Summary: Shepard investigates a kidnapping, has dinner with his mother, and is approached by a strange woman.

Sons of Terra
A Mass Effect Fanfiction

Complex 01: Corporate Interests
001: Before Your Very Eyes

"Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room!"
- President Muffley; Dr. Strangelove

April 2184
Nos Astra, Illium

John Shepard was never known for his carelessness.

Such an ability (or, perhaps more accurately, his lack thereof) contributed greatly to his continued existence on Illium, the much-lauded 'Gateway to the Terminus Systems'. It was a ridiculous title, thought Shepard privately. After all, why would anyone be proud of being the entrance to the most dangerous section of the galaxy? To Shepard, being proud of that was like Ecuador being proud of its proximity to Colombia.

But, then again, Illium never claimed to be anything but decadent: it reveled in all things amoral and questionable; it was a celebration of all things debauched. It did not take any special kind of sense to see the ingratiating sycophants and corporate climbers for a soldier to know he was out of his element.

Although, he wasn't soldier. Not really. Not anymore.

Traffic whizzed by Shepard's perch on a Nos Astra arcology tower's balcony as an Asari and Turian couple passed with a little blue girl. Shepard's attention shifted from the traffic to the young family, the Asari child catching his interest. Given Asari longevity and the inherent dangers of Illium, it was relatively rare to see a child of the species outside of Thessia.

The tiny Asari bounced and asked her father something, who responded with the closest equivalent of a Turian smile (a chuckle and a clack of the mandibles) and led his bondmate and daughter toward a lower level of of the tower.

With a cough, Shepard turned back to watching the traffic and fingering the cup of coffee he bought from a vendor two floors below. Calling it 'below average' was bestowing the drink an honor.

"Don't know why you submit yourself to that torture," a feminine voice began somewhere behind him. "Asari coffee tastes like ass. Should just leave it to the humans."

Shepard chuckled. "So I'm learning."

He turned to inspect his companion, a pale blue Asari with vivid purple markings and a smug grin that Shepard only ever saw on other Spectres:

"So what is it the Council needs this time, Ms. Vasir?"

The other Spectre tossed Shepard a datapad. "We're being asked to look into a bunch of disappearances. Apparently, people have gone missing in the technical port."

Shepard scoffed in response. "Surprise, surprise. Think it has anything to do with the other no-shows?"

"Well, there are a lot of Quarians working in the Tech Port; they're the latest species to go missing en masse. Council still thinks it may be a slave-trading ring," Vasir explained acerbically.

"Isn't slave-trading already legal on Illium?"

"Contracted slave-trading on Illium is a-okay," Vasir amended. "Non-contracted slave-trading, not so much."

"Not a big difference if you ask me."

"Well," Vasir began, "it's not like we're Batarians or Vorcha; Asari are ethical in their treatment of 'indentured servants'."

Another scoff. "And ethical is the last thing I'd call Illium."

"And yet you're still here," the Asari Spectre winked as she jabbed a finger in the direction from which she came. "Come on, the car's waiting on Arda Level; we can be at the Tech Port in fifteen."

Without waiting for an answer from Shepard, Vasir whirled around and sauntered back the way she came, her blue boots of her hardsuit making heavy footfalls with each tread. Shepard looked once more at the Nos Astra skyline, sipped at his coffee, gagged, and left the cup on the railing ledge as he jogged after the Asari Spectre.

Several minutes later and Shepard found himself inside Vasir's skycar, headed toward the Technical Port of Nos Astra, a hotbed of gang-related crime and, lately a strike by a union of stevedores. It was perhaps, the most dangerous place in all of Nos Astra at the moment and Shepard often found himself there with his partner.

Tela Vasir was easily the most powerful biotic and arguably the most capable squadmate Shepard had ever fought with, which was saying something, seeing as he had fought alongside some of the galaxy's biggest names. It didn't hurt that she was easy on the eyes, either, though Shepard would die before admitting that to her. Perhaps the only drawback to fighting with a biotic like Vasir was the fact that Shepard himself was a biotic, charging around the battlefield and toppling over enemies with shockwaves. Still, the two made do.

Vasir made a quick cut the the right that Shepard knew would have pulled several Gs had the inertial dampeners not kicked in.

That was the other problem with Tela Vasir: she drove like a madwoman and refused to relinquish control of the driver's seat to Shepard, whom took to sulking in the passenger's seat whilst hoping that they wouldn't make it on Nos Astra's evening news: Spectres Perish in Fiery Wreck; what an utterly ignoble way to die.

Content to entertain himself with the possible reverberations of his death by car, Shepard nearly missed Vasir's question:

"Anything new happening to you?"

That was another thing Vasir did: asking after him. It was not because she and Shepard were friends, but rather because it was expected, a platitude. Even she knew how insipid the conversations between the two were, but sometimes the silence was more uncomfortable than a trite chat.

Shepard shrugged and played along. "My mom is coming into Illium for shore leave tonight and wants to have dinner, the Council wants a status report on our investigation by week's end, and an Armali Council representative tried to fine-print me into a five-year term of indentured servitude."

