Cerberus. Just-Cerberus.

How many of their personnel had she killed? Jane was never the type to keep score of that—Jenkins did—but it was at least half a dozen. Now, they were running her ship, paying her and her crew, and their leader, supposing he actually was their leader at all, was giving her the illusion of freedom.

The galaxy had forgotten, too. Two years later and the council, all of them, had happily sat back and let things tick away toward oblivion. Jane massaged her temples as she read the dossier on one of her latest headaches, the sicko from Freedom's Progress otherwise known as Jack.

Name: Jack (Claims)

Age: 24 (Claims). Estimated age is 20.

Birthplace: Washington DC, United North American States (claims). No presence in Alliance records. Claims father's name is James, and to have been raised by a stepmother, Beatrice. Would not provide family names for either parent. When asked about his biological mother, Jack said that she died but would not provide details. Further questioning resulted in assault of interviewer.

Education: Unknown. References to classical works and some usage of French suggest secondary education. High proficiency in the maintenance of firearms. When given a selection of questions regarding general knowledge, remarked, "Oh, yeah, I don't really like Pride and Prejudice. Persuasion, though, that's good". Tactics and equipment suggest proficiency in chemistry (makes own explosives), some maintenance knowledge (claimed to have fixed pipes), and some medical knowledge (showed familiarity with first aid terminology).

Previous employers: unknown. Claims to have worked "as a plumber, more or less, whatever", a janitor, a math tutor "but only like, for algebra" and as a security guard "Yeah, I did my own walking, and I know how to work a gun. The rest of kind of, just, happened I guess.". Skills and slang strongly suggest criminal background.

Jack is best described as an irregular mercenary. Utilizes antique weapons from the 19th and 20th centuries. Also employs crude explosives (grenades made from tin cans and cherry bomb) he makes himself. Evidence of potential paramilitary involvement in the past (high proficiency with firearm maintenance, understanding of basic hand signals). Jack can work in a squad but can also be employed alone with great efficacy. Readily able to find flanking routes.

Shepard had read the dossier twice over, thrice over, and didn't feel terribly closer to actually deciphering her newest crewmate.

She put him through his paces after Freedom's Progress. He did as she ordered, and after some snark, it turned out he could, in fact, shut his mouth. His antiques were loud and crude, but he landed every shot he fired. When she pressed him on his improvised weapons, he at first asked if he could retrieve a notebook. She allowed it, he came back a few minutes later with a ratty old backpack. The pack was held together by rough stitches and duct-tape, and the notebook's pages were yellowed and curled at the edges, but Shepard read through them and yes. He wasn't lying.

The next thing she demanded was that he empty the backpack. At first Jack hesitated, but when she gave the order, albeit with a nasty look, he opened it. Inside there was canned food, a kitchen knife, a flashlight, a lighter, some bills, bandages, some scattered antibiotics, the record case for a song by someone named Bob Crosby, a teddy bear, and half a dozen shanks and shivs made of everything from razor blades to plastic knives. Oh, and a piece of faintly radioactive slag that he refused to explain the origins of.

Miranda was with her for his testing, and for a moment, barely, Shepard could see her surprise.

"What's with the teddy bear?" Shepard asked. A collection of shivs, explosives, and a teddy bear… she didn't know what that implied, exactly, but it was worth a question.

Jack's face darkened as he said, "It's for a friend. I'm not some kind of freak, commander. Are we done here? Do you want a strip search too?"

Shepard heavily considered it, but in the end, she let him go. But that was two days ago, and she was about to head to Omega; she wanted to truly understand who might be coming with her there.

She passed the Yeoman on her way to Jack's quarters, Maya.

"How are we, Maya?" Shepard asked.

"Ship-shape," Maya said. "Whenever you need to go to Omega, we'll be ready."

Shepard considered her words, then said, "I'm meeting Jack."

Maya shifted, uncomfortable. "I see."

"You said you have some education in psychology?" Shepard said.

"I have an associates, yes," Maya said. "The previous candidate was better trained, but I can do well enough."

"Good," Shepard said. "I may have need of that training. Jack does seem like a troubled individual."

Maya shifted again. "Of course, Commander. I'll do my best."

"I just need him to have a level head," Shepard said, resting a hand on Maya's shoulder. "You don't need to fix everything wrong with him."

"You also think there's something wrong with him?" Maya asked. She coughed. "I'm sorry, Commander, that was unprofessional. It won't happen again."

Shepard smiled some. "Don't do it again, but don't beat yourself up, either, Yeoman. Jack is a challenging personality."

The most normal thing in Jack's room was the large blue rug and welcome mat that read Live, Laugh, Love. The rest of it was messy and confusing.

An unmade bed, clothes haphazardly spilling out of a laundry hamper, a footlocker with what looked like Asari skin mags poking out of it. He had another two backpacks leaning against the bed, a rack on the wall that held his bolt-action antique hunting rifle, his antique pistol that Shepard's research had concluded was a design from 1935, and a work bench with unpleasant-looking moving parts coming out of it like fungus. Next to the workbench were two nondescript olive-green crates, one of which held a collection of supplies for making antique slugs by hand, and in the other one, a collection of cherry bomb, tin cans, duct tape, gunpowder, nails, scrap electronics, a lunch box, and a leather pouch full of bottle caps. There was also, bizarrely, a metal Casablanca poster above his bed. The most normal thing was the large blue rug at the center of the room. Jack himself was sitting at his desk in a foldout chair, looking at pictures of… dogs?

"You know we don't allow pets," Shepard said. Jack didn't look at her.

"Maybe you should," he said. "Mascots are good for morale."

"You like dogs?" Shepard asked. Jack nodded, still not looking at her.

