The Fall

Pt.1

1 May 2185, Minuteman Station/Horsehead Nebula

No matter how much of a poetic activist the Illusive Man could be, it took very few words to convince Shepard of his value to Cerberus. While Illusive Man assured the commander he was no 'incarcerated guest' and could leave at any time, and that for now he was most interested in Shepard's return to total wellness; none of that information seemed to resonate so deeply with the commander as the shared interest in protecting human colonists.

While I poured over the scraps of retrieved intel from Lazarus Station and sorted between what to dispose of and forward to the Shepard's new medical staff, the commander pressed the parameters of his own physical condition. During most meals Shepard consumed what was merely palatable—too little for an atrophied biotic—and bonded with Jacob over vid game discussions and other worldly topics. However exciting that was, he absolutely buzzed over his reunion with Normandy SR-1's Chief Medical Officer. She apparently found it difficult to dispel him from padding at her heels whenever she went for a personal briefing.

In retrospect I spent very little personal time with Shepard throughout those first few days.

Until the afternoon his biometrics went awry.

"I should have known," I hissed, quickening my pace down the ivory corridor.

For some reason, my life seemed to become quite a bit more chaotic the moment Shepard entered the equation.

Dr. Chakwas matched my pace with a slight smirk, nearly brushing against my shoulder as she passed me a reader on her patient's elevated heart rate through her omni-tool's HUD.

I met Karin Chakwas in passing earlier in the year, but this week marked the beginning of our friendship. She stood elegantly, a few inches taller with myself. Her features we classically stunning: silver hair and eyes, smoothed out by an expression of steadfast compassion. I found her quite likable.

"You can't really blame him, Miranda. He's been couped up for almost a week," she said in a soft-pitched voice.

"He seemed so calm earlier," I sighed.

Admittedly, as a corpse none of my dilemmas with the Blue Suns, pirates, traitors, Lillium, Wilson, and so on had directly been Shepard's fault. Most of those individuals were just interested in abusing his influence. I hoped the walking, talking version could provide me with a bit of respite.

I kept lying to myself.

"An illusion, my dear. He might sometimes look thoughtful on the outside, but never believe for an instant he isn't up to something," Chakwas corrected, hooking a hard right, further away from the physical therapy room Shepard should have been in, performing light stretching and exercise.

I quirked an eyebrow. "So you're saying he keeps things lively?"

She only smiled at me. "Think of it this way: you're at peak physical condition. Your body is the perfect machine, capable of scaling a cliff face, running miles at a time, lifting an entire wall with your very thoughts. Then you wake up two years later and discover your people are missing. No one wants to do anything about it except a few people, and you're compelled to help by nature. Only your body is no longer that fine-tuned instrument the galaxy relied on. In comparison to what you once were, you're rather helpless."

I could understand that . . . if Shepard hadn't developed a nasty case of vertigo and a nosebleed after a moderate round of biotics a couple days before. I'd monitored him like a hawk, and scheduled a near immediate Cat-Scan.

Which he'd quite vocally depreciated.

Sure, maybe a bit overbearing. He'd been fine after all, but I'm not about to allow two years of hard work to blow up in my face while humanity is in need, I thought.

"He isn't helpless," I argued. "He just needs to give himself some time to adjust to the new implant. Nothing too outlandish just yet. He isn't even supposed to be awake."

"I think he would be very upset if you tried sedating him."

A stream of sapphire and a white-hot blast seared the backs of my eyes, and the ground beneath my feet reverberated with the sonic boom of a billion empty atoms erupting across the training center, obliterating shards of a practice dummy.

Shepard stumbled back several feet from the explosion's epicenter, still haloed by his corona. Chest heaving, he swayed, sunk to a knee and set the tips of his fingers on the ground for a long moment. Then, pale with beads of sweat streaming down his temples, he grinned and cheered to the VI, "Alright, let's go again!"

I punched my override codes into the monitoring room's terminal, and demanded the action be delayed. Pointing at the observation window, I steeled my glare towards Jacob. "How many times has he done that?"

Taylor shrugged and folded his arms. "Four, five. Pretty cool, right? I have to admit, I'm a little jealous."

"Jacob, his implant was installed the day before Wilson tried to kill us! Regardless of how much biotech he has floating around, drugging and stimulating his neurosystem, Shepard should still vomit if he lifts a table. He doesn't even have an amplifier installed yet!" My face started to feel a little warm, and I paused to take a deep breath. "Are you encouraging him to become a vegetable?"

Jacob's jaw jilted. "Shepard doesn't even have an amp?"

"No, he doesn't," I answered brusquely.

Chakwas stepped forward before I could rip Jacob's upper body from his lower, and opened the intercom, "Commander," she called in her kind voice. "Would you join us up here please?"

Confusion fled from Shepard's expression as he glanced upwards at the woman in the window, and beamed with a smile as bright as the stars outside. He flashed a thumbs-up, scrubbed the back of his brow with a slightly pained grimace, and pattered to meet us as the glow faded from his shoulders. Shoulders that were still decently defined, but not quite as large or efficient as they should have been.