"Can't imagine that went over too well," Vasir answered, cutting left and nearly causing an accident between a tanker and another X-53.

"For her," was Shepard's simple response. Vasir knew better than to continue that line of questioning; she merely smirked and continued driving.

After a few stomach-churning turns and a rapid descent, the Technical Port was in sight. It was not a grandiose area of Nos Astra; here there were no glitzy arcology towers or stadiums most tourists saw. The Tech Port was far closer to the Illium lowlands than most inhabitants were used to, and it showed: this series shipping bays were malodorous, dilapidated, and hotter than hell. Arda Level, where Shepard and Vasir had just come from was temperate enough to wear a light coat at nighttime, coming the Tech Port was like stepping into an oven in comparison. Every time they came to the Port, Shepard cursed not having an air-cooled hardsuit like Vasir, having had to return his own when he left the Alliance.

So, he made do with shrugging off his jacket and heading toward the Tech Port's dingy five-story office building. He and Vasir passed by Quarian migrant workers whom had likely been ensnared into servitude by the contract legalese of Illium. All of them looked at the two outsiders warily, noting Vasir's hardsuit and Shepard's plainly visible M-5 Phalanx holstered at his side.

Shepard noticed a Turian foreman nearby the dry docks whom looked up at the two approaching Spectres with cautious wonder. His mandibles chittered, as if he were internally debating something important. Apparently coming to a decision, the Turian huffed a not-hidden-well-enough sigh and walked briskly toward Shepard and Vasir:

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Spectre Vasir, Commander Shepard?"

Shepard's eyelids itched at the oft-used title. Considering the way his relationship had soured with the Alliance, the term "Commander" had become more of a cruel jape than an honorific. Still, he bit back any reaction to the ranking, and instead responded in an even tone:

"New hire?"

"Recently promoted," the Turian answered after a beat. "The last foreman went missing."

"What a coincidence," Vasir drawled, "we've received reports of missing migrants at the Port."

The Turian nodded absently. "With all due respect, I'm not the one to talk to about that; it's well-above my pay grade. I can radio in for Nyria to meet you inside the Port Proper. She'll be able to tell you more."

Vasir acknowledged the Turian with a severe gaze. "Take us there, then, Mr.—"

"—Trakos."

"—Mr. Trakos," Vasir continued smoothly, as if she had known the Turian's name all along. "We'd like to have a look at the files of these missing persons as well."

Trakos looked dubious. "We'll settle on those things after you speak with with Nyria." He then turned, a quick, practiced turn indicative of a man whom had spent time in the Turian military. Shepard gave a crossways look to Vasir, whom also caught the slight regimented air of Trakos' gait.

The two Spectres followed the Turian down past a large bulkhead and into the port proper.

The air past the bulkhead grew thicker, if possible, smelling of burning rubber and metal. The temperature seemed to rise with every step the duo took into the Port Proper. Here the ground was hard rock as opposed to the glossy metal seen several levels above. And at the end of a disused docking bay (Likely used only during Illium's fledgling days as a colony, Shepard assumed) was a dark blue, nearly purple Asari woman barking orders at five frightened Quarians and a disinterested Turian. Trakos pointed that way and left the way he came almost immediately.

That was Nyria T'Shiba: shipping magnate. She was generally cooperative whenever Shepard and Vasir came by, which was often, but Shepard doubted she would be quite as friendly this evening. The T'Shiba Shipping Company originally ran a mostly hired crew, all of whom thought their salary was too low, so they went on strike. Since Illium's labor laws restricted the rights of unionized labor, T'Shiba could hire new, cheaper workers right under the striking steveodores' noses.

So she went and bought out some indentured servant contracts and now she had an all-new crew of laborers made up mostly of Quarians who made bad on their pilgrimage, Humans who only learned of Illium's fine print culture long after 'far too late', and the occasional Turian. Cutting and rehiring raised its own set of problems, however: these workers weren't nearly as efficient as the striking steveodores and several of them had disappeared, which contributed to lowered efficiency, which contributed to Nyria's foul mood, which contributed to headaches for both Shepard and Vasir.

Nyria caught sight of both Spectres and swore loudly. "Tela, John, not today."

"Sorry, Ms. T'Shiba," Vasir apologized in a tone that sounded anything but apologetic, "but the Council wants us to find out what's going on in Illium, and fast. Right now, the Tech Port's our only lead."

"We're down forty percent in productivity; can't it wait?"

Vasir raised a mocking eyebrow. "One would think that you would be concerned for worker safety, wouldn't they? After all, several of them have gone missing."

"Several is an understatement, but I hire them to work, not play hooky," Nyria responded gruffly. "Ria, get down to the dry docks and coordinate the on-loading process; move it or fucking lose it!" A red-hooded Quarian went scurrying past a veritable wall of crates to the end of the port, where the dry docks would be located. Satisfied, Nyria turned back to us: "As you can see, I'm swamped, so I'll ask again: can your investigation wait?"

Shepard shook his head. "No, but we'll try to keep from stepping on any toes."

