25 July 2186

9:15 AM PST

ANN North America, Vancouver, Canada, Earth

[Recipient: James Vega, Lieutenant Commander, Alliance Military]

[Sender: Marie Rai Mercier, Assistant Editor, Print News Division, Alliance News Network]

[Hey! Got your AKO address from Steve. This should get to you quickly … I already have security clearance through ANN. Anyway … last night was fun. If you ever want to hang while you're still stationed here, let me know.]

Marie bit her lip, reading over the message one last time, and hit send. She felt a nervous jitter in her chest and tapped her fingers rapidly on the desk to compensate. God, she was shit at this. She stared at her empty inbox for fifteen more seconds before giving a frustrated sigh. She was being ridiculous. There were a lot more important things to worry about than her nonexistent dating life.

To start, Marie had a story on the treatment of Batarian refugees due in three hours, and she still needed to verify that C-Sec source. She was beginning to worry the officer did not exist at all. There was something off about his file in the public archives. Marie was a seasoned journalist, but she was still hitting a lot of dead ends on this story. It could very well be an angry Batarian yanking her around. Or it could be a concerned citizen just trying to get a legitimate story out. The details regarding illegal detainment of refugees seemed solid enough, and an old contact on the Citadel had confirmed most of her story. But the best quotes came from her unconfirmed C-Sec officer.

And then there was the bigger picture. There was the message from Claire.

[Recipient: Marie Rai Mercier, Assistant Editor, Print News Division, Alliance News Network]

[Sender address: UNKNOWN]

[WARNING: ALLIANCE NEWS NETWORK DOES NOT RECOMMEND OPENING DARKNET MESSAGES WITHOUT EXPRESS PERMISSION FROM THE DEPARTMENT OF INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY. ALLIANCE NEWS NETWORK REMINDS EMPLOYEES TO VET ALL SOURCES CAREFULLY. CONTACT YOUR SUPERVISOR WITH QUESTIONS OR CALL THE DEPARTMENT OF INFORATION TECHNOLOGY AT EXTENSION 9019.]

[MESSAGE SENT FROM UNKNOWN SENDER VIA DARKNET CHANNELS FOLLOWS. MESSAGE SENT AT 6:31 P.M. PST FROM SOL SYSTEM.]

Hi Mare-Bear,

Look, I don't know if this message will even make it through to you. Especially since I'm sending it to your ANN address. I only now realize that I don't know your personal one. We're really good at being related, huh?

But, I feel like I should try and warn you. All that stuff they're saying – everything Commander Shepard's defense is saying about Reapers – it's true. There's stuff in the Archives, and I've befriended this asari up here named Dr. T'Soni. I've been working with her on some pretty big stuff. Look, it will take me too long to lay out all of the details.(And I could probably be thrown in the brig if this ever got discovered.) Just believe your little sister for once, okay?

The Reapers are coming. It could be tomorrow. It could be years from now.

I'm not telling you so you can run a damn story. Just try and get an assignment off planet. Please. For me. Dr. T'Soni thinks they'll hit Earth first. And when they do, it will be the damn apocalypse, Marie. The Alliance and the Council just aren't ready.

Please, do this for me, okay? I'll feel so much better when I know you're anywhere but Earth. And write back ASAP. Keep your message censored or use the darknet. If you go sending me messages to my AKO address about Reapers I will be so dishonorably discharged.

Love you, big sis.

What the hell was Marie supposed to do with that? She had researched everything she could about the Reapers and Dr. T'Soni. There was not much. As a journalist, she knew everything on the extranet regarding the galaxy's greatest threat was coming from one source: Shepard. And one source was never good enough. Of course, Claire would make source number two, if she had really found something on Mars.

It was a lot to process. Marie only sent back a text.

[M: Got your message. WTF?]

When there was no reply, she added one more. Messages to a military communications satellite might be delayed, after all.

[M: I'll look into something off-planet, okay? Boss owes me a favor. There's a story I'm working on that might take me to the Citadel.]

