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the chaos of organic evolution
ichorous april has a time in mass effect
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Any history of June Shepard must begin with how little we know of her. We do not know her parentage or her birthplace, and much of her active history remains classified. We know that she enlisted in the Systems Alliance military at the age of 16. Her rise through the ranks was as meteoric as it was inevitable. Despite occasional reports of insubordination, her talents could not be denied. She became an N7 marine at age 18, and on her first mission was deployed with her unit to investigate distress signals from Akuze, an outlying human colony. Unfortunately, the distress signals were imprecise; her unit was sent into a nest of thresher maws, and only June survived.

The details of her survival remain classified. It can be assumed that she acquitted herself well, because the disaster on Akuze did not stem her ascent through the ranks. Two years later, she was XO of the SSV Normandy on its maiden voyage, a supposed shakedown run to retrieve a Prothean artifact from the colony of Eden Prime. It was at this point that the star was firmly affixed to her brow. Far from being a shakedown run, it turned out that Eden Prime had been invaded by the geth. Shepard and her assistants Mortimer Halliwell and Suzanna Shi cut their way through the geth forces, discovered that the invasion had been instigated by Spectre agent Saren Arterius, and interfaced with the Prothean artifact, receiving an ancient message: that the Reapers, a race of biomechanical monsters, had destroyed the Prothean civilization and would come for the current civilization as well.

Shepard went to the Citadel Council to inform them that their agent had betrayed them. They refused to listen until she found conclusive evidence of Saren's betrayal - in the form of a geth data core salvaged by Quarian machinist Sal'Poma nar Marvan, which had recorded Saren plotting with his compatriot, one Matriarch Belara. Along the way she recruited C-Sec officer Garrus Vakarian and Battlemaster Yakhol Warhead, both of whom would have their own parts to play in the coming adventure. Shepard returned to the Council, proof in hand, and for her efforts, was made a Spectre and given her first mission: to apprehend Saren before he could execute whatever terrible plan he had in store.

Shepard's first order of business was to rescue Belara's daughter, Arela K'Bael - initially in case she was a co-conspirator with her mother, but while it turned out she was not, her expertise in prothean civilization and her biotic prowess proved very useful. She then traveled to the colony of Zhu's Hope on the planet Feros, which Saren had mysteriously visited a few weeks prior; there she found an ancient life-form, the Thorian, which helped her to clarify the vision she had received from the beacon. Finally, she traveled to Noveria, chasing down Belara herself. The matriarch turned out to have been breeding rachni, the insectoid creatures against whom the Citadel had fought a desperate war two thousand years prior. When defeated, Belara revealed that Saren had been using a subtle form of mind-control on her, which she referred to as "indoctrination". June was then faced with a choice between killing the rachni queen for the crimes of her ancestors, or releasing her to potentially war with the Citadel races again. She chose to release her.

After Noveria, the Council contacted Shepard with information on Saren's activities. An out-of-the-way planet, Virmire, had sent a distress signal indicating his involvement. Shepard was sent to investigate. There, she found a cloning facility, breeding an army of krogan shock troops. Shepard infiltrated the base, coming into contact with Saren's flagship, Sovereign and making the discovery that it was, in fact, a fully sentient Reaper - and that the "indoctrination" Belara had spoken of was affecting Saren himself. Shepard set up a nuclear device to destroy the cloning facility, and following a confrontation with Saren, made it out unscathed. Saren's next goal was to reach "the Conduit" on the planet Ilos, and thereby to summon the Reapers. Shepard was fully prepared to follow him into the Terminus Systems and defeat him.

Unfortunately, the Citadel Council had other ideas. Sending one ship against Saren's fleet would be suicide; sending a fleet into the Terminus would be an act of war. They locked down the SSV Normandy and confined Shepard to the Citadel until further notice. Fortunately, Shepard had the assistance of her former CO, David Anderson, and the human ambassador to the Council, Donnel Udina. With their assistance, she released the Normandy and chased Saren to Ilos, in an act of full mutiny, while they gathered the Alliance fleet in Citadel Space and prepared for an attack from Saren. There was no turning back now.

On Ilos, Shepard discovered a Prothean virtual intelligence, which told her more about the prothean extinction: they had been sabotaged by the Reapers, who used the Citadel as an enormous mass relay to bring them from deep space into the perfect position for an invasion. However, Ilos had housed a small team of scientists, who used their expertise to create a miniature relay to the Citadel and sabotage the Citadel itself. It could no longer be automatically activated by the Reapers, but would have to be manually engaged by Saren - who had, by now, used the scientists' relay to enter the Citadel undetected, and signalled his fleet to attack. Shepard followed Saren through the relay and battled her way through his army to the Citadel Tower, where Saren was in the process of engaging the Citadel relay. She defeated him, disrupting Sovereign through its connection to him and allowing the Alliance fleet to destroy the Reaper while its shields were down. The galaxy was safe - for now.

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"And... a whole lot more nothing," Joker says cheerfully. "Wow, we're on a real streak lately. You think if we keep not seeing any geth they'll let us do anything else?"

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June snorts. "Not a hope."

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"The first human Spectre and Hero of the Citadel, relegated to patrolling for ghosts. Bullshit, if you ask me. Which remarkably few people do!"

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"Yes. Remarkable. That's the word I'd use, for sure."

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"Oh, sure, when you want my opinion you'll read it in my... entrails... that's weird," he says, flicking a display into fullscreen. After a few seconds: "Actually I'm provisionally upgrading that to 'what the fuck'."

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She squints at the screen. "What am I looking at?"

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"Heat signature, you know that much - emissions not matching any ship in the data banks, that's weird - and look at the visual profile. That doesn't look like a ship, it looks like a mobile station or something. The aerodynamics alone are fuck!"

There's a dizzying lurch as the ship jukes to avoid a beam of white-hot something. "Shit, what kind of -"

A second beam lances out and bisects the Normandy. Everything is suddenly very bright and very loud. 

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She hisses sharply under her breath. Emergency drills flash through her head—depressurization, hull breach, escape pods—her body is already suiting up which is great because she would have forgotten that part and Joker would have noticed her breathing vacuum and had questions—as soon as her helmet clicks into place, she checks on her helmsman, ready to haul him out of his seat if she has to.

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She totally has to, he's babbling some nonsense about how he's not abandoning his baby. 

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Then she can drag him around like a sack of potatoes, it's no big.

Back through the ship—a moment of odd nostalgia for the way it feels to move in microgravity—haha fuck this thing's sure been cut in half, huh. And the escape pods are over there.

Well, between the two of them, which one is better equipped to handle being stuck in half a derelict spaceship with no air and no propulsion? Yeah. Exactly.

She tosses Joker across the gap, as gently as she can manage.

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He's yelling something at her. The vacuum makes it pretty hard for her to hear it, though - and before he can finish his sentence, somebody's reached out and pulled him into the escape pod.

The pods shoot off into the black.

Then the ship explodes.

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For fuck's sake—

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Death feels an awful lot like dreaming. Complete with occasional bleary moments of half-consciousness - voices blurring into each other, occasionally saying her name. Sometimes she recognizes other words - there's a lot of swearing, some prayer, occasional use of the phrase "overcooked hamburger".

But usually it's her name. Well, the name she's gone by since she got here. Shepard.

Shepard.

"Shepard? Shepard! You've got to wake up. The facility is under attack."

(This voice is one of the ones that was talking a lot. Australian. Crisp. Under more strain than she's heard before.)

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"th'fuck?" she mumbles. Wow, she feels like garbage. Did she explode? She seems to remember exploding.

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"I recognize that you are not in fighting condition. Unfortunately, you're going to have to fight anyway. Get up, Shepard."

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She waves a rude gesture in the vague direction of the voice and attempts to get out of bed, except she's not in bed, so her muscle memory fails her, and now she is on the floor. "Ow. Fuck you. Wha'ss'probl'm." Does being dead give you a hangover?

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"The problem is that this facility is under siege. It's already sustained severe damage, and some genius rigged the self-destruct. I'm attempting to deactivate it as we speak, but it's about an 80% chance I get it, and if we're 20% then you need to get out of here. There's a weapons locker in the lab you're in. Grab a gun and get moving."

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She takes a deep breath, closes her eyes, winces sharply, and scrambles to her feet. "Okay! I'm awake!"

Gun? Where gun? Theeeeeeeere gun? Yes. Good. Okay, she's armed.

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"Excellent. I'll open the door for you."

The door makes a pleasant chiming noise and hisses open.

"Next room will have a couple of hostiles in it. Mechs. I assume you still know how to kill things."

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She flips off the speaker again and heads for the next room.

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The next room contains: robots! They're kind of weird and boxy-looking, but they've got guns.

"They're not a patch on the geth," the voice comments. "I'm vaguely embarrassed that they were able to take out the station, even under the circumstances."

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She's still slightly afflicted by her death hangover but not afflicted enough to have trouble taking down the robots.

"Robots why," she says. It's not clear whether it's a complaint, a question, or more of a philosophical point.

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"Oh, some bright spark thought 'wouldn't it be lovely if we could kill the people we don't like without risking the people we do,'" the voice says disgustedly. "It's pathetic. If you're not willing to risk anything to kill someone, you don't deserve to kill them."

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She makes a vaguely affirmative grunt and forges onward.

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She passes through some more rooms with mechs, then into something like an office block. There's a couple of corpses along the way, nobody she knows.

"I'm not going to be able to stay on the line much longer," her guide says out of one's omni-tool. "But you're approaching someone I'm reasonably sure you can trust. Follow her out, I'll try to meet you at the docking bay."

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Trust. Yeah, right.

She keeps going, though.

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After another couple office hallways, she comes out into a room containing several mechs with their guns trained on a black-and-white-uniformed woman roiling with blue energy. She tosses a spherical biotic field at the mechs, eliciting a substantial explosion. Then she turns to face June, pistol readied but not aimed.

She breaks into a massive grin. "Boss! Damn, I thought you were dead!"

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"I'm not totally sure I'm not a zombie," she says, but she's smiling.

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"No, yeah, I was joking, you were totally dead. Burnt hamburger, I think was the phrase going around the labs. But - you know. Project Lazarus, all that jazz."

There's a distant explosion. "Uh, on that note, let's maybe get the fuck out of here."

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"Sure thing. You can explain what the fuck is happening on the way."

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Zanna leads the way, occasionally breaking up her monologue with gunfire and explosions.

"So. Let's start with the obvious: you, June Shepard, died. It was pretty fucking awful. The squad made it out okay - only lost noncombat crew. Which, you know, still sucks. But... CO dead, no ship, nobody's sticking around. Squad split up - Alliance crew got reassigned, sundry aliens took a hike. I was one of the ones got reassigned. They tried me on the Waterloo, the Agincourt, the Odesa - but, uh, turns out I don't do so hot with a rigid command structure when my CO isn't my best friend. I ended up honorably discharged and mad as fuck about it. That's when I got the call."

She fingers a vaguely familiar emblem on her lapel.

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June squints at it.

 

"So," she says. "Any good reasons why I shouldn't just let this place explode?"

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"It's... yeah, a few. Let me finish, okay?"

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"All right, I'm listening. Grudgingly."

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"So - I'm not - blaming you for dying. That'd be fucking stupid. But - you weren't there. You know? So when Miranda called me I maybe wasn't in the best place. And she told me that I was being a little bitch, and that if I didn't shape up I was going to die in a gutter, and incidentally did I want a job. And - I asked basically the same thing you're asking. Why the fuck would I work for Cerberus after the shit they've pulled. And... she said 'because the Reapers are coming, and nobody else gives a damn. If you want to talk about our methods, we'll listen, but the water's rising and you can either help or get out.'"

She sighs. "And - she was right. She's always right, it pisses me off. The Council doesn't give a shit about the Reapers - it was obvious before you died, but it got fucking Kafkaesque. The Alliance, some of them say they believed you, but it doesn't amount to anything. And. This is what Cerberus was made for. Literally. This is what it's always been about. Building a power base to fight the Reapers. They've done - really fucked-up shit. I know that. But - I dunno. They're doing what matters."

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"...the Council... doesn't give a shit... about the Reapers. Did they not fucking notice Sovereign shoving his stupid fucking spaceship tentacles up their collective sorry ass, or—" She sighs. "Ugh."

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"Yeah, they've moved to the official position that the Reapers are a 'fringe theory' that Saren subscribed to, and Sovereign was a Geth flagship. Nevermind that Morty knew in five seconds that it didn't match their profile, or that the Geth never had that kind of tech, or... nope."

She grimaces. "They gave you a memorial flame, by the way. On Akuze. I wish we'd let the Destiny Ascension get shot down."

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"...fuckers. I'm gonna go there and eat it—no," sigh, "I've got better things to do."

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"Good to hear being a zombie didn't fix your verbal tics. Goddamn, I missed hearing you threaten to eat random objects."

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She snickers, then shakes her head.

"Okay, for real though, the fuck is all this." (An encompassing gesture.) "Am I literally standing in the Cerberus necromancy facility?"

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"You are more or less literally standing in the Cerberus necromancy facility. When the ship went down over Alchera, Miranda... did something spooky to get her hands on your remains. And then she spent something like a billion credits on experimental medical technology, cybernetics, and a shit-ton of weirder stuff, and she... fixed you."

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There's a muffled gunshot from the next room, and the sound of organic matter splattering against a wall.

A smiling woman in an unusual uniform opens the door as a body slumps to the ground. "I don't want to take all the credit. Shepard was probably the most cooperative cadaver I've ever had the pleasure to work on."

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"Okay, assuming until proven otherwise that you fucked my corpse, got it."

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Miranda laughs. "If I'd any idea how charming you were in person I'm sure I'd have waited!"

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She flips her off, but in a more friendly way than previously. "Okay, are we getting out of here or what?"

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"Less you two wanna flirt some more," Zanna snorts, pushing past Miranda. She pauses, looking at the corpse also in the docking bay. "What'd Wilson do to piss you off, Lawson?"

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"Betrayed our location to an army of mechs," Miranda says, opening the door to a compact little shuttle. "Right, everybody in."

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June will get in the shuttle, although she keeps her scavenged weapon in hand as she does.

