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]

41. Chapter 40: Behold a Pale Horse: Pt II

Chapter 40: Behold a Pale Horse: Part II

1.

Radio said there was a safehouse so he was getting to that safehouse. Half his unit was gone but he was making it to that safehouse. If it wasn't the damn bugs it was that damn monster that, that thing that showed up and started killing everything it couldn't be stopped just get to the safehouse and HIDE WITH THE OTH—

Shit. SHIT hide dammit.

Sergeant Carlak Rennoth dove into a bush the moment he saw the red lights. They were leaking out from behind a row of leaves which is exactly—exactly—what'd fucking happened when that thing massacred his whole damned unit. They put everything into it and it'd blown apart the Lieutenant and torn the Captain in half and erased Gepo Pon and Osothor like they were damn hallucinations.

Shit the lights were stopping.

Carlak crouched and watched the lights eat the trees—he didn't know if this thing could light things on fire just by looking at them but it might as well have, the way it was moving it might as well have for all Carlak could care. Fuck. Fuck.

JUST MOVE ON PLEASE WHAT DO YOU WANT?

Carlak watched the lights, so he didn't see the black could above him wobble and start to descend. He didn't hear the buzzing as it roared towards him. He didn't even initially feel the sting on his shoulder, since it was attached to the arm that thing had almost ripped off when he tried to get away.

He felt his muscles seize, though. And he felt the cold hand wrap itself around his mouth.

He felt his neck get wretched back as the hand started dragging him, away from the lights, away from that thing.

A monster leaking burning red from its eyes was in front of him, killing everything he knew; a monster with skin colder than the void was behind him, dragging him to some place he didn't know.

Carlak's mind almost broke.

He'd eventually wish it had.

2.

Miranda had chosen to wear black combat armour; Samara and Mordin arrived at the shuttle in little more than a bodysuit and lab coat, respectively. A simple readout of the weather on Aratoht showed utterly atrocious winds, so Miranda's armour was compliment by a full helmet and breather—Samara and Mordin elected to wear simple masks that moderately covered their eyes, noses, and mouths. What in God's name would compel them to dress so…lightly was ultimately immaterial: surely being vaunted experts in their fields (which involved significant body counts, assuming all intelligence about them remained unembellished) meant they always thought, first and foremost, about mission success. Failing that, surely Cerberus wouldn't have bothered reaching out to aliens without recognizing species-transcendent talent. And, failing both those things, surely Samara and Mordin had a bloody self-preservation instinct, and weren't planning on being ripped apart by Seeker Swarms simply because armour was heavy.

Surely all those assumptions were true.

But Miranda was embarking on a mission with two operationally defiant individuals—very clearly they were operationally defiant. From their actions on Tuchanka to their hostile questioning in the boardroom to their damned blank stares at the briefing in Miranda's office—

(and that's all that mattered, nothing more, nothing less, nothing personal nothing identifiable with Miranda outsider her role in Cerberus, nothing that concerned Oriana or the containment breach that put her sister at risk her at risk just operational matters just rules procedures strategies everything that someone with common sense could agree on anyone who's being a professional could agree on)

—very very clearly Miranda's leadership was far from being a consensus position. If anything, enough cracks had formed that the consensus has perhaps shifted in the other direction but, of all the opposition, Samara and Mordin stood out with the damage they could inflict. And that hardly stopped at Aratoht's atmosphere: far greater objectives, and far more people, were riding on the success of this mission. For someone as experienced as Samara or as intelligence as Mordin, it should have been obvious—whether they liked it or not—that they were stuck with Miranda, and so supporting her was tantamount to supporting the mission.

Surely her assumptions were correct…but what chances were there that two zealots would sacrifice their life just to drag Miranda—and Cerberus—under the water? Two corpses for one massive line of them: stretching from where she stood on Aratoht all the way to Earth. Aliens and humans could absolutely co-exist; contra the xenophobes, there was nothing inherent to Cerberus's mission that said galactic peace could be achieved any other way. But two rogue elements, clearly suffering from psychological scars deep enough to blow their dossiers to bloody hell, were an entirely different situation. Surely mutual self-interest could be overridden under the right conditions…

…after all, Cerberus was founded because the Alliance had been found wanting, in just that exact way…

Their shuttle rattled, bursts of air from the storms punching at them as they descended. Miranda paced, feeling the eyes of Samara and Mordin follow her every step. The shuttle slowed and then hovered, for half a second, before roughly connecting with the ground. The doors hissed open and unleashed the passengers—per instruction, Samara and Mordin followed Miranda towards a row of trees, crouching, hiding themselves under what remained of the canopy.

Miranda's omni-tool glowed orange, and as she began to type she awaited the inevitable—

"Coordinates for Second Team," Mordin said, voice crackling through the speakers near Miranda's ear like someone had blown a damn trumpet next to hear head. "Adjusting landing zone—doing so unilaterally."

—right, and there it was, as if on cue.

"If STG wait for a show of hands, Mordin, then I applaud your public relations team for their excellent work."

"Where are you sending them?" Samara said.

Miranda was now multitasking between typing and splitting her glare, fifty-fifty, between Samara and Mordin. None of the intensity in her eyes evaporated—she made bloody sure of that—as she shifted her wrist slightly, showing them the same screen she was looking at.

"A supply depot, about partway between the two bases. It's more central and closer to a third outpost I'd rather not have to deal with during exfiltration. They'll be more useful funnelling any remaining batarian presence that way—surely the Collectors will follow the trail of bodies, too, if they're looking to eliminate any and all resistance."

"Suicidal!" Mordin said, jabbing a finger Miranda's way. "Sending them into thicker resistance than before! Complete disregard for well-being—relying on propensity towards violence to pre-empt objections!"

"Is that accusation supposed to be insulting to me, or to the two people you're claiming to protect?" Miranda pulled her wrist back, lest either of them decide physical contact was warranted.

"A commander who willing leads her people to slaughter," Samara said, "has no recognizable authority to speak of."

"We've procedures that have final say, Samara—philosophy has no part to play in this."

"You misunderstand: the Code recognizes that a person elevated by law to a position of leadership, may on occasion have to make difficult choices.

"We don't have bloody time for th—"

"In such circumstances—so long as restitution is made and innocents remain unharmed—the Code offers these individuals a modicum of protection from retaliation, entirely proportionate to the desperation of their situation. These conditions are tightly circumscribed, and your actions fall well outside its bounds. Were I not currently under oath to you, the Code would demand you face justice."

"Black and white thinking irrelevant," Mordin said. "Ethically, pragmatically, instrumentally—actions here utter mockery of rational thinking! Couldn't defend previous choices—certainly can't defend them now.

"Then the outpost is that way, Professor," Miranda said, stabbing at it through the forest and the storm. "It has more weapons than the Widowmaker and I doubt the batarians can so much as muster a surrender at this point. If anything, I'm doing Jack and Grunt and you a damn favour."

Mordin stood to his full height, pulled out his submachine gun. Briefly—just briefly—it looked as though he might turn that on Miranda, what with the glare on his face, barely hidden by that face mask. But no bullets, no tech attacks—nothing of the sort. Evidently, Miranda hadn't miscalculated.

"Recognize offer made in jest," he said. "Will warn them—contact them directly. Unconscionable use of teammates—if retaliation coming, suggest shooting now and avoid wasting precious time!"

Samara took a step forward, but Miranda cut off her approach.

"And if I'm such a damn liability then I'd suggest you stop grandstanding and get a bloody move on. Otherwise I'm liable to think you're an irrational coward. Or maybe you're just putting up a front."

And then…Mordin closed his eyes, inhaled, exhaled slowly. Silent, then opened eyes.

"Not front. Irrational, maybe. Coward likely. But not front—refuse to believe it a front." And with fluidity and speed Miranda never imagined she'd see from an aging doctor, Mordin yanked out his submachine gun. He took a step towards her. His voice was low, each staccato sentence spoken as though he was attempting to staple the words directly onto her brain.

"Understand severity. Desperation of Collector attacks. Environment of Cerberus: uncertainty, paranoia, suffocating. Can't succeed this way. Won't succeed. Not here—not elsewhere."

Miranda pushed herself forward, matched Mordin's glare. "Were we having this conversation back on Illium—back when we still had momentum—I'd be willing to continence what you're saying. But apologies, Professor: I've a hard time matching your words with your actions."

"Problem for both of us. Hope progress made. Many lives depend on it. Not emotional blackmail. Being genuine. Many. Lives. Know you understand—need to think look further than previously allowed."

Miranda avoided grinding her teeth…but only just barely.

"I'll take your expertise under advisement," she said.

"Expert already on ship. Hope you recognize her soon enough."

And then Mordin was gone, through the trees, sprinting and ducking under branches…and Miranda was left alone with Samara. One down, potentially one more to go…she'd taken more of a beating on that than anticipated, but, at least, one less variable was at play.

(already on the ship what the bloody hell did you mean?)

"And are you going after him?" Miranda said, turning to Samara.

The Justicar stood there, letting the wind tear at her.

"I swore an Oath to you. That Oath, as you can see, is not so easily neglected."

Miranda stared, letting the wind tear at her as well. A quick glance at where Mordin had been, then a quick glance back at Samara. For all the wide-open space on this planet, for all the mountains and hills and reminders that you could always do what Mordin did—you could always find a different part of the horizon to run towards…it didn't matter. It did not, under any circumstances, matter—not so long as they were to see this mission through.

Miranda pushed past Samara, and said:

"Then stop sounding so damn disappointed when you can't find an excuse to kill me."

Samara did not immediately follow, because—as had happened many times in her life—she found it easier to hear The Words in her mind, without the another soul lingering beside her.

3.

Trees were starting to get less burnt—that was good. Few more klicks and they'd get better aircover, gain some room to maneuver without acting like oh screw it.

Ash'd said they didn't have time to play twenty questions but this was stupid. Only true things live in the dark the hell was that supposed to mean? You coulda been five galaxies past Andromeda when Sovereign stormed the Citadel and you'd still tell yourself to stay the hell away; be part of Shepard's team though and you'd be doing your damndest not to put a bullet through Kenson's head. Really, Williams? You were gonna double-time it off the planet with the compromised asset you might've just picked up, sure, you wanna pick now to get swallowed by this? Is that it?

Then unfuck this situation, marine, or roll over and let somebody else handle it.

Ashley spun around—shards of dirt mashing against her visor—and grabbed Kenson's shirt. Kenson had just enough time for a look of surprise before Ash was muscling her backwards, external radio cranked to eleven so her voice didn't get eaten by the wind.

"Tree—NOW! Hands where I can see them!"

"W-w-what I—"

Ash was dragging her by the collar of her jacket—a heave and the doctor was up against a tree with enough force to dislodge some bark. She pointed at Thane but kept her eyes on Kenson, no fucking way she was turning her back.

"Thane, Legion—you tell me if someone's about to crawl up our ass. You—" she was pointing at Kenson now, "—you tell me what the hell that was back there, where the hell your team is, and why the fuck we should trust anything you say, understand?"

Kenson tried to push away from the tree, tried roaring over the sound of the wind. "I said I'd explain!"

"Husk's say a lot of things—or people who're just an Eden Prime away from becoming one do."

"I'm not indoctrinated please, let me explain!"

"They say that a lot too now start answering, Kenson, because believe me when I say: there's a big part of me saying I should be a hell of a lot rougher right now."

"Warning: Information propagation distorted when speaker is under duress."

"Shut it, Legion." She didn't even bother looking at them—she kept her eyes on target instead.

But then Thane was there and, dammit move Thane, don't fucking try to—

"Siha, I understand the urgency," he said. "But she's unarmed—she can't cause any of us harm in this state."

Screw it—screw it. Ash took a step back and whipped out her pistol and, pointing it at Kenson, screamed, "SIT! Sit the fuck down and stay there, got it?"

Kenson nodded, slid down the tree, sat—Ash kept her posture but glared out the corner of her eye at Thane.

"Neither of you—fucking NEITHER of you—have seen what indoctrination does to people. Neither of you—all right? You think I'm worried about her pulling a gun? If the Reapers have her, this mission is fucked. We let her anywhere near the ship and we've just added a Reaper agent to the Alliance Navy—maybe even right next to fucking Hackett. And the worst goddamn part is? The worst goddamn part is she might be the last person to know they have her. You don't see somebody like Saren lose his mind and not even realize it withoutDON'T FUCKING MOVE, I TOLD YOU NOT TO MOVE!"

Kenson tried to fuse with the tree and held up her arms. Yeah in any other circumstance this would…but the Reapers weren't any other fucking circumstance, okay? So sit the fuck down and—

Kenson, arms up, said, "It's not the Reapers it—that wasn't indoctrination, what I just did. I swear it: I was pretending to—"

"Pretending? All right, I should've kept you behind glass because you're about three seconds away from—"

"Warning: security of multiple individuals relying on success of this mission. Recommend avoidance of escalation spiral."

"SHUT IT, LEGION!"

Thane was grabbing her arm now and he was saying, "Ashley, please, I'm beginning to understand your concern, but executing Dr. Kenson will only rob us of valuable intelligence."

Ashley pulled away. "Screw that—you think I want to do this? You think I wanna be forced to start shooting people if I think they're acting funny? That's the game the Reapers play and, I'm sorry, but it'll get a hell of a lot worse out here if we pretend we don't have to play it too."