"Fine, fine, but I'm really busy right now. You can scope out the Port if fancy takes you, but I won't be able to talk for another hour, at least."

"We'll take it," Vasir said. "In the meantime, you should get a new crane operator."

Nyria looked confused for a moment. "What, why?"

"Because that crate's about to drop," Shepard finished for his partner and pointed at a large crate dangling precariously on the hook of a crane operated by that bored Turian Shepard had noted upon entrance into the port proper.

"Fuck!" T'Shiba shouted at the Turian, who looked up from his perch in the crane in confusion. "Are you fucking blind and stupid, Baelorian!? Those crates carry eezo cores you nitwit; one false move and you can vaporize the lot of us! Lower that crane and hook it up properly!"

"Yes ma'am!" Came the shout in response; learning what was in the crates seemed to galvanize the previously disinterested Turian.

"Thanks, you two; he doesn't know that the cores are inert and mostly safe, but he could use a little fear," Nyria breathed a groan. "Menos can get you to the area in question; I'll try to be by later."

Shepard led Vasir to a gray-skinned Salarian with shifty eyes whom Nyria pointed out. "Menos?"

"Yes?" He looked up quickly, taking in the two Spectres. His gaze hungrily lingered on Vasir, something both Shepard and his partner took notice of. "Oh! Yes, yes, yesyesyes... Miss T'Shiba told me you two would be coming by. I must warn you, however, there are some things I can't show you."

"Like what?"

"The area we're talking about is off limits. I can tell you what I know, but Miss T'Shiba will have to accompany you to the scene."

Shepard and Vasir exchanged looks; neither of them wanted to stay at the Tech Port any longer than they had to and Spectre identification couldn't help them hurry up the Salarian or Nyria.

Vasir stepped up to the Salarian, though to call what she did 'stepping up' would be an exaggerated compliment to the concept: one blue-booted foot stepped in front of the other with ballerina-like grace. The staccato sounds of her boot pounding into the metal floors sounded musical, an aria her hips swayed in rhythm with. The Salarian gulped slightly and Shepard quickly hid the smirk threatening to break through his stoic facade: out of all the Asari he had met, Tela Vasir was undoubtedly the most seductive when she wished to be.

"Would you mind showing us where the Quarians have gone missing?" She asked, her tone a perversion of an ingenue's wholesome lilt. And Menos was like putty in her perfect blue hands.

The Salarian seemed to have trouble speaking and took a moment to resettle himself. Shepard privately felt for the man; if he had not known Tela and she had done the same thing to him, he would have likely fallen for her charm as well.

"But, Miss T'Shi—"

"What she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?" Vasir demurred, stepping even closer, her hips swaying once more. Menos looked mesmerized. Suddenly, she straightened out and fixed the Salarian a stern look. "Which doesn't matter because we are Spectres and you'll let us in regardless."

"Uhm... okay. Okay, okayokay. You're right, I don't think Miss T'Shiba will care too much. But please, don't draw attention to yourselves."

Vasir put on her most disarming grin. "I promise on my life."

The Salarian stuttered and eventually nodded, nervously waving them toward the wall of crates Shepard had seen a Quarian disappear behind a few minutes earlier. Vasir turned and winked at her fellow Spectre, whom rolled his eyes:

"Was all that necessary?" He asked.

The Asari Spectre shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not, but don't try and tell me it didn't work."

"Well, I could have done that, too," Shepard groused lightly.

"Please," Vasir retorted quietly, so that Menos could not hear, "I've seen you work: no tact, no charm... you'd have scared the poor bastard half to death."

"Ah, but only half," replied Shepard nonchalantly. "The other half could lead us exactly where we need to be."

Vasir shook her head exasperatedly, though the beginnings of a smile peaked out from her azure lips. Both Spectres sped up to keep in step with the fast-talking, fast-walking Menos. The Salarian led the duo past rows and rows of crates and cranes and scurrying indentured servants to an out-of-the-way dock that did not only look to be a shipping area, but a residential area as gave his goodbyes, shaking hands with Shepard and Vasir (though his handshake with the pretty Asari seemed to last much longer), and took his leave back to the onloading dock.

Shepard took a look at his surroundings and was almost immediately awed by the desperation in this place. Several families of all species: Quarians, Turians, Salarians, even a select few Vorcha and Volus moved sluggishly amongst a tower of crates ordered in such a way that it almost looked like a human colony city, and it marked the most bizarre thing Shepard had seen all week.

"Box Cities," Vasir explained, having seen Shepard's confused look. "Illium's own ghettos. Usually Box Cities are closer to ground level in generally undeveloped areas. The million-credit question, however, is why there's one here. And why we've never seen it before."

"Illegal?"

"Not necessarily, but's it's generally frowned upon because it's bad for business."

Shepard snorted. "I should have expected that, really. In any case, it does explain why we've been getting so many missing persons reports from this area. Likely T'Shiba lets them stay to collect some rent from them. It's a well-known fact her shipping business isn't doing too well."

"Yeah, ever since that prick Emmanuel Darren opened one of his own ports on Taka Level," Vasir growled.

