Listening to Slipknot 'The Devil In I' when writing The Illusive Man is actually really fun and inspiring to a shocking degree. Even though it doesn't completely suit his character.

I should also point out that this was never meant to be a super-massive behemoth of a story. So Time skips are used more frequently than I usually would allow myself to. You're looking at a story that may span 30 to 40 chapters if go into vast detail. But the start up will be quick and to the point.

( – 0 -)

(The Illusive Man – Chronos Station – Horsehead Nebula)

He had always found the Horsehead Nebula to be an interesting, the odd formation the gasses within that had shaped itself into a creature which resides on Earth representing everything his organisation stood for. Bravery, Courage, Effectiveness. It was almost as if the system was destined to find itself housing Humanities sword within it's regal solar walls. Isolating its presence from those who misunderstood its intention, its goal…

it was all cloaked from society itself, improving, progressing, making its strength and securing its influence through subversion and monopoly. Truly, Humanity couldn't ask for a better defenders… Even if they didn't understand.

After all, he was The Illusive Man. His entire being was a game of smoke and mirrors as was his goals, arguably even more shrouded than his past was.

The modified light from the stations star poured through the See-through lens of his office. Giving him more than enough light than he frankly had any need for as his eyes scoured through the numerous reports of the day. Splinter cells and secret operations sending findings, analyses and one or two reports of failure. He bent his head forward slightly, lifting his hand up before placing the cigarette in his mouth. Taking a drag and letting the nicotine fill his lungs, soothing his body from the stresses of his position. Things were precarious as it was, he knew the truth of what was coming and he couldn't afford to allow any more time pass him by.

The Reapers were coming…

And the Commander was dead, their only weapon against the abominable, treacherous, synthetic monsters that were slowly but surely pressing upon them all… Her brother was the only person he saw capable of having a chance to stop whatever was coming, but he was broken, physically, mentally and spiritually. A mere shell of what was once a formidable soldier. One the most promising hand-to-hand specialists in the galaxy and useful people that could have single handedly-turned the tides like his sister.

Even then, he was not his sister, who had always managed to do the impossible, secure friendships, accomplish difficult tasks and convince her subordinates to march into hell and back with her. No, John Shepard needed to stay alive to aid her sister in the upcoming war, something she would want and need. But The galaxy needed Jane Shepard…

Almost as if the answer to his thoughts were answered, he heard the door behind him open, he relaxed slightly, listening to the loud, sharp clacking of heels on his floor.

"Miss Lawson." He greeted, stopping the woman in her tracks behind him. "I take it you have good news for me?"

"Of course." Came the cool response behind him. Immediately upon hearing those words, he began opening various documents and programs, knowing exactly what the operative behind him would need.

"Do you have the body?"

Miranda huffed. "Yes, though T'Soni was extremely hesitant to part with it. She came to see our perspective once we gave her the right information."

He nodded. "Doctor T'Soni's talents will be noted and promptly rewarded. Her contribution has been very beneficial."

Miranda had taken the time to step up towards his window, looking out and towards the beautiful star before them. "It was, her skills will be extremely helpful to her, especially if she stays out of the Shadow Brokers clutches."

"Agreed." He took in one last drag of his cigarette before fizzling it out in the ash tray. "Then Project Lazarus can proceed as planned."

"Of course, sir."

"You'll need these to begin with." He opened her omni-tool, uploading budgets, schematics, communications and locations to the powerful device. "Our previous head was… inefficient… So I am trusting you to lead this project from now on."

"I'm flattered, sir." Miranda turned, her voice full of confidence as she gave him a nod.

'I'm lucky to have such a dedicated operative...'

"The that will be all… You know where to go. Good luck, Miss Lawson."

He gave the woman a small, almost imperceptible nod as he turned back to his numerous panels. Feeling the need for another cigarette arise as the news articles began to role in. All articles revolving around the incapacitated Shepard, he had to hand it to his technicians, they had built magnificent sensors, able to key certain words down to a Margin of Error of 0.12%. Whilst not better than most formal military equipment, it gave him leeway and the convenience that Alliance sensors would restrict.

