The Illusive Man paced quietly before the holographic images of Commander Kirk Shepard, Operative Miranda Lawson, Spartan Jorge-052, and Dr. Mordin Solus. His cigarettes lay forgotten in the ashtray on the arm of his chair. Behind him, a holo display of all the Collector abominations glowed brightly despite the light from the burning sun outside the Cerberus station.

"Attack Tuchanka, attack Shepard, attack the Anomaly," he was practically muttering to himself. The Commander had just walked him through both encounters on Tuchanka, starting with the meteor crashing into the arena Clan Urdnot had been using for Rites of Passage, and ending with their departure from the krogan hospital. "Why though? And why only three? Why not a hundred, a thousand?"

"If I may make a suggestion," interrupted Miranda as she struggled to keep inside the holoscanner field next to the walking tanks that were the fully armored Shepard and Jorge, "We can see from the field scans and Shepard's report that each impact site contained entirely different aberrant forms."

She waved her omnitool and brought up field-cam images of the "spider-skulls," the "ape-demons," the "cuttle-frogs," and the "crab" that had ended up matching Clan Urdnot's descriptions of the third meteor. "The creatures used entirely different attack patterns at each site," Miranda continued, "Stealth and obfuscation, overwhelming speed and numbers, and raw power were all put into play, all pitted against the strongest warriors the galaxy had to offer."

"The krogan," said the Illusive Man. He was beginning to get a sense of where Miranda was going with her analysis.

"The Collectors were performing a field test of their new forces against the most effective land-based fighting force currently at large in the galaxy," she continued, "and Shepard just happened to be caught in the middle."

"Yes," said Mordin, "Small test, away from forces capable of naval retaliation. Turn loose, record data, tweak, modify, release again elsewhere. Collectors still operate in secrecy, only reduced now."

"More than likely," said Miranda, nodding in agreement, "It stands to reason then that the Collectors are preparing forces for a large scale invasion and occupation. At this point we can only guess their target-"

"The Citadel," interrupted Shepard. "The deployment would be perfect against the Ward arms. If they manage to drop meteors into populated area, the apes and frogs start cutting down the inhabitants, the crabs suppress C-SEC, and the mobile factories make more of them. Once the spiders start laying webs, the entire Citadel could be overwhelmed in a matter of days."

"What would be the point of that then?" asked Jorge, "realistically, they could do it with any other planet. Why the Citadel? Why attack the largest naval post in the galaxy? One ship couldn't fight the whole armada, even if it was taken."

"I believe Commander Shepard is inferring that the Collector's ultimate goal is the secret Mass Relay hidden within the Citadel's architecture," replied the Illusive Man. He slowly eased himself into his chair and lit up another cigarette, "The Reaper Sovereign attempted to activate it two and a half years ago to bring the rest of the Reaper Fleet out of dark space. He failed, thanks to the efforts of Shepard's previous team."

"And they still live on it," muttered Jorge as he slowly shook his head. The Illusive Man grinned at the Spartan's sudden burst of cynicism.

"Then the bigger question remains," interjected Miranda, "Do the Collectors possess the fleet necessary to assault the Citadel?"

"Nobody knows," replied the Illusive Man, "And nobody will know if you can't get through the Omega-4 relay. If your team is ready Shepard-"

"We're ready," interrupted the Commander, "All we need now is the Reaper IFF."

"Good," said the Illusive Man as he eased himself back into his chair, "Then that's your next step. I'm looking forward to hearing your debrief when you get back."

The hologram dissipated, leaving the four teammates alone in the conference room, standing on the retracted table.

"Uplink is secure," came Joker's voice from the com panel, "you've got a good half hour on a direct line to Cerberus Station Beta."

"Thanks for the tutorial, buddy," said Finley. He sat back in his pilot's couch as a display began to process for a call halfway across the Milky Way.

"Any time," replied the Normandy pilot, and the short range comm went dead.

Finley turned to Jorge. "And now time for the curtain," he said as he pulled an object roughly the size and shape of tactical pad from an overhead compartment. The device had four buttons on the face of it, accompanied by a semicircular display. The pilot pressed one of the buttons, and the display began cycling in a radar-like sweep. It emitted a soft beeping sound.

"Hunh, why am I not surprised?" Finley muttered rhetorically. He shuffled past the Spartan and began sweeping the scanner around the cargo bay of the sealed pelican. He eventually settled on one of the crash couches that lined the port and starboard bulkheads. After a few moments' searching, he extracted an unobtrusive-looking button from the underside of the seat.

"And this was Miranda's seat, too," said the pilot, disappointed, "Pity."