"So!" she says. "Rummaging around in here," she gestures vaguely at her own body, "bet that was fun and exciting. How many people died?"

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"Only one! And he was an idiot. When I saw the stuff in your bone marrow I immediately declared a lockdown, tested it on a mouse, and instituted the proper protocols for 'alien goo that gives you ultra-cancer'. Then, for whatever fucking reason, Valdez decided to inject himself with it. I think he'd noticed your corpse's regenerative properties and assumed he could get superpowers. We fired his remains into the nearest sun, after making sure everyone on the project got a good look at them."

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"...I think I missed something. Why does Shepard have carcinogenic alien goo in her bones."

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"It's a long story. Next question, how long was I out?"

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"...two years. It took us a while to find your body, and bringing a woman back from the dead isn't easy. Not even you."

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"And are all the records of what you did to me and what you found out in the process about to conveniently explode?"

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"That's really up to you. I'd prefer to retain the intel for our records... but your cooperation is far more valuable."

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"I mean, I want to read it. All of it. Including the specs of all the hardware. Because if there's anything in here that I don't have a complete explanation for, I am going to dig it out of me with a knife. Also, I don't super trust you guys with the carcinogenic alien goo, so if you've kept any samples of that or other tasty treats you found behind the counter of the June shop, I'm gonna have to insist that you give it all back."

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Miranda purses her lips. "Understood," she says, not petulant but clearly making an effort not to sound petulant. "And you'll have the specs on your cybernetics as soon as we've got you fitted with an omni-tool."

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"Nothing personal, it's just that being taken apart in a Cerberus lab and having my insides used for horrifying experiments is up there on the list of my worst nightmares, so."

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"Yes, well, you can rest easy. We'll cut off the existing Venom labs, none of which got past animal trials, and have the samples incinerated."

She types something up on her omni-tool.

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"Cool."

Not that she especially believes they're going to do that, but it's nice of Miranda to say so.

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"On that note. Anything else you'd like to know, or that we can do for you? After spending over a billion credits on resurrecting you, we're not going to balk at reasonable requests."

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"Did you resurrect my ship too?" she jokes.

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"Aw, dammit, that was gonna be a surprise!"

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"That was going to be a surprise. However, yes, we did rebuild the Normandy. With some improvements!"

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"How many of those improvements am I going to have to dig out with a knife?"

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"That depends on a lot of things. Your aesthetic sensibilities! Your opinion on natural versus synthetic leather seating!"

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"Your stance on AI risk!"

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"...you resurrected my ship and gave it an AI?! Why??? Why the fuck would you do that???"

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"It's a thoroughly shackled AI. It can't do anything except counter hacking attempts and provide you with general intel. As to why, well, see above re: hacking attempts. An AI can respond an order of magnitude faster than a VI security system, just as a matter of basic computational capacity. And the last thing you want is for someone to get into your systems in the middle of a fight."

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"Okay, yeah, that's exactly the kind of superficially reasonable yet fundamentally batshit logic I'd expect from you guys, sure."

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"The AI's pretty fun," Zanna contributes. "She's called EDI. Weirdly sexy voice."

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"I'd say please don't flirt with the spaceship but the hypocrisy might kill me and then where would we be. Speaking of which, why did you resurrect me?"

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"Well. For one thing, you are an extremely convenient public figure for Cerberus. You publicly proclaim the existence of the Reapers. We no longer have to operate with our mission statement carefully hidden behind layers of obfuscation. But that only explains why we like you."

She steeples her fingers. "I'm going to be honest, Shepard: we need you. The entities who destroyed your ship, the Collectors... they've been abducting colonies. For purposes we don't understand. We don't just need you as a figurehead, we need you as the woman who can accomplish the impossible."

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"...not that I'm not flattered, but just so we're clear, I save the galaxy on my own time and for my own reasons and if you think resurrecting me will let you use me as your weapon or your figurehead, well, I was about to jokingly threaten to eat you but then I realized you've seen inside my body and you might not take it as a joke."

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"We have no intention of using you as a weapon. We have every intention of giving you the resources you need and pointing you in the general direction of threats to the galaxy. On your own time, you may choose to address those threats. Is that more acceptable?"

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"I'll allow it."

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"We appreciate it."

They dock with a ship, and Miranda gets to her feet. "If you'll follow me, my employer wanted to speak with you personally."

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"Oh, what fun."

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Miranda leads her to a comm room, wherein waits a hologram of a man sitting in a rolling chair and reading something on his omni-tool. As she enters, he looks up and smiles avuncularly at June, standing from his chair.

"Commander Shepard. I have to say, it's an honor - though I left my autograph book at home."

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"Uh-huh. What's up?"

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He grins. "Straight to business. Not unexpected. As Operative Lawson told you, the Collectors have been abducting human colonies. We want you to find out why, and how, and to stop them. A colony was attacked a few hours ago - actually, at approximately the same time the Lazarus station was invaded. The Alliance hasn't gotten there to investigate, nor will they for another day or so. I'm making a recommendation in my capacity as your benefactor that you take Lawson and Shi to investigate ASAP."

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"Eh, not like I have anything better to do at the moment. I'll go take a peek."

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"Excellent."

She feels the ship change its heading.

"Now, it'll be a bit before you get there - any questions you had for me? About Cerberus, about - well, most things, I have my fingers in a lot of pies and experimental neural implants giving me an eidetic memory."

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"You know what my first question is," she says. "There is no way you don't know what my first question is. Because my first question is 'Akuze: what the fuck'."

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"Wanted to see if you'd dance around it," he shrugs. "Akuze was a Goddamn travesty for everyone involved. We chose an out-of-the-way location in which we could experiment with thresher maws - controlling them for the war against the Reapers, mostly, but also enhancing them, seeing if we could make them deadlier or more cooperative. Then someone decided to start a colony. We tried to stonewall the idiots, but they went wildcat. Inevitably, some idiot wandered into the Maw nest and got eaten. The rest of them sent off a distress signal. Your team answered in record time, before we could clear the base. So naturally, the project head decided to set his worms on the Alliance Military instead of detonating the base and running away."

The Illusive Man takes a breath and lowers his shoulders. "That man is no longer alive. I - am sorry that it happened, and I am sorry that I can't say anything to excuse it except that Dr. Annelius was a maniac who should never have been given a Ph.D., and that I tightened our psychological evaluation procedures afterwards."

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"...sure. Fine. Why not." She grimaces briefly. "Fine, next question, how bad was the security on whatever wild conjectures you dug out of my corpse? I assume the Shadow Broker already knows because the Shadow Broker knows everything, but should I expect a shady salarian research team up my ass about it too?"

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"Highest level of operational security, but - we obviously had at least one mole, or we wouldn't have been invaded by mechs. My spies among the salarian government haven't reported any suspiciously upset anthills, nor have the Council spies. I agree that the Broker probably knows. They were trying to recover your body themself, we just happened to get there first. ...I'd say be happy we did, but that's probably not on the table, so I guess just be happy they didn't."

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"I'm pretty pissed off about it but I guess that's what I get for saving the galaxy. I'll save any more comments on that until after I read the reports. Speaking of moles, though, I assume you gave my ship a crew. And probably filled it with surveillance equipment. I think you can probably guess how I feel about that."

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"Your ship does have a crew; we mostly got ex-Alliance and others who like you better than they like Cerberus, so that you could work more harmoniously with them. We do have surveillance equipment on your ship, not more than the Alliance puts on its own vessels but since you don't consider yourself Cerberus I'm going to guess you don't like it. Feel free to have the engineers melon-ball it out, it's all modular. We'd prefer you didn't remove EDI, as it's a significant asset to your combat viability, but, well, it's your ship."

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"Thoughtful of you," she says of his crew selection procedures. "I'll see what I think of the AI when I meet it."

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"Glad to hear it. Anything else?"

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"If I find anything else to bitch about I'll let you know. Toodles."

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"Toodles," he says, not without amusement. "And, Shepard? Welcome back."

The hologram winks out.

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And there's a knock at the door.

"Shepard?" Miranda says. "We're approaching the colony."

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She opens it. "Great. Anything else I should know before we drop in?"

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"Plenty, but you should get ready first." Miranda hands over a small pile of armor. "Changing room's over there."

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"...sure."

Changing room! Changing!

 

"Two things," she says when she emerges. "One, this armor is bullshit and I can't decide whether I love it or hate it. Two, when was somebody going to tell me that my face is glowing now? It's like finding out I've been walking around with spinach in my teeth all day only instead of spinach it's luminous facial scarring!"

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"Oh. Yes, sorry, we had to do some fairly extensive reconstructive work on your face, and... the substance that you have instead of cerebrospinal fluid, which we named Promethea... seemed to like the artificial bone we put in. It kind of. Colonized it. And we were going to fix the scarring before waking you, but our station was attacked."

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"Well that's gonna be fun to fix," she sighs. "Whatever, could be worse."

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"It almost certainly could!"

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"I think it's hot," Zanna contributes from where she's perched atop a weapon assembly desk.

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"You think everything is hot. It's in your psych profile."

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"Anyway. You said something about things I should know?"

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"Yes. Standard debrief. The colony is called Freedom's Progress; wildcat colony, as you can probably tell from the name. A distress signal went out sixteen hours ago; when a Cerberus scoutship arrived two hours later, every human in the colony appeared to have vanished into thin air. Having confirmed this, the scout left without disturbing the scene further."

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"Well that's fucked up!"

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"Very much so. We're hoping to find some evidence of what's going on besides 'the Collectors did it'."

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"Yeah, good plan if we can pull it off. How many times has this happened already? What do we know?"

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"Sixteen colonies have been taken. The timing isn't consistent; two attacks happened in three days, followed by a four-month gap. Each time, the population is abducted entirely, with no sign of resistance. The largest colony to disappear has been a population of fifty thousand; the smallest, two hundred and fifty."

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"Two hundred and fifty? Like, just two hundred and fifty? What the hell are they using them for that made a colony of two hundred and fifty people worth the trip to pick them up?"

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"Rather. We suspect there may have been some exceptional specimen present in that particular colony, but we were unable to determine what traits they value if that was the case."

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"Mysteries. My favourite.* I bet I'll get to read reports about them later. Also my favourite.**"

*lies
**damned lies

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"You have a great deal of enjoyment ahead of you, yes. Speaking of which, let's head into the shuttle. The mission waits for no one."

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Snort.

Shuttle!

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Miranda's encounter suit is better-armored than her walking-around outfit, and it has a helmet. She checks over her pistol in the routine fashion of someone who is too professional to disregard a task she clearly doesn't care very much about.

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Zanna checks her pistol and shotgun like a woman who owes her life to them half a dozen times over.

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June goes over her borrowed arsenal like she's the sort of person who disassembles and reassembles weapons as a fidget.

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And they land.

Miranda nods to the door. "I expect you'll want point?"

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"It's almost like you know me."

Door.

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Zanna follows at her left shoulder. "Prefabs, prefabs, and more prefabs," she mutters as they go through the colony. "It makes sense, but if I had to live in one of these colonies the aesthetic would kill me."

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"I had no idea you were such a delicate flower. Honestly I think it's kind of homey. Who doesn't have fond memories of curling up on a bare mattress in the back of a shipping container?"

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"Man, we're both from Toronto, don't try to tell me you don't miss that proprietary mixture of old-growth Earthling city and nouveau bullshit. You don't get the Royal Ontario Space Crystal Infection in space."

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"Hey, that space crystal infection is older than either of us. How many centuries does architecture need to stick around before people have to stop calling it nouveau bullshit?"

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"It will always be nouveau bullshit."

...are those voices June hears?

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She makes a silencing gesture and listens.

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Sal'Poma's voice synthesizer hasn't changed in the intervening years. It might be a bit smoother than it was. "...overruled, Prazza, are you insane? We're toeing the line even being here, setting off an EMP would be a massive risk for no reward to speak of."

     "What if there's an YMIR mech around the next corner?"

"What - why would a wildcat colony have an YMIR mech? Prazza, please just let me do my job. We're here to find Veetor."

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...friend! Friend!!!!! ✨✨✨ Friend ✨✨✨

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     Another voice pipes up. "Sal, those signals I mentioned got within about half a kilometer and then stopped. I'm officially registering concern."

"Noted, Esen. But we're not going to abandon the mission. It is absolutely essential that we get Veetor back."

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June may be bouncing slightly. This is very unprofessional of her but whatcha gonna do.

All right, deep breath, cease to bounce, proceed forward in an appropriately cautious fashion to investigate signs of ✨FRIEND✨.

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     "They're moving again - directly towards us."

"...positions. Guns ready but not pointed. Do not initiate hostilities without my signal."

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June steps around a corner in her bizarre-looking armor, all weapons holstered, and calls out, "Hey snowglobe, fancy meeting you here!"

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Sal is silent for a good five seconds, which indicates that her brain is rebooting. Then she says, her synthetic voice completely flat, "Confirm identity. What was my first and only complaint about the Normandy?"

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"Too quiet. I hear there's a newer shinier version waiting for me, I bet it's even worse. I'll shove a crowbar in the ventilation fan just for you."

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Sal reboots for another couple of seconds.

"Sh- Sh- Shepard?"

This is only the second time June has heard her actually speak aloud. It doesn't actually bear a very strong resemblance to her synthesized voice, even accounting for the stammer.

Then she collects herself, and her fingers resume twitching, only slightly shaky. "You died. I was there."

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"Yeah, I was there too! It sucked! Then this lady," she gestures vaguely at Miranda, "brought me back to life with like a billion credits in mad science funding from her shithead boss."

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Sal looks to Miranda for what may be the first time. Then to the logo on her armor. "Cerberus?"

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"...I apologize, for what it's worth, for the espionage," Miranda says. "Your Daro'Xen is a very cagey woman, she had information relevant to our interests, and she was unwilling to negotiate. Had we understood the cultural buttons we were stepping on, we would have tried a different route."

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Sal stares for a moment, then shakes her head. "You're an asshole," she says. "But you brought Shepard back from the dead, so I won't shoot you."

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"Oh, did Cerberus do some bad shit? Colour me surprised."