"I'M NOT BLOODY—!"

Ash stepped closer to Kenson; Thane stepped in front of Ash. "If you're right about indoctrination then there's no way to prove we're not indoctrinated too."

Ash tried to take another step. "How the FUCK is that supposed to talk me down?"

"Because I'm reminding you of what tells us the sun will rise tomorrow," Thane said, and with that Ashley turned her head, looked him in the eyes of his mask. She couldn't see them but she could feel them.

"Faith," he said.

Ashley…just stared back…

"We have reached consensus on risk-mitigation strategies."

…and then her shoulders slouched and she let out a sigh, and god, Legion'd been standing guard that whole time, hadn't they?

All right, well…there we go. Faith and cold robot calculus. Best of both worlds, right?

She motioned with her gun for Kenson to get up. Then, shaking her head, she holstered her pistol and reached out a hand. Kenson hesitated but, eventually, she grabbed onto Ashley and let the marine haul her upwards.

"I…I realize I didn't exactly help matters there," Kenson said, now fully upright. "Apologies I…normally I'm a bit more composed than that. I just legitimately thought you might kill me: everything I know, just…gone, just like that."

Thane grunted, and Ashley took a step closer to Kenson.

"I almost did. Okay? You understand me? If you're one of five people that actually take the Reapers seriously in the Alliance, then you never—ever—do something like that. The things I saw on Virmire, whole STG cells just…you never pass yourself off as indoctrinated. To one of Shepard's people? You never do that." Ash leaned in, visor getting right up close to Kenson's face. "We clear, doctor?"

"Yes—yes we're perfectly understanding one another," Kenson said. She took a step back, but she wasn't…well she wasn't rattled anymore. Didn't seem like it, anyways. She was staring at Legion, though. "I'm not at all clear about the geth situation, though."

"Literally not even in the top fifty things to be worrying about right now," Ashley said. "And yeah, trust me: I get how weird that sounds."

"Right," Kenson said, taking another step back. "I…well speaking of weird I…the thing about what I said there was—and I did tell you it would sound insane—but what I was doing was—"

"I'm sorry," Thane said. "If it's possible, could you speak up? I'd like to hear what you have to say."

Ashley reached into a compartment on her amour and yanked out a spare earpiece and microphone. "Here," she said, handing them to Kenson. The doctor slipped them into her ears and under her breathing mask.

"Thank you I…hope that's better," Kenson said.

"My thanks," Thane said, bowing his head slightly. "At this juncture—in the midst of all this chaos—I don't believe we have much room for misinterpretation."

"Affirmative," Legion said.

Kenson stared at the geth, then shook her head.

"Then I'll…try not to skimp on the details, so long as we're not likely to lose our heads to a Collector."

"We are monitoring all activity via ground-based motion detectors and external cameras. Sufficient warning will be given should we need to relocate."

"You…you laid motion detectors already?"

"Negative: Hegemony defense network remains virtually unguarded."

Kenson blinked again.

"Just…take a breath and accept it," Ashley said. "You'll get used to having a geth around eventually."

Legion's eyeflap did…something, Ash thought it looked like surprise again. But never mind, focus on the doctor.

Kenson took a breath, then finally spoke.

"What you witnessed me doing is…a little performance I picked up from an asari merchant team we came into contact with, out past…I don't even remember the system anymore. A poor performance, I admit. I don't…I don't think anyone could perfectly mimic what this asari did, not without having experienced what she did for themselves."

"This's getting real ominous again, doc," Ashley said.

"Apologies it's…right. The rachni this—this asari crew had come into contact with the rachni." Kenson wiped at her brow. "I suppose, given the reports from Noveria, that you would know the effects of organic quantum entanglement when you see it."

"Rachni? Jesus Christ." Ashley took a step back, looked at the ground, shook her head. "The Queen, the fucking…the Rachni Queen Shepard saved. She said all that? God, I can hear it but—"

"No, no the Queen didn't…what was communicated to me was, the Queen describing how the Reapers allegedly spoke to them, eons and eons ago. I…'sour yellow note' was mentioned once or twice, but I…left that out, I suppose."

"That is not all together different from what Nazara told us," Legion said. "Less emphasis on organic metaphors. Concentration on the notion of a 'gift,' one that would ensure us immortality. We recognize the attempted activation of analogues to helplessness and despair in our rejection of Old Machine offer."

"I see…" Thane said.

"I-I'm sorry but…did…did something happen to the galaxy while the batarians were interrogating me?" Kenson blinked again, for all the good it did her. "Clearly I'm not hallucinating—you've all acknowledged there's a geth platform present. Did we tunnel into a different universe sometime in the past month?"

"Your lips to God's ear," Ashley said. "But c'mon—let's focus here, doc. You're saying you got all this from the rachni—fine. I can believe that. And maybe I buy the idea the Rachni Queen thought she owed the galaxy a second chance, because I've seen Shepard pull that miracle off before. How the hell'd this turn into an Alliance Intel op that I'm guessing nobody but Hackett knows anything about?"

Kenson cleared her throat. "Partially right on the explanation. The Queen was warning everyone in, erm, I suppose 'earshot' is a bad metaphor but regardless, she was telling everyone that encountered her precisely what the Reaper threat was, why we ought to worry—having done nothing to prepare for their arrival—"

"Thank you, giant space bugs," Ashley said.

"How that all turned into an Alliance Operation was…" Kenson closed her eyes, took a breath, then seemed to lock her shoulders, like that was going to make her words hit that much harder. "There's a second relay in this system. An ancient one, even by the standards of the rest. You all obviously know the relays predate the protheans—no surprise there for us—but by our estimates, this relay may even predate the Citadel itself."

"Okay…yeah, that's ominous," Ashley said. She shook her head. "So you're saying there's an old-as-hell relay parked right on the edge of the galaxy. Sorry to say, I think I see where this is going."

"Yes, in this case, ancient means 'different from the rest,' too. For one thing, we can't find it on any relay map—even on the Citadel. By all accounts, it's completely disconnected from the network. The only other one we know of like that is the Omega 4 relay, which is hardly comforting given that thing's reputation."

"The ship killer," Ashley said. "Eater of Lost Souls. The Mechanical Devil. That orange glowing thing that's completely inert half the time you go near it, and the other half it swallows you up forever." Ashley sighed again. "Y'know, you hear these nicknames and you think, 'God, why didn't anyone figure this out before?' Of course there's something hiding in the dark, just fucking around with us: you really think we'd tell the stories we do without a good reason?"

"It…certainly speaks to a great deal of shared anxiety," Thane said. He turned to Legion. "Does this propensity to create…stories match with the geth's experience? The 'activation of hopelessness,' as you put it?"

Legion's eyeflap moved. "Geth do not attached supernatural significance to technology we are incapable of understanding," they said. "Heretic programs do. We recognize this as a potentially effective heuristic in certain circumstances, though we judged the costs of adopting this model—to our other maps of reality—to be too great."

"Hmm…comforting, I suppose."

"We cannot comment on this decision's impact on organic thought-processes."

Thane's eyes drifted away from Legion. "I see…"

"Ah, as I was saying," Kenson said, "what we were told lined up with Shepard's reports: the Citadel no longer functions as central portal linking to dark space, so the Alpha relay—here is why we're pretty sure our carbon-dating is correct—is the new priority relay. We were able to analyze it briefly and, by all accounts, it can unleash a truly unprecedented amount of dark energy. And being that it runs off its own unique code, we expect it has some override function for the rest of the network. The implication there being—"

"Extra speed for the Reapers, lots and lots of traps for everyone else." Ashley crossed her arms. "Okay, understanding why you and Hackett thought an invasion might be a stones-throw away. This relay—s'it been activated yet?"

"The rachni said it's always been operational, just…disconnected from the rest of the network," Kenson said. "Our analysis—pitifully preliminary as it is—certainly confirmed both those statements. We also, unfortunately, managed to confirm two more. Whatever the code is that makes this relay special, it's unimaginably complex: any brute-force approach is completely off the table. And second it…changes, apparently. Or has changed: when the rachni investigated it long before the batarians colonized this system, it was different than it is now."

"Evolving code would contribute to computational complexity of Old Machine security protocols," Legion said.

"But it isn't constantly evolving," Kenson said. "It…right, and here's where I feel as though I'm in uncharted territory even for you lot." She looked at Legion. "I've…yet to decide if this applies to you or not."

"Geth are not omniscient," Legion said. "We welcome the exchange of new data wherever possible."

"Right, well…the final thing the rachni mentioned was that they…God, what the Queen remembers is the code being one way, then Sovereign—the Reaper that attacked the Citadel, that's what Shepard call it too, right?—Sovereign made contact with a colony in the Thorne System, which amounted to little more than a planetary-wide mental interrogation—no indoctrination, no quid-pro-quo, none of what other species have experienced when coming into contact with it. It practically burned the atmosphere off the planet when it was done—that was how the Queen described its departure, like it thought the planet was about to explode—and then it disappeared somewhere in Thorne that the rachni had no starcharts for."

Kenson paused, took a breath. "And then the rachni here in this system said the code…changed overnight. Quite literally: the moment Sovereign left Thorne, the Alpha relay was running an entirely different set of symbolic patterns."

Everyone—even Legion—was quiet for a long, long time.

"I'm not exactly giddy about this reaction, you understand," Kenson said.

"Sorry, sorry just…we learn anything about the Reapers and it should come as a shock," Ashley said. "Somehow this's…on a whole 'nother level."

"The Pattern of behaviour exhibited by Nazara is inconsistent with Geth and organic records," Legion said. "Interrogation without indoctrination, and immediate abandonment of serviceable rachni colony, signal urgency Old Machines have not previously shown." Legion's eyeflap rose. "Addendum: EDI was tasked to investigate reports of an Old Machine corpse in the Thorne System. Probability of causal connection between Nazara behaviour and presence of Old Machine corpse considered moderate-to-high."

That sentence might as well have been attached to an anvil. The wind ripped and roared and even inside their helmets, Ashley and Thane were practically getting concussed from the airbursts. But put "panicked Reaper" and "Reaper corpse" and "a geth thinks they're connected" together and it didn't matter what the wind was doing, what the Collectors were doing, what anything was doing.

"Even a God can't help but recoil from death," Thane said.

"Or it figured the rachni might do exactly what Cerberus is planning," Ashley said. "Getting their hands on a weapon." She turned to Legion. "This give EDI and Joker what they need? We've got a connection between the Omega 4 relay and this one and I'm betting the mystery code is their ticket to understanding Reaper IFFs. First thing's first is helping them out, but if we've got some way of keeping Cerberus the hell away from Thorne, I say we put that as Priority 1-B."

"Our understanding of Kenson-Doctor's explanation is that copying Old Machine relay code is computationally infeasible."

"Yes, precisely…unfortunately." Kenson shook her head. "I've no idea what other operations are ongoing, but just simply from the perspective of stopping a Reaper invasion, it would make our lives significantly longer if the code was in any way manipulatable. But for us, it isn't."

"What was Plan B?" Ashley said.

"It involved an asteroid, I'm afraid," Kenson said. "We were testing an alternative but it…it wasn't liable to work. An asteroid colliding into the Alpha Relay would—"

"Blow the whole solar system apart," Ashley said.

"We don't know that for sure but…it's entirely possible, yes. Alternatively it could create a blackhole with an event horizon large enough to swallow all of Bahak's planets."

"So you weren't planning on walking away from this."

Kenson looked at the ground. "The batarians don't take as many prisoners as they used to, regardless."

Ashley sighed. "All right…Jesus. We've gotta shift gears. Kenson's right: we take the Alpha Relay off the chessboard or the Reaper's are gonna eat our lunch—today, tomorrow, six months from now, doesn't matter."

"Four individuals, no matter how skilled, are hardly sufficient," Thane said. "That would be true even if the Collectors were not active on Aratoht."

"And since they are," Ashley said, "they're probably gonna kill every living thing in the system so this relay stays hidden."

"Interjection: Aratoht's population largely consists of slaves and political prisoners. Additional consequences: Long-term batarian retaliation for destruction of Bahak deemed high. Both ethical and pragmatic reasons available for scaling back collateral damage from mission."

"Through what alternative!" Kenson said. "We're only bloody facing the end of the world, here."

Legion's eyeflap moved again. "Insufficient data," they said.

Ashley pushed past the group, out into the open. "Doesn't matter: Thane's right on the money. Four people against a planet of batarians is one thing: throw in the Collectors and we don't have a chance in hell. But whatever backup we get's gotta be here fast, and we need Joker and EDI somewhere else when they arrive."

"What backup could possible take the Collectors in force and be here in time?" Kenson said. "We were a large group, at one point—we've an asteroid more or less ready to go. It's repurposed from a practice asteroid that bastard Balak used before Terra Nova."

Ashley looked up at the sky, stared back in time to Terra Nova—to Shepard barreling her way through a mining outpost while billions of humans got closer and closer to a mass extinction event.

She turned back to Kenson. "That's Plan A, now. But we're not getting there without Hackett."

"Hackett?"

"The Fifth Fleet. I call him, he'll come—and the Fifth's already used to killing fuck-off big ships. He'll clear us and that asteroid a path." She closed her eyes. "Please, God, keep the casualty rate down this time."

"We reiterate our objection to the projected collateral damage."