Shepard raised an eyebrow, narrowly side-stepping a drunken Volus. "Something tells me you don't like the guy. Is it some sort of Blue Pride thing or do you just hate the guy?" He finished by raising a fist in an exaggerated impression of the Black Pride symbol; a reference that went over his companion's head:

"Had to work for him once," Vasir began with a shake of the head, "back when he was a youngblood and his shipments were being raided by Eclipse Mercs. The bastard thinks that anything blue will open their legs for him."

"That bad, huh?"

"I'd take T'Shiba over him any day," Vasir said before shrugging. "But enough of that, we're here to investigate, not talk business."

Shepard nodded and let the Asari Spectre take point in the investigation. Both moved among the throng of castaways and found themselves being called over by a Volus, who was shouting at Shepard with all his might (to the point where he was hopping as high as his stubbly little legs would allow):

"Earth-clan! Earth-clan!" He yowled. Shepard did a double-take to make sure the Volus wasn't speaking to another human nearby him; any doubts were crushed when the Volus pointed at him and took a deep breath before shouting once more.

Vasir stomped over to the squat figure, lacking the femininity and grace she had displayed when charming Menos:

"For the love of the Goddess we heard you the first time!" She cried exasperatedly. Shepard merely placed a bemused smile upon his face as he surveyed the stocky alien:

"So," he began, "what was so earth-shattering that you had to disturb of all Nos Astra to get my attention?" The Volus tried to stand at full height, which, even so, was not impressive to someone of Shepard's stature:

"Are you..." he stopped to take suck for air, "...the Spectres assigned to this case?" Another deep breath.

"Maybe," replied Vasir. "What's it to you?"

"I may have some information for you." The volus exhaled heavily. There were few things Shepard hated more than questioning a Volus, on account of their need to noisily and lengthily inhale after every clause. Sadly, given their nosy and Scrooge-like nature (his mother would call him prejudiced for that, but Shepard found it an apt description), they were often neck deep in cases such as these.

"What kind of information?"

The Volus made a tittering noise, which Shepard realized was a laugh. "I know who has been taking these... ahem... missing Quarians. They're a group of Mercs. I don't know who or what, but they all wore armor. Distinctive, too."

"Distinctive? Distinctive, how? Was the armor yellow? Blue? Red?" Vasir questioned, a slight twitch of her lips was the only outward sign of worry on her otherwise impassive expression. Shepard understood her worry. If it was yellow or blue, the two could flush out the Blue Suns or Eclipse squad that had been kidnapping the Quarians.

If it was red, however, the Blood Pack would be the most likely candidate. Which presented a problem: Blood Pack did not go past the Terminus systems, and if they were on Illium… well, Shepard didn't want to think of the collateral that could be caused by that.

"Red," the Volus assured. "Most definitely red."

"Blood Pack?" Vasir questioned more to herself than to the Volus. "You'd think Illium Flight Security would have tagged Krogan Battlemasters and Vorcha."

"No Vorcha. No Blood Pack. These mercenaries were Batarians."

Shepard couldn't help the sneer that formed on his face. "Batarians."

"Yes," replied the Volus. "Batarians. And humans."

Now that piqued Vasir's interests. "You're telling us Batarians and Humans are working together to kidnap Quarians?"

"There was one Krogan, as well, but I don't think he was Blood Pack," the Volus mused. "He didn't wear their armor—Maybe he was a freelancer."

"Are you sure?" Shepard asked the Volus. "Even with a Krogan, this doesn't sound like any Merc Group I've heard of."

The Volus huffed indignantly. "I know what I saw—" a deep breath, "—Humans, Batarians, and one Krogan—" breathing, "—I think the Krogan was the one leading the pack." He paused a moment, before snapping two of his three fingers together: "And I can prove it!"

"How?" Interrogated Vasir.

"Like this," the Volus began before shuffling toward a little hovel Shepard took to be his home. He lifted a rusty, rectangular sheet of metal that had been used as a makeshift door to the side and melted into the darkness of his 'house'. Moments later, the Volus reappeared with what looked to be a data disc.

Trotting back to the two Spectres, the squat alien thrust the disc at Shepard. "This is from a hidden security camera at the top of the dock wall behind my house. I can show you where it is."

Shepard activated his omni-tool and pointed at the area the Volus indicated. Sure enough, when he scanned the area with an EMP Detector, he saw a camouflaged bug of a camera near the top of the dock wall.

"It's all there," the Volus indicated the disk, "those mercs take them right before your very eyes."

"How'd you manage to pilfer the disk from Miss T'Shiba?" Shepard questioned, mildly impressed. "Or did you install it yourself?"

"Please," answered the Volus with a tone akin to smugness in his voice. "I am Bintu Kort—" he paused once more, not for a breath but apparently for either Shepard or Vasir to recognize him. Neither did, so he continued: "—and I do not need to pilfer anything." He inhaled before speaking again: "It's a copy, T'Shiba still has her own, though it's likely she's forgotten all about it. I do not need to be business savvy to know that strike isn't good for her company."