He opened up the first article and he let out a breath, his eyes freezing on the image before him…

"Dear god..." He murmured, sympathy welling up within his body as he gazed at what was left of the Ex-Commander Shepard. His wounds were bad, visibly distinct and likely too painful to bear thought. The sight reminded him of old friends, friends who died in gruesomely painful ways during the First Contact war. The images of his brothers and sister in such a state would never leave him, and it reminded him of why he did what he did. No one, not even the Turians deserved to suffer like that and especially not human beings.

He managed to tear his eyes away from the picture, focussing on the grim details below. He could instantly spot the wonderful writing he could associate with any skilled journalist or author, the way words were warped and welded into a visually and – more importantly – audibly satisfying paragraph. But the subject matter of the words took away much of the beauty they had. An amputation, a near useless normal arm, weakened organs and slow decay of the body… He felt for the man effected, John Shepard was many things, a thorn in his side, a nuisance and an irritating man, but The Illusive Man respected him, his combat prowess equal to that of his sister, his strength to overcome almost anything and his ability to survive.

John Shepard reminded him too much of himself when he was his age. The First Contact War had ruined many men and women's lives, almost as many as it had ended. He was grateful to any deity that was out their that they deemed him worthy to live through it. He almost felt bad for what his organisation had done to Shepard, but the data was worth all of it.

"This won't do..." He sighed, his right hand moving over to the comms, knowing what he would have to do now.

Jane Shepard would be back, but she needed to feel invested in this, to do that she needed to listen to him and she wouldn't ever think about such a thing with what Cerberus had done.

His mind raced, trying to think of ways he could secure her allegiance.

"Miss Lawson." He rasped, waiting for her natural response. Second nature to her by now.

"What is it, sir?"

"Now, now Miranda, no need to be too formal with me." His hand moved over to the packet of cigarettes. "I am sending you extra funding… and an extra, immediate task that must be accomplished before your main one."

"What is it?" He could hear the surprise in her voice…

It was a long shot, but if it worked, then Jane's allegiances would be almost guaranteed…

"I am sending you the latest and most advanced blueprints on cybernetics, implants and weaponry we have. I want John Shepard rehabilitated whenever possible..."

( – 0 – )

(John Shepard – SSV Mercy – Local Cluster)

– 3 Months Later –

John sat on the bed, listlessly staring into the ground as the he allowed the soft humming of the ships drive core to envelope his ears. He dared not looked up, unwilling to stare at the enclosing walls that felt as if they were pressing down upon him. The regression was easy for him to note: Where he once found comfort in such an environment he now only found uneasiness and the constricting knot in his gut from what those walls represented.

A chilling Isolation…

He winced a little, unused to the consistent prickling within his veins He must look so pathetic right now...

Hunched over, head uncomfortably perched in his only hand that struggled to hold its position. The pain registered, but it felt dull, faded, like it had lost its sting, leaving him with nothing but the tingling irritation of its remains that flooded his body like a tidal wave full of tiny needles and thumb tacks, more annoying than painful now. Far better than how it had been.

The temperature wasn't giving him the comfort he so wanted, typical Alliance acclimatization techniques. The ships their soldiers served on were always adjusted to be colder than what people were used to, not to the point of detriment, but to help the soldiers get used to the uncomfortable conditions

At least… it should have been, he never paid much attention to the different uniforms of the Alliance. He knew them well enough, but his mind was foggy. Jane was always better at retaining the information, he was always the fighter, the brute, the soldier.

And she was the perfect one…

His chest tightened as he took in a deep breath, hoping to relive the feeling. But as much as he tried, the pain never left, his heart and soul were not only shattered, but irreparable. In the end, all he could count on were the days to his demise. If he were lucky, he'd die before the Reapers came, he'd seen enough gruesome death, enough friends leave him. What little value he still had left to hold onto had left, distancing themselves away from him and leaving him to his lonesome.