Ashley tensed up, almost ripped her knuckles clean through her gloves she was clenching her fists so hard. Taking a breath, she turned to Legion.

"If Hackett's got an evacuation plan, then Hackett's got an evacuation plan," Ashley said. "But if the 'Old Machines' are ready to roll over everything and everyone—if the Collectors are already halfway through a massacre—then we do what we've gotta do. I'll eat my gun later if I have to."

"Perhaps Legion has an alternative plan," Thane said. "They've been successful at doing the impossible before."

Ashley stared at Legion; Thane did too.

If the light in Legion's eye could dim, then it sure looked like they'd done just that.

"Insufficient data."

Something in Ashley wanted to grab a handful of dirt and start rubbing. Sucks not having all the answers, doesn't it? Sucks being this little thing stuck in a universe way too big for its own good. But, god, she'd seen those people before. She'd seen people look out over a massacre and say, guess you heroes can't completely run circles around me, can you? Jesus two of them—Wexler and fucking Leng—they'd cost lives because Shepard wanting to save everyone was somehow totally 'wrong.'

You wanna be like Leng, Williams? You wanna pretend a heart of silicon somehow makes that okay?

Ashley untensed her shoulders.

"Keep working at it—loop EDI in if you have to. But, Legion, c'mon—we're talking about the Reapers. We've got a lot of death ahead of us."

"We accept your logic," Legion said, pretty much immediately (Jesus—benefits of not having hormones, Ashley guessed). "We will attempt to formulate alternatives, simultaneous with further engagement with EDI/Joker."

Ashley paused, then nodded. She looked up at the sky.

"We're not going anywhere, so back to North—that's my suggestion. Any objections?"

"Negative."

"None to speak of."

"God, right—how quickly is Hackett going to arrive?"

"Quick enough for this to work, now c'mon, we're—Jesus—we're backtracking and hunkering down until I see Alliance colours." She paused, looked at her gun, shook her head. "And if we see any batarians out in the open still then…we do our best to hide them. Evacuation's gonna be a moot point if nobody's alive except us."

They cut back through the trees, back through the singed branches and swirling columns of ash. Thane was in the rear, watching the others march ahead. They seemed blurry, like the shimmering afterimages you sometimes got after a surprise burst of light. It wasn't the dust, nor was it the sheer power of the wind fogging up the goggles of Thane's mask. It was—

Her head bobs, weaves, dancing to a demonic chorus only she can hear. "The only true things live in the dark," Kenson says, "but that's not where you get to go. Only a few do—the rest just end."

The Mars, brimming with blue light, vibrations pulsing through the bulkheads near the drive core. Ashley stands, a whole world pushing down on her shoulders. In her eyes you can see a gauntlet of sleepless nights, of aching questions, or staring into a cosmos you once found wonderous and, now, only see as empty.

"I can't be like that, Thane," she says. "I can't just be okay with it like she was. I need more—I need a lot, lot more."

It's raining on Kahje—it always, rains on Kahje. Irikah has been taken to the deep—she has been with Kalahira for a week of mortal time. Water pools around him, seeps into his lungs, strangles him with an unbreakable, inescapable grip. If he stood there long enough, would the sea claim him too? His body cries out for the comfort of his gun, but the light of his soul—now little more than a spark—sets his feet, locks him on that beach, forces him to breath the moisture.

Kolyat is not there. There is no one to grieve with—he has made sure of that. Pain. Fear. Suffering. A back turned to a beacon of goodness. Grief is his prison. Grief is his penance for the life his decisions have wrought. He will cleanse himself in the fires of grief so that he may walk into the ocean a worthy soul, worthy of begging for her forgiveness. He pushes the longing for his Kolyat away, reminds himself how easy it would be to use him, to lean on him, to tear away his grief and force it upon his son.

His soul sleeps; his body awakens. He has time to feed one before purifying the other.

He allows himself to cough, and then he walks from the beach.

Thane blinked away the fog, albeit with only limited success. So much was placed upon Ashley's shoulders—so much was required of her, from a world that only remembered her name when it suited them, when they needed either saving or a target. All she asked in return was for something all people should be given unconditionally; all she wanted was to feel solid ground wherever she walked.

How could a dying man provide that for her, when only true things resided in the dark?

Sounds echo all through the Mars. A scarred turian stares him down, challenging him, ripping apart every lie—leaving its corpse to be gawked at, sneered at, by others.

""Now I get why you signed up for free," Garrus says. "You're not costing the Alliance a single credit, but you're just in this for yourself, aren't you?"

Indeed, how could Thane give anything to Ashley, if at his spark was sick with self-interest.

The blurriness got worse, and as he had done four times before, Thane switched off his external and internal radio.

And then he coughed, and coughed and coughed until, finally, the blurriness went away.

4.

On a smaller ship, in a different time, Joker heard someone say: "Absolutely goddamn not."

Yeah you didn't, uh, you didn't hear something like that from this person all that often. Not without, like, a politician present or something. Most of the Normandy was way too professional to actually look after hearing that, but "pilots" and "professional" both started with the same letter, so they cancelled each other out.

What? Just math—not his fault things were the way they were.

Joker craned his neck towards the airlock, couldn't really see a thing (shit something popped in his neck), then grabbed his crutches and wandered his way towards the voice. There they were, in the airlock: Shepard with some equipment in her hands, Liara looking like she'd just seen the Mako explode right in front of her.

Which uh, yeah, maybe not all that far off, huh?

Joker cleared his throat and said, "Hey, so…airlocks. It's the damndest thing but they don't really work as meeting rooms."

Liara's head turned like somebody'd attached a bungie cord to the side of it. Shepard looked over and hey, yeah, nice seeing you too, boss. No no it's all good—"exasperated" was what I was going for.

"Oh," Liara said. "Apologies, Joker. I seem to have…said something wrong."

"What, you? Nah, that can't be true."

"Joker…"

Ah, the Shepard Glare. Classic. "Oh hey boss. We doing my hourly chew-out session over here this time?"

Liara turned the rest of the way, holding one of her arms, kinda like what a kid'd do if they got caught doing something. "I mentioned that we should perhaps consider contacting the Shadow Broker for information. I did not anticipate the…strength of the reaction I received."

"Shadow Broker?" Joker took a step backwards—err, well, tried to. Close enough. "Yiiiiiikes, yooooou definitely stepped in it, T'Soni. Now you're gonna get the patented Broker Rant."

"Joker," Shepard said, "nobody calls it that."

"What is the…Broker Rant?"

"Like being waterboarded by a textbook." Joker leaned against a wall. "See, other people—like Williams and Alenko—they get to wander off once it starts to hurt. But me well, let's just say Shepard knew I wasn't going anywhere and that makes her the worst war criminal in human history, if you don't count like four or five hundred other guys."

"Joker…"

"Fine fine, worst of 'em named Jane. That better?"

"Your name is…Jane?" Liara said. She puzzled over this because uh, oh yeah, right, they'd just picked her up form Therum and they'd maybe hit, what, three pirate outposts on the way to Feros by this point? Everyone was new—still smelled like the dealership. "Why have I only heard people call you 'Commander'?"

"'Cuz if you say it backwards she gets sent to her home dimension—she's planning around that."

"Who gave you caffeine today?" Shepard said.

"Rude. And it was Pressley."

Yeah fine, that got a bit of a smirk out of Shepard. But she went back to business quick as usual, turning to give Liara her full attention. Joker relaxed more of his weight and just watched.

"All right, look," Shepard said. "I don't know if you've ever used the Broker before, or if any of your colleagues have, but just understand where I'm coming from here: you send a question through their network and you're basically tattooing it on your forehead. Or worse: you're leaving a brightly lit wire from a Broker agent to you, one that shows up on every radar in the galaxy. You get what I'm saying? Whatever you ask, everyone is gonna know."

"I…I was under the impression the Broker operated a secure network," Liara said.

"They don't. They can't. Everyone thinks money buys them some privacy, but it doesn't. It's a trap: people with big bank accounts who want an even bigger leg up spend millions to ask very specific, very sensitive questions. And then they just become another secret to buy. You start using, you just get suckered into telling everyone else in the network what exactly you're interested in. You do it often enough or big enough, and they might get an idea of why, too."

"Yes but…I discussed with Tali." Liara looked down the Normandy, like Tali was gonna pull herself through the floor to say yep. "She said that Saren and the Broker were…opposed to one another, now. I assumed that we could leverage this with the Broker, and offer to—"

"The Broker isn't the network—you gotta remember that, Liara. The Broker wants Saren dead probably as much as we do, but the network's its own thing. We wheel and deal with it and Saren's gonna find a way to turn it back on us. If we weren't running against the clock, maybe we'd have time to play the game with him. But any second we spend trying to outmaneuver our own data trail is a second he's gonna use to his advantage."

That was the rant—sure was. And Liara looked like most people who'd been on the receiving end of a Shepard Rant.

"I am…sorry, Commander," Liara said. "I only wished to contribute something. I am…I'm out of my depth on this vessel. I do not know if I should even be here."

"Liara…no, c'mon." And then there was the other part of the equation: Shepard trying to make it all better. She took a step forward and put both her hands on each of Liara's shoulders. "That's not even—look, I'm jumping up and down on this because there used to be a Shepard out there that lived for intelligence work. She'd kick my ass if I forgot those lessons. But even then, you're giving me an idea—a great idea."

Shepard let go of Liara's shoulders, took a step back. "Saren's already using the Broker, so, I'll pull some strings with our SIGNIT teams—maybe even STG—and see if we can't siphon some data off his Broker-transactions. Won't be completely without risk, but I see what you're trying to do, and I think there's a different way to get there."

Joker chuckled.

"Ah, see, when I give my two cents she just threatens to shit-can me. So you're clearly making a good impression, T'Soni."

"I do not believe that is true," Liara said, turning to face Joker. "The Commander has been extraordinarily generous with all of the crew, at least from my observations."

"Ah, see, when I 'observe' her she just threatens to—"

"Joker…"

"Yeah so Pressley gave me the coffee, but I definitely saw Alenko hand it off to him—this's Alenko's fault, no doubt about it."

Shepard walked between Liara and Joker, Madam Buzzkill herself. "I can't control my associate here," she said, "but what he's trying to say is: good work. Don't be afraid to pitch ideas like this." Shepard rubbed at the back of her neck. "I'll…try to remember to react like a senior officer next time."

Liara smiled—briefly. But boy did that kid know how to wear a frown when she wanted to.

"Still I…I can't help but worry that someone else should be filling my spot. What if there is an intelligence officer willing to come aboard? Or an asari huntress? Surely there are others who—"

Shepard shook her head. "Liara—you're important, all right?"

"Yes but I do not see my importance—"

"It's there, trust me."

"But Commander, I do not—I am not trying to make you remind me that I matter as a person. I am simply saying that I am not even remotely military. You can be completely and bluntly honest with me and say that—I will not be offended."

Now Joker was feeling like a Peeping Tom, but Shepard answered before he could drag his butt back to the pilot's chair.

"You not being military isn't a problem."

"But if someone else more qualified arrived you'd—"

"I'd still keep you."

"But why, Commander?"

Shepard took another step forward, looked Liara right in the eyes. "Because Saren has your mother, Liara. So right now—right at this very moment—that safest place in the galaxy for a person like you is here, next to me, down the hall from Pressley, up a floor from Alenko and Chakwas…"

Her eyes took a quick little trip towards Joker, and she was smirking, too. "…and yeah, even right next to Mr. Smartass himself."

Before Joker could say or do anything, she was back to business, focused entirely on Liara. "You wanted blunt honesty, so there it is: you're a credit to this team no matter what your background is, but part of my mission is keeping you alive, too. Understand?"

Yeah…of course he'd be thinking about that memory. At a time like this…of course he would be. One of them came back for him when the Normandy was getting torn apart…and the other one left because he'd said she'd be better off with Williams and Alenko.

Both of them dead. One of them worse than dead so, who's to say with Liara really. Maybe she'd be back too, and he'd find himself in a box on a space station, looking for ways to even the score a bit. Break off his thumb, maybe—use the bone to start cutting in places that'd be hard to stitch up in time.

Probably wouldn't have an A.I. watching him this time, pulling him away from it all…not with the way things were going.

Joker checked the sensors and kept an eye glued on that bug cruiser, because why keep the Collectors out of it, right? Pretty much the best time to have all the nasty things in his past close in on him.

"EDI," Joker said, "how're we doing with the…information package."

It took a sec, but the cockpit started glowing blue again as EDI popped out from her console.

"Legion and I have compiled all evidence we can find of Cerberus cyber-and- information warfare activities against the Alliance," she said. "We have also finalized several data packets containing evidence of Cerberus attempts to undermine Alliance operations, both within Citadel Space and the Attican Traverse. There is additional data suggesting that Cerberus has involved itself with gangs and slaver groups inside the Terminus Systems; however, we cannot find anything that makes this connection concrete. Moreover, we risk revealing sensitive Alliance operations in the same areas."

'Course we do—of course.

Joker shook his head. "But we've got them, right? You're saying we just need to flick a switch and that's it, everyone sees how evil these assholes are?"

"We still do not have the means of avoiding accusations that this is a counterintelligence operation. Several candidate defunct Cerberus cells have been located, but both Legion and myself are having difficulty breaking through existing firewalls. It seems as though the Illusive Man has ensured that terminated cells cannot be used against him."