When the door slid closed with a green padlock, Shepard nodded at his old friend. "Always good to see you, Doctor."

"Hmm," Chakwas hummed, despite the openly fond expression in her soft, twinkling eyes. "It would have been nicer to see you at our appointment."

"That was today?" Shepard said, feigning innocence. His mouth dropped and he scraped his hands across the sprouting fuzz atop his head.

Chakwas frowned, grabbed his wrist, and timed his pulse with practiced ease. "Your appointment with me has been every day at the same time for the past week. Should we look into cognitive therapy to improve your memory?"

Shepard shrugged gingerly. "If it helps."

"I assure you, Commander Shepard," said I, leveling another glare at Jacob. "Should you persist over the next few days, you'll require more than simple cognitive therapy."

Folding his scarred arms across his chest, Shepard pursed his lips. The gesture looked almost painful beneath the luminescent red web. "Specifically?"

On the monitor, I pulled up the rough feed of his recent neurological activity. A patch protecting his implant looping to my omni-tool and the rest of his medical attendees flared red-hot. A concentration of neon light surged down through several large eezo nodes along his somatic nervous system, all originating from a blinding cluster at the base of his brain. Dangerous.

"This was you about ten minutes ago," I dictated.

Chakwas twitched with more concerned. "An average L2 would likely have developed a severe migraine at this level of activity. Maybe even slight hemorrhaging. Shepard, how are you feeling? Any light-headedness?"

"I'm fine, Doctor." Shepard brushed her worry aside with a gentle touch which visibly washed most of the strain from Chakwas' features, no matter how stern she tried to be with him. "Not an L2, so."

"No," I said, baring my teeth. "You're an L5n. A prototype."

The present clip shown in great contrast to the last. His calmer brainwaves eased the tension in my shoulders. However, lingering activity such as stress in the origin remained.

A subtle barrier broke in Shepard's happy-go-lucky facade. A minuscule pulse in the crimson along his jaw, a tug next to his eyes, a flare in his nostrils.

"Yeah, about that. Did I sign some consent waiver, or are experimental surgeries just something that happens in 2185? People switch out their implants nowadays whenever they want?" He stood straighter, and flattened the wrinkles in his shirt. "Tired of only lifting toothpicks with your L1? Well step right up to your local clinic today, and we'll have you updgraded in as little as thirty minutes. Humans only, no downpayment recquired. If you've dealt with red sand in the last three months, please consult your physician first."

"This isn't a joke, Commander," I snapped.

"I know. Which is why I think you should all be taking this a little more seriously," Shepard muttered with almost a completely straight face—except for the subtle twitch in the corner of his mouth. And with a wide swooping gesture, he pressed his luck a bit further. "I mean come on, there are several discontented L1's. I think they should hear about this medical miracle."

I narrowed my eyes in spite of myself, and scoffed, "Be serious."

"Oh, I am very serious," he straight-laced. His chestnut brows shot upwards when he realized I wouldn't budge. "Sorry."

Jacob was clearly amused. "The power those L5's max out on are supposed to be amazing. Get real flashy."

The commander smiled again, a new wryness in the glowing creases despite the heavy bags of fatigue beneath his eyes. "Oh, you seem to have that pull down nicely. But if you really want to I'm sure Cerberus could provide the opportunity."

Jacob grunted, "I'd rather already be brain dead."

Idiot.

I wanted to hit him again.

Shepard's jaw slacked through his poor sense of humor, and Dr. Chakwas' mouth drew into a grim line.

"I think switching out your L3 would be less of risk than removing an L2, Mr. Taylor. Your implant doesn't naturally cause brain injuries," I retorted, raising a superiorly dismissive eyebrow before turning back to the commander. "Shepard, almost every piece of your extensive operation was experimental. Your spill over Alchera essentially crushed your body, and destroyed your implant. One of the first things my medical team did was remove it—very carefully. That left us with the decision to either give you a new one of the exact make and model, or leave you with a more powerful, safer improvement. We chose the latter."

"Oh, well . . . thanks." The commander's shock evaporated with another crooked twitch of his lip. "I think."

"While we're on the topic of novelty," Chakwas said, stepping up to the monitor. "Commander, do you see how much activity is going on in the back of your mind? The brain is a muscle. It needs to be worked out and adjusted. And if you don't allow yourself the time and patience to adjust you are going to overheat this portion of your brain. And if you do, you and I are going to be seeing a lot more of each other on more professional terms."

For almost a full forty-eight hours, Shepard behaved himself: he ran operable drills with weights and sprints, slept and ate accordingly—if reluctantly—and accepted his prescribed medication without fuss.

Then we received a message. Because fate loves temptation.

A/N: Well, it's been a very long time. Apologies, but life often interferes with many things. Hopefully the next date for a new chapter isn't far away.

Please note, all previous chapters are under revision. I will be taking them one at a time, and posting their edits back over their current places.

Also, I have another story, Aftermath Insurgencies, if you would like to take a look at it. It's on chapter two, but chapter three should be out within the next few days.

Hope you all are enjoying your day.

Cheers!