Shepard smiled. "Yeah, things are tough all over. Thanks for the help, Bintu Kort. If there's anything we can do—"

"I'd just like to hear from you when you find the missing Quarians," Bintu said quickly. "It's not easy being a Volus in the Tech Port, especially when so many of my countrymen are very rich. There was a Quarian here who treated me well... and I think... I think she—just... inform me if you find them?"

Shepard nodded while Vasir openly smirked:

"Very honorable of you," she praised mildly.

Shepard led his partner away from Bintu Kort and crossed his arms. "What's the plan now?"

"Don't know, wanted to see how you'd play it," Vasir returned, her eyes surveying the poor but lively community thriving around her. She chewed her lower lip sullenly and her gaze lingered a little overlong on a female Quarian. If Shepard had not known any better, he would have said Vasir looked sad, a far cry from her usual snarky irreverence.

But he did not dwell too long on her expression. "I think we question a few others about what they've seen here until T'Shiba comes around back and then we can head to the Spectre Terminal at the Citadel Embassy on Kiara Level. Hopefully we can get it done before my mom starts calling Illium Police."

Vasir seemed to snap out of her momentary trance. "Huh? What? Oh, yeah… we can do that. You sure you want to head to the Spectre Terminals? I could cover for you."

Shepard shrugged. "That wouldn't be noble, now would it?"

"So you're noble now, is that it?" The Asari asked, her eyebrow-like tattoos rising in an expression of amusement.

"Never been anything else, ma'am."

Vasir cracked a smile and moved on to a Quarian who looked to be on her Pilgrimage. Over the next hour, Shepard and his partner interviewed at least twelve different possible witnesses of the abductions. Most of them were of a particularly intense variety of useless, but the several that did provide a somewhat interesting story mentioned red-armored mercenaries. There was only one Krogan and a band of Batarians and Humans, and none of them seemed to be Blood Pack material.

This raised even more flags and set off more alarm bells in Shepard's head, and looking to his side to find a pensive look on his partner's face, he knew she was thinking the same thing. Sure, Blood Pack aren't common on Illium, thought Shepard to himself, But better the enemy you know…

If Bintu Kort was to be believed and humans were forming a new merc group with Batarians, Illium would run the risk of being unprepared for the havoc these newcomers and could wreak. And given what he had just heard, Shepard was not optimistic about the planet's state of readiness: Blood Pack, Blue Suns, and Eclipse all got into their fair share of intrigue (Vasir would know best of all, having once been an Eclipse Sister), but they were generally smugglers and drug traffickers, not slavers, and even when they were, it was usually a rogue faction the leaders of the merc groups denounced. But a merc band that dabbled in the stuff of Mindoir, Elysium, and the Hegemony's wettest of dreams would be a formidable enemy indeed.

The simple thought of weeding out another organized crime gang made Shepard's back hurt as he climbed into Vasir's skycar. The duo had a pointed talk with T'Shiba, who mentioned the refugees beside her dock were there because they had nowhere else to go. Beyond that, she remained mum, which made sense, given that it was bad for business, and "bad for business" on Illium carried the same stigma as assassination on Earth.

"Shit," Vasir sighed, looking at the holographic display of the slowly-climbing vehicle. "It's getting late. If you want to have dinner with your mom, you'd better get off on Yenshi Level. I'll take care of the camera videos if you take care of report later this week?"

Shepard shrugged. "It's a fair deal," he replied.

Vasir nodded and broke off from traffic heading toward the trading center and onto the path toward Yenshi level. Several landmarks and arcology towers passed them by, including an odd-looking hotel with a neon-blue sign of 'Azure' hanging on its facade. He always heard other humans talking about the hotel at bars such as Eternity on the Nos Astra Trading Floor, but had never found out what it was; Vasir gave an impish grin the first time he had asked and Liara had blushed and changed the subject.

Something told him he did not want to know.

Within minutes, Shepard found himself being deposited at the Skycar Lot on the outskirts of Yenshi level which laid across a bridge from where the arcology tower his apartment was located at was. It was an impressive building which appeared to be made almost entirely of glass and spiraled wildly as the building lunged higher, looking somewhat like a magnified corkscrew. Shepard crossed the lot and trotted across the bridge connecting it to the main floor of Yenshi level.

With a passing glance at a group of people basking in the evening glow outside, Shepard stepped into the lobby of his building, where the security guard greeted him with a smile. The guard was a gruff old Turian named Aulus who was involved in the First Contact War over thirty years earlier and Shepard's experience in the military had endeared him to Aulus. Generally the two would stop and have a five or ten-minute conversation, but since Shepard was in a rush, he merely gave his greetings and moved on toward the elevators.

When the Spectre reached his apartment on the 52nd floor, he immediately went for his extranet terminal, passing through large and mostly undecorated rooms. Ashley had visited him once when she was on shore leave several months earlier and gave him some playful criticism and tips to spice up the way his home looked.

Shepard smiled fondly, he thought all her ideas were absolute rubbish, and Liara's horrified expression confirmed it when he told her about Ashley's 'advice'. So, he decided to refrain from redecorating. A Spartan existence was good enough for him.