Seeing him sitting there, he truly looked his age. this could almost be some college freshman's dorm room-a concering dorm room to be sure, but a dorm room nonetheless. He was a kid with handmade explosives and firearms and a computer he was currently using to look at dogs.

"Look at me, Jack," Shepard said. Jack did, and the face she saw wasn't charming. He might have been handsome once, but his skin was waxy, his nose was crooked, his hair unkempt, and a purple deep enough to be black hung under his eyes. "You're going to look at me when I'm speaking to you."

Jack finally turned to her, and he seemed to consider his words before asking, "What makes you worth following? I mean, really?"

Shepard was given pause.

"I'm your commander," she eventually said. "It isn't your place to question that."

Jack narrowed his eyes, then he smiled. "Thank you."

"For what?" Shepard asked.

"You didn't lie," he said.

There were no other chairs in the room, but there was an ottoman. Shepard asked, "Mind if I sit?"

Jack studied her for a moment. Then he nodded.

"You really don't trust people, do you?" Shepard asked after sitting down. Jack turned his chair, which dragged some on the floor, making a harsh screeching sound.

"I don't trust Cerberus," Jack said. "They held me captive for two weeks."

Shepard blinked. "Why?"

"They also told me not to mention that," Jack said. "But fuck them. This is still your ship, mostly. And it's not like I can leave—it's in my contract." He shrugged, then grinned, showing some of his missing teeth. "I suppose there's dental, too."

Shepard gestured to the poster above his bed. "Casablanca?"

"Ingrid Bergman," Jack said. "Sex on legs."

Shepard hummed. "My mom loved those old movies," she said. "She preferred John Wayne."

"Westerns," Jack said, turning up his crooked nose.

"I never much got into them, myself," Shepard said. "Too slow."

"They're racist," Jack said. "and dumb."

Shepard cracked a smile. "I've heard worse reasons. I knew film student, once."

"Like, a university student?" Jack asked with more surprise than he ought to.

"Yes," Shepard said slowly. "Why are you surprised?"

Jack shifted in his seat, and briefly grew a glare before sighing. "I didn't really, uh, go. My dad always wanted me to, but…"

"I didn't hit college myself," Shepard said. "Joined the Alliance at sixteen. Haven't looked back since."

"Haven't, or haven't been able to?" Jack asked. Shepard cocked her head.

"Some military experience?" She asked.

"Maybe," Jack said, quieter. "It was a long time ago. I kind of hated them."

"It's a tough job to like," Shepard observed. "Some would call us freaks."

Jack blinked at her.

Shepard smiled. "Of course, what do they know, right? They've never been out in the field. Have they?"

Jack shifted again. "Sure, yeah."

"How old are you?" Shepard asked.

"23," Jack said.

"You told Cerberus you were 24," Shepard observed.

Jack was quiet. Then he said, "I don't trust anybody here."

"Not even me?" Shepard leaned forward.

"Do you trust me?" Jack challenged.

"Not really," Shepard said. "But I think you might be useful to me."

"Thanks for being honest again, Commander." Jack said.

"Now," Shepard said. "About Cerberus. Do you not trust them just because they captured you?" Shepard then asked further, "Why did they do that to begin with?

He glanced to his footlocker, then said, "The boss's little secretary. I know she bugs this room, Commander. I'm sure she's bugged yours, even your shower, somehow. She plays it cool and professional, but that's bullshit." Jack looked at Shepard very seriously. "She's bad, Commander. I don't know what kind yet, but I know it."

"How?" Shepard asked.

"I got my radar the hard way, Commander." he looked at his feet, then back up to her. "But, um. They captured me because There was this nuclear meltdown in my, uh, hometown. The powerplant just blew—imploded, I guess. Whatever, my point is, it got into the water. We didn't know for days. I drank enough to do this." He pointed to his green eye. "Cerberus thought it would be fun to take some of the people for study." He swallowed. "They killed my dad. They killed my stepmom, too. Miranda serves Cerberus so fucking much… anyone who can do that, I don't trust."

Shepard took him in for a long moment. The story was bullshit, she knew it. But how to call him on it? She couldn't just leave here knowing so little about her crew.

"How did your biological mother die?" she asked.

Jack grew a glare faster than anyone Shepard had ever seen. "She died giving birth to me. You can believe me or not, but that's the truth. If you want to know if you can trust me with a gun," Jack got up, loaded his pistol and handed it to her. "Do it."

"Jack," Shepard said, taken aback. "I never meant—"

"Yeah, well that's what you fucking said!" Jack shoved her. "All of you. You think I'm crazy. You tell me I'm lying, that everything in my life could never happen. Everybody thinks that—he's the guy, he's the guy, we can't trust him cause he's the guy—well fuck you. I signed this contract, and I'll do it! I don't just kill people!"

Shepard knew someone spinning up when she saw one. She'd been there herself after Torfan, and so she also knew realized he wasn't talking to her. To Cerberus? It all came back to Cerberus on this ship. Still…

Shepard shot to her feet and punched Jack in the stomach, then knocked out his legs from under him.

"Get a grip on yourself," Shepard said. "You're being a brat. I'm sending you to the Yeoman for counseling. Get your shit together before we go to Omega."

Jack was red in the face, heaving as Shepard offered her hand. With reluctance, Jack took it.

When he was back on his feet Shepard told him, "Because I don't trust Miranda either."

"Oh," was all Jack said.

Shepard left the kid to sort himself out and was pleasantly surprised at both the apology she got from him and how he took to the counseling. She put him through more tests and was even more pleased with the picture that was coming together. In the absence of her previous crewmates—Tali to the Migrant Fleet, Garrus off the grid, Wrex to Tuchanka, Ashley lost in the Alliance—it wasn't comfort, but it was an improvement to have at least one person on the ship who wasn't Cerberus.