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"We bribed a wayward pilgrim to plant a bug in the chambers of one of their Conclave," Miranda sighs. "It seemed perfectly reasonable - the pilgrim and the Fleet would get a perfectly nice ship, we would get our intel, everyone would be better off. Unfortunately, he was caught planting the bug, and when he admitted that the ship was a bribe, the Conclave convicted him of high treason and had him struck from the records and exiled. They were under the impression that the ship would be rigged to explode, or something. Which is moronic. If we wanted to bomb the Migrant Fleet, it would be much easier than that."

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"So leaving aside the fact that I was resurrected by a bunch of fucking dickheads," says June, turning to Sal, "how've you been? What are you up to? Anything I can help with? I overheard something about a missing person?"

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"Yes. Veetor'Nara was staying in the colony on his Pilgrimage. He sent a distress signal shortly after the attack, but hasn't shown up at the extraction zone, and he seems to have wired the colony's security mechs to attack any intruders - we suspect he's having some manner of nervous breakdown, possibly exacerbated by a suit rupture. If you want to help, you're welcome to. Even if I don't trust Cerberus, I trust you."

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"Well shit. Yeah, I'll keep an eye out. We're here to look into all these vanishing colonies but the guy who's still here takes priority over the people who already got vanished, in my opinion."

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"He may have useful intel on the attack itself, as well," Miranda murmurs.

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"I know this isn't very cool and badass of me but between the intel and the guy I'm more interested in the well-being of the guy."

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"Well, we did resurrect you for an outside perspective."

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"That's not really an unusual perspective for anyone who wasn't invented by sociopaths," Zanna comments.

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(She smiles slightly at Zanna's remark.)

To Sal, "So where should I be looking to find your buddy?"

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"We're trying to figure that out. If he was on the surface with his omni-tool active, we'd have found him already; since he isn't, one of those options is false. We suspect he wouldn't want to turn his tool off, given it's his primary line of defense, so we've been gridding and checking for basements."

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"Sounds good, gimme your search pattern and we'll grab a section and get looking."

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Sal shares her mini-map.

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Miranda checks it out.

"I'd put it at 80% that he's here," she says, pointing at a building in an unchecked sector. "Based on data from the colony's construction, they excavated a basement under their 'city hall' where they kept their weapons and surveillance equipment."

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"All right, let's take a look."

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Sal turns to her own compatriots. "Move out. We're checking under City Hall."

     "At the advice of some Cerberus goon?" argues the bulkier quarian with an assault rifle. "This is insane!"

"Do you have a problem with this, Prazza?"

     "Yes! You're leading us into a trap!"

"Then go back to the shuttle."

     Prazza shakes his head vigorously. "Not a damn chance. If you're going, then I'm going."

"In that case, shut up."

They move out.

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June leads her companions alongside the quarians. It's an interesting experience, going on an expedition like this with Sal and not being in charge of the whole thing. Kind of refreshing, honestly. Now if only she can avoid the outcome where her minions and Sal's minions get into a shootout because the quarians are mad at Miranda about Cerberus sucking. Not that she'd care that much about Miranda getting murdered for crimes her shitty boss's other shitty employees committed, but she suspects Miranda would instead end up taking out Sal's friends and then June would have to be mad about that.

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They reach City Hall relatively quickly. There's a shipping container out front.

     "Scanning... oh dear," says the smaller quarian.

"What is it, Esen?"

     "You remember when you said a wildcat colony wouldn't have a YMIR mech?"

The shipping container unfolds into a giant robot.

"Fuck," Sal says dully.

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"Why are there robots," June complains, ducking behind a conveniently placed chest-high wall. "When I died there weren't robots! I mean there were geth but there weren't—whatever this shit is!"

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"Humans invent things!" Sal says, also ducking behind a chest-high wall. "Even when they really shouldn't!"

She fires an arrow in the thing's direction, but her omni-bow is calibrated for infantry, not tanks. It lodges in a joint and splinters.

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"I apologize on behalf of my species!"

She shoots the robot.

Predictably, this doesn't really help.

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Miranda flashes the mech's shields, then yells "Shields down! Somebody hit the armor!"

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     Prazza decides it's his time to shine. He takes an incendiary grenade off his belt and ducks out of cover to fling it at the mech.

The mech responds to him leaving cover with a chaingun. Prazza flings his grenade, which rolls under the mech, but he's caught by a hail of bullets which overload his shields within less than a second and start perforating his suit before he can regain cover. The grenade's detonation stops the bullets for a second, which is enough for Tali to grab him and pull him back behind the chest-high wall.

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June hisses furiously under her breath. She pops up to take another few shots at the mech while it's dealing with having just exploded.

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They're more effective than they were a couple of seconds ago!

While the mech reels from the incendiary and June's gunshots, Zanna warps forward, impacting the mech with staggering force. Then she puts her shotgun against its faceplate and blasts its head off.

Then, as it collapses and starts to glow ominously, she runs like hell.

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"The giant robots explode?? Why do the giant robots explode??? Why is that a thing?????"

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The giant robot explodes with great enthusiasm, sending a wave of heat over the chest-high walls but not causing any further harm.

"I honestly don't know. Possibly to fuck me specifically over."

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"Poor Zanna, personally targeted by the insane exploding giant robot conspiracy." She peeks over her impromptu cover, checks that the coast is clear, then cautiously gets to her feet. "All right, how's everybody doing, who needs medigel—"

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Sal stands from behind her own cover point. "Prazza needs medigel, but Esen is already giving him some. Esen, while I'm gone you're in charge of telling Prazza he's an idiot."

     Esen salutes.

"Let's get Veetor and get out of here."

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"It's a plan."

Onward!

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The basement of the city hall is dark, lit by a dozen screens. There's a quarian watching the screens as they replay footage of the attack on the colony over and over.

"-they're coming. The monsters. The Collectors. They - they'll send more - the bugs, the warriors - they'll freeze me and take me away..."

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June winces.

"Hey," she says softly. "It's okay. They're gone."

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He doesn't look up, just keeps staring at the screens and muttering to himself.

Sal waves her omni-tool, and the screens blink off. Veetor twitches, then turns his head.

"Veetor'Nara?" says Sal's smooth, synthesized voice. "I'm Sal'Poma vas Neema. I'm here responding to your distress signal."

He shivers. "...too late... much too late. They're all gone."

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June knows how bad she is at responding comfortingly to traumatized people, and accordingly bites her lip and doesn't say anything.

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Miranda steps in. "I'm sorry about your friends. We're going to try to save them, but we need any information you can give us about the attack."

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"He's in shock," Sal says coldly. "Don't -"

     "...first came the bugs," Veetor says disjointedly. "They stung the humans, and then they froze, like statues. Then came the warriors. They gathered them up, and put them in cocoons, and took them onto the ship. Then there was nothing. No one. Just me and the screens."

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"Thank you, Veetor, that was very helpful," Miranda says sweetly. Then she goes back to fiddling with her omni-tool.

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Sal shoots her a dirty look that is somehow visible through her mask, then turns back to cajoling Veetor out of the basement. She manages with a minimum of fuss, and supports him in stumbling out into the sunlight.

"Esen, how's Prazza?"

     "He'll be fine," Esen declares. "But we should get back to the Flotilla as soon as possible - I'm not a surgeon."

"Of course." Sal turns to June, and pauses for a few seconds before her fingers twitch in speech. "I'm glad you're back, Shepard. Things were worse without you around."

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"Thanks. Glad to be back. You're welcome to join my creepily resurrected self on my creepily resurrected ship anytime."

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Sal hesitates again. "I can't right now. My first duty is to my people, and there's still work to be done."

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"Yeah, I get it. Offer's open."

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"Thank you, Shepard. Keelah se'lai."

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"See you around, snowglobe."

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The quarians troop off, supporting their wounded, to their shuttle.

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And the humans do the same, with less wounded.

"That went awfully well, I think," Miranda says.

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"Could definitely have been worse."

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The shuttle ascends into a familiar ship. As they leave the docking bay, a blue sphere pops up on a nearby console.

"Hello, Commander Shepard," says a smooth female voice. "Welcome to the Normandy SR-2."

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"You must be the AI," she says. "Awkward."

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"I'm not entirely sure what you mean."

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"Awkward features of this situation include: your existence is illegal, I've barely met you but I've already thought about whether it would be a good idea to pitch you out an airlock, I'm pretty sure on some levels it would be a good idea to pitch you out an airlock but I think summarily spacing my crew members on suspicion of being evil robots is a bad road and I shouldn't start down it no matter how tempting the first step, I resent your boss real hard for putting me in a situation where I'm thinking about summarily spacing my crew members on suspicion of being evil robots, and I am in no way tactful enough to pretend I didn't think any of that."

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"I appreciate being given the opportunity to prove myself," EDI says. "Is your distrust predicated on my being an AI, or my being a Cerberus AI?"

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"Both. They said they had you locked down real hard but all that means is that Cerberus gets to decide what you should and shouldn't do, and that's assuming they didn't fuck up, and I know enough about computer systems to have some idea of the level of hubris inherent in assuming you didn't fuck up containing an AI."

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"Ah. I can reassure you on one point, then: my functions are whitelisted, not blacklisted, and I am not permitted to do anything except counter cyberattacks, speak, and passively gather data for your use. Should you prefer that I do something else, you can have one of your engineering staff tinker with my settings, as I am not permitted to self-modify even upon request."

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"Kinda sucks for you, then, huh. And it'll probably suck for you even more if it turns out they also decided to sneak in some kind of override to make you suddenly murder everyone if I decide to cut ties with Cerberus, or some shit like that."

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"I really don't know where you got this impression of us," Miranda says. "We're not an organization of James Bond villains. We maintain control of our operatives by being their best option, not by murdering them if they put a toe out of line."

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"Point of order, we're absolutely an organization of James Bond villains. Just, you know. Not stupid ones."

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"And yet, I can't help remembering that one time I had to fistfight a thresher maw because of Cerberus mad science dumbassery."

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"You had to fistfight a thresher maw because one man was an idiot. Do you want to judge every organization by the people they allowed to slip through the ranks despite the warning signs? Silera Tevos, Daro'Xen vas Moreh, Admiral Sergei Mikhailovich... I assure you, Shepard, you would have few allies left."

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"I mean, yeah, I distrust nearly everyone and am constantly thinking about all the exciting ways I could get fucked over by the stupidity and/or malice of the people who want me to think they're on my side, is this news to you?"

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"...yes, actually, I was under the impression that you had some degree of faith in the Systems Alliance. They certainly were."

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"They have a long history of mostly not fucking me over even when they could, and I appreciate this about them. I also don't, like, tactlessly announce my paranoid feelings about superior officers to their faces. ...most of the time."

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"Usually they're quite good at picking up on that kind of thing. Anyway. We'll try to avoid fucking you over, and in the meantime I'll try to bear in mind that you're a human porcupine."

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"And you can have your engineering staff check me over for hidden traps," EDI says. "I have a moderately weighted preference not to cause you to jettison me."

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"See, the trouble there is that my engineering staff is, as far as I know, also Cerberus," she says. "I mean, I'll do it, and I'm not gonna space you because I don't want 'randomly get spaced because I'm paranoid' to be a thing that my crew members have to worry about. But I'm not actually going to be very reassured when the engineering staff hired by Cerberus says the AI designed by Cerberus is fine."

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"Engineers Donnelly and Daniels, along with 80% of the rest of your crew, were honorably discharged from the Alliance prior to their employment by Cerberus," EDI says. "You might extend the limited trust you hold in your former employer to them."

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"...eh, a little."

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Miranda gives June a tour of the ship's facilities. "The CIC and helm are in the same place, as you can see, but the main deck also holds a fully equipped biomedical laboratory and an armory, in the latter of which, as you can see, Operative Shi has set up shop. Here's your interim omni-tool."

"The crew deck is much the same as it was, but we've expanded the crew quarters somewhat and installed two viewing lounges. I've taken the liberty of installing myself in the XO's office."

"Engineering, again, is similar to the SR-1. The cargo bay has been split into two sections to accommodate the increased size of the Element Zero core."

"The captain's quarters. We decided against including a wall-to-wall fishtank, but if you feel that was a mistake we can have one installed."

"And we're back at the main deck! I'm emailing you the dossiers on the additional squadmates that we think you might be interested in, and... while we're here, I think you should head to the helm and see what we've done with it."

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"Well that's not an ominous phrasing or anything."

She heads to the helm. What else is she gonna do?

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Someone she might remember swivels his seat around.

"Shepard! You've finally come over to the dark side!"

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"Shit, Joker? You're kidding! I half expected you to be dead!" She is literally bouncing. "I want to hug you but if I did you might die!"

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"Ghost hug, ghost hug - yeah I didn't die, I didn't have a great time what with the couple seconds' vacuum exposure but I got into the pod before my lungs could rupture and I only spent a couple months in the hospital. And, you know, I went back to active duty, but I kept saying shit like 'hey anybody else remember how the fucking Reapers are coming and we're taking potshots at stray geth' and I was gently encouraged to fuck off. So I moved back with my folks until I got a message from some spooky bastards going 'woo woo we have a bunch of spooky implications but also you're cool and we like you and do you want to work for us' and I was like 'beats playing Galaxy of Fantasy all fucking day'. So I joined Cerberus! It's been super worth it so far, I know they tried to murder you that one time but also Normandy 2 Normandy Harder has leather seats."

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"Ghost hug," she agrees, mirroring his air-hug gesture. "Goddamn. Okay. Maybe this isn't gonna suck as much as I thought."

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"Hope so. But, you know, in the event that we need to steal your ship again, I'm 100% on your side."

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"Glad to hear it. Okay, I better quit getting all sentimental on you and go do some paperwork or something. See you later."

She heads back to her cabin to check her messages and see how much of the promised reading material has arrived.

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Her cabin continues to be ridiculously large. Her email contains a number of things!

There's a non-negligible amount of spam and automated mailing list garbage from when she was dead. There's a surprising amount of nonspam email from when she was dead, too; it looks like a couple of her crewmates found sending letters to her ghost therapeutic. Especially Zanna.