His terminal provided the information as to what bay his mother's ship would have docked at: Docking Bay 8C, Shepard repeated internally, trying to remember the layout of the city. With a little help from his terminal, Shepard found Docking Bay 8C on Taka level several elevator rides up. Downloading the information from his terminal and onto his omni-tool, Shepard quickly rushed to his bedroom and changed into more formal attire as he called the restaurant he had booked to confirm his reservation.

With that, Shepard began the long trek to Taka Level.

"Mom?" Shepard called to a tall, black-haired woman in Captain's dress blues who was talking to two Alliance soldiers. At his word, the woman immediately spun on her heel with a bright smile on her face:

"Jack?" She asked unnecessarily, turning back as Shepard stood a few feet in front of her with arms wide open. Smiling, his mother walked quickly to him and embraced her son.

Hannah Shepard was the one woman John Shepard could claim to truly love. His mother had always been there for him, after his N7 commendation, when his father died, after Akuze, after Torfan... it was an understatement to say he could not have asked for a better mother. After a few moments, Shepard pulled away and smiled at her:

"You know, everyone else calls me John now, mom."

His mother laughed, her blue eyes shining with mirth. "It doesn't matter how old you get or how much facial hair you grow," she playfully tugged at her son's growing beard, "you'll always be my little Jack."

The two Alliance Soldiers now realized who the man their commanding officer was speaking to was and stiffened.

Shepard shrugged away from her, avoiding a gaze from one of the uncomfortable soldiers. "Come on, I booked a table at one of the few human restaurants here."

His mother, however, did not budge. "Don't you at least want to see my new ship? Just got transferred to me a month ago..."

Shepard never liked to hear of spacefaring ships: Handing the Normandy back to Alliance Brass was easily the most difficult thing he had to do when he had been sidelined a year ago, but it was his mother's ship, and he was technically still part of the Alliance:

"Lead the way."

"Well," his mother began, "I can't let you in the docking tube, so we'll have to settle for looking out the windows."

She led Shepard to the wall, which had several vertical slits for windows. With a smile playing at her lips, Hannah Shepard gestured at the glass for her son to look through. When he did, Shepard was struck by nostalgia: the same white-and-blue plating, the same sleek Turian-Human design:

He was staring at the Normandy SR-1.

Shepard turned back to his mother with a patently false grin. As much as he was glad that the old girl was seeing good use under his mother's command, Shepard could not help but feel somewhat robbed privately. No matter who was the Commanding Officer, Shepard felt as though the Normandy was his and his alone to command. With an internally wry smile, Shepard wondered if it was all hubris or if he were merely being sentimental as he spoke:

"Well, at least they gave the old girl to someone who could put her through her paces," he complimented, leading Mrs. Shepard away from the Docking Bay. "How'd you manage to get her?"

Shepard's mother shrugged. "Brass came to me with an offer several weeks ago. Suppose they wanted a Shepard to fly it and I was the only one available. It seemed like the best way to honor you." Her tone sounded distinctly sad. Shepard knew that tone and he knew when his mother felt alone; he had time to get used his mother's moods soon after his father had died on Elysium, defending Colonists from invading Batarian slavers.

Despite how his mother felt, however, Shepard knew it was unlikely that he would return to the Alliance. "It doesn't bode well that a family member has taken over my ship, does it?"

"No," Mrs. Shepard sighed, "it doesn't. But who knows, Jack?"

"I don't know, mom," Shepard continued. "When I last talked to Hackett, it didn't seem like things were going over too well. I suppose it's what happens when you send thousands of humans to their death for one lousy ship."

Mrs. Shepard stopped and looked her son squarely in the eye. "You made the right choice. The Destiny Ascension was more important than the ships we gave up to protect it."

Shepard snorted. "It's not that I should have sacrificed the Destiny Ascension for the Human fleet, it's that I have a bit of reputation for doing this sort of thing."

"What sort of thing?" His mother questioned.

"Sending subordinates to certain death," Shepard replied. Mrs. Shepard remained quiet as both continued their journey to find a cab.

It had been an hour since Shepard's mother had left to return to her post, but he remained rooted to the third stool at the restaurant's bar, nestled into a dark nook of the building. It was a human restaurant, one of the few well-regarded ones on Illium, which meant it reeked of opulence available only to Illium's elite: top-notch food served in tiny portions with a hundred different courses, a list of over a hundred wines, and contemplative neo-jazz. Here men and women did not enjoy the simpler things in life as Shepard had been taught both as a marine and as a boy whom had lived on spaceships; it was all fundraisers, and preening, and Elcor-directed Shakespeare to them.

It was, in a word, pretentious.

Perhaps that was why he took to the bar, knocking back shots of distilled Irish whiskey (Shepard's preferred method of getting drunk). Or perhaps it was the bad news, or more precisely, the lack of good news his mother brought from Alliance Command: if the Normandy SR-1 had completed its retrofits and was ready to be sent back out into the galaxy, and his mother was the Commanding Officer of the frigate, it was unlikely Shepard would be welcomed back to the ship.

"You don't know that," retorted Mrs. Shepard when he had expressed his doubts.

