Chapter Text
Chapter 12
The Cerberus Raid
In a secluded hall he alone occupied, Bailey grunted in fleeting relief as soon as his buttocks met the firm bench, the sudden release of pressure in his aching heels and knees best associated with a vintage heat sink venting out accumulated heat. Hell, his legs would’ve exhaled a sigh and expressed gratitude by means of exhausted curses and praises to gods and devils alike, were it possible, but it wasn’t, so he sighed instead.
He didn’t have the energy to curse. Didn’t have the heart to praise an inanimate seat, either, for supporting his tired, frustrated, and sorrow afflicted body. Instead, he merely rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled heavily through his nostrils, before leaning forward to rest his forearms upon his thighs. Bailey squeezed his heavy eyes.
Another long shift.
He would’ve sworn it started two days ago. Might’ve bet his life on it, too, if he hadn’t checked the time when it started and moments before sitting down.
Nine hours. Nine measly hours. Christ, he’d had longer shifts as a Captain, but this one, it passed like an asari lifespan—long, seemingly without an end, and full of pointless death and misery, demanding he say goodbye to good people who, frankly, should’ve outlived him, in a kinder galaxy.
The toll the last several hours of chaos extracted from his old bones was one he felt intimately.
There’d been an accident. A collision, more specifically, between a C-Sec shuttle and some hotshot, Presidium political elite flying their personal skycar at reckless speeds, pretending to be one of the military ace pilots who’d earned commendations and medals for their service as he raced through buildings and attempted aeronautical stunts like he had a Reaper biting at his ass.
C-Sec’s shuttle was only lifting off from a refugee camp when the skycar slammed nose first into its starboard side. When Bailey arrived on the scene, he was greeted by the sight of a partially collapsed building, a dozen or more civilians buried beneath its debris, and rescue teams split between digging them out and prying the burning shuttle open.
He hadn’t even noticed the pancaked remains of a once luxurious skycar, not at first; he’d thought it was just random debris from the building. Didn’t even look like a vehicle anymore.
Bailey wasn’t surprised to learn the pilot had been a human. Even less so when they finally identified what was left of him as a Presidium political elite. The damn fool.
The price for his recklessness so far: His life, the life of his turian husband, a half dozen civilians, three children between the ages of seven and fifteen, and the lives of two officers—Nelaine Verdina and Appius Carcimus.
Goddammit, Bailey cursed, pressing the heels of his palms into his forehead.
Nelaine and Appius both survived Sovereign's attack. They’d survived the war. Survived the immediate scramble after the Crucible fired. They were at his side when they found Anderson and Shepard, helping him carry their wounded bodies back to the shuttle, and had stood as unwavering pillars of support and leadership among their fellow officers ever since.
Now they were dead. Ripped away because of some goddamned entitled idiot taking a joyride.
He’d had the duty of telling Nelaine’s mother—a doctor—the unfortunate news, as emergency teams carted the eight officers and thirteen wounded refugees into the hospital she worked at.
He’d had the duty of kneeling with her when she collapsed, of offering a supportive hand as she wept, and those hollow platitudes he’d had to say far too much in his life. Far too damn much.
Few experiences were worse than watching another person’s entire world shatter. Bailey witnessed it time and again throughout his career as an officer, all too often in the eyes of a parent whose child was taken far too soon, or a spouse whose loved one didn’t make it home one day.
He could remember all of their faces, too. No matter how hard he tried to forget.
Among the officers in critical condition were Fátima Hill and Izen Lataris. No one could confidently say they’d survive. He hoped, though. God, he hoped.
So, as Bailey sat there on the firm bench in that secluded hall, staring at the laces on his boots through an exhausted fog, he prayed a tired prayer for his wounded officers and the refugees, hoping that if any sort of god did actually exist, it’d see them returned to good health.
He prayed for the three children and half dozen who didn’t make it, despite the rescue team’s best efforts, and for Appius and Nelaine, whom he’d been proud to serve with.