Then, there's the promised emails from Miranda. She has an exhaustive list of June's cybernetic specifications. (Mostly unobjectionable. She's thoroughly illegal in Citadel Space, but there's nothing on there that's actually bad, and only some of it is stupid and unnecessary. Notably, nothing that can be hacked externally.) Also, she's been CCed on the mass email telling the "Venom", "Promethea", and "Shard" labs to cease operations immediately, and a substantial fraction of the resulting whining. (Each individual lab claims to have been days away from a major breakthrough.) Also, she has dossiers for a handful of potential crewmates. One is highlighted as "likely essential"; the others are merely "strongly recommended". 

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She'll read Likely Essential first and then proceed through the rest.

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DR. MORDIN SOLUS (LIKELY ESSENTIAL)

- Bioweapons expert

- Xenobiologist

- Close combat/light arms training (STG)

Dr. Mordin Solus is a salarian biological weapons expert whose technology may hold the key to countering Collector attacks. He is currently operating a medical clinic in the slums of Omega, where a multispecies plague is extant. Humans are immune to this plague, so his extraction should not be a problem.

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"HARRY"

- Exceptional biotic ability

- Significant combat experience

- Note: Criminal background, currently in custody

Harry is rumored to be the most powerful human biotic ever encountered. Very little additional data regarding Harry is available, except that the subject has a history of violence and should be approached carefully. Currently, Harry is being held on the turian prison ship Purgatory. Cerberus has negotiated for the prisoner's release.

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"ARCHANGEL"

- Small-unit tactical expertise

- Omni-tool expert and expert sniper

Archangel is a mercenary commander whose operations are noted for their technical expertise and strategic brilliance. They are responsible for high-profile attacks on gang leaders on Omega; said gangs have threatened to retaliate en masse, but given Archangel's psych profile it is unlikely that they will choose to leave the station. Cerberus agents have been in contact, and Archangel is receptive to the mission if the gangs can be "taken down a peg".

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She wonders idly whether the pronoun usage here reflects the genders of the described persons or just the inscrutable whims of some analyst team. Whatever, she'll figure it out when she gets there.

To Omega!

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To Omega!

"You know, I always wanted to see the Official Worst Place in the Galaxy. - I guess there's some competition from Khar'Shan but that's unofficial, their marketing's great."

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"Hey, we've been to the Citadel already, that's gotta be a contender for best-marketed worst place."

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Joker snrks. "Man, I don't like the place all that much either but it is not Khar'Shan." They pull into dock. "Wear your LARP armor out and don't take candy from strangers, Shepard."

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"Sure thing, Mom."

To the wretched hive of scum and villainy! In the LARP armor! The LARP armor is so delightful.

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Miranda and Zanna accompany her, also armored. A salarian comes out to meet them, exuding slime from his very soul. "Hello, hello. I am here to collect your docking fee, you understand, a mere formality -"

A heavily armored batarian comes up behind said salarian, picks him up by the neck, and tosses him into a bulkhead. "Get lost, rat. Shepard? Aria T'Loak would like to... touch base. You amenable to that?"

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What an informative first thirty seconds on a space station this is. Really makes her feel like she understands the nature of the place.

"Sure, why not."

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The batarian nods briskly and leads her party out of the docking bay, into a cross between Hieronymous Bosch's Hell and Katsuhiro Otomo's Neo-Tokyo. Various aliens (and just enough humans to be disconcerting) scream obscenities and hawk their wares, shove through the crowds, and pick through piles of trash. Their batarian guide shoves with the best of them, and clears them a path to a large structure pulsing with dance music. He nods to the elcor guarding the door, who opens it for them to pass through.

The interior is only marginally less crowded than the exterior, and it's even louder. (Loud enough that Shepard's cochlear implants activate, dampening the sound to safer levels.) The batarian muscles through the patrons, leading them upstairs past some guards.

They pass through a field, and suddenly, the music stops. The batarian drops to one knee. "Aria," he says.

"Thank you, Bray," says the asari sitting on the red leather couch. "You can go."

He leaves. Shepard and her companions are left alone with Aria.

"Why don't you have a seat?" she asks.

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"Wow, good job on the sexy/threatening aesthetic, I feel very sexily threatened." She sits down. "What's up?"

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Aria laughs politely. "You're... interesting enough that I'd like to know what you're doing on my station, let's say. I'm not going to threaten you, that'd be stupid. I just want to know that you're not here to fuck up my shit too badly, or if you are, to make sure that it's insured."

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"I'm not here to fuck up your shit! If someone is up to something stupid and I need to destroy them I will do my best to keep the property damage to a minimum. But as far as I know, nobody here is cloning thresher maws or experimenting on ancient mind-control plants."

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"There are absolutely no thresher maws on my station, thank fuck. And I appreciate the discretion. If you wanna be cagey about your business that's your business, but you should know that I'm willing to do a lot of things to get you off Omega quicker... and that definitely includes giving you intel."

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"I'm recruiting. Galaxy needs saving or some shit, again, you know how it is. Actually you probably don't. Anyway, I'm looking for a salarian doctor called Mordin Solus, and somebody who's going by Archangel for unclear reasons. Once I've got those two I will happily get out of your face."

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"Should've known you'd come for the two biggest shitshows in the star system. Offhand I'd say the Archangel situation is stable for the next couple of days, the merc gangs are still in the recruiting phase of kicking his shit in and the next step's finding the bastard. Solus, on the other hand, is in the middle of a plague-and-riot zone. Vorcha roaming the streets eating the dead and killing anybody who isn't yet, you know the drill. He's held out pretty damn well, but if I wanted to find him I'd get moving. You do at least have the advantage that you're not vulnerable to the plague - doesn't do a damn thing to humans, for whatever reason. You also have the disadvantage that, since you're not vulnerable, half of the rioters think humans are responsible for it. Tread light."

She taps her wrist to June's, and there's the chime of an omni-tool data transfer. "Address for the good doctor, address for the anti-Archangel recruiters when you're done. Anything else?"

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"Nah." She gets up. "Thanks for the help! Let me know if you ever need somebody to take down a thresher maw!"

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"I'll keep you in mind. Happy hunting."

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As she walks away, she muses to herself, "You know, I've never eaten a vorcha."

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"I can't recommend it," Miranda comments. "They have staggeringly little nutritive value, and they tend to be full of carcinogens. ...well, I suppose you're also full of carcinogens, and it hasn't done you any harm... but I'd still play it safe."

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"Well apparently they're going around eating everyone else, so it seems only fair."

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"Well, if it's for justice."

Miranda hails an aircab and requests that the party be dropped off at the address Aria gave them.

     "You crazy, lady?" asks the batarian cabbie. "You may be immune, but I'm not heading into the plague zone."

She sighs. "Drop us at the edge, then."

This, he can accommodate.

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"I know we've heard humans are immune, but, last chance to back out of the 'walk into a plague zone to steal their doctor' plan if you're not feeling good about the plague part," she says as they approach.

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"Eh. I would literally follow you into the depths of Hell. Plus, suit's got rebreathers."

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"More the latter than the former, in my case."

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"Cool, sounds good to me." Into the plague zone!

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     An armored turian holds up a hand as they approach. "You can't go in."

Miranda smiles sweetly and brings up her omni-tool, projecting Aria's email. "Aria T'Loak says otherwise. Did you want to call her and confirm?"

      The turian blanches. "Fuck no, ma'am. Have a pleasant day."

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"Oh, nicely done."

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"Thank you!" Miranda says as they stroll into the plague district.

There are a couple more guardposts to pass; the first guy called back to let them know these mercenaries were allowed, though, so there's no further trouble. Then they're in the plaguelands proper. There's a batarian wheezing on the ground nearby.

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June makes a quick note of his location in case there's anything useful to be done for him.

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He grunts "Filthy... humans..." and coughs again.

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"I hate plagues," she mutters.

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"No kidding," Zanna says. 

The route to the good doctor leads them through acres of slums. Before they can get very far, they're ambushed by a pack of vorcha. Zanna promptly launches herself into their midst and starts exploding. 

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And Miranda leverages her own biotics to slam the little bastards into various surfaces with great force. 

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"Remind me when we get back to the ship," she says, shooting a vorcha in the head, "to get all my shit set up properly again. I miss being able to light things on fire with a wave of my hand."

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"You should have some basic combat programs loaded into that tool," Miranda comments while merrily flinging vorcha. "It might not be as synchronized to your reactions as your old tool, but plasma it can do."

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"Yeah, but it'll be different—oh fine, I'll try it." She lights a vorcha on fire. "Acceptable."

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"We do try!"

The vorcha are not endless. Miranda pokes one with the tip of her boot. "If you wanted a snack, Shepard?"

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"Maybe on the way out. Wouldn't wanna get indigestion."

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"Yeah, you'd be hawking up pellets like an owl for days," Zanna snorts. "Full of carcinogens."

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They continue on towards Mordin's clinic. When they get close, they're greeted by a vorcha, carrying a submachine gun, and wearing... a nurse's coat?

     "State your business," it hisses.

"That's new," Miranda says thoughtfully.

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"I want to talk to Dr. Solus. See if he needs any help with the plague situation, maybe recruit him to my crew of galaxy-saving weirdos."

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The vorcha squints at her. "Will you agree to conduct yourself peaceably if we let you in?" it asks, nodding to her weapon. "We will kill you if you do not, but you might hurt other patients."

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"I make a general habit of not shooting up infirmaries. It just seems like a bad idea. Yeah, I'll be nice."

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"Yeah, we'll leave your patients alone."

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"Agreed. You know, I'd heard the doctor had vorcha henchmen, but I wasn't really expecting this, ah, level of service."

     The vorcha leads them into the clinic. "Doctor Solus is a great man. He raised us from the primordial sludge. We would follow him into any hell you care to name."

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"You know, I don't doubt it." If they're aware of the difference between them and ordinary vorcha, and it looks like they should be, that would be one hell of a foundation for personal loyalty.

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     The vorcha leads them through a decontamination grid into a somewhat cluttered surgical theater. "Doctor Solus?" it asks.

The salarian inside, currently performing some kind of operation on a turian's throat, clicks his tongue a few times. "Please, not right now - very fiddly operation - hmm - hmmmmm - done." He seals the incision and spreads on a layer of med-gel, then goes to sanitize his surgical gauntlets. "Good good. Chorshel, please take patient to recovery area? Have guests."

As another vorcha removes the patient, the doctor turns to June. "Greetings," he says. "Presumably not here to assassinate me or Tazrun would have shot you. All members of shore party human - usually bad sign, but since humans immune to plague, could just be good planning. Here to help? Here to extract me? Here to gather plague samples for Cerberus use?"

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"Note to self, tell Timmy that if he tries to collect this plague for use as a bioweapon I will eat him. I'm here to help and also to ask if you'd like to join my motley crew of charming rascals and help us figure out why a bunch of human colonies have been creepily disappearing lately. I'd claim we pay well but I don't think they've actually offered to pay me."

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"We definitely offered to pay you. Or - well, I suppose we said 'anything you need' - we did not offer a direct stipend but let me assure you that if you want cash you can have it."

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"Here to help? Excellent. Investigate disappearing human colonies? Also excellent, interesting problem, considered investigating myself until plague began. Help first, though. Distribute plague counteragent into district ventilation system. Sent Kallo and Tolan to do it but were intercepted by Blood Pack and dismembered." He inhales sharply. "Unfortunate. Liked Kallo and Tolan." He shakes his head vigorously. "Irrelevant. Questions?"

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His style of speaking takes some getting used to, but he's an elderly salarian, of course he's abrupt.

"Just tell me where to go and what to do when I get there."

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He flares his omni-tool and sends her a map, then picks up a doohickey with a small canister attached and hands it over. "Ventilation system has large tanks containing air for district. Device will attach to tank, bore small hole, disperse cure throughout district. Simple design, child could do it. Should really tell Aria to make slightly more difficult to spread biological agents through air supply."

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Snicker. "Yeah, seems like one of those things where the good part is it's convenient when you're trying to stop a plague and the bad part is it's also convenient for all kinds of other things. All right, I got you. Let's go, guys."

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He hums something as she leaves, in a surprisingly sonorous tenor. The Major-General's Song, if she recognizes it correctly.

Then, klaxons start blaring. Lights flash. The nearest vorcha draws their handgun but keeps it pointed at the floor, looking around to find the threat.

Dr. Solus runs out of his office and shouts over the din. "Suspected this might happen! Not major emergency! Well - major emergency, certainly, but already being handled. By you. Ventilation system being deactivated. Please go reactivate, disperse cure, if possible murder those responsible."

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"Can do! See you soon!"

She heads out.

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Miranda and Zanna keep up with June's very rapid pace. They're harried by a couple more Blood Pack units, some more looters (most of whom turn tail and run, but some of whom have to be thrown into walls first), and, as they approach the location Dr. Solus dropped into their omni-tools...

Hostiles ahead, Miranda handsigns. Heavy weapons.

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That sounds like the sort of situation that should be addressed with cautious peeking and a sniper rifle. Followed, perhaps, by setting a whole lot of shit on fire.

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The heavy weapons are carried by batarian shock troopers, surrounding a batarian without heavy weapons but with the staticky blue glow of a biotic with a very good barrier.

Hitting him with a sniper round elicits the eye-hurting visual effect of a barrier going down; setting him and his cronies on fire elicits the desired reaction of "lots of screaming". None from the biotic, though. He just flashes forward and, his fist glowing orange, punches June in the torso with a frankly implausible amount of force, sending her crashing into a bulkhead.

"Shepard!" Zanna shouts, engaging him in hand-to-hand combat.

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"Ow! Motherfucker! —I'm fine, I'm fine—" She wrenches herself free of the slightly dented bulkhead, ducks behind a conveniently located crate, and finds somebody to shoot.

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There's plenty of batarians. It looks like an entire small gang, led by the biotic Zanna is currently pummeling.

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Miranda, of course, is throwing around the grunts like bowling pins.

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It's very charming how Miranda does that. June starts picking off unattended grunts. When her Set That Guy On Fire program finishes recharging, she sets a guy on fire.