But he did know. It had happened to numerous war heroes whom had come before Shepard and he sincerely doubted that he would be the last: every time a soldier found evidence for some galactic conspiracy that could not be immediately proven, the Alliance preferred to quiet their crazed ramblings putting them out of sight, out of mind. The Reapers were a menace that could not be proven, even after examining the fragments of Sovereign and sending research teams to Ilos (where Vigil was found nonfunctional).

Despite the setback, Shepard remained vocal about the return of the Reapers. Ashley also showed her support, but was far more subdued in her protests. That was likely why she still worked for the Alliance and Shepard was on Illium.

Without any proof that a hyper-advanced race of synthetics that wished to end all spacefaring life threatened to return once more, Alliance Command quickly backslid on the veracity of a Reaper treat. Soon afterward, the claimed, like the Council did beforehand, that Sovereign was Geth creation and Saren had cleverly hoodwinked Shepard into believing a story about an ancient race of machines and galactic extinction cycles.

But whereas the Council still trusted Shepard by virtue of having saved their lives aboard the Destiny Ascension, the Alliance did not. Shepard had heard some of the rumors about what people were saying about him at Arcturus Station, and very few of them were flattering.

So, his character was put in question and Shepard had been commissioned to appear at an internal review by Admiralty Board, discussing his actions throughout his career: losing his squad on Akuze, sending another to certain death on Torfan, leaving Kaidan Alenko to die on Virmire, and most recently, sacrificing thousands of human lives to save the Destiny Ascension. Now, he was shoved by the wayside into Spectre work, which had brought Shepard to Illium and to working with Tela Vasir.

Shepard was beginning to understand he was the latest in a long line of heroes to later be vilified by the Alliance.

With an ironical smile, Shepard sipped at his drink, draining the tumbler slowly but surely. He raked back his hair, grown long and smooth through months of little care for his appearance. A Spectre, unlike an Alliance marine, had no dress codes or mandatory haircuts: Shepard was free to be as clean-cut or as mangy as he wished, and he was enjoying the Dickensian look far too much to return to his former severe crewcut and stubble.

But Shepard did not dwell on his appearance, as he observed a beautiful woman making a beeline for the bar. A human, she had long, lightly tousled dark-brown hair (a tinge lighter than Shepard's own) and a wholesome face that belied cold, intelligent blue eyes roaming the room, as though expecting an attack. Wearing a strapless silver dress, she flowed past tables of humans and aliens. And as if her catlike saunter contained its own gravitational pull, all turned their heads and craned their necks to see her, Shepard included. Perhaps a CEO of one of the few human companies on Illium, or perhaps a model, she was confident; every step of hers denoted an utterly self-assured woman.

Her eyes suddenly stopped roving when they met Shepard's blues and she never looked away, maintaining eye-contact until she sat at the bar stool next to his. She ordered an Thessian Temple and Shepard had his whiskey refilled.

The woman sneaked several glances at Shepard over a span of twenty seconds, as if she was trying to place his face or work herself into a conversation with him. Shepard knew she would eventually, he did not look all that different from the Hero of The Citadel, and anyone who looked close enough or long enough could see it. Hopefully she could at least be somewhat entertaining to talk to:

"Commander Shepard." It was not a question, merely a statement of fact; she was completely unsurprised.

Shepard snorted and doffed an imaginary hat to her. "In the flesh."

The brunette returned to her Thessian Temple and did not look back. Now, that was a first: Shepard was no stranger to hero-worship, and he had done his best to divorce himself from the clear-eyed, short-haired paragon of humanity; yet this woman was able to identify him in mere seconds and turned back to her drink as if he were any other person she happened to sit next to.

It was intriguing.

"You know," Shepard intoned, "generally it's polite to introduce yourself as well."

She turned, graceful, all smiles. "Is it now? I don't believe I professed to be polite."

She had a strong accent. Shepard was not particularly adept at deciphering Earth accents, having lived aboard starships most of his life, but if he were to guess, he would have placed her from the British Isles or Australia.

"Manners are for rubes and all that?"

The woman chuckled. "Very clever, Commander. Miranda Lawson."

Lawson, Lawson, Shepard quirked an eyebrow in thought. I swear I've heard that name before.

"—Though I hear it's not Commander, anymore," she mused melodiously, tapping her finger to her chin several times in mock thought. A teasing smile played at her plump lips. Shepard, for his part was surprised, but rejected the expression in favor of mild amusement:

"You're well-informed," he smiled as well. Miss Lawson clearly was not a model or a CEO, it seemed. Perhaps a rival Information Broker Liara complained of from time-to-time?

Miranda nodded. "A mutual friend of ours should take credit for that, Commander. Liara T'Soni is a very good information broker."

Not an information broker, then. She was trying to work him. This Miranda Lawson was not a charming creature by nature, Shepard could tell. Her smiles, her teasing tone, they were all so wonderfully plastic, all of it a stilted act. It might have worked on other men, but not him. Miranda was here for a reason, and she needed to buy the information from Liara for a reason. And his trust in Liara was the only reason Shepard did not leave then and there.