"That's not standard pilot gear," said the Spartan, "Looks more like ONI Beta-5."

"Well, you probably know more than I do about ONI," replied the Pilot as he sat down. The call was nearly processed, they had a few moments. "Rumor always was that there's an agent on every ship. Never mattered much to me, until the bag appeared in my locker, 20 minutes after I volunteered to leave the Advertising."

Jorge nodded his head in understanding. As a Spartan, he was fairly used to top secret objectives in the field, and it wasn't uncommon for soldiers to never have a full understanding of their goals, even well after deployment had ended.

The viewscreen in front of the pilot's chair popped into color as the False Advertising's comm operator appeared.

"Pelican 844, your encryption reads green on our end," she said, smiling at the two callers, "Captain Warren is ready for your report."

"Roger that, ensign," replied Finley as he slid a chip into place on the panel, "Transmitting details now."

After a moment, the comm operator was replaced by a wide scale image of Captain Warren at her holotable on the bridge. Behind her was a hologram of the Advertising's ongoing repair and modification. Jorge recognized a set of hefty-looking Mass Effect cores being loaded along the spine of the ship. A stack of datapads lay scattered haphazardly on the flat surface, at times interfering with the schematic; they were accompanied by a rather large mug of coffee.

Worryingly, the Captain seemed considerably more tired than the last time both Jorge and Finley had seen her.

"Captain Erica Warren," said the pilot, "It's good to see your face again, beautiful as the day we set out from Reach. How goes the work with Cerberus?"

The Captain gave a snorting laugh as she turned away from the holotable, the image behind her becoming one of the Station itself. They were nestled in the midst of a small asteroid field. Jorge wasn't quite sure how any vessel could get in or out, as the field seemed too densely packed for even a ship like the Normandy to slip through.

Even in the relative compactness of the "eye of the hurricane," the station was massive, but the drydock was almost too small for the Advertising; the prow of the destroyer poked out of its skeletal frame, almost symbolizing that there was no true safety for them there.

"Cerberus is fantastic," Warren said, "If you can get past the constant checks Dallas has to run with his infiltration countermeasures, the innumerable scans we've performed making sure that rooms, vehicles, and comm lines aren't bugged -we find three an hour, some of them in tools that we need to use- and the implication that there are nearly a dozen cruisers lurking elsewhere in the field, ready to turn us into swiss cheese the moment we try to escape. We're lucky that you warned us, so I didn't hand over 300 cryotubes filled with crew members that would inevitably become hostages, because it was the first thing they offered to take care of for us."

"I.. I had no idea," replied Jorge. He had imagined that Cerberus would try to get as much information as they could -he had been aware of the particular way EDI spoke with him early on, subtly trying to extract whatever she could get from him. She'd since stopped for whatever reason he couldn't fathom- but at this point he wondered why they hadn't just attempted to take over the Advertising. It would have taken less effort.

The Captain sighed and picked up a datapad. Her composure changed as she parsed through its contents. "All of that frustration, all of the restless nights, all of the round-the-clock maintenance and re-verification. When we finally get the chance to put it aside, to leave, the modifications to hybridize our technologies are just... incredible," she said, "If these mass effect cores work the way they keep telling us, we'll be able to fire 600 ton shells at a twentieth the power. One round will have enough energy behind it to punch through a Covenant CAS-class carrier, and we can have another ready to fire in 20 seconds."

"That's... That's amazing," said Finley, "If you could get this back to UNSC space..."

"Right," replied Warren, her tone became more melancholy and sardonic, "If."

The sentence was left hanging in the air. The entire bridge went quiet as Warren turned to look at the holographic display.

"Captain, the datapacket we transmitted on the Collectors," said Jorge, breaking the silence and changing the subject. He heard Finley softly let out a breath. "Our most recent encounter with their creations was, well, someone might describe them as 'beyond terrifying.'"

Erica Warren walked over to the left side of their viewscreen and took a pad offered from the comms officer. As she made her way back, the expression on her face slowly morphed into one of curiosity, passed through surprise, before finally settling on horror. Her hand was at her mouth, she seemed to be reflexively holding back vomit.

"What are these things?" she asked.

"I've seen the reports," replied Finley, "I'd probably just describe the Collectors and their creations as "eldritch," and leave it at that."

"He's not wrong," said Jorge, "Their reports on the "Reapers" leave more to the imagination than these, but there's no question as to why Cerberus and Shepard fear them."

Captain Warren nodded as she looked between the Spartan and the Pilot.

