The city is dark and gray, with blistering cold winds and equally cold rain falling the only constant besides the high death rates. Everybody knew the leader of the underworld, and everyone knew her rule. Aria wasn't to be trifled with, especially not if you loved your life. Omega wasn't a place any race would like to find themselves in. So why, most would ask, does Shepard live here? Nobody would ask that, actually; he's dead.

Or was supposed to be. After a drive-by shooting by a gang calling themselves The Collectors, he was pronounced dead-on-site. His body wasn't found, however, as one of the Shadow Brokers supposedly pulled him from the site to give to the mob boss. That wasn't the case, however; Shepard limped away, bleeding to death, and ended up in front of a homeless shelter. Shepard then went to Omega, to try and find out more about the gang that had allegedly killed him.

Shepard sat on his desk, looking through papers, when a knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Not caring who it was, Shepard unceremoniously said "Go away!" Another knock, but harder. Apparently they didn't get the message. "I'm busy!" Shepard said when, suddenly, the door flung open and a pale woman walked in.

"Hello Shepard," she said. "I have a proposition for you."

"Do ya'?" Shepard asked, scratching his chin. He sat forward, making no movements to grab his firearm, and put down his file. Then, he sat back, put his feet up on his desk, and said "Let's hear it."

The woman sat down at the desk, taking a pencil from on the desk to push Shepard's feet off of the desk. Shepard put them back on the desk, and the woman gave up on her attempts to keep Shepard from sitting as he wished. "I'm Miranda Lawson. I work for Cerberus."

Shepard nodded. The Cerberus was a respected gang, led by the mysterious Illusive Man. Shepard didn't know much about them, and didn't truly want to know; his interests were elsewhere in the seedy underbelly of society, and his time was too few to, quite frankly, give a damn about any other gang.

"We want you to help us defeat the Collectors." Miranda said.

"Y'see, that's a problem." Shepard said. "You said you had a proposition for me. A proposition is defined as 'the act of offering or suggesting something to be considered, accepted, adopted, or done,' and, usually, that means I get something in return."

"Ah, your photographic memory. Good to see nearly dying hasn't changed anything about you." Miranda said, not deferred by Shepard's odd way of asking a rather simple question; 'what do I get?'

"Me too, doll." Shepard said. "Continuing on with my previous sentence, 'proposition' also means I can say no."

"I'm afraid you can't say no to this proposition, Shepard." Miranda said. "If you do, I'll kill you."

"That old saw?" Shepard asked, his smile suggesting that this was a game, and Miranda wouldn't shoot him dead just as quick as she would blink. "Gotta do better than that. I'm already dead. What else ya' got for me?"

On Miranda's face a small, plastic smile appeared. She lifted a briefcase on the table, a black, leather rectangle, and unlocked it. She would've slid it to Shepard, had he not put his foot on it.

"Lemme guess," Shepard said. "It's got so-and-so cash, and I get it all, no-strings, long as I work for you. That ain't gonna happen, Ms. Lawson. I don't want money."

Miranda was surprised. Surely, if Shepard was a reasonable man, he would want money?

"Next." Shepard said, and Miranda frowned. The Illusive Man told her to use this as a last-resort; it was an important piece of data that only Cerberus had. It was a sure-fire way to get Shepard to join the cause.

"We have information on the Shadow Broker." Miranda said. Still, Shepard's face didn't change. Then, he used his heel to pull the briefcase to his side of the desk. He put the briefcase on the lap of his tan casual pants, and opened it. He lifted up some of the paper bills, flicking through it.

"Low," Shepard said. "Fake money."

Miranda was surprised. Why would Cerberus give her a briefcase full of fake money to give to Shepard?

Shepard closed the briefcase, stood, and handed the briefcase to Miranda. Miranda was certain that Shepard wouldn't join her cause when he walked over to the coat and hat rack, putting a tan casual suit jacket on and a tan fedora on.

"I choose option C, Ms. Lawson." Shepard said. "All of the above. I expect the real money and the information soon. If not, I fear my limited time with Cerberus will become even more limited."

Miranda nodded.

"So," Shepard said, "did Cerberus tell you anything about me?"

"You have Italian heritage, you were threatened several times for your tendency to talk back to your commanding officers in the Alliance-" Miranda was cut off by Shepard waving his hand.

"Everyone and their grandmother knows that, Ms. Lawson." Shepard said. "Did they ever tell you why I care about the Shadow Broker?"

"No." Miranda said.

"Hm." Shepard put a cigarette between his lips, and began to reach for a lighter when Miranda plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it into the wastebasket by Shepard desk.

"Smoking gives you cancer," Miranda said. "Haven't you read the papers?"

"I only smoke when I'm about to go on a very dangerous chapter of my life, Ms. Lawson." Shepard said, then "I would open the door, but it's still open from where you so kindly broke in."

Miranda walked out the door, with Shepard following, slowing only to close the door. They walked out onto the cold street, not a word said. Miranda wondered why Shepard cared so much about the Shadow Broker, while Shepard thought of a woman he longed to meet once more.