"And why was it that you contacted Liara about me? Or better yet, why would Liara tell you anything about me?"

"Maybe it's because I have money?" The brunette suggested innocently; Shepard shook his head, knowing Liara would not sell his secrets to the highest bidder without reason. "Or, perhaps it's because I have an offer for you."

Shepard eyed Miranda warily. "And what's this offer of yours?"

"A contract with a... group I represent," she began quietly. "An Operative of ours has recently uncovered some very incriminating evidence before disappearing in the Terminus Systems. Just before we lost contact with him, he was being chased by a Corsair ship."

"Corsair?"

"Alliance Privateers. We don't know if they were headhunting for the Alliance or had been hired on as Mercenaries."

Shepard folded his arms. "Why me?"

"You're a Spectre," shrugged Miranda. "You can get in places we can't, and if this information is as big as we think, the Council might be willing to take your Reaper theory more seriously."

Shepard made a noncommittal grunt. "And who do you represent?"

Miranda bit her lip; it was the first time during the conversation Shepard had seen a tinge of worry on her face. But in a moment, it was gone; Miranda had schooled her features and exuded confidence once more:

"Cerberus," she said, the slightest bit of pride etched in her features. That enraged Shepard, but he did his best to remain impassive:

"Cerberus," he repeated with a scoff. "I wiped out my share of Cerberus projects during my Alliance days. Why are you trying to convert me now?"

"No conversion," said Miranda. "Just a temporary business partnership."

Shepard leaned forward. "You seem like a smart woman, Miss Lawson, so I would venture to guess you do research on your marks before chatting them up," judging by the sneer forming on Miranda's face, Shepard had guessed right. "So then you know about my service history. Before the Citadel, before becoming a Spectre, before Torfan, even."

Miranda shut her eyes and grimaced. "Akuze."

"Right, Akuze," Shepard echoed, unsmiling. "In what universe would you possibly think I'd even consider working with you? And even if I did want to help you, I've obligations on Illium. Now, get out of my sight and consider yourself lucky that I don't kill you where you stand."

Lawson recoiled, pride clearly wounded. Instead of leaving immediately, however, she activated her omnitool and typed something into the holographic interface as Shepard took another sip from his tumbler. Moments later, Shepard's own omnitool glowed on his unencumbered hand; he looked up, questioning.

"For when you reconsider," said Miranda, and then she was gone, sauntering back the way she came with that same, feline grace. Shepard shook his head, faintly amused, and signaled the bartender for another drink.

Half an hour later, Shepard paid his tab and returned to his apartment. Tomorrow, he would go and visit Liara and ask her just what the hell possessed her to give a Cerberus operative his information. But that would be the next day; right then his head felt pleasantly numb, and the room swayed wildly around him. Too drunk to care, Shepard forwent changing out of his dinner jacket before collapsing upon his bed where he fell asleep quickly.

-/-/-/-/-/-

A/N: This is a set-up chapter, so I expected it to be somewhat slow. Next chapter will be relatively similar, though we'll see a bit of Liara in it and more from Tela. As you've seen, Shepard is not dead or being rebuilt by Cerberus, and the plot is of my own construction. Consider it an alternative to canon's handling of ME2's , I wasn't a huge fan of how Shepard ended up joining Cerberus in ME2, and while the idea of artificial reconstruction of an organic human being is a really interesting SF idea, the ME universe isn't a hard-enough Sci-Fi to explain the intricacies of rebuilding Shep back up. So... after a little brainstorming, I came up with an idea that sort of tied the gap between ME1 and 2 more believably (I hope).

P.S.: This fic is intended to be much darker than the original series. It will talk at length and/or include descriptive scenes involving slavery, child soldiers, torture, terrorism and prisoners of war. Furthermore, Shepard won't be portrayed as an uber-paragon. This universe only leaves room for heavily renegade-slanted paragade option. And when I mean renegade, I mean being a pragmatist, not a dick to people. If it's not your cup of tea, I'd suggest steering clear of this one.

Chapter Notes:

Jack is a diminutive for John, both can technically be used interchangeably for a person named Jonathan.

For those who haven't played Lair of the Shadow Broker: In canon, Tela Vasir is a Spectre you encounter in that DLC.

I'm technically blending classes and backgrounds for Shepard: Shepard is best viewed as a Vanguard/Infiltrator hybrid (or an N7 Shadow/Slayer hybrid), and he has both the Sole Survivor and Ruthless service history with a Spacer background.

I had been watching the MGS5 trailer around the time I started watching this, and no matter how hard I tried to picture it otherwise, Big Boss in the Ground Zeroes portion bled into the Shepard's hairstyle and beard. He still looks like Sheploo otherwise, however. But, still: rock that mullet, baby!

Miranda is actually quite good at acting, Shepard's just better at deciphering people's motives.

Some people may be wondering why Liara's an Information Broker if she isn't after the SB; there's an entirely different reason for why she's on Illium.

Keywords from this chapter: Corsairs, Krogan Battlemasters, Emmanuel Darren

Thanks for reading!