That was last night. When Claire had finally messaged back a simple smiley face, an annoyed and stressed-out Marie made for the local pub. An old friend of Claire's, Flight Lieutenant Steve Cortez, had invited her out for a drink. He was a nice enough guy, but going out was really a favor to her sister. Something had happened while Steve was deployed, although Claire never said what exactly. All Marie knew was that the attractive young soldier needed a friend, and Marie – shit as she was at being anyone's friend – thought it was worth a shot.

Last night, she decided against talking about her unusual message, so their conversation mostly revolved around a biotiball game on screen. They were just starting to talk about more serious things, like Steve's new assignment retrofitting an Alliance ship and Marie's recent promotion, when James Vega walked in. "Character" did not even begin to describe him. Marie would never normally go for someone so damn ostentatious. Maybe it was just her sister's end-of-days prophecy, but Marie found herself drawn to the burly marine. She had shyly asked Steve for his Alliance Knowledge Online address, and the bastard had looked quite smug as she left the pub.

The son of a bitch had set her up. She would have to get Steve back before heading to the Citadel. She knew a young reporter who had just broken up with his boyfriend. He was cute and very ballsy. They might make a good match.

Of course, Marie had not really intended to establish contact with Vega. She head just gotten his address for the hell of it, just a little too drunk to talk herself out of irrational impulses. But, here she was. Marie was waiting impatiently for a text like a damn fourteen-year-old girl.

She was just about to talk to her editor about a covered trip to the Citadel (and a deadline extension on that refugee piece) when her Omni-tool vibrated. There was a message in her SMS inbox.

[J: I'm working late tonight. Sorry.]

Ah, well. It had been worth a shot. Wait. Why is Vega only talking about tonight? That sounded like he meant–

[J: You work downtown, right? Maybe lunch tomorrow? I could use a meal away from the mess at H.Q.]

[J: Just to be clear: this isn't about a story right? Hate to think you were just into me for my credentials.]

Marie found herself smiling widely. Hell, she did not even feel her normal pang of annoyance at his jab. (Nobody ever trusted her. Not completely. Not if they had any connections to anyone or anything that mattered.) The joyful expression was unusual for a sober Marie, especially this early in the morning. Her office mate, Norah, shot her a raised eyebrow from across her desk.

[M: You got some juicy inside details on Batarian refugees over there, marine?]

There was no response for five whole minutes, and Marie leaned back, puzzled. Then, everything clicked into place. The night before, James said something about being on a guard detail. Now talk about the Batarians had spooked him.

Shit.

[M: That was a joke. Sorry. Just realized who you're probably guarding.]

[M: Lunch sounds great. Ever been to that little Mediterranean place a couple blocks from your building?]

She fiddled mercilessly with an old receipt, tearing it to shreds when there was no response. Norah started snickering silently, apparently aware of what was going on. Marie surely looked just as hung over as she felt. And, as Norah knew, Marie seldom kept her hands or tongue to herself when an alcohol-fueled night was involved. Of course, she had been remarkably lady-like last night, but Norah had no way of knowing that.

[M: No talk about Batarians. Pinky promise.]

Marie watched her inbox for thirty seconds before sighing and shaking her head. Way to go, kid. She stood up and headed for the door. She did in fact need to talk to her editor before his ten o'clock with the rest of the editorial board.

[J: 12:30?]

Yes!

[M: See you there, soldier.]

25 July 2186

21:30 PST

Alliance Military Headquarters, Vancouver, Canada, Earth

James shifted uncomfortably between his feet outside the door to Shepard's quarters. It was another quite night. He supposed he should be more alert, on the watch for a Batarian-sent assassin or an escape attempt from Shepard. But, Vega had been at this post for months, and both of those things now seemed very unlikely. A lesser man would be pissed off about how his talents were being wasted here, but James was not a lesser man.

He was, however, incredibly bored.

[SMS Conversation: Marie Rai Mercier]

[J: So you figured out pretty quick who I work for. Should I be worried?]