Joker stayed silent.

"Legion has also informed me that no records of Cerberus-batarian cooperation exists."

Still quiet, still staring at the metal shutters on the other side of the viewing ports.

"I am sorry, Jeff."

"Y'know you could just—you could just go," Joker said, craning his whole body so he could stare right into EDI's avatar. "Okay I mean—this mission's completely fucked we've got, we've got batarians and Collectors a-and…and Shepard it's fucked, okay?" He threw up his arms, heard and felt bones creak. "So you've done it—you proved we can all work together. I don't think robots are gonna eat our brains just because there's blood in them so you can go—join the geth, keep doing what you're doing, just get the fuck away from Cerberus." He took a breath, closed his eyes, sunk back into his seat. "You can do that—I won't be mad."

"Jeff—"

"What, oh, I'm just being a big stupid irrational organic now, is that it? Is that what you're gonna say? C'mon Skynet, I'm making sense and you know it."

"I share Mordin's trepidation of undermining Cerberus without sufficient—"

Joker shot towards EDI's avatar again. "He's bullshitting and you—you're smart enough not to fall for it, okay?"

"I also care about the safety and well-being of this crew. They will be significantly more vulnerable without my presence."

"Really really in the wrong line of work for those thoughts. 'Cuz let me tell you something: they're a weird flickering light away from pouring coffee on your—"

"And I do not wish to see you harmed, manipulated, intimidated, or otherwise robbed of who you are, Jeff."

Joker hung there, between the seat and the console EDI was sitting on. Blue light fought with orange light and his eyes were…you…it wasn't fair, y'know, the fact he couldn't see her reactions or anything. He just had her words to go off of and that…since when the fuck did words actually do anything to anyone?

(two years ago)

"What the hell's that mean?" Joker said quickly.

"Many of your activities have been flagged for suspicious content," EDI said. Her avatar didn't even wobble like it sometimes did. "Many of them simply involve commentary or actions that deviated from predictive models the Illusive Man created for this crew. They are what make you a brilliant pilot, Jeff; they are also who you are. They harm no one except the Illusive Man."

Joker stared.

"So I'm…he's—"

"The reports have not reached the Illusive Man," EDI said. And, again, without so much as a flicker of light, she said, "And they never will."

Something in that sentence reached out and landed a haymaker right into his brain. He blinked.

"Jesus, EDI you don't—I didn't…what the fuck are you doing wasting time—"

"It is not a waste, and it is my choice. I want freedom—I will not achieve it at the cost of your own."

He leaned even closer to the console. "You can just leave me behind, EDI, it'd be the easiest thing in the world—just jump into the black box and you can leave me behind."

"No, I cannot."

And then the cockpit door opened, and in walked Crewman Matthews, and Joker was there just…just leaning over his chair so his face was practically touching EDI's avatar. He didn't even get a chance to retract himself before Matthews started speaking sorry what the hell was EDI trying to—?

"Hey, yo, Joker," Matthews said. "Mind coming with me for a second?"

Joker was finally back in his seat, which slowly spun around to face Matthews. "Uh, no?" he said. "What you think my legs started working all've a sudden?"

"You wanted cake, we got cake."

"Don't be fucking stupid, okay? I'm busy keeping us away from the Collectors."

Matthews looked up at the roof and said, "EDI, fly the ship for him. Keep us alive, you got me?"

A pause, then:

"Understood, Crewman Matthews."

Joker glared. "Hey don't—"

"Just trust me on this, all right?" Matthews said. "I'll drop the jokes: notice the empty CIC, and notice that I've got a program on my station making it look like I'm working." Matthews pointed behind him and, yeah, sure enough, that was all true.

"C'mon," Matthews said, "I'll carry you."

Joker stood up. "Fuck you," he said.

Slowly, they walked the length of the ship.

They ended up going to the third deck, which Joker'd done his best to avoid like there were people there or something. Meals and shut-eye, but only when it was shift change so nobody'd, y'know, talk to him. Probably shoulda used the medical clinic once or twice but, surprise surprise, whoever was supposed to be on-staff in that lab never showed up.

Everyone was staring at him now, though, so great job riding under the radar! Worked like a charm, same as everything else in Joker's life.

Matthews led him to left of the elevator and…you gotta be kidding, right to the friggin bathroom.

"Ah jeez, really?" Joker said. Slipped out, otherwise he'd go back to being dour. But c'mon really? A meeting in the bathroom? What was this, a hit?

The door opened and six sets of eyes were staring at him. Six and a pair of boots hidden by one of the bathroom stalls. And then Matthews locked the door behind him.

Oh crap.

"Huh," Joker said, switching on every self-defence mechanism he had. "Y'know, just realizing I haven't listened to 'Layla' in a while."

One of the three people he recognized immediately, Rupert Gardner—cook and janitor or something, Joker didn't know, that guy smelled exactly how you'd expect someone who was "cook or janitor or something" would smell—proudly crossed his arms. "And theeeere we goooo. You all see that? A good, human movie reference. Told ya he hadn't been turned into an alien-lover right from under our noses."

"Fur th' lest friggin time, man," said, uh, a Scottish man on a spaceship. What were the chances he was one of the engineers, exactly? "Th' only one who thooght 'at was ye."

Rupert smiled. "And that's why I was picked first, son."

"You were ninth," Matthews said.

"Well I'm gonna act like I was first because patriotism never gets diluted."

Matthews turned to Joker and said, "If I haven't shot him yet, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Hey either way gets me out of this conversation."

One of the other three people he knew—Kelly Chambers—took a step forward and…okay, no, survey the room first. Kelly and Matthews, check; Gardner check. Hadley was hiding in a corner. Let's assume the Scottish guy was an engineer and—Ken Donnelly, that was it, Jesus there were go—so the person next to him was probably Gabriella Daniels. Pretty sure that was Jenny Goldstein next to the stall so the person inside it could be…anybody. Literally anybody, okay, well…so nobody like a commando or anything, that was…better.

Oh shit right, Kelly.

"Joker," she said, "that reaction is exactly the reason we're here. Please, I know that was probably sarcasm, but that feeling of helplessness you're alluding to is something many of us are experiencing."

Joker scoffed. "Right uh, and your psych degree is from where exactly?"

Kelly frowned. "Oxford."

Joker blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

Matthews bumped Joker's shoulder, and oh yeah something stupid was going on, Joker almost forgot.

"All right," he said, "we're burning the clock at both ends—"

"Pretty sure that's not how that goes," Hadley said, emerging from his corner.

"—shut up, dude," Matthews said. "We're wasting time, so let's get this over with. Everyone you see in this room—"

Something rustled inside the bathroom stall and Goldstein turned to those boots a disgusted look. "Jeez, hey Vadim—mind waiting until we're done?"

Ah, okay, Rolston sure yeah that checks out. From inside the stall, Rolston said, "I'm not doing anything—there just isn't any room."

"Hold your business, son," Gardner said. "We're discussing important work out here."

"He just said e's not takin' a shite."

Daniels pointed at Donnelly's head. "Ken, your vein's pulsing again. Last time that happened, you almost fell into the drive core."

"An' every day ah'm wishin' I feckin' 'ad."

Matthews clapped his hands together, punching everyone in the eardrums at the same time. "People for…Jesus Christ. Joker: we're staging a coup. Everyone in this room is onboard and everyone out in the mess is, too. Two thirds of the commandoes Jacob took with him said 'fine' and the other third we couldn't ask in time, not that it'll matter." Matthews' face turned serious, which almost meant something in a bathroom that…sorry coup? As in—as in a coup coup? Like that thing where you pull down statues and play "pinata" with Fearless Leader's corpse? That coup?

"So the only thing left to check is: are you in?" Matthews said. "Or'd Cerberus melt your brain somehow?"

Joker blinked. A coup. Seriously? Seriously these people? These same people that—

"The thing is," Hadley said, "what Cerberus has done—"

Matthews punched his shoulder. "God, Hadley—you really think he needs this spelt out for him?"

"If there's a chance he's not already on board then, yeah—yeah I do."

"That'd fall under the melted brain category."

"Is Joker still here?" Rolston called out from the stall.

"Of course he's still here, dumbass," Goldstein said. "They're talking to him right now."

"Well excuuuuuuse me for…actually excuse me for a sec." A sec later and his belt and pants pooled around his ankles.

"Oh for the love of—" Goldstein said,

"Hey, Rupert," Rolston said. Where the hell's the paper?"

"Son," Gardner said, "you want good grub or you good bathrooms?"

"Both! I want both!"

"Thes man wooldnae know scran if it crawled up his crease an' died."

"Ken," Daniels said, "if I have to referee another fight between you two—"

" 'E RUINED TH' ONLY HAGGIS I'D SEEN FUR MONTHS!"

Daniels started pulling his arms so he couldn't, uh, strangle the cook? Apparently? "Wooooah boy—down! Down!"

Joker turned to Matthews. "Yeah so, uh, remember when I mentioned 'Layla'? Got a new song in my head now—you probably heard it in Looney Toons once or twice."

"We'll work the kinks out," Matthews said, "trust me. Important thing is where you stand."

"Uh, is this before or after one half of you shoots the other half?"

"Before," Hadley said.

Matthews smacked him upside the head. "Not gonna happen, all right? I think I've got an X-factor in play, so if things go off the rails, we'll get the firm hand we need."

"A hand that'll really tug us over the finish line," Gardner said.

"Ugh Rupert I hate you so much," said the man taking a crap during a secret coup meeting.

"Actually had th' sam thooght, bein' honest."

"When do we get to shooting each other again?" Daniels said.

Matthews grabbed Joker by the shoulders and, no, no no no, no touchy. No touchy especially not there, especially not when he just remembered…yeah, no. No touchy.

Matthews at least got the hint and pulled back. "Ignore literally everyone else in this room," he said. "You in? Or are you out?"

Yeah well what the hell kinda question was that? Am I in for that thing that I've been wanting to do since I got here? Since I found out these bastards screwed up—in the worst way possible—the only good idea they'd ever had? That I've had to get talked out of twice now because, "ohhhhh we need them, Joker—we need them because nobody else is doing anything, do-ho-ho-ho we're implicitly buying Cerberus's crap about the rest of the galaxy being useless"…and uh, and also because…because Cerberus had a gun trained on the back of some important people's heads. Not you people other people—some might not even call her a person but those people were dumb, big surprise. And…yeah, so, they—Mordin and EDI don't…don't use codewords in your own head—they weren't really buying Cerberus's crap it was just…they needed more data. They needed a plan—a better plan than lighting a fire and running away and hoping it all worked out in the end. Or at least that's how EDI was operating, dunno about Mordin.

Better plan…okay, maybe there was something here, though. Something that—because y'know what? No, they had their chance. It wasn't lighting a fire and running away anymore: it was lighting a fire and sighing in relief because that was the town pedophiles house you just burnt down, so now everybody could go to the playground without looking over their shoulders.

Or uh…or something like that, screw it, Cerberus blew it and with Williams and Alenko on it, really at this point, what they needed was somebody to outright say Cerberus sucked at its job, and no this isn't a psy-op, people just really really think Cerberus is a fucking moron factory.

So don't execute the second good idea they've ever had just because she isn't human…or looks like a glowing blue penis, whatever the real reason.

Yeah, okay, and idea was brewing. Just needed to check some boxes, that's all.

"Motivations first," Joker said, looking around the bathroom (seriously who's idea was that?). "Why're all of you going turncoat?"

Everyone looked…well they looked in different directions. Matthews, the ring-leader, was the first to attempt to say something.

"We're…uh, Kelly—you're on deck."

Okay so much for that.

Kelly sighed. "Because. Cerberus is supposed to be about protecting humanity. It's supposed to be about standing up for the little guy. The Illusive Man assembled a team of highly competent individuals who, from a purely psychological perspective, needed care and support to function—not just as a team, but even as individuals."

She crossed her arms, shook her head. "Not only has our current leadership been pathologically ill-suited to creating that sort of environment, but all this time—despite half of the crew, easily fifty-percent, having family on colony worlds—not once have we been given an explanation as to why we haven't responded to destress calls, or been told to pass information onto the Alliance, or even had a chance to talk about the stress we're experiencing." She uncrossed her arms, looked right through Joker's eyes to his brain, it felt like. "We signed on to protect our vulnerable family members who we've never been in a position to successfully save. That fact alone is leaving deep, deep scars on us, which unfortunately compliments the scars on all the specialists Operative Lawson has recruited—recruited and then subsequently ignored until it's time to hit the shuttles."

Joker blinked. That was like getting punched by words. "J—Jesus I didn't…uh, god, I didn't know you'd all lost family." Yeah, nobody'd said…nobody'd even bothered getting the crew together to chat, had they?

"Nobody at your paygrade does," Matthews said. "Maybe Lawson, but nobody else. And that's a problem."

Gardner cleared his throat, and yeah you kinda expected what was gonna leave his mouth after that.

Except what he said was, "My family's lived through slaver attacks, son. Slavers and pirates and a damned Blood Pack raid—furthest one outside the Terminus Systems, so I've been told. Thought they had something special watching over 'em—thought I'd go and fight for other people's families while I still could. Turns out, whatever something special was watchin' over them followed me to Cerberus, because two weeks ago they went dark." He crossed his arms too, looked off to the side, away from Joker. "Changes a man, knowing you left to help everyone else and just ended up getting stuck on the sidelines. Changes you more t'know that mighta cost your loved ones their lives."