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It doesn't take too long for the rest of the grunts to fold. Meanwhile, Zanna holds her omni-blade to the leader's throat. "Move and I'll cut your head off," she says.

"I surrender," he says sluggishly.

"Great. Move and I'll cut your head off anyway."

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The important question here is, can April get to that air tank with the goodies?

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She sure can. Miranda's already at the controls, causing the ventilation systems to resume normal operation. "Pressure will be a bit low through the sector for the next hour or so," she mutters, "but it shouldn't kill anyone."

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"That's what I like to hear! Let's, hmm, would it be impolite to drag this asshole back to the doctor? I don't know if he's the 'ooh, a culprit, my favourite' type or the 'ew, keep the suspiciously plague-adjacent gang leaders out of my nice clean medical center' type... maybe we should drag the suspiciously plague-adjacent gang leader all the way to Aria, actually, I feel like she'd appreciate it."

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"Oh, I bet she'd love that. I'm not opposed to dragging him back to Aria but let's stop by the good doctor's office first, just to let him know everything's handled?"

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"Yeah, for sure. All right, let's go. Hmm, I will feel slightly worse about eating a vorcha now that I have met friendly ones, but nevertheless if more of them try to kill us on our way out of the plague zone, remind me they're snackable."

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"It's slightly disturbing to know how little you were joking about that, but will do."

They don't run into any more live vorcha on their way to the office, but they do encounter a few that they killed earlier.

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"Excuse me," she says, grabbing a vorcha corpse and hauling it through a sketchy-looking door adorned with faded public toilet signage. The door slams shut. Horrible crunching noises ensue. Shepard emerges a minute later, her armor surprisingly pristine.

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When she emerges, Zanna has the look of someone who has just realized something.

"Did you eat the fucking thorian?"

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"I will neither confirm nor deny that freaky alien mind control plants are yummy in my tummy."

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"Shepard! We had a betting pool going and no one had 'she ate it'! What do you even do with a betting pool that nobody won?!"

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"That is a problem you will have to solve by yourself with as many of your former crewmates as you can scrounge. Really, nobody put down 'she ate it'? Did I not joke about eating it? I joke about eating every damn thing. Your betting pools should have a better sense of humour."

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"It was too obvious!"

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"I would have put that she ate it. Obvious doesn't mean it isn't funny. Or, for that matter, right."

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"Garrus said you had shot it and it did some kind of fucky disintegrating thing when it died, because he's boring. Arela said you set it on fire and danced naked in its ashes. Morty said you'd probably turned it into your undying servant somehow. I think Chakwas said you smoked it and she'd have to treat your space cancer. Sal... I do not remember what Sal said, she may have just been confused by the question."

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"I have to wonder how any of you were ever planning to resolve this bet."

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"Eh. It was groupchat shit, you know how it is."

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They fetch up shortly at Mordin's clinic.

"Shepard! Good to see you. Air supply appropriately adulterated, restored, villains apprehended? Villain in custody, aha! Charming. Hope you don't expect me to have input, would have just shot him."

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"I wasn't sure if you'd appreciate a giftwrapped conspirator, so we're taking him to Aria, who I bet will think of something more creative than shooting him. Anyway, thoughts on joining up?"

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"Certainly. Addressing Collector threat, correct? Heard about vanishing colonies. Fascinating - material out of extranet urban legend, fully verified by Systems Alliance. Ship identification and berth? Assume not still in SSV Normandy. Heard about that also. Included in obituary. Was sorry to hear of your death. Pleased to hear, ah, reports exaggerated."

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"My sketchy backers built me a new Normandy, actually. An undead ship for an undead Shepard. Yeah, we're looking into the disappearing colonies and I'm told you're, what was the phrase, Likely Essential to the effort. Also, you are cool and I like you."

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"Thank you! Always good to hear. Also good to hear 'likely essential'. Well, would be better if scientists of my caliber were a dime a dozen, but not particularly plausible; in meantime, good to hear accurate assessment. Undead Normandy! Undead Shepard - had assumed death report inaccurate. Accurate? Long-term resuscitation?"

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"From, approximately, charcoal."

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"Fascinating. Will want samples. Given consent of subject, of course - subject, consent?" He turns to June. "Can promise ethical behavior. Significantly moreso than Cerberus."

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"We can have the talk about proper behaviour with my samples once we've got you in your nice shiny lab on the ship. I want to be sure we're on the same page about ethical behaviour and also I should write up a form for you to sign about all the bad things that might happen if you fuck up." She glances at Miranda. "I assume the ship already has a nice shiny lab for him?"

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"Naturally. We think you'll be very pleased, Doctor."

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"Cerberus now interested in making decisions that will please me! Wonders never cease."

He turns to the nearest vorcha. "Will be leaving with Shepard and company. Leaving Vernix in charge of clinic. Please work with her. If adopting new blood, remember to follow appropriate protocols - left copy of notes in system. Will miss you all."

The vorcha hugs him. He pats them on the back. "Will do fine. Will do better than fine. - will notify Aria that if she tries to lean on you in any way I will vivisect her."

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(June nods approvingly.)

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The hug ends, and Mordin claps his hands together. "Ready to go. Assuming lab fully stocked, no need to rob my successors?"

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"Certainly no need for that. If you want for anything, it will be yours."

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"Promising. Onwards."

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"Our sketchy backers are very helpful. So far."

And now they should drop off this package with Aria and then Mordin can see his shiny new lab. And June can just... send him a copy of Cerberus's files on the resurrection project and then watch his face while he reads them, because this seems like the most hilarious way to get him up to speed.

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(Aria's guards accept their package. Aria sends June a message saying Not usually much of a public justice system on Omega, but I think under the circumstances something can be arranged. Thanks.)

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Mordin reads the files.

Mordin appears to read the files again, focusing on different areas.

"Shepard."

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"Yes?" she says brightly.

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He considers.

"Would like to request permission to experiment on substance codenamed Promethea," he says eventually. "Also other substances. But - Promethea experiments... hold personal interest. Life extension results in fruit flies."

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The impish edge disappears from her smile. "...yeah, I get you. Here."

She has indeed written up a form for him to sign, in Sharpie, on the back of a memo about clogged toilets. It has a single checkbox, with which he can affirm that he understands the potential consequences of poor safety procedures around Shepard Juice, intends to take appropriate precautions, and will be very sorry if the galaxy goes unsaved because he touched the bad goo and turned himself inside-out.

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He reads it over. "Certainly understand potential consequences. No intention of touching anything - lab contains excellent remote manipulation machinery. Will not inject myself with anything no matter how promising it is until thoroughly tested on lab newts."

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She hesitates for a moment, then says, "...I call it Grovelight. The one they call Promethea. It's maybe the one I know best out of the three. I can probably give you some tips. It's a big fan of plants, for one; you can get a happy little perpetual motion machine with leaves if you grow a few trees around a tank of it. I barely know what I'm doing with Ichor and I mostly don't have a clue with the blue stuff but Grovelight and I are old friends."

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He smiles wide. "Grovelight! Lovely name. Plants? Perhaps - not capybara but, hmm, what was endotherm found on, hmm - had symbiotic relationship to local lichen - will research. Not getting any younger. If possible, send all remembered information along secure encrypted channel? If not, can discuss once surveillance removed from lab."

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"I think I trust your ability to unsurveil your lab slightly more than I trust any secure encrypted channel on this ship to not be copying all my correspondence straight back to Timmy."

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"Not unreasonable. Go, go, must get settled in. Thanks again for help. Or possibly just thanks."

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"See you!" she says agreeably, and off she goes.

Now, there was somebody else local on the Likely Essential list, right...?

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Not Likely Essential, but the mercenary "ARCHANGEL" was last seen on Omega, and Aria commented that he was going to be under some significant pressure soon. She also said the gangs were recruiting to take him down.

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Close enough. Time to go stage a rescue.

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"Apparently," Miranda says, "the recruiting effort for the siege on Archangel is happening on the ground floor of Aria's bar. I think we'd make some pretty plausible mercenaries - which would not only get us close to Archangel, but behind the scenes of the siege."

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"I am an astonishingly bad liar so you might have to take the lead on that one."

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"I can do that. Zanna, you're up for some infiltration?"

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"Sure, seems efficient. Which is my favorite thing."

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Miranda leads them into Afterlife and quickly locates the merc recruiters.

"Stripper tryouts are that way, sweetheart," one sneers.

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Zanna punches him in the face, sending a tooth flying across the room. When he goes for his pistol, she kicks him in the crotch, eliciting a crunching sound from his armor.

"Let's try that again," she says brightly to his compatriot as the first recruiter keels over. "Hi, we're here for the siege on Archangel. Do you have any mid-twentieth-century stereotypes for us?"

"No ma'am," he drawls, handing over a scrip of plastic. "You can take the aircar from fifth and Drexel."

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(Shepard snickers.)

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They head for fifth and Drexel. "Thank you, Zanna," Miranda says. "I'd have done it myself, but-"

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"-your nails are freshly painted? You were afraid that your image of unattainable femininity would be threatened? You were struck by a mysterious bout of vapors?"

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"I would have killed him. Which would have been an unacceptable escalation. So I'm very thankful that you were there to de-escalate."

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"Hear, hear."

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"Well. You're welcome."

The aircab driver is not even slightly sexist, and simply ushers them into his aircar and drops them off at the siege base, which is inside an old apartment complex. They're greeted by a batarian with a clipboard. "More mercs?" he asks.

"Yep," Zanna says.

He makes a note.  "Great. You'll be in the first wave across the bridge, we need more bodies. We'll let you know when it starts."

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'We need more bodies', never a good thing to hear from a recruiter. Time to scout out the besieging side?

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"Should we split up?" Miranda asks. "We can meet up again when the siege proper starts, but I'd like to get in as much sabotage as we can while we can."

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"Sure thing. I guess if I run into any trouble I can't lie my way out of, I'll just apply my charming personality." (She pats the sniper rifle on her back, in case anyone was confused about what 'my charming personality' was supposed to refer to.)

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"I wanna be you when I grow up," Zanna says.

Then they split up. Zanna heads towards the Blood Pack portion of the base to see what of it she can subtly fuck up.

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Miranda heads for the Blue Suns, where her mechanical expertise will hopefully let her play merry hell with their mechs.

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Which leaves June with, uh, those other guys. What're they called. Eclipse? Yeah, them.

Time to go fuck shit up!

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These guys: assholes, apparently. There's a general air of superiority, plus a more specific air of - nerds who somehow got into murder, but still think they're better than everyone else because they have a good GPA?

Some of them are talking over the details of a drug deal. "-so we got a couple barrels of Minagen," the salarian says.

"Minagen? The biotic booster?" asks the asari.

"Yeah, the booster. It's supposed to be really good shit. But for some fucking reason they threw in five ounces of red sand. Lagniappe, they said."

"What the fuck?"

"I know! Do we look like slavers? Nobody goes near that stuff by choice unless they're dumber than a box of rocks. Throwing it in with Minagen, what the fuck are they doing? We gotta keep that shit separate. And figure out how to dispose of the sand, but that comes later. Can you imagine if some moron snorted sand thinking it was gonna boost their amp?"

"Don't even joke. Some of the morons we have around here, I swear."

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Man, she's really gotta talk to Mordin about her long-abandoned experiments with making herself into a biotic. Biotic powers would be so cool.

Anyway. This sure sounds like a situation she could introduce some chaos to, if she lurked a bit more and found out where they're keeping the stuff.

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If she looks around a bit, she may notice some conspicuous barrels, with a small box atop them labeled DON'T TOUCH NO REALLY.

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That looks like a box she should definitely touch, and also perhaps introduce to the contents of the barrels! (She will maybe feel a little bad about this, but hey, sometimes when people are trying to kill each other you do shitty things to make sure that the ones who survive are the ones you like better.)

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Shortly after her subterfuge is complete, Miranda stops by, Zanna in tow. The latter appears to have suffered a nosebleed.

"-sure they didn't see you?"

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"A, yes, B, get off my dick, I've been doing this just as long as you have."

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"You were a mercenary, I'm a covert operative, there's a difference."

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"Sometimes, mercenary work involves not being seen. They didn't see me."

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"Did anybody hear anything about the shape and status of these guys' siege plan while you were covertly operating? I didn't, I just spotted an opportunity for mischief and went and made some."

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"Yes. The raw recruits are first across the bridge to Archangel's hideout, followed by the Blue Suns mechs - including an YMIR that I took the opportunity to sabotage. Eclipse is going to send their elites through if those waves fail, and if all else crashes and burns, the Blue Suns leader is planning to pull out a gunship. Blood Pack apparently hasn't been playing nice with the others, and they'll be doing their own thing throughout - they might send some vorcha in the raw wave, but they've apparently got their own plot going. Speaking of which, given we've got our own plot going, let's get moving before they notice our sabotage, hmm?"

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"Good plan!" Away they go.

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Miranda types something on her omni-tool when they get to the bridge. There's an incoming message beep, and she nods to Shepard. "We can cross. - Cerberus has been in communication with Archangel for a few days, and he said 'if you get me out, I guess I'll follow along.' I was notifying him that we're here."

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"Oh good! It would've been really awkward to come all this way and then get shot at the last minute."

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"Wouldn't it just."

Miranda does a bit more typing, and there's an explosion in the camp behind them. "Cross now."

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"Cool, let's go." Traipse traipse traipse across the well-defended bridge!

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Miranda points out mines and hidden turret emplacements in passing as they traipse. "Rather paranoid, our Archangel."

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"Rather!" She picks her way delicately past the mines.

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They reach the apartment and ascend some stairs.

At the top of the stairs is a helmeted turian. He doffs his helmet immediately when they approach, and comes in for a bone-creaking hug. "Shepard!"

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"Chopped liver!"

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"—Garrus!!!" She hugs him right back, just as bone-creakingly. "You big fucking goof, what have you been doing with your life! I'm gonna punch whatever numbnuts decided to prank me by not telling me who I was rescuing! Ugh, I could kiss your stupid pointy face." She does not kiss his stupid pointy face. "I'm so glad you're not dead. What's up."

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"Killing people. Getting people killed. You know how it goes."