The girl from the bar last night was cute – hell, she was hot – although Esteban had been a bit pushy trying to get the two of them to talk together. She was the sister of Esteban's friend from basic training, but that was where the connections ended. A journalist was way outside of James's usual social circle. He had figured they would have absolutely nothing to talk about.

But, James tried anyway. She was beautiful, and she laughed more easily through the night with every refreshed drink. And she did know a lot about biotiball. And she believed Shepard was innocent. Hot and smart was a pretty solid combination.

With nothing better to do, James remembered Marie's wide smile and freckled, flat nose. When the lights had come on for last call, he realized she had the most amazing eyes. They were a vibrant, olive green with flecks of gold and a ring of deep brown around the edges. They danced when she laughed. And the tall, curvy journalist laughed a lot last night.

[M: Maybe. It kind of clicked when you got all skittish about batarians. This isn't a business lunch, though. I swear.]

[J: Good. I'd hate to have to cancel on you.]

[M: I'd be disappointed myself. So … I thought you were working?]

[J: Yeah. You're probs gonna get me in trouble, Mar.]

Mar. He liked that. Those eyes of hers were kind of like the Pacific at sunrise, on an almost overcast day.

[M: Only fair. Pretty sure my boss will be beyond pissed if he finds out I'm having a not-business lunch with someone a degree of separation away from the infamous Commander Shepard.]

Infamous? James found himself grinding his teeth.

[J: I thought you believed she wasn't a war criminal. This isn't an invitation for a story, but the press has her all wrong.]

[M: I know. And I do.]

[M: My sister … the one Steve knows … she's friends with a friend of Shepard's.]

Oh. That was certainly interesting. What exactly did Mar know?

[J: Who?]

Shepard had been banned from communicating with the outside world. James was risking reassignment, but maybe he could help her get a message out.

[M: Not sure I should say. Unsecure channel. Or … well … monitored channel, anyway.]

James narrowed his eyes at that. Of course, it made sense. Everyone who had worked under Cerberus with Shepard had gone into hiding or was being held in Vancouver. Then again, it was odd that Mar would even mention it at all, if this friend of her sister's was really running from the Alliance.

So, it was then James's turn to connect the dots. Of course. Last night, either Mar or Esteban had mentioned something about her sister being stationed at the Prothean Archives. A bad memory of Fehl Prime came rushing back – he could almost hear the voice of a certain Prothean expert over vidcomm right before the Collectors came bearing down – but James forced himself to type.

[J: Liara T'Soni?]

[M: Thought I was the investigative reporter. Sounds like we have a lot of not-business to talk about over lunch.]

[M: Hey, I'm meeting up with some friends for dinner right now. g2g. Would be rude for me to keep talking to you.]

[M: Temping, though.]

"Commander? What's got you all smiley?"

James snapped his head up to look at his partner, Lieutenant Kyle. Shit. He was grinning like a damn idiot.

"Mind your own business, Kyle."

26 July2186

12:25 PM PST

Vancouver, Canada, Earth

[SMS Conversation: James Vega]

[M: Sorry! Running late! My fucking editor … I'll be there by 12:45. Promise.]

Marie bolted out the rotating door at the base of the Alliance News Network building. She should have been at the restaurant already, and Marie was feeling rather stupid. Way to go, scheduling a date right up against one of Eric's weekly briefings. Bastard never shuts up. She walked at a clip down the block, happy that she had chosen flats for today. She had been strongly considering heels the night before. They would have made her ass look damn fine in her favorite coral pencil skirt. But, it turned out that laziness (and sleeping through three alarms) beat flirtation. And you wonder why you're still thirty and single.

Did it really matter, though? Vega was a marine. Just seeing a girl in a skirt had to be unusual for him. Or so Marie hoped.

Her Omni-tool vibrated three blocks from the restaurant. Marie furrowed her brow when the message hit her personal inbox. Not from James, then. Was he ignoring her? And what did Norah want?