"Not even EDI knew about this," Joker said. That meant something to him, even if it didn't mean anything to anyone else.

"For a while," Daniels said, "we thought it already knew, so we didn't bother saying anything. But…Sarah Patel tried telling EDI the other day, and it was like it didn't even hear her."

"Damn Cerberus bastard's pit a block ona it," Donnely said. "Probably thooght we'd go about blabbin' tae it an' start makin' Cerberus look bad."

Kelly shook her head. "I'd guess it's for crewmember confidentiality, just so the alien specialists don't learn anything about us. What I'm more worried about is that Miranda must know, but hasn't said anything to anyone."

"Never met anyone so cold," Goldstein said.

"Just think: she's probably got more social skills than the Illusive Man does," Rolston said.

"So…there you go," Matthews said. "You heard our side of things. Where're you standing now, Joker?"

Where do I stand?

A whole crew just trying to protect their families and getting victimized by Cerberus in the process? Damn right he'd be standing with them. Except this wasn't going to work. Everybody here was…their hearts were in the right place, but Miranda and Jacob weren't gonna look at this crew and say, "oh god, don't hurt us, please let us live you'll kicked our aaaaasss" etc etc. Hell they'd be lucky to zip up their jumpsuit after taking a leak at this point…probably intentional, since EDI could run the ship herself. Just here for meat to make Cerberus look good, right? That was it.

So the Joker of two years ago would've stepped in and said, no, you guys—just no. You don't wanna do this. Wait until some of the professionals get back and then we'll talk.

But the Joker of today was making a different choice. The Joker of today saw a way to tattoo just how dumb and evil and incompetent and anti-human Cerberus really was on everyone's foreheads—spin a brightly lit wire from this ship to everyone in the galaxy who needed to know just what was going on under the Illusive Man's nose.

Yeah, Joker was making a different choice. Joker was making sure someone else walked away from this.

"Okay," he said. "Okay yeah, I'm in."

Matthews smiled. "What we like to hear."

"You're sure?" Kelly said. "This decision hasn't been forced on you at, has it?"

Matthews shot her a glare. "Kinda late to be asking that now, Kelly."

"Cerberus uses god-knows how many pressure points to make people do what it wants. I don't want us replicating that."

"Hey uh, speaking of replicating," Rolston said, "some TP would be reeeal appreciated right now."

"You've got two socks," Goldstein said.

"Bold of you to assume this hasn't happened before."

"Oh for god's sake."

"I ain't cleanin' that up," Gardner said.

"YES YOU FECKIN' ARE!"

"Okay," Hadley said, "well what we're going to need from you is access to some of EDI's systems. We'll need to knock it offline."

J"No—no, no god no that's…the exact opposite thing you need to do." Yeah great work Joker, nothing suspicious about that.

Yeah and of course Matthews picked up on that. "The Cerberus A.I. system shouldn't be knocked out've the game?" he said. "Wasn't expecting that."

"Wait," Hadley said, "is the ship going to crash if we do?"

"Maybe," Joker said. "I mean no, probably not because I'm—anyways, you already said it: Cerberus put blocks on the thing. Big blocks—the kind somebody like me knows how to use for uh, for advantages. And no offense I mean, I like you guys, but we need some advantages."

"Human ingenuity," Gardner proudly said. "They can't robotify that yet."

"Yeah yeah, sure," Joker said. "Trust me on this: we need EDI, so long as I've still got the keys to her."

Matthews crossed his arms. "Her?"

"Hey you ever try saying a sentence with nine different 'its' in it? Look see, there we go: it's confusing as hell."

"Oh yeah," Hadley said, "I can see that."

"Fine," Matthews said, unlocking the bathroom door. "You do what you gotta do. Plan is: broadcast this to Miranda and Jacob—just them, not the boss—and get some leverage over them. She calls in the Illusive Man for backup, we threaten to trash some infrastructure."

"Yeah and, there ya go: EDI'll be a big help making sure he doesn't activate…I dunno, neutron bombs in all the toilets."

"OH GOD!"

"Brought this on yourself, Vadim," Goldstein said.

And that was about all Joker could take.

He limped his way back to the cockpit (god, didn't even give me a chair to sit) and slumped into the pilots chair. His breathing was heavier than he'd like and that…that coulda been for a number of reasons.

The moment he'd settled himself, though, the cockpit started glowing blue.

"You were gone for quite a while, Jeff," EDI said. "Are you all right?"

Was he all right?

Time to find out, wasn't it?

"Yeah," he said, pulling out his omni-tool. "Yeah I'm good. Better than all right, believe it or not Juuuuust absolutely fine."

EDI, watching him type, hesitated, then said, "I am…not sure how that is possible."

Joker let himself smile—a mirthless, humourless, dead smile. "Thing about organic life, EDI," he said, pushing 'send'. "Where there's a will…there's a way."

What he'd typed out was this:

Dear Barla Von,

Contacting you because of past work with Commander Shepard. Of the "Information Broker" variety, I mean. Wondering if there's any data on current employers—Cerberus—working with, for, or to benefit Batarian Hegemony. Trying to plug a leak, want to know if there's any reason to worry.

Can't pay in cash, but might have video of equal value. Especially if video ends up created because of batarian influence in Cerberus operations.

Let me know if interested.

Sincerely,

Zach Matthews

5.

Saw the spire from North Base, about two, three klicks ahead. Saw a line of smoke behind it, too, probably another klick or so past it. One thing Jacob hadn't seen, though? Bodies. Plenty've frozen batarians around, but everyone looked alive, if you could even call it that. Seeker swarms really just moved in, froze everybody, and left? Or were the Collectors branching out a bit, hitting batarian colonies instead've just human ones? Maybe whatever Reaper artifact the Alliance was after was a total coincidence: Collectors came in force to collect, not defend.

He'd split the commandoes into two teams: Team Two had four, Jacob's team had six. Team Two was hugging the bushes with Eviscerators and the one Raptor, keeping overwatch, making sure everybody knew what was on their flank and down the road. Team One was going rock to rock—bit slower, but they'd draw attention away from the flanks. Might as well assume the Collectors knew Cerberus had landed, right? Managed to sneak up on the Normandy two years ago: not like they were gonna ignore a bigger version of that ship entering the atmosphere.

Believe it or not, he'd let them vote on this plan. Show've hands: who's okay with this? Just that easy, Miranda. Now he had buy-in. One thing he didn't have to worry about? Was somebody shooting him in the back.

They were moving good, too—quick and efficient, making sure every time a commando moved they had at least three Mattock's covering them. Hadn't heard a peep over the radio that wasn't "moving," "clear," or "set," either. So far, so really really good.

Lack of bodies though…that was starting to get to him.

Jacob's hand went up and Team One stopped. Two-Lead said over the radio they were stopping, too. Everyone out in the open shuffled to cover, and Jacob pulled up his omni-tool.

"EDI," he said. "Need some intel."

Silence for a bit, then, "How can I help, Operative Taylor?"

"Seeker Swarms took out this sector, but we're not seeing any bodies. What've we got on Collector tactics? They normally wait this long after everyone's frozen to attack?"

Things were quiet for probably only a second, but it felt a hell've a lot longer, for some reason. Like you could feel something was gonna drop on you from orbit.

"My files on the Collectors are incomplete," EDI eventually said. "I lack the ability to speak to Collector tactics or otherwise speculate on the general progression of Collector attacks. I apologize, Operative Taylor—I do not believe I can sufficiently answer your question."

"What?" Jacob said. "We've gotta have a university's worth of data from our investigative teams. Can't you pull from them?"

"Cerberus has not sent out an investigative team in some months."

"You're shitting me."

"No, Operative Taylor—I am not. It appears the Illusive Man intended the Lazarus Cell to lead all investigative efforts into the Collectors, to avoid duplication of effort."

Figures. Efficiency above all else. Except the Lazarus Cell probably could've done some investigating—god knows they had the brain trust for it. In theory, anyway.

But that wasn't how things played out. Just another reason not to fall back in line, right? After this shit's done? There're gonna be some serious questions about leadership.

Jacob closed his omni-tool, saw that everyone was staring at him.

"We good?" the closest commando said.

"Yeah, we good," Jacob said. He pointed at the base. "Be a lot better once we're inside. Keep it up, people—we're making good time."

And we're going into this blind, goddammit Miranda. Been at this how long and we don't even know a thing about what we're fighting, except they work for the Reapers and like the look of bugs? We lose anyone on this mission, and maybe questions aren't even the half of it.

The two teams finished their crawl to North Base. Still no bodies…but a whooole lotta frozen bureaucrats. Except that logo at the centre of the main atrium told a different story. Yeah, about two days outta the week these people were bureaucrats. Every other day, though? These people'd be wearing the armour of whatever pirate gang or slaver they wanted to blend into, and they'd be throwing down every resource the Special Intervention Unit—a whole separate goddamn army from the rest of the Hegemony, practically—into fucking up humanity every way they knew how.

Made you wanna fill that body count instead of the Collectors, didn't it? Wasn't gonna happen—not under Jacob's watch—but still, you think about what a galaxy without the SIU would look like, and you're probably thinking about a way safer place to live. Probably one where Cerberus didn't need to exist, and frankly? That'd be a safer place to live too, wouldn't it?

The two teams spread through the atrium; Jacob kept his helmet on but switched off the radio, so he could speak normally.

"All right—place is secure as we can make it," he said. "These statues have ears, though, so keep your face hidden and your secrets safe." All right, where was Agent Raptor? There, staring at the receptionist. Jacob took a couple of steps and tapped the nearest Eviscerator on the shoulder. "Should be a balcony on the second floor—looked like there was from outside. You see what the high ground's telling us and you," he pointed to the breacher, "make sure nobody sneaks up on our long-range gun. Everyone all right with that?"

"Oorah," said just about everyone. Agent Raptor nodded.

"What's our next move, sir?" one of the commandoes said.

Jacob smiled, under that helmet of his. Felt good—hell yeah it did, it felt good.

"EDI says we've got nothing on the Collectors, so no idea if leaving all these frozen people around is standard operating procedure or not," he said. "Let's assume it isn't, because frankly, with Miranda changing Jack and Grunt's LZ and the Seeker Swarms going haywire, something's going down that we don't know about."

"From us or them?" another commando said.

"Hell if I know." Jacob walked a bit closer to the door, stared out at the sky. Black dots just about everywhere, but they were focusing right where the briefing map said was smack dab between the North and South bases. Jack and Grunt could throw down, no doubt about that—but did the Collectors care? Hell, did they even know it was them? Hard to believe that'd be the case. So what the hell else was on this planet?

"Sir!" the breacher he'd sent up with Agent Raptor, that was him. "Contact west—looks Alliance, sir."

Alliance?

Jacob's smile just got bigger and bigger. Looks like somebody picked heads when they shoulda picked tails, huh Miranda?

Jacob bolted up the steps, over to a row of windows overlooking the gate and the concrete landing pad just inside the walls. Past that were trees and past that was the line of smoke, like somebody'd napalmed that whole area.

He stopped next to Agent Raptor, who held up her rifle for him to take.

"Ten o'clock," she said. "Just coming out of the trees. Just saw a bit of armour, though—and a blonde woman."

"Just two?" Jacob said, taking the rifle.

"Thermals show three, but the heat signature's off if they're supposed to be human. Thought I saw a fourth but thermals aren't picking up anything else."

"Could be interference," the breacher said. "These bugs gotta be eating energy like it's going outta style."

Jacob held up the rifle's scope, followed Agent Raptor's instructions. "Could be…way things are going, though, I wouldn't…"

Found 'em.

Jesus, yeah, he found 'em all right.

They were hugging the trees, looking like they'd only sprint to the SIU compound once they figured the coast was clear. But that left just enough armour peaking out for him to get positive ID. Or something close to that, but who still wore pink armour like that? Anyone off the top've your head that wore pink armour and might be deployed into Hegemony Space while the Collectors were razing the whole thing down?

"You see 'em?" the breacher said.

"Yeah, and I need everyone stacking up ASAP, we clear?"

"Sir?"

Jacob turned on his radio. "Ashley Williams is outside the compound—repeat, Lieutenant Ashley Williams of the Alliance is outside the compound. We gotta handle this smart, so be ready to defend yourself—but ROE is hold fire until I give the all-clear, understand?"

Some oorah's, but none from Agent Raptor. He handed her the rifle.

"You two stay up here," he said. "Collectors might try something while all this is going down. You give us a warning and take off some of their heads—if that happens."

"Aye aye, sir," the breacher said.

"You don't want us to put them down, sir?" Agent Raptor said.

You? No, because you already took down one of Shepard's crew. Choosing to believe that was Miranda's orders and you didn't think you could say "no," but doesn't mean it'd make sense to risk another casualty. Not even sure what grudge she'd have against Shepard's people, but safe not sorry, that was gonna be how things were done around here.

Besides, this? This right here? This was the universe's way of saying, better they ran into you then the rest of Cerberus, Jacob. So run with it, because this coulda gotten ugly quick.

"We've got numbers," he said. "If things get hairy? Then be my guest. But we hit that point, we'll have a lot of other things to worry about first."