"Reapers," she said, "Machine gods from beyond the edge of the galaxy whose sole purpose is harvesting sentient races every 50,000 years." She took a deep breath, shifting her weight to lean against the holotable. "As if this place wasn't fucked up enough."

"Dallas," Warren said, her physical position unchanged, "New Directive. Gather everything you can find on the Reapers so we can take it home with us. Smash through Cerberus firewalls if you have to. Highcom should at least hear about it, even if there's nothing for us to do."

The Ship AI's hologram appeared beside her. His small blue arm rested on her side, as if for moral support.

"I think we should save wall smashing for when we're about to leave for good," he said, "but I think I'm on friendly terms with the station's intelligence program. He's not real smart, but we get along. It'll be good to have something to do now that I've finished collating the crew's medical records. There's something you should look at, Captain."

Erica Warren nodded before pushing herself off the holotable. Her expression changed back to the one of command: the Captain, the Warrior, the Stoic.

"Dismissed. Spartan, Pilot," she said, "Looking forward to your next report."

Officially, it was supposed to be a date.

Unofficially, Garrus had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

It had started off simply: Shore leave on the Citadel before they took off for the derelict Reaper. Don't think about the mission, just relax and wait for something interesting to happen. Spend the evening with Tali'zorah, dress nicely and try not to be awkward about it.

Everyone was out on the Wards, even Jorge, Jack, and Grunt, hard as it was to believe. Tali was adamant they hang around the rest of the crew for a little while to see if it would slowly collapse into some sort of brawl.

C-Sec was supposed to be the hard part. Initially, the scanners had a difficult time determining whether or not Jorge was even human, but Bailey just waved them on through. The Police Captain understood that there were certain things in the galaxy you didn't want to know, so he didn't ask; it was simply put down as "Spectre Business" and left at that.

Garrus' omnitool pinged with the time. He took a thoroughly disappointed Tali by the arm, escorting her up to Hakera's 23rd level, where he'd made a reservation. "The Glocken" restaurant was supposed to be some sort of cuisine excellence that catered to Turians and Quarians, but Garrus became doubtful when he saw the mostly Asari staff. Usually it ended up that places like this catered more to "atmosphere" than food quality.

It didn't matter. The Turian was happy to be at least pretending to have fun. He had never gone on a "date" since before the military academy, and in the years since, it had always been "police procedural- this," or "archangel help us- that."

Tali was a perfect partner. Smart, pleasant to be around, funny -in her own, somewhat self-conscious way- and most of all, she understood how insane it all was. The Reapers, the Collectors, Cerberus, she'd seen everything with him and she hadn't run off.

If it wasn't for their secret mission, it might have worked out.

"Have you found anything new on Okeer's grenade prototype?" she asked nonchalantly over her steamed vegetables. Native to Palaven, the brown and green shoots and tubers looked tough and indigestible, but the infusion of boiling water had the dual purpose of eliminating nearly all of the possibly harmful bacteria and softening up the radiation-resistant exteriors of the plants. "I know you asked Mordin to check the mods on your rifle last week."

"I didn't have a whole lot of time in their lab, Tali," Garrus replied. He found himself enjoying the Ruric steaks. Cut from the flank of a bovine native to Galatana, it wasn't as metallic as anything from Palaven, but when cooked correctly -which is to say, quickly seared on both sides before being served with minimal spices- it was appropriately filling. The added distraction of tearing apart the meat helped him keep from thinking too hard about how much he would have preferred this to not be a "work" conversation. He subconsciously scratched his mandible brace. "He shooed me out the door as soon as he was done. I think it was a record for the fastest disassembly of an Incisor in history."

Tali continued eating quietly, her helmet's "oral intake port" popping open and closed as quickly as possible to reduce the chances of infection. It made a soft hissing sound with every spoonful.

"You didn't answer my question," she said between bites.

"No, I didn't, if you want to know," Garrus replied. He took another bite. "But I was able to scan a pistol sitting on one of the gurneys near Okeer's work station. Looks like a smaller version of that thing they called "Able." I have the chip in my left pocket right now."

Tali nodded in excitement.

"Perfect!" she said, "All we have to do is get everything out for delivery."

"Yeah," replied Garrus, as he quietly returned to his steak.

The rest of the meal passed uneventfully, to the Turian's relief. When it came time to leave, he calmly took Tali's arm in the crook of his elbow and they proceeded back down the Ward arm towards where most of the rest of the crew had remained. She gave him a nod and quickly disappeared, likely off to give a message to a passing quarian on pilgrimage, or perhaps check the shelters for any that were on their way back to the Flotilla. Garrus wasn't sure how she got messages back to her people, and he recognized that it ultimately didn't matter.