Maybe the galaxy really didn't deserve a saviour after-all. Happy endings always were a commonality among fiction, the real world was far less forgiving, less wishy-washy…

If he focussed, he could hear the sounds of multiple footsteps from the other side of his room. He was probably within the range of Earth at this point, close to the homeworld he had never been too, where he never held any value beyond the cold statistics. The homeworld from where he'd likely live out the rest of his days, forever in pain, unable to take care of himself properly. The homeworld, from where he'd never leave again…

Every now and then he could hear a few snippets of muffled, intelligible conversation. It didn't make sense, but the crew-men sounded lively, As if life had been injected into them along with a hard-dose of caffeine. It was hurried and getting more chaotic…

'Must be a rough entry…'

He wondered what had them all so energetic, maybe friends, lovers, family. All awaiting them all on Earth, someone to go back to and enjoy their time with, a value of which can never be matched.

Weakly, he removed his head from the perch of his hand, the appendage almost fell down uselessly right then and it was then he realised just how long he had been in that position. A growl tried to escape his throat, but all that left was an insipid wheeze, how weak he had truly become. Maybe he needed to get up for a little bit.

His legs groaned from the strain, but John found himself standing before he knew it. He slowly limped over towards the sink, trying to avoid the mirror as best as he could as he turned the tap on and instantly splashed his face with the cool liquid that soothed his skin…

Though he couldn't help but feel disgust at the leathery feel of what was left…

He looked up, though didn't know why. He knew what awaited him within the mirror, and it wasn't anything he wanted to remind himself of any time… But it was all he really had left now. His broken identity.

There not a single hair on his head left, replaced by a horrid, blotchy patch of reddened, sickly scar tissue that rippled and froze into a horrific mold of leathery skin. His once thick hair that he used to let flow before joining the alliance was gone, never to come back, though the replacement matched his face perfectly… and he hated that.

He looked like a monster in a horror novel… He eyebrows were just as beyond repair as his nose, which was patchy, blotchier than his head and was covered twisted into a small puddle that melted into his face rather than stick out like any other.

His lips were dry, cracked, no longer looking like lips and more like a creature that had them removed. They were in unbearable contrast to the rest of his face in that it held not blotches, but a pure, mono-coloured white.

Even looking at what his only arm left he could see that upcoming effects of that exposure…

"I'm going to lose this arm too…" He whispered, his eyes painfully dragging over the blackened spots on the appendage. Signs of decay were settling in and it would likely be a year before the arm would have to go. If he could cry he would have, had he not lost enough?

Suddenly he heard the drive-core shut down, only to be followed by the noises of confused and oddly alert crew-members. Anger flowed through him, what could be going on to cause the core to shut down? Was the pilot responsible or the damn engineers? The only thing he wanted was to rot on Earth, that was the last bit of control he had left in his life, so why couldn't that go smoothly?

"Fucking idiots." He spat before he could stop himself. Listening to the quickening footsteps suddenly stop. But when he expected to hear the ship start up again he was met with silence…

"What's going on…?" He murmured, his gut was telling him something was up… Was the chatting form earlier about this sudden situation? He didn't know, but – surprisingly – he didn't care either. If he was going to die today it would be more of a release than a damnation. He had nothing left, what could a cabal of slavers or thugs possibly do to him now?

The lights flickered, sending the room into a state of pitch blackness, John couldn't see anything beyond the sink before losing his footing to the sudden rumbling of the ship, landing harshly on his shoulder with a sharp groan. Pain shot through him, acting like a paralytic to his body as he tried to recover for the sudden painful tingling burning his arm.

Holding back his moans, John tried to focus on the goings on from beyond his temporary quarters, trying desperately to catch anything akin to something human, voices, gunfire, anything…

But he was met with as much silence as he was darkness…

Though as unnerved as he was, the Ex-Commander refused to move. The pain hadn't fully subsided and even if it had, he still couldn't see. This was expected to be his last journey, there wasn't any need for a gun anymore beyond a Heavy Pistol. With that in mind, he had left everything behind, unwilling to look at any of it anymore than he was to use it.

And as he heard almost silent footsteps, John realised how stupid of an idea that was…

"You sure this is the right room?" A muffled voice asked.

John looked over to where he assumed the door was. Trying to make sense of anything beyond the initial question. Another voice responded, clearly female with an Australian accent, confusion, apprehension and anger fillied him to the brim.

'Something's not right here. They don't sound like any Alliance trooper I know...' John's brow creased, wincing at the tightness he felt in his forehead after the action. It certainly couldn't be anyone in the alliance, not only did the helmets sound less clear, the clear frustration and lack of any professionalism in either voice didn't help.