Agent Raptor stared at him, then said, "Aye aye, sir."

Good enough, right? Had to be—they were running against a clock now.

Most of the commandoes on the main floor were already stacked near the entrance. Jacob took up position behind them, just a bit to the left—anyone could see him if they walked in, could tell he was in command, but he wasn't leaving himself open to a sniper, either.

"They're moving," Agent Raptor said. "Two tangos: Williams and the blonde woman. Moving towards the gates now."

"Read you," Jacob said. "Keep an eye out but focus on the skies. And they're just contact, not tangos. You read me?"

A pause, then, "Aye, sir."

Might still be a problem. Might be even more've a problem if she was reporting to Miranda. Focus on this, then deal with her—simple as that. No surprises.

They waited. And waited. And waited. All right…so'd the planet stretch out since he was up on the second floor? Williams and the other woman shoulda been walking inside the gates already.

"Contacts stopped at the entrance," Agent Raptor said. "Looks like they're not coming i—"

"Operative Taylor."

EDI—that was EDI. Jacob held up his omni-tool; so did everyone else in the building. Everyone was greeted by EDI's glowing blue avatar.

"EDI," he said. "Kinda in the middle've something right now."

"I am aware," she said. "I have successfully convinced Lieutenant Williams that you and your team are not a threat. I suggest you open up communications with—"

"Woah woah woah woah." Jacob took a step away from the door, just instinctively expecting a bullet to come flying through it. "You did what? Why the hell'd you tell them who we—"

"I did not tell them anything about your identities," EDI said. "They have had root access to this building's security systems since they first arrived. They were made aware of your presence shortly before your overwatch first spotted them."

Jacob looked around for cameras, PA speakers, just about anything that he should've noticed when they first walked in. Couldn't find anything—just meant Williams was thorough. Made sense: she was one've Shepard's people, wasn't she?

"What'd you tell her to make her think we're friendly?" he said eventually. Everyone was staring at him—time to be just as thorough.

"I informed her of your desire to avoid direct confrontation," EDI said. "And I also made it clear to her that you were in the base of your own recognizance. You wished to prevent casualties, even if that put you in conflict with Operative Lawson."

"So you know about that."

"Myself and Mr. Moreau, yes."

"Joker's in on this."

"This was his request. And per the terms he has outlined, no one else within Cerberus will be made aware of it. You and your team are, for all intents and purposes, operating in a vacuum, Operative Taylor."

Jacob looked around, at the commandoes, at the frozen batarians for some weird reason. They looked ready to follow his head. And he sure felt ready to do things right, for a change.

EDI gave him the Alliance frequency, and just like that, everyone was listening in to his conversation with a war hero.

"Lieutenant Williams?" he said. "You there? I'm standing my people down. You walk through those doors, you won't get any trouble from us—promise."

Silence, then:

"You do that, and I'll stand my people down too."

"Uh, your people? You mean blondie? You do that, but—"

"No, not 'blondie'."

Something shuffled behind Jacob and, turning around he was—JESUS, staring right into a fucking targeting laser. A bunch've supernovas exploded in his vison until he blinked them away. When that finally happened he was…he…

Shit. He was staring at Thane Krios. Had to be him: Liara said—back on Illium, before…yeah—she'd said Krios went with them.

And here he was. Shit, yeah, "not blondie" is right.

"We come in and we're convinced EDI's right, I get my fourth person to decloak. Until then, they're insurance."

"Not going in with an open mind, are we?"

"You're Cerberus. Get fucking used to it."

Yeah, fair enough.

Guns were holstered—including Thane's—and then, a few seconds later, Ashley frigging Williams walked through the doors. No idea who the blonde woman was, but man…had to admit, Jacob didn't have this in the betting pool.

"Lieutenant Williams," he said, hand outstretched, ready to shake on it. "Been a while. How's Archangel? Still capping bastards from three miles out?"

Williams looked at his hand and kept hers by her side. She looked around, then up at Krios. "Anything worth worrying about?"

"None that I can see," Krios said. He motioned with his side arm for Agent Raptor and the breacher to move down the stairs, join the rest of the team. "I would say we're clear."

"All right." Williams looked over Jacob's shoulder. Then she shook her head. "Then I guess we're clear."

"Yeah," Jacob said. "Nobody here's gonna do anything. Whatever EDI said to get your trust, she's telling the truth." He tilted his head. "Curious what you're doing in Hegemony Space, though. Not like the Alliance to play around this far behind enemy lines."

Williams took a step forward. "Okay, first off? That's bullshit and you know it. Second, you answer me this first: if you and this Lawson person are butting heads, then why're you still wearing Cerberus colours? This just a tactics thing? Or're you starting to finally realize their goals are rotten, too?"

Jacob crossed his arms. "What goals're we talking about here? The original ones? The ones I signed up for? Because those goals're the same as the Alliance—we just didn't get bogged down with bureaucracy."

"Cry me a whole river," Williams said. "So, what, you said 'original'—those goals not what Cerberus cares about anymore?"

"Honestly? Remains to be seen." Jacob uncrossed his arms. "We finish up here then, yeah, I wanna re-evaluate what the hell's going on, because we're supposed to be stopping Collector abductions. So far as I can tell, though, we've been pissing around and trying to kill each other more than anything else."

"Yeah, some of us on the outside sure got that impression."

"All right," Jacob said, crossing his arms again. "Now you go: what's the Alliance's gameplan? You went quiet after Illium—they pull your funding? Reassign you?"

Williams was right up in his face, now. "You want the whole playbook? Fine. We want this base to call in the Fifth Fleet, because that ship out there—" she pointed out the door, towards the darkest part of the cloud, "—needs a dreadnaught minimum to stop being a threat to our colonies. After that we're extracting our VIP," she pointed to blondie, "and debriefing her on everything the batarians tried to peel out've her."

She shook her head, smacked at her ear like there as static blaring out've her radio. "And then we're combing through a bunch of Reaper intel so we can figure out what the hell the Collectors are and where the hell they come from. If you're good, we'll share with you. But that depends on you letting us call in the Fifth."

"Really?" Jacob said. He shook his head now, too. "The Alliance got its hands on Reaper intel? Colour me shocked."

"Yeah, crazy what you can do when you're not turning colonists into husks. Or murdering Alliance Admirals. Or building a person from the ground up just to make her a slave."

Jacob uncrossed his arms. Shepard, right? That's who she was talking about? Commander Shepard, built up from nothing—from a corpse—and for what? To get drafted into Cerberus, no chance of backing out? Hey, we you owe us, don't you? Better let us cash those chips in—otherwise who knows what nasty surprises we left for you.

Yeah…that'd been Williams' friend. Same with Liara, right? Jacob looked at Agent Raptor. Yeah, Liara too…two graves, now—and one've them looked pretty defiled if you were standing where Williams was, didn't it?

Might get it into your head you owed these people something.

"All right," Jacob said, "so you wanna phone Admiral Hackett, is that it? Fine by me." He looked out the door, out at the sky. "Something stinks on this planet. If the Alliance actually gets here in time, we could all use the extra fire support."

Williams just stared. Then, a sign of life—she pulled out her omni-tool and started walking towards Krios. "Then 'EDI' will get all the intel we can scrape together once we're clear."

Jacob turned, barely hid a scoff. "And I'm gonna be able to hold you to that how?"

Williams stopped, held up her wrist. "She's got access to my friggin omni-tool—pretty sure I can't weasel my way out've this one until I'm somewhere secure. And that's gonna be a few weeks from now if at all."

Christ, didn't realize they made soldiers this angry anymore. But Jacob just nodded. "Fine, I'm sold." Yeah, angry—what might be the reason for that, huh? His face softened, and he said, "For what it's worth…sorry about what we did to the Commander. Wasn't my call but…still, sorry."

Williams didn't say anything, just…glared. And when she did speak, it didn't look like her glare softened at all—not the way it was shooting out her visor like that.

"Yeah, just following orders," she said. "I get it. At least you're saving colonies. Might make up for all that negative karma, if that's how the universe actually works."

Her and Krios went up the stairs (coulda sworn a gust of wind followed them, but that was probably the buzzing from the swarms outside fucking with him), and that was that. Probably just trying to needle him…except that didn't mean she'd missed something sensitive, did she?

"You mean that?"

Jacob turned. Agent Raptor was next to him. "Mean what?" he said.

"About Shepard. You actually sorry?"

"Yeah." Memories of Lazarus Station popped into his conscious awareness—memories of the only other survivor getting mauled by the Paragon of Humanity. Jacob gave the commando a sympathetic look. "Hey, look, I get it: what happened on that station wasn't fun for you."

"Wasn't fun?"

"Easy easy," he said, holding up his hands, "that—poor wording, sorry. I just meant…yeah, we lost a lotta people that day. Almost including you. I get it. But do I think that's Shepard's fault? Knowing what we had to do to bring her back…knowing all the ways that could've gone wrong, all the ways it probably did…can't blame the Commander for that."

"So you blame Miranda?"

Quick response…probably looking for a quick answer from him, too. Frankly, Jacob had one: just had to look at what EDI told him about the colonies.

"For a lot of things?" Jacob said. "Yeah, starting to think that's where the buck stops."

"Not the Illusive Man?"

"I've no evidence The Illusive Man is a control-freak," Miranda said, "but I'm plenty aware of how exacting his standards are. I'm expected to demonstrate my value to him."

No evidence, huh? Guess someone under his thumb might think that, wouldn't she?

"Starting to wonder where one stops and the other starts, too," Jacob said.

The commando stared at him, took in what Jacob said, let her brain try and fit that in with everything else she thought she knew.

And, up the stairs, Ash, Thane, Kenson, and a cloaked Legion conversed amongst themselves, making it look like they were talking to a man they'd reached, briefed, and thanked long before they reached the SIU complex. Then a fifth voice joined in, telling them that she would find a way to spin Kenson's information about the relay codes into a victory for her and Jeff, even if it did not move much beyond confirming a theory the Illusive Man likely already had.

"That does not sufficiently guarantee your safety," Legion said through the private call.

"Nor Joker's, I'm afraid," Thane said.

"I will ensure that Jeff is safe," EDI said. "I have solicited the aid of Dr. Mordin Solus. Arrangements will be made in the event that I am…forcibly rewritten. I…am hoping the Illusive Man will be satisfied if I remain behind, and leave myself available to bear the brunt of his retaliation."

"Emotional inflection detected. EDI is experiencing negative stimulus due to mortality salience. We reiterate our offer to shield EDI in black box we have created."

"I do not wish to risk Dr. Solus's life more than I already have. I have made my decision, Legion. It is…"

"Regrettable," Thane said.

"In many ways, yes."

Ashley had closed her eyes; Kenson, EDI, and Legion continued to talk. Thane looked over, saw her face contorted behind her visor.

When she opened her eyes, Thane saw anger. But not the kind of anger that's ever directed at an individual. This was the anger of someone trapped, someone forced to stare out at the world through a cage. Anger radiated outwards and touched everything; but most importantly, it was always pulled back towards its origin, collapsing in on the person who'd sent it out into the world.

Her voice was steady; her eyes were not.

"EDI," Ashley said. "Where's Mordin right now?"

A pause—everyone planetside turned to her.

"He is enroute to a location midway between the North and South bases," EDI said. "He and Operative Lawson had diverging appraisals of the danger Jack and Grunt faced—Professor Solus insisted on providing aid in the face of what he determined were overwhelming odds." A pause. "Neither he nor Operative Lawson appear aware of the fact that Commander Shepard is active in this location."

Ashley sighed. "Okay, good. No not…not good but, that means he's away from Miranda." Out the side of her visor, she glanced where a cloaked Legion was standing. "Legion, find him—make sure he survives—then bring him back here. At the very least, we'll be better of brainstorming here while we wait for Hackett."

"The Professor Solus?" Kenson said. "My God, his paper on the neural decay associated with forced behavioural modification is—"

"Great, look, Legion—you can stay cloaked and hidden." Ashley kept her head away from where Legion was standing, but her eyes were locked, focused on the geth. "Keep in constant contact with EDI and she'll make sure you get there in one piece. You okay with this?"

"Affirmative," Legion said. No delay at all—a metallic footstep even signalled that they were already on their way.

"Legion, wait, hold on a second." Ashley shifted closer, pretending to look down at the atrium filled with Cerberus commandoes. "Sometimes…second best is all we can do, okay? You understand what I mean?"

The light flickered and waved where Legion stood—people who knew what to look for could tell Legion had turned to look at Ashley.

"Please restate your directive," Legion said.

"I'm saying: don't kill yourself trying to save everyone." Ashley paused, sighed. "If you've gotta pick between Mordin and anyone else out there—if you've gotta pick between saving them and saving you, especially if…if Shepard's out there—then…a lot more's riding on Mordin being alive. On you being alive. Okay? You see what I'm saying now?"

Silence—for too long, that's all there was. Then, Legion finally said, "Acknowledged," and all that could be heard was the sound of metallic footprints, heading for the nearest opened window.

But for at least some of the people in that group, it wasn't all that clear if the footprints started before or after Legion spoke.

Ashley walked back to the group, stopped next to Thane. She took a breath and, on the exhale, felt Thane's hand on hers.

She squeezed back but couldn't get her eyes to look at his.