They weren’t the first officers he’d lost since the war ended. In his heart, grim and weary, he knew they wouldn’t be the last, either.
Raising his gaze, Bailey looked out through the viewing windows, to the Citadel arms stretching out into space.
Before the war, as a Captain, he’d had a little place he liked to slip off to on breaks. It’d come with a grand view of the Ward, and served faithfully as one of the few, quiet places he could privately gather his thoughts and decompress from another day policing Zakera Ward.
He’d found his new hideaway in the days following the war. It provided quite the view of their situation. He could see the ongoing traffic of military vessels drifting through space, moving between the settlements on Earth and the Citadel, or to the Charon Relay to continue their efforts to repair it; he could see the detached Citadel arm they’d once been racing to evacuate, a task they had since finished some time ago.
Bailey couldn’t remember when the evacuation finished. Honestly, the passing weeks often blended together into one, continuous blur punctuated primarily by incidents, accidents, and what triumphs and strides they’d made.
We’ve come a long way since those first days, he thought. Maybe that’s why this loss stings so badly.
It was completely avoidable, in the end. If a single man had chosen to exercise caution, or chose not to leave the safety of his home, the accident never would’ve occurred. But it had.
Bailey wasn’t certain if the fool had paid a hefty price for his behavior, or if he hadn’t paid enough.
For some time Bailey stared off into the vast space, gathering his thoughts, resting, and utilizing the view to remind himself of what they were fighting for.
Things weren’t okay right now. Not for the friends, family, colleagues, or loved ones of those who’d perished in the accident. No shame in acknowledging it. No shame in feeling the weight of it. In time they’d pick themselves out of the dirt. Eventually…
Bailey lowered his gaze to the floor, shut his eyes, and exhaled a long, heavy breath through his nostrils.
It’d been a long nine hours.
After scrapping together a mediocre stint of sleep—calling it sleep was ambitious, frankly—Bailey picked up where he’d left off, immediately gathering reports from Yarda Zo on all the important matters he missed or were presently ongoing.
The refugees and officers nursing minor injuries from the collision were stable and projected to be on their feet sooner rather than later. Two critically injured refugees had passed. No new updates on Izen or Hill.
Otherwise nothing out of the ordinary. Rather, not out of the ordinary for the current situation, anyway. Still plenty to do.
At least the station didn’t break apart or come under attack while I slept. Might’ve ruined my beauty sleep, he thought with grim humor.
Everyone had coping mechanisms.
It was as his shift started that a series of strange coincidences occurred.
First of the incidents was a sudden surge of people filing into the aid stations and hospitals, cramping up the pathways, unfortunately, in their effort to donate blood.
He couldn’t decide whether to be grateful or exasperated when Henry Weber and Desara T’apoli reported in from their separate posts with the worst of it.
Apparently throngs of humans, turians, asari, hanars, quarians, vorchas and some elcor had amassed; Bailey could hear the crowd in their comms, with the monotone voices of two elcor filtering through Desara’s, both incredibly apologetic for any disturbances they were inadvertently causing.
However, they had heard there was a need for blood donors, especially among their people still aboard the station. The gesture was always appreciated, in his book at least.
He’d had to reassure the elcors and send extra support to Desara; their hands had already been full at the aid station due to some accident involving debris, and the inflow was making it a security nightmare. The initial debris accident would’ve been worse, apparently, were it not for the biotic students from Grissom Academy and their teacher.
Once done Bailey took a few moments to consider the influx of potential donors. While it afflicted multiple areas, that throngs arrived at Henry’s and Desara’s posts, where those wounded in the skycar accident were spread between, left an itch in his brain he couldn’t quite reach.
It was an odd coincidence. Not an unpleasant one, but odd all the same. Then again, the accident wasn’t a secret, so maybe he was overthinking it. These sudden flocks of donors weren’t entirely unheard of, either, usually tied in some way to the efforts of Conrad Verner and his people, or the various networks of survivors rallying their communities.
The C-Sec Commander shrugged it off. He had work to do.