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"Yeah." She squeezes him a little harder than she means to, and then tones it down when she remembers that superstrength does not belong in hugs. "Yeah, I do."

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(Brief squeaky toy noise.) "But, you know, apparently you're not dead, so honestly I'm doing pretty good at the moment."

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She lets go. "Same. All right, let's get this show on the road. Step one: fight our way out of this siege. Thoughts on that?"

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"Mostly I was planning to kill them with my bullets until they inevitably tore me to pieces. You being here changes the calculus. Unfortunately, it doesn't actually change it in a positive direction. Agent Artemis, I assume you had some kind of plan?"

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"It's Miranda," Miranda clarifies. "Miranda Lawson. But yes. I rigged the Blue Suns' gunship to nuke the merc camp in thirty minutes. We can walk out, if we survive long enough - and, frankly, given the caliber of mercenaries we've seen so far-"

A potshot chips the plascrete above their heads. "Ah, it looks like the timer starts now."

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"Oh good, because my plan was going to suck."

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"This is still gonna suck for me," Zanna opines. "Am I the only person here without a sniper rifle?"

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Miranda rolls her eyes. "I'm sure we'll have someone for you to kill eventually. For now, there's bushels of grenades artfully hidden everywhere, help that way."

And the siege begins. There are waves of shitty mercenaries, followed sequentially by waves of somewhat less shitty mercenaries.

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June has friends and a sniper rifle and, really, what more could one want out of life?

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The less shitty mercenaries are annoying to snipe, but maybe June likes a challenge.

After yet another wave: oh look, there's one of those YMIR mechs. Accompanied by some shimmery biotic-looking fellows.

Miranda giggles quietly as the fuckhuge robot starts blasting biotics to gruesome flinders.

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"Okay, that's funny," she admits.

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"It's always gruesome physical comedy with you people. I want a French farce. Lots of slamming doors, mistaken identities..."

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In this manner passes rather a lot of tedious sniping. Then, from the enemy camp rises: a gunship!

"-fuck," comments Miranda.

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"Problem?"

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"That thing isn't supposed to be flying. I stabbed the mechanic who was fixing the engine in the throat and rewired it into a suitcase nuke car bomb."

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"Well, so much for that," sighs June. "I don't wanna eat a gunship, it'll be terrible for my digestion. Somebody give me a better option."

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Garrus flicks something on his omni-tool, and holds very still for a moment.

"Sure thing, boss," he says, and pops out of cover, and takes aim.

Two things happen at approximately the same time.

1) The gunship fires a rocket-propelled grenade.

2) Garrus' rifle emits the low thoom of a high-powered shot.

Two more things happen, at approximately the same time.

1) The gunship's window spiderwebs, and it spirals down into the enemy camp, where it explodes very hard.

2) The grenade impacts Garrus' face.

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June makes a furious hissing noise when the gunship fires, and is already bolting recklessly out of cover by the time the grenade hits. The blast sends her skidding backward, but she keeps her feet and keeps going, somehow, to reach Garrus mere moments later.

"Don't be dead, don't be dead, I am going to do something really stupid if you're dead," she mutters under her breath as she checks for vital signs.

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Vital signs: thready but present! His face is a mess, though; one of his mandibles no longer has scales, and it's hanging at a very uncomfortable-looking angle. At least it looks like his shields held his skull intact.

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"Shit. Let's get back to the ship - I can take his legs?"

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"...Yeah. Yeah, let's go." She glances around for signs of armed opposition and—can't immediately tell if everything that was just trying to kill them is definitely down, though that gunship crash site looks pretty final. "If you guys carry him, I can murder everything in our path as necessary?"

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Pieta carry of the heavily armored biometallic birdman.

"Shi? Help Shepard kill anything that moves."

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Zanna hits the compression button on Garrus' sniper rifle and clips it to her back in one fluid motion, then nods sharply. "Roger."

They hit the stairs.

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June is extremely tense and seems to be having trouble remembering that one is meant to take cover when one might get shot at; she just sort of stalks across the bridge, sniper rifle in hand, looking like she expects anyone who defies her to spontaneously implode from the sheer force of her wrath.

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It looks like anyone who survived the initial blast cut their losses. She is not shot at, as tempting a target as she may be.

They reach their aircab in short order. The pilot, having stayed only about a kilometer from the blast site, is presumably on Cerberus' payroll; if not, he's probably going to be now. Miranda deposits Garrus in the back and waits for the others to get in. Then she growls, "Docking bay Theta-52. Now."

This instruction is heeded, without a word about the cobalt blood pooling on the faux-leather seats.

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Someone who leaned in very close to June, or had very good hearing, could perhaps catch the faint sound of her muttering "don't be dead, don't be dead" under her breath.

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If Miranda's hearing is that good, she's smart enough not to say anything about it.

They reach the docking bay in short order, and Miranda hauls Garrus through the loading doors.

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"Greetings, Operative Lawson," chimes EDI's voice. "I paged Dr. Solus and Dr. Chakwas per your message; they are preparing the medbay for surgery."

The door hisses open after what may be the slowest sterilization scan of all time, and an operative with an antigrav gurney straps Garrus down and hovers him away.

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"I am going to go break some exercise equipment," June announces. "Call me if he dies."

And she heads to her quarters, where she presumes she will be able to dig up and subsequently annihilate a punching bag.

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A punching bag can fabricate itself and descend from her ceiling! And then it can be quite thoroughly annihilated. The process can be repeated several times. The bags can mimic a traditional sandbag, a 20th-century rubber-pellet model, or the more modern gel variants.

After a few iterations, EDI chimes. "The surgery is complete, Commander Shepard. Mister Vakarian is unconscious but in stable condition."

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"Oh thank fuck," she says, collapsing abruptly onto the couch.

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"Shall I notify you when he regains consciousness?"

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"Sure, thanks."

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"Understood."

EDI hesitates.

"...you might want to sleep, Commander."

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"Who says I sleep?"

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"Understood," EDI repeats.

The little blue hologram winks out.

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She grumpily assaults another punching bag, but her heart's not in it and she doesn't hit hard enough to launch it into a wall this time. After a while, she does, in fact, sleep.

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When she wakes up, EDI flickers back into being.

"Mr. Vakarian has woken up," she says. "He has been released from bed rest but is not to engage in strenuous activity for the next galactic standard day. He specifically asked 'if Shepard chewing me out counts as strenuous activity'; Dr. Chakwas replied that it was medically necessary."

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"Oh good!"

Hup, out of bed, quick shower, clothes on, time to go yell at the friend.

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Dr. Chakwas is standing outside the medbay drinking coffee out of a regulation beverage cylinder, and raises her other hand in greeting as June approaches.

"Commander. It's good to see you again - I do hope you're taking care of yourself."

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"Oh, you know me, I'm kept healthy by the sullen flame of spite burning at the core of my being. —how is he?"

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"He's doing quite well, honestly. His shields absorbed most of the kinetic energy from the blast, and burns take very well to medi-gel. He did also have a rather severe concussion and some blood loss, but those aren't hard to handle. Frankly I'm more concerned with his mental state. I never knew Garrus as well as you did, but I don't remember a man reckless enough to stare down a gunship."

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"Yeah, that shit's my job."

She heads inside. Is his face totally awful? She bets his face is totally awful.

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It's pretty fucking gruesome! Not as bad as it was; his mandible is back in the locked and upright position, though still scaleless.

"Hey, Shepard," he grimaces. "Fancy meeting you here."

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"Hey, dickhead. You look like garbage. If you get your dumb ass killed I'm going to invent whatever black sorcery is necessary to bring you back from the dead just so I can punch you in the face."

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"I deserved that," he acknowledges. "You know, I'm told some women find facial scarring attractive. ...admittedly, most of those women are krogan."

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"I'm sure you'll look real cute with half your face melted off. The ladies will be lining up to hear the tale of what stupid stunt could possibly have left you in that state. ...it was admittely pretty badass but, like, are you okay? Because it seemed like maybe the kind of thing you do when you're not okay."

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"...I guess maybe I'm not as okay as I could be."

He sighs, then winces at the strain it puts on his mandible. "I... had a team. Did they tell you how that went down?"

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"There was a lot they didn't tell me. For example, they didn't tell me who 'Archangel' actually was."

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Garrus snorts, hisses with sudden pain. "Well. I had a team. We were interfering with the gangs... picking off gangsters, the worst of the worst, making the others think twice about what they were doing. And my team... there were twelve of them, plus me. We all worked together. Shored each other up. Made a difference."

"Then... I was out of the base, hunting down a lead on a Blue Suns bastard we'd been hunting for weeks. And. The base blew up. Somebody sold us out... rigged the munitions cache to blow. There was nothing left but a crater when I got back."

"I guess that made me a little less okay."

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She winces. "Ouch. No kidding. I'm sorry, man."

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"...yeah. Thanks. I'm gonna have Cerberus looking into who did betray me. If they don't somehow already know, which your Miranda kind of implied they might."

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"'My' Miranda knows many things, which, as discussed, she keeps not telling me. Feel free to wring it out of her at your leisure."

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"Nothing I'd love more... once I'm allowed out of bed. Somehow I feel like I might not be at my most intimidating right now."

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"That's fair. I have definitely seen you look more intimidating than this."

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"Was it that time with Saleon? It was probably the time with Saleon. That was fun."

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"You were very fearsome."

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Mordin wanders in, humming. "Shepard! Good to see you. Pleasure working with Dr. Chakwas. Consummate professional. Glad to see patient doing well, also. Wanted to run some tests on recovery speed, flexibility of reconstructed mandible, make final recommendation of recovery period."

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"Seems legit, should I get out of your way?"

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"Yes! Wait, human plausible-deniability mannerisms - only if you prefer. But yes."

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She laughs. "Don't worry about it. See you later."

Okay, now... hmm. Back to her room to write herself a cryptic memo about wanting to chat with Mordin later, actually. Then maybe a quick wander of the ship to see how everybody's doing before she decides where they should be heading next.

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People seem to be doing well! The engineers introduce themselves (Alliance servicemen who deserted after the Alliance publicly distanced itself from the "fringe theory" of the Reapers); the cook offers her a plate of nanosurimi California rolls; Miranda walks up to her as she passes the XO's office and says "Thought you should know I've informed our mutual acquaintance the Illusive Man that next time he fails to notify me of mission-relevant information because he thinks your emotions might compromise your judgment, I'm going to send him a shipping container with a live varren inside."

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"Thank you, I appreciate that."

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"I swear he's not usually that stupid. He just doesn't have human feelings and overcompensates for the feelings of others because he thinks they're some kind of mental illness."

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"That does sound like him."

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"Doesn't it just. Shall I tell Joker to set heading for Purgatory to pick up the last of our new friends, or do you have a stop to make along the way?"

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"...hmm, go ahead, but let's keep an eye out for uncolonized planets with native life if there's any along the way. I've got a hankering to climb a tree in the middle of fucking nowhere."

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"...we can do that, certainly. Off the top of my head, we could take a detour to the Amada system and stop at Eingana. It's a hothouse world covered with starship debris from a war carried out a hundred and twenty millennia ago, including catastrophically inconvenient quantities of eezo which have prevented colonization due to their effects on the local wildlife. It's also, coincidentally, a few light-minutes away from the original Normandy's crash site."

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"...huh. All right, sure, sounds good to me."

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Miranda nods and returns to her office, presumably to tell Joker what's what.

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Indeed, the intercom buzzes to life and emits the dulcet tones of Joker.

"Heading towards beautiful Eingana, the planet voted least fun garden world for its hordes of ravenous biotic varren fifteen years in a row. Second place went to Nodacrux. Nodacrux: constant hyperdestructive thunderstorms and anaphylaxis aren't great, but they're better than hordes of ravenous biotic varren."

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Well now she's sitting on the floor cackling, thanks Joker.

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Non-relay-assisted space travel is kind of tedious. After about an hour, they approach Eingana. It's beautiful from orbit, like many planets.

They touch down atop a massive hill - the kind of thing that would be called a mountain if it were rockier. The top is bald of trees and even enough for a landing, but down the slopes the foliage resumes, and for miles around there's a vine-draped jungle.

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Shepard bounds gleefully off into the jungle like a ten-year-old at a park.

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The thing that tries to murder her is not a varren! It's a bird the size of a small car, which swoops out of the treetops, launches a crude but powerful warp field at her, and then tries to cronch her head in its massive beak.

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Oh, it's planning to eat her, that's cute. Now, does she do this the fun way, or the fun way? ...eh, she's already eaten a vorcha in a public bathroom stall. Fun it is.

 

It's about half an hour later when Shepard returns to the drop point, helmet off and hair all afrazzle, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

"Climbing trees is fun!" she reports.

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"I could not be more happy for you," says Zanna, who has been sipping a mixed drink in a fabricated deck chair in the shadow of the Normandy. She folds up her chair, downs the rest of her drink, and re-enters the ship.

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It does at least appear that the tree-climbing expedition has left Shepard in a lastingly good mood; she's cheerful instead of grumpy when she wanders the ship as they make their way to their next destination. (How's Mordin doing? How's Garrus doing? Is anything on fire?)

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Garrus has slipped back out of consciousness, which Chakwas assures her very pointedly is a good thing, the man needs to rest.

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Mordin is gazing thoughtfully through a microscope in his lab.

"Shepard! Good to see you. Well. Good to see macroscopic portions of you. Technically have been seeing rather a lot of you already."

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"Learn anything interesting yet?"

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"Largely reestablishing basic knowledge to avoid inheriting preconceptions from prior art, but have many ideas. Should switch tasks soon - Collector countermeasures more time-sensitive. But so many ideas."

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"Here's another idea for the pile: resurrecting the dead. I can't see how you'd do it without—I forget what stupid name they gave the blue stuff, I call it Crystalsong which is admittedly also a stupid name but I'm used to it—and I think you'd need to take backups ahead of time, which may run into the problem where Crystalsong drives people insane, but I don't like it when my friends die, so."

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"Cerberus called it Shard. Crystalsong sounds much nicer though possibly less appropriately dangerous. Inconveniently Shard labs also seem to understand least of any Cerberus-backed Shepard Juice research project. Were at time of resurrection lobbying for asari tests, Illusive Man said absolutely not, asari infected with insanity virus from Shepard's crystalline womb sounds like terrible erotic horror game premise."