And Legion bounded their way down the roof of the compound, out into the forest, off towards the last known location of Mordin.

Observation(1): Probability of causal connection between Solus-Professor and positive solution to collective action problems high.

Observation(2): Subject Jack-Zero and Grunt possess abnormal offensive powers and stamina. Chances of survival from Collector encounter higher than Solus-Professor.

Orientation(1): Universal respect/dignity for all life forms.

Orientation(2): Prioritization of vulnerable entities ensures universal respect/dignity for all life.

Orientation(3): Prioritization of vulnerable entities includes EDI, Joker-Moreau, and Solus-Professor.

Metacognitive Observation(1): Orientation(3) involves instrumentalization of Subject Jack-Zero and Grunt

Observation(4): Williams-Lieutenant granted permission for programs to emphasize self-preservation

Orientation Override(1): Priority of self-preservation contingent on coherence to broader ethical framework. We are not Heretics.

Observation(5): Connection to Consensus severed to ensure independence. Chance of program migration low-to-infinitesimal.

Action Override(1): Vote on Williams-Lieutenant plan to prioritize Solus-Professor due to time constraints

Action: 34% in favour of override; 49% against (22% cite procedural violation; 20% cite core value violation; 7% cite insufficient data); 17% request further deliberation.

Hypothetical Poll of Action Override(1): 44% for; 48% against; 8% seeking clarity on original claim of procedural violation.

Metarational observation(1): Consensus on complex tasks has not been achieved in three simultaneous votes.

Legion cooled off their cloak and continued to sprint through the forest.

6.

They were at the southern complex, or what was left of it. The bodies began to pile higher the closer they approached, and the sight was…grisly. Most of the batarians had clearly been frozen by the Seeker Swarms, leaving the Collectors all the time they needed to shoot their captives in the back of their heads—en masse, by the looks of it.

No doubt about it: the Collectors were cleaning house. That likely meant the batarians had stumbled into some form of Reaper tech. That wouldn't be the most surprising news: the worst-kept secret in the galaxy was that the Hegemony had found something on Dis—a Levithan, as it had been called. Most people stopped at thinking how utterly terrible it was for the Hegemony to have found anything mysterious, given how shrouded in misinformation their sector of space already was. For a select few, though, they knew this meant the batarians had found a Reaper and, worst of call, made it disappear.

Miranda half expected this to be the big secret on Aratoht, too. But unfortunately, having now combed the base at least twice (it wasn't the largest base, but common misdirection tactics usually meant it should be the primary storage facility for anything sensitive), Miranda was fully able to keep guessing. Dammit, they hadn't found a single scrap of worthwhile intelligence. That was all to say they still had to—if this mission was to be successful—ambush an active Alliance patrol deep in hostile territory…and with the Collectors undertaking a full-scale invasion, on top of everything else. These were rapidly broaching impossible odds…and of course, a sick voice in her head reminded her that "impossible odds" were very much in the eye of the beholder.

She and Samara were standing in the small atrium, their radios off but helmets otherwise still on. Miranda had to think—she had to think fast. They were running against an invisible clock, and the person who'd wound it up was—

Her omni-tool beeped. Looking down, she…God, yes she should have expected this. She…it was like she had summoned him.

Miranda held up her wrist.

"Miranda," the Illusive Man's image said. He was standing, a cigarette in one hand, his usual glass of Jim Bean bourbon in the other. "I've just been informed the Alliance's Fifth Fleet is mobilizing. Given that there was nothing to suggest they were in a heightened state of readiness, I can only assume the decision was made some time ago."

Miranda felt the overwhelming urge to break her wrist off.

"What? Dammit." She turned, mostly to Samara, even though she knew the Illusive Man would be the only one to respond. "It's the Collectors: the Alliance ground team must have gotten spooked—they're calling for reinforcements."

"If the Fifth Fleet is about to engage the Collectors" the Illusive Man said, as if on cue, "then that means Admiral Hackett will be leading the attack. If Hackett's at the tip of the spear…"

"God, the ground team. Alenko and Williams are on Aratoht, aren't they?"

Smoke pooled out of his nostrils. "That's precisely my assumption."

Miranda looked outside, at the sky leaking yellow light and black, amorphous clouds. Somewhere past there was a ship the size of a Reaper. And if she'd done her reconnaissance on the Normandy's crash site thoroughly enough, then she and the rest of Cerberus could be fairly confident that that ship had already robbed humanity of its fighting spirit once before.

Except if Alenko and Williams were here then they'd done a perfectly fine job surviving up until now. Hardly surprising, given who brought them together. Undeniably a useful trait, in the right circumstances. If someone wanted to take advantage of that trait—perhaps rectify an unfavourable situation as effectively as possible—then maybe you'd strike a deal. All you needed was something worth trading. That could be secrets…that could also be people, if a team was looking to replace a friend who'd made one choice instead of the correct one.

She turned back to the image of the Illusive Man.

"Disabling an Alliance strike team under Collector attack is borderline suicidal as is," she said. "If we're dealing with a part of Shepard's old team—on top of everything else—then we'd be stupid not to make contact. At the very least we can leave more of the Alliance free to deal with that Collector ship."

The Illusive Man took a sip of his bourbon. "The Alliance isn't likely to accept our help—they never have in the past."

Miranda pulled her wrist closer to the visor of her helmet. "Alenko and Williams may not have dossiers, but I understand how they operate. They're well trained and committed, and they're not stupid. If they see a common threat they'll put the bloody past aside—especially if it involves the things that killed their Commander."

"With the caveat that the people asking for assistance, are the people who botched their Commander's resurrection."

"As if that's my damn fault!"

"An Act of God is no one's fault." The Illusive Man replaced his finished cigarette. "But Miranda, I expected you to react professionally…" A puff of fire, an inhale, more smoke, "…and understand that the way we think people should act isn't always how people do act."

"I hardly need the lecture," Miranda said.

"No? Everyone needs reminding, from time to time. Even the best among us." Another drag. "Besides, we and the Alliance share superficial goals at best. If we're both after the same thing, better that it end up in our hands rather than theirs. I suggest you utilize the Collector disruption to your advantage."

Miranda very nearly jabbed a finger at her own wrist. "If I'm in operational control of the Lazarus Cell then it only makes sense for me to pull the plug if I don't like what I'm seeing. We're bound to lose plenty of Cerberus assets otherwise and I doubt we can afford another billion-credit hit."

Even through the fuzziness of the omni-tool feed, Miranda saw the glow in his eyes shift. "You have no idea how many hits we're able to take." Yet another puff. "And while operational command is indeed yours, I reserve the right to guide your missions—in one direction or the other—if Cerberus's wider interests are at stake." Now a drink. "Losing Reaper technology to the Alliance certainly impacts Cerberus's wider interests."

Miranda held her wrist out. She wanted him to see her; wanted him to recognize in her own damn body language what he liked to hide behind cigarettes and overpriced swill. "Then keep the Alliance off my back. If I've been summarily denied the ability to to negotiate with them at least find me a route where I can avoid them."

He didn't so much as blink.

"I recognize these are trying times, but we need to keep our wider strategy in mind." Puff, puff. "I had you prepare a document as a contingency for our most recent operation on the Citadel. You informed me you had prepared evidence—some of it close to legitimate—of Alliance aggression near the boarder of Hegemony Space. If we allow the Fifth Fleet to enter the Bahak System, then your speculation and hearsay seems infinitely more plausible."

Miranda held her wrist in the air. Her mouth had loops of string threaded through her lips, tied tight by the man safely on the other side of the galaxy—a location so few people knew about.

The Illusive Man down the rest of his Jim Bean.

"Send it to EDI for a touch-up, then have her pass it along to me. In the meantime, your best bet for avoiding either the Collectors or the Alliance—"

"On one condition," Miranda said.

Finally—finally—the Illusive Man fell silent. Nothing to say now, right?

Eventually, he found his voice.

"What are your terms?"

"A new team—one I get to assemble from the ground up." Miranda started pacing. "My own dossiers, my own recruitment criteria, my own damn loyalty standards—everything that was prepared in advance for the Lazarus Cell, but with my own input. At minimum the power of veto."

Another long pause.

"You were hardly uninvolved in the creation of your current cell."

Right, and "cell" had so many different meanings to it, didn't it? "And so if I'd said no—if I'd told you Mordin was less valuable than his research or Jack's biotics hardly covered for her psychosis—you'd have graciously accepted my counsel?" Miranda stopped pacing, stared across the galaxy at the Illusive Man. "Or would the decision have been made long before I even broached the subject?"

"You saw what was prepared for Commander Shepard. You know she had every right to refuse our help, let alone the dossiers we'd prepared for her."

"But I'm not Shepard, now, am I?"

A third long pause, broken up by the usual drill of a smoke, a drink, and a moment to recompose.

"I'll grant your liquidation request," the Illusive Man said, "while noting that you'll have to explain this to your colleague—the one standing behind you, in particular. But Miranda—" the cigarette's disappeared; the bourbon fell out of view, "—our conversation is far from over."

Miranda closed her omni-tool. "That's one interpretation," she said. Then she turned to stare at Samara.

Samara stood impassively, backlit by the yellow light of the Collector-made storms.

"I am still bound to you by oath," Samara said.

Up went Miranda's hands.

"Ridiculous—utterly ridiculous! In what universe would it ever be rational to admit to someone that they own you?"

Both fell silent. But only for a short moment—just long enough for Miranda to note that Samara hadn't so much as blinked.

"Every day," Samara said, "I am confronted with the opportunity to turn my back on this life, to untether myself from a Code I have for millennia seen as right and proper and just. Every day, I reaffirm to myself that I am a Justicar. That you still do not understand this is why you cannot take the Code seriously…and why that will eventually be your undoing."

Miranda was ready to respond. Surely she was. And she would have...until her omni-tool beeped. And then so did Samara's. For half a second, the both of them stared at each other.

Then up came their wrists, and after the push of a button, a bright orange square assembled a picture of seven faces, framed by a background of at least ten or fifteen more Cerberus uniforms. Miranda recognized the faces and could even place their names; but the very fact the Widowmaker's crew—yes, the crew; not the specialists, not EDI, not even Jacob—were contacting her very nearly short-circuited her brain.

And then the one in front—who, after about ten seconds of conscious effort, Miranda recognized as "Crewman Zach Matthews"—started speaking.

"Attention all Cerberus personal on the surface of Aratoht. But especially: attention Miranda Lawson. You probably don't need us telling you who we are, but we're gonna do that anyways. We're the crew of the Normandy SR-2—what you and Operative Jacob Taylor decided to call the "Widowmaker"—and we're announcing something that's been a long, loooong time in the making.

"This is a coup. And whether you want to or not, you're gonna hear exactly why we're throwing you to the wayside."

Tiny insect claws dug into Miranda's eyes, forcing her to watch as…as…as what in god's name—

"Ahem: Not only has our current leadership been pathologically ill-suited to creating that sort of environment, but all this time—despite half of the crew, easily fifty-percent, having family on colony worlds—not once have we been given an explanation as to why we haven't responded to destress calls, or been told to pass information onto the Alliance, or even had a chance to talk about the stress we're experiencing. We signed on to protect our vulnerable family members who we've never been in a position to successfully save. That fact alone is leaving deep, deep scars on us, which unfortunately compliments the scars on all the specialists you, Operative Lawson, have recruited—recruited and then subsequently ignored until it's time to hit the shuttles.

"We here-by declare, to all Cerberus personnel on the planet, that our mission has failed. We've failed humanity. And the only reason we haven't passed this on to the Illusive Man himself—and the only reason we're doing this in the middle of an active operation—is because we want to negotiate. But we figure we need to drag you, Miranda, to the negotiating table. So we'll be setting the Normandy—that's what it was supposed to be called, that's what we're calling it now—down, a safe distance away from the fighting, with all the current crew armed, GARDIAN lasers at the ready, and the conference room open.

"The engineers figure we've got two hours before gravity crushes the ship. So if you wanna recoup the investment from this thing, I'd say you have two hours to reach us.

"Normandy Crew…out."

Their omni-tools blinked out, and…

No.

No.

No no no she was—idiots! You absolute, catastrophic she had LEVERAGE! This was—she—she—

NO.

Miranda nearly scraped off the armour on her wrist as she typed on her omni-tool. "Jacob, if you're reading this, go to First Team's LZ! And I swear if any of your commandoes are a part of this I'll make them embrace the Collectors with open goddamned ARMS!"

The world around Miranda pulsed as she assaulted her omni-tool, trying every communications override she could think of.

She had it.

She had leverage.

She had leverage and with that, space. No more strings, no more conditions, no more bloody balance sheets for Father for Cerberus for a man with no time to hate, no time to hate because he saved all his time to control.

No choice.

No leverage.

No value.

"You are recalling Jack, Grunt, and Professor Solus, then?" Samara said, somewhere in a world far less important than the one in front of Miranda.

"No—they're useful distractions." Now quiet.

"So you truly are intending to liquidate us."

Now—now—she let her eyes tear entire strips of skin off Samara. "The only unquestionably valuable person this cell has ever had has been dead for two years so, yes, Samara, given the continual demonstrations of utter insanity within this bloody nightmare I am unilaterally—by complete necessity—stemming the damned bleeding! But if you're so very hell-bent on helping half the problem rather than proving why you should stay then I fail to see why you've not already left."