It was the officers he sent to check in on the families of those injured and killed in the collision who reported the next string of strange occurrences.
Being the spouse, parent, child, or young siblings of a C-Sec officer was never easy. In their current situation it wasn’t any easier. Bailey did his best to ensure those families had everything they needed, at least everything within his power to provide. Even if only emotional support.
The friends and colleagues of officers wounded or killed never needed any convincing.
Their community had always been tight-knit, not at all unlike military communities. It’d only gotten stronger, he noticed, since the end of the war. Among C-Sec. Among soldiers. Even among the civilians with ties to neither.
Maybe they were finally living up to that idealistic view of a galactic community.
Better late than never.
Well, according to his officers, upon meeting the families in question they were showered in gratitude for the supplies they’d already delivered, which wouldn’t be strange at all, if not for the fact that none of his officers had delivered supplies to the families. They hadn’t even known what they might need yet.
Despite that, the families were very grateful and very certain they were responsible for the gifts. The couriers were some N7s, apparently.
A summoning from Councilor Sparatus drew his attention away from the mystery and into an hour long meeting with the Councilors. By the time the meeting ended Bailey had forgotten about the strange events.
Instead, he opened his omni-tool to check for priority messages as he departed.
The one he’d been expecting was there, a report from Yarda on the conditions of the wounded officers.
Surgeries were complete. Izen and Hill were stable but still under strict supervision.
Bailey quickly checked his other messages to see where he was needed most, then pressed on, not quite with a skip in his step, but a little lighter than when his day started.
Don’t go dying on me now, Bailey thought with a grimly determined expression. My final order still stands. Keep fighting. Fight to live. We haven’t reached it yet. The future we fought for, the future so many sacrificed for, its still ahead of us. Still within our reach.
We’ve come too far.
So, keep fighting. Keep living. For those we lost and for those still around us.
Survive, goddammit. I’m tired of burying friends.
Bailey exited the auditorium serving as both a refugee center and a C-Sec FOB at the frontier of the recovery efforts.
They’d made progress since the war ended, and with the aid of the militaries they had more hands on deck, no doubt about it, but they were still searching for survivors. Still cataloging what damage had been done, who they’d lost, and trying to return general power to every section of the Wards.
Hell, before the war, Tayseri Ward was still trying to repair the damage from Sovereign’s attack, with projections placing completion in the coming years. Under stable conditions, at least.
They’d be working on repairs for a decade, he sensed. Or more.
The C-Sec Commander paused suddenly. Across the street, in a nearby alleyway, a tactical cloak ebbed away, revealing Kasumi Goto donning her familiar black and silver armor. She waved him over.
Bailey marched to the secluded alley.
“Miss Goto, it’s been some time since I’ve seen you,” he greeted. “Heard plenty, though.”
“The Mist Walker can do more in areas like this,” she explained, Shepard’s N7 tags still hung around her neck. “Then again, that’s why you’re here, right? Getting back in the dirt, on the ground level, where you can see and feel what the people need most. And where no task is above anyone, not even a Commander. Everyone has to pitch in and work hard. Just the way you like it,” she added with a smile.
“Mm,” he hummed in agreement. “What…”
An epiphany struck Bailey like a shiv in an Omega back alley, and the answer to the mystery came to him.
“It was you,” he said suddenly.
“You’ll have to be a little more specific than that.”
“The surge of blood donors and those N7s playing courier for the families.”
“Ah.” She nodded. Then shook her head. “It wasn’t just me. I’m good, but I can’t be in that many places at once, so I asked a few friends for help. N7s, like you heard.”
She crossed her arms. “We’re all adapting to our situation, it’s becoming normal. As some of the old comforts return, the more distant the problems at camps like these will feel to those in positions of privilege, so it’s important we keep encouraging generosity. Otherwise people will steadily become less altruistic, or disconnect from their compassion because it’s out of sight and out of mind. Sort of like a certain Chairman disconnected from the reality of L2 implants.”
“Mm. Or fools going for joyrides.”
