A/N: Look forward to Mass Effect 3, Part II soon to come! Thanks for sticking with me along this great journey. Keelah se'lai.

The Celestial Viewing Chamber, Aboard Cerberus Stealth Ship Kronos, 0343 hours

The ambient glow of the crimson supergiant, holographically rendered in the tiniest detail, cast off a soothing, amber light throughout the elegant chamber. Thousands of stars, minuscule, three-dimensional points of pale light, speckled the deep indigo hues of space that served as an infinite majestic backdrop to the heavenly scene.

The virtual star system expanded to fill the entirety of the Celestial Isolation Room, an apartment equipped with all the amenities afforded to a Citadel councilor, and then some, and all of it years ahead of state-of-the-art. But the millions Cerberus had paid for Verda Kon, the famed volus interior designer, to construct this aesthetic masterpiece (only in blueprint, of course, since no one was allowed to actually enter the chamber) was wasted, since its sole occupant never actually saw the sprawling living space. This was because, of all of the luxury suite's jaw-dropping functions, its most astounding (and most costly) feature was the fact that the entire room, from turian-carpeted floor to asari-mural-engraved ceiling was one single continuous Faster-Than-Light Comm Chamber, five times the size of the largest recognized holographic room on record, with fifty times the image resolution. It truly seemed as though the room's occupant was left drifting in breathtaking space. And it ran nonstop, as its tenant made many conference calls and the supergiant Typhon looming gloriously over his shoulder always made a profound impression on his clients.

In the warm glow of the virtual sun, the chamber was illuminated softly, every contoured surface of furniture designed to conduct the holographic signal blended imperceptibly with its surroundings. Only in the furthest fringes of the miniature galaxy did the light fade, dimming to a solemn black. The universe was kept at bay. Within here, he could find sanctuary, a last bastion of solemn, reflective peace in a universe torn by chaos.

In the vicinity of a magnificent ringed planet, a white disc of energy glowed, seemingly in the middle of space. In actuality, the holographic plate was inlaid carefully into the floor, and only seemed to hover mysteriously. Above it resolved the image of a woman clad in a form-fitting white jumpsuit. Her raven locks spilled back freely over gently sloping shoulders, and her face was as a summer storm; hauntingly beautiful, yet tempestuous and unknowable.

Her sharp eyes paid the stunning vista upon which she stood no mind. She had seen it too many times to remain entranced. The Cerberus loyalist only had eyes for a figure that appeared to orbit the gently revolving sun, reclining with the grace of a panther upon a low armchair. He seemed titanic in size when set against a star, though only his oiled gray hair could be discerned over the winged back of his seat.

A sleeved arm hung relaxed across the arm of the chair, an immaculately groomed hand fondling a trademark Cuban cigar. What with Cuba being such a small nation in an otherwise colossal galaxy, the cost of a genuine cigar was more than some people made in a year.

The reposed figure paid her no mind, only took a moment to take a long pull on his cigar. A faint cloud of smoke rose overhead as he exhaled audibly.

Drawing herself upright to attention, Miranda spoke, her accented voice resonating ever so slightly over the comm link, although to look at her one might have believed they could reach out and touch her. "It's over," she declared. "Shepard has killed the Shadow Broker."

The man's face remained relaxed, eyes shut as though asleep, his remarkably well-preserved features highlighted by the fiery light of Typhon. It seemed as though he would not answer, or perhaps had not heard his agent speak at all, but a keen observer might have noticed the faint wrinkling of his brow in deep thought.

After a moment, he stated, his emotions reserved, "Excellent. Shepard never fails to get results." There was a bitter note in his voice, though. Miranda could discern it. After all, Shepard had refused to hand over the Collector Station, even after everything Cerberus had done to aid him. She was quietly grateful that her employer had decided to overlook the fact that she had backed Shepard in the decision. In retrospect, it was most embarrassing. She'd let her emotions and conscience get the better of her. As a professional, it wouldn't happen again.

Leaning in closer, although her movement was restricted by the glowing seal she stood within, Miranda, as one of the few people known to speak somewhat freely with the Cerberus leader, inquired boldly, "What happens now? The Alliance has made contact with Shepard. An Admiral Steven Hackett says he has a mission for him." Regardless of her rank and her leader's fondness of her personally, she spoke tentatively. The subject of Shepard's change of employment was a delicate one.