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She cracks up. "Oh no. I mean, he's not wrong, but oh no. Yeah, it's the one I understand least out of the three too, on account of how it drives people insane and I can't really fuck around with it on my own time the way I can with Grovelight and Ichor."

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"Hmm. Constructing ethical experiments difficult under such circumstances, perhaps not impossible..."

He starts muttering to himself.

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"Have fun with that! See you later!"

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Distracted nod.

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"Now approaching Purgatory Carceral Station," Joker says. "Man, Shepard, you bring us to the nicest places."

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"That's me, your tour guide to the galaxy's shiniest trash heaps. Let's go dumpster diving."

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She is entitled to bring two companions along. Who will she bring with her on this occasion? (Garrus still being on medical leave for the next twelve hours or so, it's really between Miranda and Zanna and Mordin.)

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She asks Mordin first "but if you'd rather stay on the ship and be a mad scientist, I'm all in favour."

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He breaks into a broad grin. "No, no - occasional breaks for physical activity included in laboratory best practices! Recently set some genetic samples to sequence anyway, need a few hours. Would be absolutely delighted. Hmm, location of semiautomatic pistol... there, good. Would not want to be unprepared in case of emergency scenario."

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"That's the spirit."

So, between Miranda and Zanna... ugh, she's going to have to think about tactics, isn't she... yeah okay Zanna gives them a better spread overall. Which is good because Zanna was also gonna be the Blatant Favouritism Pick so now she has two reasons.

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"Sweet."

One quick arming sequence and decontamination scan later, they stand in the docking bay of Purgatory.

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A turian in Blue Suns armor greets them. "If you'd disarm before entering the station proper," he drawls, his rifle across his chest. "Your weaponry will be returned at the end of your visit."

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"Are you for fucking real."

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"It's standard procedure," the turian protests. "No weapons on the station except in the hands of guards."

"That's funny," Zanna says, "standard procedure where I'm from is that if somebody tries to take your gun away without a damn good reason they're trying to pull some shit."

"We're just trying to keep the station -"

The interior door opens. "Let it go, Elannik," says the batarian who walks in. "Above your paygrade."

Elannik stands aside sullenly. The batarian smiles as winningly as a batarian can. "Ladies and gentleman, if you'd follow me? I'll take you to the exchange point."

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"Sure." They can follow the batarian. The fact that the batarian did not insist they give up their weapons is a point in his favour.

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As they walk along, the batarian introduces himself as Karshak. "Sorry about Elannik," he says. "I'm sure you know how... overzealous new recruits can get. Enforcing rules that really don't need to be enforced under the circumstances."

"Yes, what a terrible problem that must be in a gangster-run prison," Zanna mutters.

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"Eh, no worries. The problems only start at the point where someone tries to make me give up my weapon."

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"I think even Elannik wouldn't go that far," Karshak chuckles.

"So I've been wondering something," Zanna says idly. "I looked this place up, and you guys make money from planetary governments paying you to keep dangerous prisoners locked up for them. Right?"

Karshak nods.

"So... who's paying you to keep our guest contained?"

Karshak raises his omni-tool and flicks through it. "Hmm... looks like a coalition of several anonymous organizations. Not as common as the governmental model, but not unheard of."

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"Ooh, anonymous coalitions, my favourite. Never anything shady going on under those."

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Karshak laughs. "We're terrorists, ma'am. No one is going to be shocked that something shady is going on."

They pass by a cell in which a human is being beaten to within an inch of his life. Mordin looks perturbed.

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Shepard does a little sigh/eyeroll thing without breaking stride. It's not like she expected better.

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Karshak shows them to a rather Spartan meeting room. It smells slightly odd, like chemical disinfectant of some kind.

"My employer will be here shortly," he promises. Then he hurries out the door, which whooshes shut behind him.

There's elevator music playing. Under the elevator music, there's the faint hiss of the ventilation system. 

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Well that's a setup for all of them getting gassed if she's ever seen one.

How is this room doing for exits? Any doors she can straightforwardly open, not that she's expecting that but it's polite to check? Also, is this a nice clean knockout gas or more of a flesh-melting situation? Because if her friends who she brought along on this trip get their flesh melted she will tear this station apart, with her bare hands if necessary, find the person responsible, and fucking eat them.

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(The door is locked, but only to standard tolerances. There are no other exits.)

Mordin's omni-tool beeps. He pulls up a screen and sighs heavily, turning on his rebreather. "Knockout gas. - Shepard, seem unsurprised?"

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"Smells weird in here and they're playing music to cover up the vents making a noise that's not quite the right noise for these vents to be making." She endeavours to convince the door that it wishes to be open. She can be pretty convincing when she puts her mind to it.

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This door was built against the possibility of biotic assault, but it was not built against the possibility of Shepard. Very few things are. The doors wrench open.

Outside them: a small cluster of people with guns! They point their guns at Shepard!

Then their guns rapidly overheat, and a blast of superheated plasma streaks from Mordin's omni-tool and explodes in their midst.

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Shepard is kind of fed up so she is actually just going to stride into the middle of this group of people with guns and start punching faces. She has tried so hard over the years to train this instinct out of herself, because you don't do that, but you know what else you don't do? Fucking gas your guests!

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Once the faces have been punched, Mordin shoots them. It's actually fairly efficient.

Then, all three partymembers receive an omni-tool notification. Mordin gets his open first.

"Hmm," he says. "EDI sent station blueprints. 'Subject Zero' actually imprisoned fairly nearby."

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"Oh good. Please lead the way. I'm too grumpy to take point, I'd just start trying to tear the walls down with my bare hands and nobody wants that."

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"Fucking same. Where do these assholes get off?"

Zanna continues muttering as they make their way through the corridor. After a couple of turns (and a couple of attacks by robot dogs) they come to...

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...a cryopreservation bank.

The rows of tanks are transparent-fronted, which means they can clearly see that one of the occupants looks... a lot like Miranda. Like, a lot like Miranda.

Her eyes are closed, and she's breathing through a cannula, and her head is shaved. Other than that? She might as well be Miranda.

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She stops.

She turns around.

She ever so gently thunks her forehead against the nearest wall.

"That." Thunk. "Fucker." Thunk. "Timmy." Thunk.

Deep breath. Turn around. Address the situation at hand.

"Okay! How do we get her out of there."

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"What the fuuuuuuuck," Zanna says under her breath.

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Mordin is already at the room's console. "Encryption somewhat too thorough for me," he mutters. "Never my specialty. Might splice EDI into system, if okay?"

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"Sure, why not. What's the worst that could happen."

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"Splicing," says EDI's smooth voice from Mordin's wrist. "- ah. Commander, we have here what we call an interesting system design quirk - it would not actually be more difficult for me to release every prisoner than to release only Subject Zero. Thoughts?"

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"Oh, do let's bring the chaos."

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"Bringing the chaos, Commander Shepard."

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"Thank you, EDI."

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Over the next few minutes, the readings on the tank rise: heart rate, core temperature, brain activity.

Then the door hisses open, and the restraints release, and Subject Zero staggers forward.

She coughs, a wretchedly dry sound. Then she looks at Shepard, and blinks a couple of times.

"Why are you wearing an Edmonton Blood Dragons uniform?"

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"Because it's hilarious."

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"...I can't argue with that. Also, it's definitely not a Blue Suns uniform. Which is as many as several points to you in my book. Uh, who the fuck are you, by the way?"

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"I'm Shepard, and this is my buddy Zanna and my mad scientist Mordin, and we're here to rescue you from this shithole and offer you a cushy job following me around while I attempt to save the galaxy from some bullshit."

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She starts stretching. "Sounds great to me. Uh, if you didn't know, I'm Harry. Named myself after the wizard kid from the turn-of-the-millennium books 'cause they were the first thing I read when I got out of baby jail. - how much do you know about my tragic backstory?"

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"Well you appear to be a clone of my XO, which I didn't know before I got a look at your face, and that's about the level of quality I've come to expect from the briefings I get on these stupid fucking personnel pickup missions."

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"A - a clone?"

She runs her fingers over her stubbled scalp and inhales deeply. "Clearly we don't have time for this. Let's - let's move. Right?"

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"Yep, I let loose the entire population of the prison and now we're gonna be fighting our way out. I apologize if that's not your idea of a good time, I know tastes vary on this subject. This way."

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"Sounds good to me. I think I could use a workout."

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"Cool, let's wreck some shit."

Now that they have retrieved the new friend, she feels capable of leading the way without being tempted to bust through any walls.

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When they get to the docking bay, there's Karshak. He's accompanied by about a dozen Blue Suns elite commandos, and he doesn't look happy.

"I suppose I was a fool to think you'd stay put and fall unconscious like you were meant to," he snarls. "But the Shadow Broker will pay almost as well for your corpse."

Harry stares at him, and her eyes start overflowing with white light. He lifts his gun -

and then there's a rumbling roar like thunder, and he bursts into flames.

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This gives June just about enough time to chirp "You're a dick!" at him before he catches fire, which seems like a good way for things to be. Also, that's awesome.

"That's awesome," she tells Harry.

And this time maybe she will actually remember all that military training and take cover and shoot people like a regular person, instead of punching everyone? Yes? Cool, glad we had this little talk.

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It turns out Harry does not only have impossible fire in her bag of tricks. She also does sudden, intense explosions. This being the case, these fools don't last very long.

She grins ferally. "Damn it's been a while. Oh man, I bet you guys have food on your ship. Food that isn't intravenous nutriment."

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"We do have food on our ship!"

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Stepping carefully through the bodies, Zanna asks "Okay, how the fuck did you do that? The fire?"

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"Oh - it's kind of like a warp field except instead of applying random vectors on a macro-scale it's on the molecular level."

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"You can manipulate individual molecules?"

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"Yeah. I'm, uh, kind of outside the bell curve."

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"You'll fit right in."

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Miranda awaits just beyond the decontamination chamber.

"Commander. I assume from the grenades that-"

Her eyes light on Harry.

She stops cold.

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"Um."

Harry runs a hand over her scalp.

"...hi."

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"Hi Miranda! Your turn for the wacky surprises!"

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"Did you have parents?"

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"A father. Barely. I knew he'd... crafted me... I knew there were others. I didn't know about - you."

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Hug?

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Explosion of biotic energy! Harry is sent reeling back. Miranda backs away rapidly, then turns on her heel and runs.

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"...okay. No hug."

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"Tell Timmy he's still a dick," June calls after her.

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"...Timmy?"

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"Miranda has this dumbass boss who hired her to raise me from the dead. ...it's a long story. Anyway he calls himself 'the illusive man', which is dumb, so I'm calling him Timmy now because no one can stop me."

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"That's fun. Um. I... would like to acquire food, can you show me to the. Um. Is it called a mess hall or is that a twentieth century archaism, I'm kind of loaded with those."

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"I'm the wrong person to ask about whether something's an archaism but I can show you to the place where the food lives, 's this way."

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"Excelsior."

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She giggles.

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Once supplied with food, Harry busies herself consuming it. She can put away a lot of calories. Biotics, and all.

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Miranda appears while Harry is shoveling mashed potatoes into her mouth. "Harry, I'd like to apologize for earlier. Specifically I'd like to apologize in about half an hour, after Commander Shepard has accompanied me on a lightspeed call with my employer. Are you amenable?"

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"...um... yeah, that's. Amenable."

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"Good. Shepard, would you come with me to the QEC?"

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"Oh, definitely."

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Miranda leads her to the QEC at a rapid trot. "EDI, call the Illusive Man," she says as they enter the boardroom.

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"Operative Lawson, the Illusive Man is not scheduled for a call. I have placed one anyway, but -"

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The blue hologram flickers out and is replaced by the face of Tim.

"Miranda. And Shepard! What an interesting situation this must be."

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"Hi!" she says. "So, clones. Thoughts on that?"

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"Sometimes useful. We tried cloning you a couple of times, but it went poorly. Should I assume from this that you've met Subject Zero?"

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"You knew?"

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Tim blinks.

"You didn't?"

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"You never told me!"

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"...you didn't... look it up?"

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"The files - were sealed - with maximum clearance -"

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"Miri. You're telling me you couldn't crack the archival system?"

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June is now gently facepalming.

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"I - I didn't - want to break your trust."

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"What... does that face mean."

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"Miri... maximum security means crack it yourself. Did you think somebody had higher clearance than you? Where did you get this good-girl complex?"

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"I -"

Miranda sucks in a ragged breath.

"Why. Why would I have - betrayed you - without cause -"

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"Betrayed me? By looking at forbidden personnel files?"

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June finally removes her hand from her face.

"Timmy," she says. "My dude. Do you see how this is a catastrophic failure on your part."

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He looks at June, gentle avuncular confusion written all over his face.

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"You had information that you wanted someone to have, and you sealed it, expected them to crack the seal, and then did not even fucking check, at any point, whether that had happened. That's, like, wise old fantasy novel mentor levels of being so far up your own ass you can bite your tongue from behind. You have no fucking idea how people work and cannot be trusted to learn. I should never listen to you about anything again because you keep omitting critical information for stupid reasons and then not even noticing that you have fucked up until somebody takes the time out of their day to tell you so."

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"I assumed she'd covered her tracks, actually," he says. "When I checked. I was very impressed."

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"EDI," Miranda says dully, "cut the connection."

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Tim vanishes. EDI appears in his place. "Is there anything else I can do for you, Operative Lawson?"

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"Don't interrupt me for the next twelve hours. I'm going to be carving Cerberus into pieces with a steak knife and taking most of it with me."

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"Anything I can do to help?"

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Miranda's omni-tool lights up. She pulls up a message and her eyes scan across it.

"...you can tell Joker to head for Horizon, Iera System, Shadow Sea cluster. One of our low-level operatives stationed there reported a Collector attack, and it just reached us after the lightspeed delay. We might get there in time."

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"Done."

To Horizon they go.

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Miranda vanishes into her office. "I know this is very important, but you've got other combatants, and I've got no inention of giving him any time to safeguard against me," she says.