“I’m sorry about Nelaine and Appius,” she said sincerely.
“So am I.”
“Any news on Izen and Fátima?”
“Out of surgery and stabilized. Doctors are keeping them under strict supervision, or so I’ve been told.”
“That’s good to hear.”
It was. Still, he had a feeling the thief called him over for something other than catching up. Call it a hunch, one based on their consistent work together since the war ended.
The cop and the thief, he mused. They made an uncanny team, but he didn’t mind. No, he much preferred their partnership to the criminals he’d made deals with as a Captain, like Elias Kelham.
Frankly, those criminals made Miss Goto appear as a saint sent from some holy ethereal realm.
“Would I be right in assuming this is more than check-in?” Bailey asked.
“Maybe I just wanted to see how our charming Commander is holding up,” Kasumi teased.
“Go find Commander Shepard for someone charming. I’m old, tired, and grumpy,” he wisecracked.
“And that’s what makes you so charming.” Her smile fell. Her gaze drifted off. “Those friends I mentioned, the N7s, I’ve been helping them search for Cerberus cells. Things have been quiet since the whole Hiroto Chiba incident.”
“Until now,” Bailey concluded.
“Things are still quiet,” she said, despite nodding once in agreement. “They have to be to avoid detection, especially when they’re trapped here in the Sol System with the rest of us. You know, the families and friends of people they kidnapped or killed. It wouldn’t go well for them,” she added with a hint of her usual sass.
“No. It wouldn’t,” he agreed.
“We already have a plan to apprehend them,” she continued, looking at him again, “but people need to see C-Sec with us. They need to know you’re just as involved in protecting them from threats like Cerberus as the military, if only to keep some idiot with a gun from playing vigilante.
“I was keeping Izen up-to-date on the investigation, I had hoped to have her lead the C-Sec side of our operation since you have enough on your plate as Commander. But with the accident…”
“Mm,” he hummed, understanding. “My plate is fuller as a result of the accident as well. All the same, I’ve got some officers in mind who could help. I’m not about to let those Cerberus bastards gain a foothold on the Citadel. This is a chance for some payback after everything they pulled in the war. What sort of operation should they prepare for?”
Kasumi Goto smiled a mischievous smile.
“Infiltration. We’d prefer officers who are even-tempered, discreet, and possess experience blending into the populace. Lots of civilians where we’re going, unfortunately. Our goal is to apprehend them without a round ever being fired.”
“Ambitious.” He nodded his head once. “But I appreciate the effort. I’ll appreciate it even more if you’re successful. Anything else?”
“Dresses and suits are required. I’ll handle acquiring those once I know who we’re working with.”
Bailey didn’t dare ask how she would acquire it. It didn’t really matter.
A Cerberus cell had been located on the Citadel, and they had a chance to stop them before they could cause any catastrophic damage.
He was only disappointed he wouldn’t be there to cuff the traitors himself.
The next few days were spent finalizing preparations for the operation.
Kasumi personally coordinated a meeting between the N7 Talons and Bailey’s officers to go over their plan of attack. She also used it as an opportunity to acquire measurements for anyone who didn’t already own a suit or dress, then hunted down the necessary attire for a night on the town.
With everything now ready there was only one final piece to fall into place.
“I’m assuming there’s a very good reason my clothes were replaced.”
Kasumi fought to feign an innocent expression, to keep the incriminating and satisfied smile at bay, but Shepard’s amused voice sparked a mutiny in her core. The corner of her lips rose, betraying her openly, and proudly.
From her seat on the stairs, the thief turned her body and drew her gaze past the landing to the top of the apartment’s staircase, where Anastasia now stood, not dressed in the comfortable shirt and casual pants she set out, but a striking violet dress, styled at nearly ankle-length.
Its teasing mid-thigh side slit let her nude right leg peek through, while cold-shoulder sleeves displayed toned shoulders, guaranteeing there would be a crowd of people in need of cold showers where they were going.