But the aging human male was not outwardly affected by the question. "We will do as we always have, Miranda," he dictated in a paternal tone, rolling the cigar absently between his buffed fingernails. "We will stick to the shadows; it's where we work best. We've stood by him this far, even after our… disagreement." His mouth pursed slightly for a moment. "We provided him with assistance during his last operation. Whatever our differences," the Illusive Man said coolly, "Shepard has the right intentions. The Broker had to go, just like the Collectors."

A brief pause, before he dared voice the question, glancing over his shoulder nonchalantly to mask his apprehension. "Tell me. The Broker network: what did he do with it?"

Miranda consulted a readout on a screen he could not see. "The reactor core destroyed the entire facility, our teams reported. We've managed to round up most of the Eclipse survivors from escape pods. They're being processed now. As for the system…" She frowned, her dark eyes narrowing intently. "He purged it." She had to fight a smirk from sneaking over her sharp features. How typical of you, Shepard.

The Illusive Man winced, but let the matter go. "A pity. Regardless, he's done his job. The Alliance won't be willing to accept our aid. Things aren't that desperate, yet." Another pull on the cigar. He casually tapped the burned excess into an ashtray laid into his armrest. "We'll continue to provide Shepard with support, indirectly. The Reapers will be here soon, Miss Lawson," he stated grimly, eyes opening for the first time. They almost seemed to shimmer an electric blue in the faint light. "Shepard is one of our best." He turned away now, refocusing on the surprisingly gentle solar currents that rippled before him like waves on a fiery sea. The cigar rose again.

Miranda knew when she was being dismissed, but something nagged at the back of her mind. "I have the reports on the patient, if you want to hear them."

The Illusive Man made no gesture to halt her, only cocked his head to one side in mild interest.

With a curt nod, she opened the medical report. "Patient Two is in stasis, pending completion of cellular therapy. The reconstructive surgery of the chest cavity and the mandibular bone was a success. The left forearm couldn't be saved. We have one of our best surgeons crafting a prosthesis now. The bones of the entire torso and lower body had to be reinforced with implants, however, or replaced entirely. Brainwaves are approaching normal REM sleep, but the subject remains in induced coma until we are certain that the frontal hemispheres have recovered. There will be permanent scarring to the hippocampus and the frontal lobe despite the biochem treatments, which we can't risk cloning. The rest is operational."

She shook her head disbelievingly. "Personally, I can't believe the progress we've made. The project looks to be completed within two months. Not bad considering we've had to work in sub-zero temperatures to prevent decomp. It's a miracle the DNA survived the burns at all, and the brain was well-preserved."

The Illusive Man stroked his chin thoughtfully with his free hand before brushing some stray ash off of his designer lapel. Outwardly, he remained indifferent, but internally, his mind was racing at the possibilities. They'd never attempted something this radical before, not even with Shepard. The cost of such long-term refrigeration had been astronomical, but if affairs proceeded on schedule, it would all be worth his monumental investment.

A faint smile touched his lips. Unscrewing the burned-out cigar from his mouth, he sniffed it longingly one last time. "Well done, Miranda. I knew I could count on you. Keep me posted on the project, and on Shepard's Alliance mission. We may have shielded him from the Broker, but we're going to keep monitoring him ourselves." Here he actually grinned smugly. "Consider it a protection of our investment."

"Very good sir." Miranda inclined her head respectfully, and bowed out of the link.

Yes, it would all be worthwhile. Breathing deeply, the Illusive Man rose from his seat, dress shoes making contact with the invisible floor. Rising to his impressive height, he seemed to straddle the cosmos.

He considered the vast realm of stars that surrounded him. They were mesmerizing, but dangerous. The Reapers would be arriving out of that infinite darkness. The Alliance and the Council couldn't be trusted. It would be up to Shepard, and to Cerberus, to stop them.

And perhaps a few others, too, he mused, considering Miranda's report. Pressing the smoldering remains of his cigar into the ashtray, he clasped his arms behind his back in pensive reflection. He had much to think about. There were new variables to be considered now. Shepard couldn't fight this alone. And he wouldn't.

Because the Lazarus Project is far from over, the Illusive Man thought cryptically, turning his back on the celestial wonders before him, disappearing into the darkness of virtual space, leaving behind the faintest odor of cigar smoke.

There's more than one dead Spectre in this galaxy.

End of Part I