[SMS Conversation: Norah Cole]

[N: Get back ASAP.]

Marie straightened and stopped at the light, even though the walk sign was illuminated.

[M: What's going on? Kinda busy, remember?]

[N: Your hot date's gonna have to wait. There's been some kind of coordinated terrorist attack. London. Tokyo. Holy shit. NYC.]

[N: GET BACK HERE]

Shit. Sorry James.

Marie rounded to head back to the office when she heard the screaming. A shadow fell, engulfing the entire block, and Marie looked toward the sky with a slack jaw.

No.

All her research and time on the Citadel, cutting her teeth as an internationally-renowned reporter after the "Geth Attack," could never have prepared Marie for the sheer size of an intact Reaper. What had Claire said? That it would be a "damn apocalypse?" The words seemed oddly unable to convey the absolute terror.

They were so totally fucked.

Something on the face of the behemoth creature – that, the very idea that these were single A.I. beings, was impossible to fathom – was moving. It's plates parted, and a red light glowed.

Shit.

Marie bolted for the nearest door. It was a coffee shop. Hell, it was her favorite coffee shop. She wondered briefly if Andre was working as a deafening, high noise rent the air. There was a blinding flash of red light, and Marie was thrown forward into a display of coffee tumblers.

Her ears were ringing as she tried to stand back up. The internal screaming blocked out everything else, making the terrified shouts and explosions muffled and distant. There were shards of ceramic stuck in the palms of her hands where Marie had tried to brace herself, but she could barely feel them through the shock. She was more concerned with the hot wetness running down the side of her face and neck. She reached up to feel that the lower lobe of her ear was gone, replaced only by a steady stream of blood.

She was otherwise completely intact, though. Marie cursed herself for never taking that ANN first aid training as she looked around to the other patrons sprawled on the ground. She ran over to an older man lying face-first on the floor as another explosion shook the building. The air was thick with smoke and debris, and Marie found herself gasping for breath as she bent down to help the man up.

"Sir!"

She grabbed hold of his arm, but he was knocked out cold. She looked around desperately for help. The explosion had rendered most of the shop patrons unconscious, but a few were looking around in panic or confusion. A couple had broken through the shock, and they were helping the wounded around them.

Marie looked back down. She was on her own. And, upon that realization, she saw the pool of crimson, spilling out onto the dark wood floor beneath the man's face. A shard of glass was sticking out of his neck. Marie instinctively felt for a pulse, like they did in all the vids.

Oh god. Oh god, no.

She reeled back with a sharp inhale, and someone's hands were at her shoulders. Marie tried to scream, but her throat had clamped shut.

"Marie! Miss Mercier!"

Rai Mercier. Why couldn't anyone ever get it right?

She turned. Andre the barista was there. Well, shit. Marie had not realized that her favorite coffee maker knew who she really was.

"Marie! We need to get to the basement! We need to get away from those things!"

She nodded automatically, and Andre pulled her up by her forearm. Her hands were bleeding steadily now, but Marie still could not feel them. Andre pulled her roughly after him, using his free arm to wave widely to the others. There were only a handful of them standing. Was that all? Is everyone else–

She did not let herself finish the thought. They were running through a narrow hall to an ancient-looking staircase. Hell, Marie had known this part of town was old, but the walls were made of brick. The metal stairs were rusting through their chipped, beige paint.

"There are old steam tunnels down here," Andre said. Marie noticed he was carrying a gun. Where the hell– "They lead out to the CPRail tunnel. We can get out of the city that way."

"Good," Marie found herself saying. "The Reapers will target population centers. If we can get out of the city–"

"The what?"

They were pounding down the stairs now, the sound of desperate steps on metal echoing loudly in the narrow shaft. Still, Andre turned to look back at Marie with wide eyes.

"Reapers," she repeated with authority. "Those giant squid things. Sentient fucking A.I. hell-bent on wiping us out of existence."

"And here I was really hoping that was just a conspiracy theory," Andre laughed bitterly.