When Shepard had first awoken in the hospital she’d been thin and frail, a weary ghost of the symbol and icon the galaxy had united behind. Her muscles had atrophied, and not to the point of simply being on the leaner side, either; she’d become skin and bones, a gaunt and tired woman who couldn’t stand on her own, let alone walk, run, or climb stairs.
The enchantress standing atop the staircase, epitomizing elegance, strength, and beauty, shared little resemblance to the weary ghost.
All of that physical therapy really has done wonders. Kasumi admired Shepard from her red hair to her bare toes. It was tough seeing her struggle and get frustrated frequently at the beginning, but her effort has really paid off.
Of course, Shep being Shep, she won’t settle for anything less than her best. I heard her say the other day that she hasn’t regained all of her strength. She also mentioned she’s still a little smaller than she used to be. Objectively, she’s right, but honestly, seeing her alive, moving around, and healthy… It means everything to me.
You’re so confident and comfortable right now, too, she thought, unabashedly admiring the lines of her body. It’s radiating off of you.
It’s nice to see you happy in your own skin again.
She’d need to thank Miranda and Jack for their help in that regard.
“Enjoying the view?” Shepard smiled teasingly, resting her right hand on her hip as a pair of modest heels dangled from her left’s fingers.
“Mmhmm. I swear, no one wears violet as well as you do.”
“I’m glad you think so, but I’d still like to know why I’m wearing this.”
“I can explain,” Kasumi said sweetly, smiling innocently.
“I’m looking forward to it. You’ve even dressed up.”
“A little,” she said, glancing down at her outfit.
The main pieces of her ensemble were a wine red long-sleeve dress and the broad black sash it came with, both hand-crafted by the finest asari tailors. The sash wrapped her from the bottom of her ribcage to just above her hips, while the dress had a flirtatious teardrop-shaped keyhole at the center of her chest. The skirt draped to her knees, with side slits rising to her hips.
She’d added the black opaque tights, flats, gloves, and hooded cowl to complement the dress, and add a veil of mystery. For charm, of course.
“It’s not precisely what I wanted,” she admitted. Shepard began to descend the stairs. “I had a whole ensemble in mind, but on the tight schedule I was working with, and limited stores at my disposal—well, I ended up with this. I’m still not sure I like it, but beggars can’t be choosers.”
“You look wonderful.”
“Enchanting?” Kasumi quipped, looking to the N7 again as she crossed the landing.
“Incredibly.”
“Although”—the thief smiled—“I suppose it doesn’t make much of a difference what I wear. I could’ve chosen a pair of tassels and a skirt and everyone’s eyes would still be locked on you. Rightfully so. Look at how stunning you are. No one has ever made that dress look as divine as you do.”
Shepard settled down beside her, leaned closer, and planted a peck on her cheek.
“You’re too sweet to me.”
“What can I say? I’m spellbound. Bewitched by your beauty. Mesmerized by the mere sight of you. Aphrodite outdid herself when she blessed you.”
“Now you’re just teasing,” Shepard said, smiling bashfully.
“I’m being sincere. I mean, honestly, Shep, have I ever made my admiration for your beauty or your physique a secret?”
“That’s…a good point.”
“See? Why would I start now? Trust me, you’re going to leave a body count of snapped necks, and all you have to do is walk by them to do it. I’ll swoon if you walk ahead of me for even a moment.”
“Stop it.” Ana grinned, bumping their shoulders together
Kasumi smiled. She rested her hand atop Shepard’s, holding it warmly.
“I know I’ve said it already, but you look divine.”
“Admiring your work?” she teased.
“Admiring yours. I’m not the one who pushed through that grueling physical therapy. You did. All I did was pick out a dress.”
“Mm. You even took my previous complaints into account.”
“Of course. I believe your words were, ‘I would’ve liked it to be a little longer. I feel too exposed.’ I appreciated seeing your legs. Still do.”
“I didn’t notice,” Shepard replied cheekily, poking her right leg out through the slit.
“Mmm. They really are exquisite.”
“Play your cards right and you might even see both of them.”