"Fine, be ready on my signal." The woman responded after a mighty sigh.

"Aye aye, ma'am."

Suddenly, the lights flickered back on, making John hiss and squeeze his eyes shut, ignoring the unpleasant feeling it brought to his cheeks and forehead. His ears were subsequently filled with the sound of the door opening with a soft hiss along with an 'Oh my god...'.

He felt shame well up in his gut from the reaction. He knew it was about his new look, he must look more alien than human at this point. A barely recognisable being, unfit to survive in the cruel universe around him.

Opening his eyes, he gave the owner of the voice a cold glare, making the man shift, unnerved by the action. He was a Black Man, bulky, shaved head like an alliance troop with a cool yet not unfriendly glint in his eyes.

"Commander Shepard?" He looked over, his eyes coming across an extremely pleasant sight. The woman with the Australian accent stood before him, all her curves and bust on display. Her face, perfectly angled and framed with Raven coloured hair that cascaded down the sides of her face like a waterfall.

Though when he heard his old title, his throat barked a painful sound, a mix between a laugh and a cough.

"Not anymore..." He gave the woman a look, he body may have been near perfection, but the way she looked at him with those cold eyes was an angering sight.

"For now, perhaps." Was all she said. John gave a her a frown, clearly they were not alliance, but he couldn't bring himself to feel fear at the clear raid. It wasn't like they could do much more to him.

"What are you both doing here?" He asked, trying to sound as casual as possible without hurting his throat. "This isn't exactly a trading ship, it's an alliance frigate."

"Hmm, astute." The curvy woman remarked as she strode towards the bed, hips swaying all the way before taking a seat.

"That's my bed." John slowly fought his body to stand back up. Giving the man a scowl when he took a step forward, making him step back again.

He took another look at the two, something was weird about them. The uniforms were odd, but he was ultimately interested in the logo on their outfits. It was familiar, like it held some-

"Cerberus!" He growled, feeling his throat tickle painfully at the sudden vibrations. Realisation marring his scarred face as rage welled up inside him.

The woman saw this and quickly stood up. "Careful, 'Commander'. We don't want to strain ourselves any-"

"Miranda..." The man finally spoke, giving her a small look before turning back to face John. Putting his hands up, seemingly in a placating gesture.

The motion didn't do much.

"Get away from me, the both of you..." He backed up slowly, feeling his back press up against the corner of the sink behind him. "Finally come to finish the job?"

"Shepard, we aren't here to kill you..." The man responded, his voice firm, but not aggressive or sarcastic.

"Sure, the second I turn my back I end up with bullets piercing it." He scoffed, his eyes darting between the two of them, alert with anger.

"It seems like that would be a mercy, considering our little situation." 'Miranda' coldly retorted, only tensing when John limped towards her.

"Keep your mouth shut before I stuff one of your tits down you throat to do it for you." Miranda moved away from him before he could get any closer. Her face scrunching up in disgust at the thought.

"Miranda, can we try not to antagonise him any further? This isn't helping anyone." The man said, quickly moving between her and John. "Let's just do what we came to do and leave before anyone wakes up."

"Very well." The man sighed, relief evident on his face as Miranda began to speak to John.

"Yes, please. Do leave." John muttered, face as red as it could be from the emotions he felt. Ignoring the blatant scornful look he received from both people.

"Commander Shepard, we have come here, with great difficulty and risk to our lives. And despite what you might think, no. We aren't here to kill you, or anyone else for that matter. Our reasons for being here our different… and beneficial for you, and Humanity."

"Yeah, yeah. Just cut to the chase." John growled, his eyes boring a hole into her head.

Miranda grit her teeth, frustration starting to show. "Fine, since you are that impatient. WE can offer you a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"And that would be?"

"Your life back."

He froze…

The words rolled around in his head for a second, ceasing all other functions. He looked over at the mirror, catching a glance of his face in the corner before looking back.

"Cerberus has the funds, the passion and technology to give you everything you had back. We can give you another arm… though we may need an extra one with how the other looks." She explained, finishing by pointing at his black and red arm.

"How..."

