanity closed off forever! When humanity has reached its potential, we say, throw open the gates! Let the banquets of equals commence! But this vision—this utopia—can only happen—will only happen—if humanity builds a strong future. A free future. A HUMAN! FUTURE! And—"

Powell turned, and for a split second…he made eye contact with Jack.

Jack winked.

"…but I say this to you," Powell said, adjusting his tie but remaining where he stood. A "good" old boy, honorable to the end. "There are those who seek to corrupt this message. Who seek to turn you to hate in the service of their own, twisted power fantasies. There are wolves amongst us—three headed wolves who imagine themselves some mythical figure of lore—and should you be tricked into following them—"

Jack's head whipped to the protestors. A man with less self control would've mouthed—possibly even shouted—hurry you son of a bitch. Jack just watched the plant push forward, as Powell sped through his new, improvised section.

"Be weary of the charlatans! Be weary of illusive men who hide in the shadows! Domination by the aliens is an ever-present threat but domination by your fellow men has not been stamped—"

"DEATH TO NEO-FASCISTS!"

The plant tried to pull out his gun, but a protestor knocked him off balance. Two more reached for him before the plant launched his head back and freed up some room. Then the gun was out, and it was pointing at Powell, and the bullet was in the air—

But security had topped Powell over; the bullet hit a cop in the arm and sent everyone else scattering. Jack turned, started following, didn't bother to look at the plant and what'd become of him. Over the cacophony of it all, he could hear Powell screaming:

"You can't hide forever Jack! You think yourself unequaled but you're wrong, Jack! You're dead! Wrong!"

Jack had made it to an alleyway, though, and after hoping enough fences he was in the clear. He kept running, though—running away from Powell, his words, the stink of failure.

He'd nearly crossed the Thames on foot when he realized his private communicator was beeping.

"It's Henry," the communicator said. "Oleg's been buggered. Hope you know where to get fresh troops, because the Alliance just got its Operations Directorate back."

You think yourself unequaled but you're wrong, Jack. You're dead wrong…

Now…

There was a reason why he'd ended the name "Jack Harper." Too polluted with past mistakes; too weighed down by accidents and slip-ups. He'd evolved since then, as had Cerberus. Losing access to the Operations Directorate required a radical redesign, but it had happened nonetheless.

Men of vision…don't let past failure close off the future.

He watched Operative McCann's tracker as it made its way back to Operative Brooks' tracker, still sitting in that shared hotel room on the Citadel. This was a prime example of what Cerberus had become: an organization that could learn from its mistakes. The idea of framing the death of Arnold Powell around a pro-alien protestor gone violent remained a sound strategy, so it could be redeployed—if the operational baggage of the past had enough time to clear. This time, it would be framing the death of anyone Liara T'Soni may have contacted on radical, pro-Citadel agitators. The Alliance was nervous about Terra Firma's recent polling data—even they weren't so stupid to ignore it—so it would behoove them to tread lightly, in the future, around any Terra Firma electoral victories.

That Dr. T'Soni was already dealt with was…unexpected. But Miranda had accomplished an important goal under her own initiative. That was expected, when you were the best; and Miranda was certainly among the best and brightest he'd found. Major operations required more communication with him, though, and Miranda might need to be reminded of that fact.

For now, the focus would be on Operative's McCann and Brooks fulfilling their objective on the Citadel. Operative Brooks could then be redeployed, while Operative McCann could go back to Alliance Intelligence Command.

The Illusive Man took a drag from his cigarette and closed the holographic screen, showing Operative McCann and Operative Brooks' trackers…

…and, on the Citadel, Hal McCann cut through yet another alleyway and held his fucking sides, because he was only a desk jockey, y'know that? Running through the whole fucking Citadel wasn't something his flabby body could handle, y'understand?

Christ, right, Brooks was gonna get one hell of a chewing out when he got back, swear to god mate. Let's see her trek through this shit after getting a grand total of ten thousand steps total in the last year.

Hal staggered down the alleyway and finally gave up—just…just lemme take breather on this wall an'…an' call that good, yeah? An'…all right, what the fuck was this then?

"Right," Hal said, keeping on hand on the wall and using his free one to point at the two…don't even know what to call it, really, 'cept weird looking Matrix cosplayers. Leather trench coats and sunglasses, the like. "Now, I get you two are into some interesting foreplay, but—I'm a working man, y'see, and I've got places to actually fucking be."