“Aw, now you’re just being a tease.”
“Hmhm,” Ana chuckled. “Honestly, Kasumi, I know you aren’t sure about your dress, but you look breathtaking.”
“I feel better about it already.”
It wasn’t the ensemble she wanted, but Ana’s open admiration was worth more than perfection.
“So, what’s the special occasion?”
“I’m conscripting you.”
“Heh. Do tell.”
“So, do you remember that investigation I was telling you about? The one where I was working with that cross-species N7 unit to weed out any potential Cerberus cells?”
“You found one?” Shepard asked, expression serious.
“Yep. Unfortunately Jack was right: The Crucible didn’t wipe out every asshole in the Milky Way.”
Ghost and the N7 Talons, she explained, were the ones to find the first suspicious bread crumbs. Rather than snatch the first agent they found, however, yanking them into the light and patting themselves on the back for a job well done, they began tracking the Cerberus agents movements. That was when Kasumi had been conscripted to help.
No one ever said she didn’t like sneaking around in the shadows.
Together they’d monitor the Cerberus agents over days and weeks until the bread crumb trail led them straight to their secret lair, to be overly dramatic.
“They’ve turned the Silver Coast Casino into their hideout,” she said.
“Not a bad setup,” Shepard considered. “I never did look into who took control, but I can’t say I’m surprised Cerberus stepped into its leadership after Brooks killed Elijah Kahn.”
“Actually, the next in line was one of Kahn’s trusted business partner’s. They weren’t any less shady, but they had a grudge against Cerberus. Their family went to Sanctuary,” she explained.
“Mm. I doubt they’ll be voluntarily helping Cerberus.”
“Unfortunately they won’t be helping us either. They were found dead after the Crucible fired. It was written off as the result of the Reaper occupation, but Ghost’s team did some investigating. Turns out their wound patterns are consistent with an M-358 Talon.”
“Cerberus.”
“Yep. They even turned the ownership of the casino over to the current owner beforehand.”
“How gracious. So, we’re infiltrating the casino to apprehend them.”
They were. The N7 Talons and C-Sec would be handling the heavy lifting on the mission.
In the end, she explained as Ana slipped into her heels, their roles were to aid in locating and marking targets, while also providing distractions whenever necessary. Kasumi presumed Commander Shepard waltzing along the casino floor, going from game to game, would be enough to catch the eyes of the Cerberus agents within.
It also granted her a chance to set a few devices on the games to funnel credits to people in need, like the shelters and the hospitals, for instance.
Better there than into the pockets of Cerberus.
“Sounds like you’ve planned for everything,” Shepard said, nodding in appreciation.
“Sorry for springing all this on you out of the blue, but at least it will be an interesting first date. By our very strange standards,” she quipped.
“True. You also have an opportunity to see me in a dress again.”
“That is definitely a bonus.”
Shepard chuckled, rubbed Kasumi’s knee, then stood up.
“Come on,” she said, reaching a hand out to the thief. “Let’s go see what kind of trouble we can get into.”
Kasumi smiled, took her hand. “I knew I could convince you.”
They left the apartment behind with hands intertwined, exited through the lobby of Tiberius Towers and stepped out onto the Silversun Strip, where a male turian attired in a formal black suit with white accents was already waiting for them. N7 dog tags hung around his neck, black markings adorned his lighter complexion.
The turian’s steel blue eyes fell on Kasumi first. He dipped his head in greeting.
“Kasumi and…”
He paused, briefly, when his gaze fell on Ana, in awe. It confirmed everything Kasumi knew to be true, and flushed her with triumph:
Ana was going to leave a body count of snapped necks in the casino.
“Commander Shepard,” he finally spoke again.
“Darian,” Kasumi greeted cheerfully. “You’re looking sharp. So, first impressions, how do we look?”
“O- Oh!” His eyes widened. “Um, well, you look— Well, the Commander’s hair is a unique shade and appears healthy, and your dresses…flatter the supportive and stable structure of your waists. So I’d say you look, um…good,” he said, nodding his head.