Miranda smirked…

"Glad to see I have you attention." Her remark was brushed off quickly, but she didn't stop in her stride. "Our equipment – when constructed – can give you cybernetic arms, obviously much stronger than any organic arms ever could be. You would be treated for the Eezo-exposure immediately as well as remove any trace of it from your system and whilst it won't remove the damage to your body, it would certainly stop killing you."

She gave the blank faced man a once-over. "We may also be able to remove most of that scarring too, re-invigorate your head to, giving you hair and such. You will no longer look like a monster as you have for the past month and beyond."

Everything she had said… was it really possible?

He looked down, realising that his one and only hand was shaking, not because it was weak, but because of the pure adrenaline he felt overtaking his body. He really shouldn't and his mind quickly felt shame for even considering it… but the chance to not be doomed to this hell?

"W..." He tried, failing spectacularly before trying again. "What's the catch?"

The man stepped up this time.

"The catch is… well… You would be a kind-of operative for us, at least for a while, not forever of course." His answer even left him cringing… But John couldn't attack him, it was a hell of a generous offer.

His mind refused to calm, too focussed on processing everything he had come to find out. The entire month and before had been complete hell, The Normandy was gone as were a few of the crewmen. His injuries were inflicted on that ship, Tali had left, not even visiting once before going away, back the fleet. Garrus too, visiting once before – By Anderson's account – disappearing and his recovery almost a month later…

Though he would never forget the face he met in the mirror for the first time…

The anger came back full-force. With the renewed energy, he gave them both his best hateful stare before uttering the most malice-filled words he could muster…

"Get off this ship and never ever search for me again..." He spoke softly, but with a dangerously low hiss. "I will not let you live the next time I see either of you."

The man sighed, his face falling like it had suddenly become a victim to Dekuuna's heavy gravity. Giving him one last defeated look before turning around and walking away…

Miranda gave him a shake of the head before turning too, he watched her walk away, ignoring the soft bounce her rear did every time she took a step. Just as she was standing in the doorway however, she turned around, giving him a look.

"You know, we do have another reason why we came to you..."

"I don't care." He grit his teeth. "Leave."

"Of course, I suppose that when your sister wakes up she'll have to see lots of unfamiliar faces instead of her loving brother." She sighed, shaking her had before swivelling once more.

'Jane? What?'

"Wait!" He tried raising his voice, watching as the woman stopped, looking down the hallway before turning back to look at him.

"I thought you reached you decis-"

"Tell me what you're doing with my sister." He glared. Growing confused when Miranda smiled at him, almost like she knew hat she had won something.

"We have her body, you know?" She said, walking back into the room and leaning her back against the wall next to the door. Letting John freeze for a while before continuing. "We plan to reconstruct her, bring her back to life."

"Bullshit, nothing can beat nature!" John retorted. Making the woman scowl.

"Allow me to be the first, then..." She remarked. Confidence emanating from her body as she spoke up again. "As I was saying: The Illusive Man himself commissioned her revival. Project Lazarus will take place with or without you. Whether you want to benefit from this too is up to you."

It all seemed unreal… it probably was unreal. But something about the way Miranda spoke, full of confidence and assurance. If it was a lie, then she probably had herself fooled… or she was telling the truth."

John had a choice, that he knew for certain. He could stay here, let them leave and inform the crew of what happened when they awoke from whatever these two had done to them. The Alliance would be on alert and Cerberus would likely have more trouble up their sleeve. Or he could go with them, believe their story and gain his life back with a few strings attached…

Both decisions had benefits, but his mind was screaming at him. 'Refuse, ignore, kill them'. These people were terrorists that promoted the same group that killed his squad on Akuze, he had no reason to give them anything…

But did he really have anything to lose by complying? What did he have to gain?

"Well?" Miranda broke his train of thought with her irritated non-question. "Have you reconsidered our offer?" She asked, turning her head a little to see the man standing next to her, looking at John.

Had he?

He had nothing to lose and everything to gain…

His sister would be with him again and he would, at the very least, die peacefully…

His mind set, he looked up and gave them a steely stare.

"Where's your shuttle?"

( – 0 – )

I hope this ain't too badly written. But let me know your thoughts eitherway.

Praise, criticism, like, dislikes Improvements and such.

See you next time,

-Viperhat