The two figures in trench coats stopped. They were about halfway down the alley, now—far enough away that it'd take a good second wind to get him in the public eye again.

Hal said the only thing he could think of at that moment.

"Right, I'll suck one've you off. Who bathed recent…Granger, that you?"

Hal took a step forward, and the one on the right pulled out a gun, shot him in the head. The one on the left sprinted to the body.

"Which arm?"

"Left—just above the elbow. Got the program?"

"Got it." A knife pulled out a lump of flesh, produced a small subdermal tracker. An omni-tool floated over it until it glowed orange. "Simulating path to the hotel. Anyone watching should think target is still moving."

"Good, mission accomplished." The one that shot Hal pulled out his gun and shot the other one in the back of the head. Taking two steps deeper into the alleyway, he held his fingers up to his ear. "Granger to Intelligence Command: targets are down. Notify C-SEC in minimum ten minutes—give me time to get clear." The figure yanked off the trench coat, stuffed it into a bag slung over his shoulder, and straightened out his Alliance uniform. "Tell Admiral Lindholm I'll forward a copy of my report to her once it's clearer proper channels. Lieutenant Granger out."

Granger sprinted down the rest of the alleyway, as blocks away Maya Brooks rubbed at the still-fresh wound in her arm, just above the elbow—a wound that'd left a good part of her behind at the hotel. At the Human Embassy, now vacated by David Anderson and Kahlee Sanders, Donnell Udina sat in his office and awaited the arrival of Rear Admiral Greer of the Joint Species Relay Maintenance Commission.

But back in the alleyway—back where two bodies lay in growing pools of their own blood—a cloaked figure kneeled beside the one in a trench coat. She could see inside his head, just like the last two she'd found.

The same tech; a different target.

Not. Cerberus. After all.

"Thanks, Keiji. I couldn't have figured that out on my own."

What. Will. You. Do?

"Clean my suit off. Between shoving Leng's head into a wall and all the dead trench coats, it's filthy."

I. Meant.

"I know, I know…" Kasumi sprinted away from the bodies, climbed a wall, stood on a roof as she watched the people of the Citadel mill about. "Maybe I won't do anything."

Kasumi…

"Or maybe I'll stop in on Udina, see if he gets his hands dirtier than people realize."

And. Do. What?

"And finally get where I want to be going, Keiji." Kasumi leapt off the roof, to another roof, picked up speed, didn't look back. "I used up all my selflessness today, so why not work on the greybox? After all, if you blackmail a politician, is it really blackmail?"

Keiji was silent as Kasumi disappeared deeper into the Citadel.

And, elsewhere on that station, an Alliance Marine and a former turian C-SEC officer disembarked their shuttle, into a civilization that never seemed to change…

---

Oh god...a chapter that's over 20,000 words. Hey remember when I said I cut a chapter into two parts to avoid going over 16,000 words? Wow, what a time. What a time that was.

Anyways...yeah. Sorry this concluding part took so long, but life's been a kick in the dick lately. That and actually getting this chapter to work took...well several kicks in the dick before it all came together. But, alas, it is here. And of all the chapters I've written, it sure is one of them!

This is longer than the fucking orion arm, though, so I'll keep this as brief as possible. Title comes from one of the Thick of It specials, while "Sir Arnold Powell" is, as some who are aware of British political history might have guessed, based on Enoch Powell. Now, leaving aside my own personal politics, with Terra Firma becoming the UKIP of this AU (complete with most of the party being total morons), I thought it'd make sense to have a Powell-esq founding figure that could at least string a sentence together. Then that section ended up detailing more of Cerberus's origins than I thought, so that became a thing, and it just spiraled from there.

Is this the last we've seen of Joe Wexler? God I hope so. Trying to write his dialogue was hard enough, let alone do "free-indirect discourse" with it. But is this the last we've seen of Kai Leng? Dunno, I haven't thought that far ahead.

Anyways, next up is Garrus and Kaidan's super happy fun bonding experience, where find out that Garrus and Sidonis's mothers have the same first name and so now they're best friends.

(i swear to god that won't be 20,000 words long please don't hurt me)