“You have him tongue tied,” Kasumi teased, bumping her hip against Shepard’s.
She then gestured her free hand to Darian.
“Shep, meet Darian, Ghost’s second-in-command and an old friend of mine. Darian, this is Shep.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Shepard greeted.
Darian dipped his head, regaining his cool composure.
“Likewise. Ghost sent me to escort you both to the meeting location.”
“There wasn’t a hiccup, was there? Did he use hiccup specifically?” Kasumi wondered.
“No.” The turian shook his head. “No hiccups. Ghost simply wants to introduce himself before the mission begins, that way the Commander can familiarize herself with the crew.”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“Would a hiccup be so bad?” Shepard asked.
“From Ghost, yes. He’s a master at understating the severity of a situation.”
“She’s not wrong,” Darian said, an amused expression taking form. “It’s his version of that strange human phrase. Shit striking a fan?”
“That’s the one,” Kasumi confirmed.
“Anyway, if you would please follow me.”
He motioned them to follow with a gesture of his hand, then took the lead.
“Kasumi mentioned your squad served as one of the N7 Special Operations Unit during the war. Were you stationed on Earth for the duration?”
“Not the whole duration, no. We went wherever the need was greatest, from the Terminus System to Council Space, from worlds deep in asari space, to colonies in the Attican Traverse. Evacuations of civilians and fellow soldiers alike, assassinating high priority targets, data recovery; whatever the Admiral needed, we accepted. No matter where it sent us.
“Had more than a few missions on Earth before the end. Once had to pull Admiral Anderson and Major Coats out of a hotspot. Afterwards everyone started thinking we were real N7s.”
“They don’t hand out that designation to everyone, you know. It’s a pretty exclusive bunch,” Kasumi pointed out.
“I can see why. These came after the war, though” he said, tapping his finger against the tag. “I was glad to hear Admiral Anderson pulled through. Good man. Great soldier.”
“You and me both,” Shepard said. “Where were you stationed on Earth at the end?”
“London.”
Darian exhaled a sigh, rubbed the back of his neck. Kasumi recognized the tell immediately.
“We saw a lot of good people die. Strangers, comrades, friends… Once the call went out to join the push, we started carving our path to join Admiral Anderson. Never made it, though. On the way to the FOB we came upon a museum full of soldiers and biotic teenagers from Grissom Academy. Didn’t learn until later that their teacher was one of yours. Jack.”
“Small galaxy.”
“Never seen a human biotic wield that much power. Or have so many tattoos.”
“It’s apart of her charm,” Kasumi quipped.
“I would say Jack’s charm seduced me, but I’d rather not have her threaten to rip my spine out and beat me to death with it. Again,” he added wryly.
Kasumi snickered.
“That sounds like Jack all right,” Shepard said, smiling.
Darian led them onto the upper walkways of the Silversun Strip. Kasumi spotted Ghost loitering at the far end, near the Castle Arcade; he was donning a fancy black suit, but the hooded cowl drawn over his head gave him away. He was joined by an asari, krogan, and a batarian—Tara, Urdnot Korr, and Gallick.
“Anyway, Ghost reported in to Admiral Anderson as we defended the museum to inform him we wouldn’t arrive in time for the push. We fortified our position and held off against swarms of Reaper forces until the Crucible fired. Didn’t lose a single soldier or teenager.”
“The final push went to hell quickly,” Ana said softly.
“Everything went to hell quickly,” he replied but not cruelly. “We’ll never know what could’ve been different if people had heeded your warnings and made preparations. Maybe nothing would’ve changed. We’ll never know. Even if we could know it wouldn’t bring back the people we lost along the way.
“All we can do is take solace in knowing the war is over. The Reapers are gone. The fallen can rest easily now, while we honor their sacrifices by rebuilding everything.”
“Yeah.”