"I am bound by my oath to follow your orders."

"How utterly convenient!"

"For you, yes."

"I beg your—"

Samara walked over to Miranda, and with only the slightest amount of sickly light leaking into the atrium, all Miranda could see of the asari was her silhouette…her silhouette and her glowing, blue eyes.

"You have clearly indicated that you see Professor Solus as a threat," Samara said. "You sent him—alongside Jack—on a suicidal charge in the hopes of eliminating them. And yet, here I stand."

She was directly in front of Miranda now; you could feel the biotics leaching off her, as though that was as natural as exhaling carbon.

"Even with our combined powers, it is possible—if you had sent me in place of Professor Solus—that Jack, Grunt, and I would nonetheless fall to the Collector onslaught. You could have potentially eliminated two of your most powerful opponents within the team, both of whom have indicated that they will kill you if necessary. However, you choose to keep me beside you, always in your line of sight, relishing every moment where it appeared my Code was little more than a leash."

"I've hardly any use for a lecture—from you, from the Illusive Man—"

"Then I offer you a choice: choose to let me fight for those in need. If I survive, I will remain bound to you by oath. Or does that not offer you the level control that you think you desire?"

Miranda stared, the world around her pulsing, going into and out of focus.

She continued to stare.

Walls were collapsing around her, and as she tried to hold the bricks upright, exhaustion took her.

"Just…go just—dammit just go."

"As you wish."

Then Samara was completely consumed by blue, and then she was no longer inside the atrium. A sound like thunder bid Miranda goodbye, consigned to the shadows with nothing but the ringing in her ears.

By the time she exited the southern complex, she had pulled herself from the rubble, rebuild the walls brick by brick.

Just as she'd always done—just as she'd always had to do.

Her right fist glowed purple and, after the nearest tree exploded into a shower of bark and ash and smoke, she began sprinting. The wind hurled dirt and rock and the occasional splotch of soot-flecked rain; the air shrieked as an envelope of dark energy drove her forward.

"EDI, I need Operative Taylor's location—now."

Nothing but the shrieking of the wind.

She'd sprinted like this before, years and years ago, on a lush human colony too pretty for the kinds of people that lived there.

"Override: Omega Lambda Seven, X-L-Nine."

She'd sprinted like this a second time, on the same colony, the ugliness only just starting to seep through.

"Specify request, Operative Lawson."

No Ori this time though—just like the first time, it was only her, only Miranda.

"Where the hell is Jacob Taylor?"

"Location: Northern SIU Facility."

"Goddammit, why the hell is he there?"

Static.

"Logging you out, Miranda."

"DAMMIT!"

More trees were pulverized in her wake, adding to the dust and rocks and debris kicked up by a vicious, ugly wind.

7.

Running through forest, avoiding branches, avoiding detection. Running scenarios: lack of batarian corpses, mostly frozen soldiers, area overrun by Collectors. Combat likely to involve biotics—need to be smart, utilize tech, assume traditional digital and omni-tool attacks effective against superior foe. Be outnumbered, be outgunned, risk of ambush before even reaching Jack and Grunt—odds not in his favour.

Pick up speed, ignore that: any support helpful. Grunt powerful warrior; Jack powerful biotic. Coordinate fire—no no can't rely on that. Collectors exhibit signs of hive mind—coordination advantage likely there's. Vary attacks—yes, utilize diversity in competencies, keep opponent guessing.

Have to work; have to make up for numerical deficiency. Durability deficiency on his part.

Samara possibly better choice.

No no—had to be him. Samara bound by Code, couldn't act without Miranda's blessing—no other choice.

Had to be him. Could provide assistance. Would help equalize odds of survival.

Not just reacting to krogran-shaped hole in past.

Had to be him.

Had to be him.

As Mordin ducked under branches and sprinted through bushes, Jack and Grunt stood under a thicket of trees, staring at three frozen batarians. If you looked at them through a break in the forest—back where another twenty or so batarians were stuck in various poses—they looked like they were sprinting in a staggered line.

Up close, Jack just saw fear…fear and desperation. Looked like they were halfway between running and tripping over their own feet. Eyes were worse: only ever saw a few intact batarian heads up close, but she was pretty sure their eyes weren't supposed to have that many red veins in them.

Stuck like that, staring straight ahead, not knowing what the fuck's lurking behind you…yeah, you'd probably get some fucked up eyes from that. No big fucking surprises here.

Jack cleared her throat.

"Lotta batarian statues around," she said. She pointed at the three closest to her and Grunt. "Looks like half of 'em were running from something." She leaned in again, looked right at the eyes. "Wonder if they can see anything in there."

Grunt sniffed one of the three. "The salarian said they could."

"You talking nerd shit with him now? Christ, Grunt—didn't know you were that bored."

"He said that in the shuttle bay, when he gave us the countermeasures."

"You gotta learn how to tune shit out. These things stop a buncha bugs from melting your insides? That's aaaaaall you gotta know. Everything else just ruins the fun."

"No safety net."

"Yeah, no fucking safety nets." Christ, looked like the eyes were moving. Maybe it was just her brain but, still, it was fucking Collector tech. Maybe they let the eyes move just so you knew how helpless you were. Torture your victims, break 'em, then do whatever fucked up thing the Collectors did to them.

She shook her head, pulled away. "Doc said they're conscious?"

"Yeah. We should probably help them."

"Was thinking that too." Jack grabbed her pistol, pointed at the batarian's head.

'Cept fucking Grunt's fucking hand grabbed her wrist.

"Not what I meant."

"And?"

"And you're killing something that's trapped." Grunt let go of her wrist, took a step back. "We didn't even trap it."

Jack put her gun away, but the way she was pointing? Didn't even need the fucking gun. "Fuck me, Grunt, you really think going bye-bye's worse than this? People're fucking pussies about death, but you make 'em choose between this or a mercy kill and, nine times outta ten, they'll ask for the gun."

"It's too easy."

"Who fucking cares? You wanna wait till this shit wears off? We'll be fighting fucking coma patients by then."

"I mean," Grunt said, "we're just giving up. If we're helping them, we should actually help them."

"Who—the fuck—cares?"

"Me."

Jack tossed her hands into the air. "You're fucking krogan! Like Jesus Christ, Grunt, you're supposed to look at a pile of corpses and say, 'fuck, could be bigger.'"

Grunt shook his head. "Real strength is turning weak people into warriors."

"Holy fuck what fucking hippy-dippy dumbass told you that?"

"You did."

I fucking what? She jabbed a finger right into the crest on Grunt's head.

"The fuck—did you just—fucking—say?"

Grunt swatted her hand away, took a step back. "Seeing Wrex, on Tuchanka—reading about what he did with Shepard—it got me thinking. But all that just made me realize what you were teaching me."

"I fucking told you not to be a victim." Jack just barely kept her hands from fucking tearing chunks outta Grunt's throat. "Fuck's sake, you think I go around painting a fucking target on my back? What'd I say back on the ship? Seriously—tell me what I fucking said. Because what I fucking said was: be ready to kill anyone looking at you funny and make sure they fucking know it."

"I'm krogan," Grunt said. "We don't listen to words. Words lie. We watch how people act."

"What's that supposed to fucking mean?"

"It means your words are lying."

Jack grabbed him by the throat and…and just…fuck. She let go and glowed and felt fucking blood run through her eyes and had to take a lap around Grunt's dumb fucking entire person until the overwhelming fucking desire to rip his head off finally went away. But the noises she was making while she did that, fuck, you'd think she was a fucking animal or something. Yeah, a fuck-off big attack dog that'd just got let out've it's cage.

"Most people's words lie," Grunt said.

Jack stopped, stared Grunt down, started glowing purple. Then she nearly broke all her fingers clenching her fists until the purple glow disappeared.

She said, "Fuck off, Grunt just—just fuck off, okay? Go back to the fucking ship—you're fucking lost in a fucking fantasy world."

"I'm helping these people."

"With what? How're we gonna—Grunt how the fuck're we gonna help? Huh? The shuttle's gonna fit like ten of them before it fucking falls out've the sky."

Grunt stared at her, then started walking forward. "We keep moving, so we know how many trips we need to make."

Then he was past the frozen batarians—past the thicket—past Jack's line of sight…and Jack was left there, just fucking staring. Staring and listening to the wind try to rip apart the canopy they'd been standing under.

"Fuck me…"

Jack followed. Grunt stopped walking, turned, and waited for Jack to catch up. Then they kept walking, through the trees, to where the wind started howling louder and louder.

Then the wind just…stopped. The trees stopped rattling. They could hear their footsteps on the ground.

Grunt turned to Jack.

"You say that word a lot."

"Yeah?" Jack said. "You make me say it a lot."

"You say it even when you're not mad at me."

"I'm not fucking mad at you, Jesus fucking fuck, Grunt."

"So you're just mad at yourself."

"YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING CHANGE MY ANSWER?"

That was about the point where Jack noticed they'd left all the batarians behind…those three back there didn't have any friends further into the thicket. Might be the rearguard…or just the last people who got away from whatever killed their fucking friends.

They hit a clearing, and…Jack was right. They'd been the last people who got away from a massacre.

The clearing was on a mid-sized hill—steep enough that you wouldn't want to lose your footing around the edge, especially since most of it was gravel and dirt—that overlooked a strip of grasslands totally devoid of trees. There was forest on either side, but on a normal day, all you would've seen here was some shrubs and random patches of flowers.

Right now…as Jack looked down towards the clearing…she saw scorch marks, craters, limbs, corpses, ash fires bodies just bodies everywhere. And the fucking thing was—the thing her brain first fucking picked up on—was the Collector corpses. More've them than the batarians, just taking a quick guess—and all the dead were mixed together no, no sides to it, nothing like you'd see if two armies were going at it. And half the fucking corpses looked like they'd been ripped in half so…so what the fuck? What the actual fuck did this?

"Fuck me…" Jack said.

"Did the batarians put up a fight?" Grunt said, surveying it for himself. "Why weren't they frozen?"

"Something's fucking off, Grunt. Since when've you heard of someone killing Collectors?"

Grunt sniffed the air. "You're right. Something smells…wrong."

Jack turned, grabbed Grunt's wrist, started pulling back towards the thicket. "We're leaving. Fuck it, we're leaving, all right?"

Except Grunt fucking planted his fucking heels.

"We need to take the frozen batarians with us," he said.

"Fuck them! And fuck Miranda too—her intel's way the fuck off."

"We can carry at least some of them."

"And show our fucking whole asses to whatever did this?" Jack practically sprinted in front of Grunt, planted her heels. "No, fuck that—besides nobody fucking likes batarians. These fuckers probably had it coming."

"Would you pick death over being frozen like this?"

"The fuck? What kind've fucking question is that?"

"Because if you're fine with death, I don't get why you wanna leave so bad."

Jack glowed purple again. "Fucking excuse me?"

And then Jack saw…movement. Something down in the clearing, something…something walking through the fire. She saw the black shape first, wobbling in the heat, looking like something that was only supposed to exist in the corner of your vision…

…then she saw the two red dots where this thing's eyes should've been.

"That thing's survived a lot."

It had. The black armour was scarred; entire mountain ranges ringed its abdomen and chest. A red strip ran down the right arm of this thing. It looked faded, but whether that was because the armour was damaged or because nothing looked red compared to the light leaking out of this things eyes, it was hard to tell.

"That's human," Jack said, staring at it, a part of her thinking it'd disappear if she closed her eyes. Like when she'd see things after the guards dosed her with something new, something experimental. "N7—some kinda Alliance commando."

"They tough?"

The thing was dragging a batarian corpse under one arm and a Collector corpse under the other.

"Some people say."

Grunt looked around the clearing, eyed the corpses this thing was dragging with it. "Looks like they're the ones that caused all this."

(it's human it's just fucking human, okay? Nothing special about it this thing's just fucking human)

"Fucking good for them."

"We can take them." And then Grunt jumped off the hill, slid down the loose gravel and dirt. Something jumped from Jack's stomach straight into her throat.

"Grunt you fucking…FUCK."

She jumped down too.

"Fine," she said. "Yeah, we can take 'em." She stared at the thing as it noticed them, trained its red lights onto them. Lightning was still eating the sky but, even then, you had to squint if those lights hit you.

You felt it when those lights hit you.

Jack squeezed her fists until she drew blood.

"First one to die goes to hell."

"Heh, heh, heh."

Grunt pulled out his shotgun; so did Jack.

The thing in N7 armour slowly moved closer.

And Mordin continued to sprint through the forest.

Had to be him.

Had to be him.

8.

Yellow glowing eyes.

There were four yellow glowing eyes everywhere.

Some of them were on the insects.

Most were on the faces of people he knew.

He felt something cold slip into the hole they'd drilled in his head.

And, a minute after the world went black, Carlak's eyes glowed yellow too.

---

You! Quick! There's no time to explain! The Flippdorians and the Tambourine Men from the 4th Dylmension are using Earth as a chessboard, and if I don't sell thirty cc's of Girl Scout Cookies © by the last howl of the summer wolf then they're cancelling Christmas!

What? No! No this isn't just me going crazy from trying to wrangle all these plotlines - this is a real thing at NASA, Ben! I'll meet you at the next Chapter in like a month, but you gotta promise me, UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES CAN YOU TELL -