She only had to be subtle and stealthy about her scans and transmissions on the Normandy. It wasn't like a Cerberus operative could double as a Quarian, and there were probably very few who could be paid into giving up secrets to the terrorist organisation, but who knew how many humans there could be between his message and its intended recipient, or how many easily purchased turians.

Discretion was harder than it looked, but he at least had a contact, his father, Tarkus Vakarian. The old-fashioned Turian wasn't fond of the Spectre program, or what Garrus had done since leaving C-Sec, but what mattered is that he wasn't on bad enough terms that he wouldn't meet in an offbeat club on this level. Garrus hadn't expected the response, but then, he hadn't gone into this looking to try talking to his father at all.

15 minutes later, precisely on the dot, Garrus walked into the bar, looking for all the universe as if he just wanted a stiff drink and more shore leave than he was getting.

His turian face fell when he saw Shepard, Jack, and Jorge at the bar. The three of them seemed to be enjoying some sort of drinking contest, though it was all pretty unclear who was actually winning. Jorge barely moved, as per his usual -Garrus still found his stillness unsettling, even if he was largely used to it. Shepard and especially Jack seemed inebriated beyond coordinated movement, but the two of them were stuck in a fit of laughter as another round disappeared from the table. A small rock formed at the base of his stomach, the same size as when Shepard stepped into his sniper scope, the last time they'd been on the Citadel.

"I'll... I'll show you, Sshpectre or no," slurred Jack as she swayed on her seat, "I'll beat you AND the maschine over here at who is the besht at drinking."

"No offense," the biotic said as she turned quickly to look at Jorge.

"None taken," he said politely, smiling somewhat robotically. Garrus wondered what was so different about his physiology that even the rebuilt-better-than-before Commander Shepard couldn't keep up with his alcohol consumption.

"Hey guys," said the Turian as he settled himself onto the barstool next to his commander, "Mind if I catch up?" He ordered two shots of a rare dextro-brandy and downed them both before the others responded. Liquid courage he thought. This would be a shot in the dark, once he met with his father. No telling how Tarkus would respond to the information, but it would be something, a start. His relationship with Primarch Fedorian was more than enough to get the ball rolling, if he could be convinced to take the data seriously.

He didn't have to wait long, as a nudge on his shoulder notified him of the new body at the bar.

"Son," said the aging ex-cop, "What happened to your face?"

Garrus did his best to not be flippant.

"Gunship," he said, bluntly. Behind him, Shepard got very quiet.

"Yeah," said Tarkus as he sat down, "Least it wasn't an ex-girlfriend, or something else unbelievable."

"Listen, da-" Garrus was interrupted by a large bang from behind them. The club came to a standstill as the newly christened "Urdnot" Grunt stood in the doorway.

"Brothers! It seems I have yet another bar to conquer!" he shouted. The turian bouncer was on the floor beside him, next to the remains of the holographic projector that had once barred entry.

The drunk krogan staggered into the room, knocking security staff aside to reach the bar with his shipmates. Shepard was first off his stool, sheer willpower keeping him up straight as he stood in front of Grunt's lumbering form.

"You've think I had enough," he said, pointing his finger, "It's time for us to walk a take back to the Normandy!"

With the lone exception of Jack, who barely managed to stifle her laughter with her hand, the whole club stood in complete silence, waiting for the inebriated krogan to eat the human who challenged him.

Then, as though they'd been hit by a neural shocker, both Commander Kirk Shepard and Urdnot Grunt collapsed to the ground on top of each other, unconscious.

Garrus turned to his father, amicably patting him on the shoulder. "Well dad, it was nice seeing you, but I think I'll have to take this."

"Alright everybody, Spectre business, move along, nothing to see," he shouted to the crowd as he went to recover the Commander. Jorge quickly followed up by heaving Grunt off the floor into a bridal carry. Jack slid off her barstool, taking Shepard's other arm.

Kirk softly whispered through his unconscious state, "I'm Commander Shepard, and this is my favorite..." The rest of the sentence was inaudible, but Garrus caught a whiff of ryncol on his breath. Ryncol was illegal for humans. The information made him think of the bar, where he had just left his father, and the datachip in the old Turian's pocket, inscribed "Listen, please. -Garrus."

Alright guys, here's another breather chapter.

I recognize that the structure thus far has been "action-breather-action-breather" and so on. Part of this is because of the inherent structure of the game, where you go from mission to mission with downtime in between. Maybe that will change soon, but possibly not. We're obviously getting closer to the end of Mass Effect 2's storyline, so we'll have to see how some things play out, but for now, enjoy.