“It wasn’t a smooth cruise from Earth to the Citadel; our ship is still undergoing repairs after sustaining damage in the final battle,” Darian continued. “Once we arrived we reported to Admiral Hackett. He provided us these tags, named us the first official cross-species N7 Special Ops unit of the Systems Alliance. Something about olive branches,” he added with a shrug. “Humans have strange idioms. He’s kept us busy since.”
“What sort of missions are you involved in?” Shepard asked.
“Whatever is needed. Aiding the refugees however we might, working with C-Sec, with Mist Walker’s,” he added with an amused tone as they neared Ghost and his crew. “We handle mercenaries when they step out of line, monitor human and alien organizations like Terra Firma and hunt Cerberus cells. There’s always work that needs doing, so we’ve built a network with other N7 Special Ops, with soldiers from the various militaries, and C-Sec to cover more ground. We also protect VIPs, like you and your squad.”
“And what a glorious duty it is,” Ghost greeted cheekily. “Commander Shepard, nice to finally meet the woman who saved all of our asses.”
He extended his hand for a handshake.
“You can call me Ghost. I’m sure Kasumi has spared no detail in telling you how utterly charming I am.”
Shepard shook his hand, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.
“Can’t say she did.”
“Kasumi, you wound me!” he feigned an equally heartbroken and offended expression. “What about my unmatchable wit? My impeccable sense of style? My unrivaled humility?”
“I thought I’d let Shep see it firsthand. Don’t worry, you’re nailing your first impression.”
“As if there was ever any doubt. See? I’ve made you both smile. My wit, my charm, my sense of style, and even my humility—especially my humility—are in leagues of their own. But there I go again, forgetting my manners. Allow me to introduce some of my crew. This here”—he gestured to the krogan donning a suit—“is Urdnot Korr. He’s our big cuddly teddy bear, so don’t be afraid to give him a squeeze.”
“Ha!” Korr barked out a laugh. “Go ahead and try. Just know I squeeze back.” He grinned a violent grin.
Korr was both slightly taller and wider than Grunt and Wrex, bearing a faded and heavily scarred blue headplate telling tales of battles and wars fought long before most of them were born, and a prosthetic right arm that was indistinguishable from his original beneath the suit.
Ghost gestured to the formally dressed batarian, leaning against the nearby railing with his back to the group.
“That’s Gallick over there. He’s our heavy weapons specialist. You want something shot or destroyed beyond recognition, he’s your man.”
Gallick turned his head to glance over his left shoulder, revealing the scarred grey skin around his top left eye, rendered blind long ago. He dipped his chin in silent greeting.
“Glad to see you’ve managed to keep Ghost alive, Gallick,” Kasumi said.
“He doesn’t make it easy,” he grunted, turning to look ahead again.
“And this stunning angel is Tara,” Ghost said as he hooked his arm in hers. “Best engineer I know and one hell of a commando.”
Tara wore a backless dress woven in what appeared to be glittering threads of pure silver, revealing the red tattoo covering her back and creeping up her shoulders; the patterns were similar to the markings on her face.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Shepard said.
“The pleasure is ours, Commander,” Tara said.
“The other five members of my ground team have set up positions near the casino’s exits,” Ghost informed. “I’ll introduce you, if we get the chance. Do you have any personal questions for us before we begin?”
“The name of your unit, the N7 Talons, did you borrow it from the merc group?” Shepard questioned.
Ghost hummed. “Caught that, huh? I knew Nyreen. Nyreen is…”
He glanced off, frowning.
“She was a damn good friend,” he said after a moment. “When I heard what happened, it just seemed like the obvious conclusion, I guess. A way to crystallize the memory I held of her, and a chance for our unit to embody the altruistic warrior she was, spreading the light she kindled on Omega to all those we could reach. Similar, you could say, to how the names and symbols of the Mist Walker”—he gestured to Kasumi, and then to Shepard—“and Commander Shepard brought hope to those in need, and elicited fear into the enemy.”
“I understand.”
“Now then, are the two of you ready to go hunting? There’s no turning back once we start.”
Kasumi looked to her partner.
“I’m ready if you are.”
“Let’s go hunting.” Shepard nodded.