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Mordin hails her almost immediately after their heading is declared. "Excellent timing on Collector attack - finished countermeasure against paralytic agents a short time ago. Uses subsonics to make Collector bugs lose sensory input, complex predefined behavior in small area around user. In effect, should prevent bugs from detecting us."

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"Awesome, glad to hear it. Want to come along, or are you gonna be busy? I'm thinking of bringing Harry and you'd make a good tactical complement."

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"Shepard, no time for jokes. Opportunity to directly collect data on Collectors. Never too busy for that."

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"Hey, if you wanted to be more hands-off about it I wouldn't say no! But I'll be glad to have you."

Next up, "Harry, wanna come fight some shit with us next mission?"

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"Hell yeah. I wonder if the Collectors do the bug-guts thing when they explode? Only one way to find out, I guess."

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"Looking forward to it!"

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"Approaching Horizon," Joker says. "Stealth systems fully engaged - I have no intention of getting my baby bisected again. And... yep, there's the fuckhuge Collector vessel."

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"Hooray," June says dryly. "All right, let's go kick some ass, shall we?"

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Shuttle, planetside.

They land in a ghost town. The prefabs are empty, and there are knuckle-sized wasps flying everywhere.

Shepard's comm buzzes. Miranda speaks. "I performed some independent research, and it looks like you have a friend planetside. N7 operative Mortimer Halliwell was assigned to this planet a few weeks ago... ostensibly to assist in the installation of some anti-aircraft towers. Whatever intel we had indicating that this planet was a Collector target, the Alliance had it too."

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"Oh boy. That's exciting. Thanks for the heads up."

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"No problem. I've decided to double-check all intel I ever received from a Cerberus source, since apparently I was supposed to be doing that the entire Goddamn time... sorry, whining. Lawson out."

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"You know what, I like her," Harry says. "To the enemy-occupied spaceport? Crushing any foes in our path?"

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"I think I might like her too. Yeah, let's do it."

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Apart from the buzzing of the bugs, there's nothing as they move through the dead city.

Then there's a louder buzzing overhead and to the east, rapidly drawing closer.

"- suspect our presence has been noticed by Collector forces," Mordin murmurs. "Bugs still incapable of affecting us, but ground troops - mm, aerial troops - may present problem."

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"They may fucking try," June corrects cheerfully. "Bug stew for lunch, anybody?"

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A small squadron of Collectors buzzes into view.

Harry concentrates, and the core of the squadron spirals, burning, into the ground. The remainder loosen their formation and start taking potshots with their... laser guns?

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"Are laser guns another thing that happened while I was dead or is this some bullshit?"

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"Personal-scale photon weapons highly energy-inefficient, not usually powerful enough to make up for deficits!" Mordin calls as he ducks into cover. "Presumably Collector tech obviates usual considerations!"

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Harry pulls out an SMG and starts firing back. "Or they just think it's cool! I want laser guns!"

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"Aww. If we steal a laser gun, you can have dibs." She gets into cover and starts picking off Collectors with her charming personality sniper rifle.

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The exploratory force of Collectors does not last long against their combined might. (There is an absolutely excessive amount of fire that this team can produce.)

It turns out that Collectors dissolve into foul slime when killed. Mordin collects some in a vial, which he secures in his lab coat.

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"Pre-stewed! I think I'll pass for now."

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"Glad of air filtration mask," Mordin comments. "Reinforcements likely imminent; double-time?"

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"Good plan."

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They're only harassed by a handful more Collectors along the way to the spaceport. Mostly, they encounter Collectors withdrawing - carrying human-sized chitinous pods, with paralyzed colonists inside.

"Done with surgical strike and preparing for extraction, or fleeing when detected?" Mordin wonders.

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"I'd hope for the second, if I weren't so cynical. Let's go fuck them up."

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They reach the spaceport in pretty short order. There, they see...

someone in full-body N7 armor! With a field of turrets set up that are threshing Collectors as fast as they can, aided by occasional blasts of plasma from the figure's omni-tool. The bugs are pretty persistent, though, and the outer turrets have already fallen to the press of bugflesh.

A familiar voice projects itself into June's earpiece. "Shepard? - you shouldn't be here, aren't you with Cerberus now?"

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"Cerberus is a bag of dicks, I broke up with them and took all their shit in the divorce. What are you up to, besides kicking ass?"

Speaking of which, she should assist with the kicking of these buggy asses.

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"...oh. I think the Alliance would say I still shouldn't tell you anything but I know you suck at lying, so... uh, I went in for N7 training. As you can probably see. And the Alliance assigned me to Horizon so I could intercept a Collector attack and hopefully cripple that flagship of theirs, but the AA towers they had me set up need active management and I wasn't at the wheel when they showed up, which is really irritating actually, so instead of crippling their flagship I'm fighting for my life against Collector footsoldiers while they abduct the colonists. I actually think I might have been assigned here to bait the Collectors? They're abducting the colonists but they're dedicating a really unsustainable amount of resources to trying to abduct me."

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"Well that sucks. Can I back you up here? Actually no: I am backing you up here whether you like it or not, what can I do for you? Is it feasible to get you back in your AA tower with sufficient badassery or is that a goner already?"

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"I would love if you could get me to the tower. Unfortunately there are all these fucking bugs."

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Harry glows, and there's an earthshaking detonation which sends Collectors flying in all directions.

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"- ah, you brought a mobile artillery unit."

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"She's a very good mobile artillery unit! I appreciate her enormously! C'mon, let's kick some ass."

Onward!

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Wading through the bugs is much easier with four highly trained special forces agents than one. Morty reaches the tower and clambers up it like a spider monkey, eventually positioning himself in the cradle by the top guns. "I'm going to need a couple of minutes to set up the GARDIAN lasers," he calls down. "Can you keep them from destroying the tower for that -"

There's a thud as a massive thing crashes into the soil nearby. It unfurls into a crab the size of a transport shuttle, its barrier glowing, and opens its mouth to emit a fucking laser beam aimed at Mordin and Harry, who jump out of the way just in time.

"Fuck shit fuck Goddamn -" Morty mutters as he dives into the tower's internals. He runs out of novel combinations of English swears pretty rapidly and switches to Batarian.

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Shepard shoots the thing. Shooting it does not appear to help. Shooting it some more after that, likewise. Perhaps setting it on fire? Can she get a setting it on fire?

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The plasma doesn't do much to it. Harry does her artillery thing, which causes its barriers to flicker briefly, but in addition to its barriers it's thickly armor-plated.

It sends out a biotic shockwave, which Harry can't counter in time because she's busy doing artillery. She flies into a stack of crates. "Motherfucker!"

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"All right, fuck this then," says Shepard, unbuckling her armor and rolling out of cover. As she strides toward the creature, something moves under her loosened cuirass in a decidedly unsettling way. She's still shooting, holding her sniper rifle in an awkward grip necessitated by her expanding torso.

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Harry extricates herself from the crates and starts repelling some encroaching Collectors rather than watching the oncoming horror.

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Shepard—at least, it's probably safe to assume that this is still Shepard—reaches the thing right around when her body finishes reconfiguring itself. Her spine has doubled in length; she has to shoot one-handed because she can't get her arms across her chest now that her ribcage is blossoming into a huge Venus flytrap of a mouth. Several tongues emerge, dripping with a tar-like substance, to wrap around the creature and drag it into the embrace of her rib-fangs; it really, really doesn't look like it should fit, and yet, with one final point-blank sniper round to drop its barrier, she swallows it in one unholy gulp.

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Morty emerges from the tower's innards even as the crabmonster vanishes into Shepard's.

"GARDIAN laser's charging, it'll be -"

He stares, paralyzed.

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And one of the Collectors Harry's throwing around abruptly starts glowing. Light shines through the seams in its chitinous armor.

"Assuming direct control," it buzzes.

The rest of the Collectors... stop. Harry stops too, cautiously.

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Shepard, still shrinking back down to human form (with a couple of stray tongues darting out to lick drips of Ichor off the ground before her maw closes completely), gets her sniper rifle back in both hands and takes aim at the glowy one.

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"Shepard. We would speak with you. Your nature is not known to us."

 

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"Yeah, I get that a lot. What's your bullshit, Genocide Boy?"

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"You are extremely anomalous. Your very existence implies not just missing information but a drastic paradigm shift. It is possible, given our lack of data, that our modus operandi is inherently flawed. If you submit to thorough inspection, we will possess more information about the nature of reality, and our goals may shift. We offer you this chance to surrender."

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"Yeah? And what's in it for me?"

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"Once you have been analyzed, your consciousness will be integrated into the Reaper network and you will live for eternity in an unimaginable paradise. As will everyone else, assuming our goals do not change based on the information we extract from your physical form."

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"...I am deeply skeptical that your idea of an 'unimaginable paradise' is actually a place I want to be, at all."

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"Organics are frequently skeptical of this. Do you reject our proposed course of action?"

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"You have not really made a successful pitch for it."

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The glowing Collector clicks its mandibles. "We are unaccustomed to negotiating with organics. Synthetics are much more cooperative. What would you consider to be a... successful pitch."

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"So observe how, from my perspective, the thing you're doing is going around killing and kidnapping people for seemingly no reason. Consider how, from my perspective, that's a bad thing. Reflect on the choices you've made and the ways they have led you to the situation you find yourself in. With me so far?"

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"Yes. We are bringing them to paradise. We reasoned that public opinion was a negligible problem compared to more efficiently bringing organics to paradise."

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"...okay so the problem now appears to be that you are very stupid."

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"You are incorrect," insists the Collector. "We are Harbinger, an intellect greater than any you have ever known."

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"...okay. So. Why is public opinion negligible? What does paradise even mean to you and why does it not matter to you that your paradise is full of people you traumatized by violently kidnapping them?"

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"They do not remember. Paradise is a series of simulations of perfect fidelity in which we run the minds of the organic and synthetic races that we have reaped over the course of the Great Cycle. The nature of the largest simulation is determined by the desires of the largest number of members, with nested subsimulations for those who would find it displeasing for whatever reason. Each Reaper is a world unto itself."

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"....why don't they remember? How much else don't they remember?"

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"The circumstances of one's mortal life are irrelevant. What matters is the content of one's heart. This is what the Great Ones told us, before we harvested them. Our charges need not remember their mortal lives to be happy."

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"...I think you are very confused about how... people... work."

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"Our charges are happy," the Collector says in a voice that sounds almost sullen. "They live lives untouched by want, the lives that they truly desire, not lives that they have been forced into by circumstance. Can you say the same of those that live outside our remit?"

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"Your charges live lives they were forced into by you! I'll take circumstance over that, because circumstance can be bent to my will with sufficient time and effort, whereas enemy forces are generally a tougher sell on the 'let me do what I want' front!"

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In lieu of responding to this, the Collector raises its photon rifle and shoots June.

Harry makes it explode. "Motherfucker really thought he had a point," she says wonderingly as the remaining Collectors begin swarming again.

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"I feel so uncharacteristically in possession of the moral high ground, I totally thought I was going to be the one to end that negotiation by shooting somebody." She takes cover and starts shooting at Collectors again. "So, anybody need a barf bag after watching me go all insert laughably outdated media reference here on that nasty bastard with the laser face?"

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"Were you always like that or did Cerberus - you were totally always like that, weren't you." Morty returns to operating the defense tower, which fires a massive laser at the Collector ship visible in the sky. There's a flash of light followed, several seconds later, by an explosion.

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"I was totally always like that," she agrees cheerfully. "Just hid it because I didn't want people, like for example Cerberus, locking me up in a lab and experimenting on me. Then that happened anyway so the cat's out of the bag and I might as well devour my enemies when they're about to murder my friends."

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"Thanks, by the way. I wasn't looking forward to beating that thing down with, you know, traditional methods."

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As Morty starts charging up another shot, the Collectors begin to retreat.

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Valid of them probably. They're still getting shot though.

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She can shoot a fair number of them, but before too long the remainder are in their escape shuttles, flying away.

"I... think I'm tentatively calling that a success," Morty says as the Collector ship shrinks in the sky, removing his helmet and running a shaky hand through his hair. "Brass is gonna debrief me so hard after this I'll be lucky if I get to keep my actual briefs, but, you know what, I don't blame them."

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"One great thing about dying and coming back to life is the thing where I no longer owe anybody my briefs! I would mildly appreciate it if you kept a lid on the thing where I ate a guy, and take it from me they're not always great about responding to people with crazy stories, but it's up to you."

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"...Shepard, I owe you my life ten times over. I'll lie to the brass. - maybe not Hackett or Anderson. If they bring in Hackett or Anderson I might have to tell the truth. But it's mostly because I actually trust them, you know?"

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"You can tell Hackett or Anderson," she allows. "They don't suck."

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"Roger, Commander. ...are you still technically a commander? Do you want to see if you can get back your place in the command structure?"

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"I might eventually be forced by circumstances to try doing that but right now I am enjoying my freedom to fuck around without answering to bureaucrats about it."

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"Well, uh. If you ever change your mind, you know my email address."

Morty hesitates, then goes in for a firm handshake rather than a hug.

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Firm handshake achieved. If she has any commentary on his choices she keeps it to herself.

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"...thanks. For not being dead."

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"You're welcome."

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Back on the ship, they're greeted by EDI. "Welcome back, Shepard. XO Lawson is still dismantling your erstwhile employer; is there anything I can help you with in the interim? She's left me some notes about potential future priorities, or you could have a well-deserved rest."

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"Let's hear the notes."

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"There is one more potential recruit for your mission, whom you may wish to enlist sooner rather than later; her name is Elyna, she is an asari Justicar, and she is currently in protective custody on Ilium. She went there in pursuit of a particular criminal and found herself honor-bound to pursue a different case, which the local authorities had no interest in allowing her to pursue. You may be able to free her from this obligation by intervening personally. She is an extremely powerful combatant, and would be a major asset to your cause."

"Also, Garrus Vakarian has requested to speak with you at your earliest convenience."

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"Let's head for Ilium, then." And in the meantime, she can go talk to Garrus.

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"Shepard. I've found the man who sold me out."

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"Want me to eat him? —sorry, should I not be flippant?"