It had been nearly two weeks since the Empire had made itself known—two weeks of confusion, whispered dread, political paralysis, and far too little information. In that time, Shepard had survived another "friendly favor"—a mission that sounded more like a graveyard visit. But the reality? It was a descent into something uglier than anything she'd expected.
Not Reaper-ugly.
Human ugly.
The kind of horror that made you feel like you needed a decontamination shower for your soul.
It had shown her the worst humanity had to offer: a willingness to degrade their own species, just for that slight taste of power. Smiling, as they dragged their fellows in chains like animals.
It made her skin crawl.
She sat now on the edge of her bed aboard the Normandy, armor stripped to the waist, her black undersuit clinging to her body. She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling sharply through her nose.
"Note to self," she muttered, rubbing her forehead. "If I ever start justifying slavery because it's efficient, shoot me in the head. Twice."
The idea of falling so far... it gnawed at her, whispering quietly in the recesses of her thoughts. Was she on the same path? Working with Cerberus. Turning a blind eye to the cost. She didn't like the answers she wasn't saying out loud, but she couldn't deny that the alternative was much... much worse. "The lesser evil", she reminded herself.
She flicked open her omni-tool and immediately glanced at her inbox. Still no message from Liara. A tightness clutched her chest. The war on Illium had lit up newsfeeds nearly a week ago—wild rumors of prison releases, diplomatic missions, successful negotiations. But she hadn't been added to the prisoner or casualty list yet. No confirmations.
Just silence.
War had taught her the harsh truth—some names never appeared. Not on rosters. Not on tombstones. Some just… vanished. Shepard bit her lip.
She hoped her friend wouldn't be one of them.
She let the omni-tool flicker shut before hopping off the bed. She needed air. Well… station air. Close enough.
As she walked down the ramp toward the ship's exit, she activated her comms.
"EDI."
"Yes, Commander?" came the AI's smooth, ever-calm voice.
"I'm heading out. Need some time to walk, maybe check in on the others. Notify me if anything comes up."
"Acknowledged. Would you like an update on crew positions?"
"Please."
"Most of the strike team disembarked approximately forty-three minutes ago. Garrus, Grunt, Jack, and Zaeed are currently within the Afterlife club complex. Tali'Zorah vas Neema, Jacob Taylor, and Miranda Lawson are within the Normandy, on their respective stations. Doctor Solus has requested to not be disturbed, but he left a note on the terminal indicating a few suggestions regarding improvement of the onboard medical equipment."
Shepard sighed, despite herself. "That… sounds like Mordin. I'll have a look after visiting afterlife."
The outer airlock hissed open, and Omega's stench hit her like a slap. Heat, engine grease, too many bodies, and something faintly... coppery. Blood, maybe. Shepard exhaled slowly and pulled her jacket over her torso as she stepped out into the underbelly of the galaxy's most dangerous open market.
The world outside was chaos, as always. Red neon bathed rusting steel and crowds surged through the wide walkways, Omega's version of polite society brushing shoulders with mercs, smugglers, and at least three different species of pickpockets.
She let herself blend in. Unmarked armor. Heavy weaponry. Might as well be invisible in Omega.
'Maybe I'll grab a drink. Pretend for five minutes I'm not the galaxy's most radioactive problem.'
But just as she was nearing the entrance to the lower corridor that led to the club's interior complex, the floor lurched beneath her.
Hard.
A quake-like shudder cracked the ferrocrete beneath her feet. Shepard stumbled, one foot slipping out from under her as the corridor groaned. She caught herself on a nearby wall just as a secondary tremor hit—worse this time, violent enough to knock several people over entirely.
Screams broke out. Somewhere nearby, a fuel line ruptured and sparked, spraying steam and white plasma into the air. Metal creaked ominously above her. Shepard didn't wait. Her instincts snapped into place.
In one swift motion, her helmet deployed and sealed.
"EDI, talk to me—what the hell was that?"
A moment's delay. Then EDI's voice came back, sharp and distorted.
"Unidentified cruiser entered the Omega system. Attempted hails went unanswered. Seven seconds ago, it emitted an extreme energy discharge—magnitude eq—" static cut in, "— 10²² J. The blast was directed at Omega's orbital rotation axis. Immediate effects include—" static cut in, "—ionized particle saturation across the station midsection. Systems are—" another burst of static "—malfunctioning. Life support failing in the upper tiers."
Shepard's eyes widened. She pressed herself to the wall as civilians bolted past her in panic, some coughing already as emergency filters failed and smoke began to spread through side vents.
"Repeat, EDI—did you say life support's down?"
"Confirmed. Upper habitation decks are currently without functioning atmosphere regulation. Thirty-eight percent of the civilian population are housed there."
Shepard's mind raced.
"Any ID on the ship?"
"Negative. No registry, no IFF transponder. Visuals suggest Imperial hull design… but no known matching class within the current archives. Reminder- Current archives hold no data regarding Imperial war capability."
Well, that was just peachy. TIM would have to work a little harder in that section.
Shepard gritted her teeth, pushing off from the wall and activating her kinetic barriers.
"Alright, change of plans. Locate Garrus and the others. Have them rally in the lower promenade. I'm going in."
"Understood."
Her eyes narrowed behind her visor as she looked down the flickering corridor toward the midsection, where the lights were already dying out.
Boots pounded against the deck, Shepard weaving through panicking civilians and venting gas plumes. Omega was fast becoming a pressure cooker on the verge of detonation. Red emergency lighting bathed the corridor, flickering erratically as the station's midsection systems continued to collapse.
She tapped her comms.
"Joker," she barked, voice sharp with urgency. "Set a course—immediate retreat into Council-controlled space. Avoid anything remotely Imperial-flagged, confirmed or presumed. I don't want so much as a imperial shadow near us."
The response was quick and, despite the madness, dry as ever.
"Ay-ay, cap'n. Setting course for greener pastures. Preferably ones that don't come with genocidal empires and orbital bombardments."
She allowed herself a faint smirk—barely there—but didn't answer.
"EDI," she continued, tone shifting to command, "connect me to the whole team. Boost the signal however you need."
"I will attempt to cut through the interference. Communications compromised but not severed," EDI replied as static flared in her helmet.
One by one, the signal connected. Crackling voices began filtering in—Miranda's clipped tone, Garrus's cool professionalism, Tali's mechanical echo, and others in the din.
"Listen up," Shepard snapped over the line. "Miranda—you're on ship lockdown. I want that ship buttoned up tighter than a krogan funeral vault. If anyone so much as sneezes near it, you shut it down."
"Understood," Miranda replied crisply, though there was a flicker of tension beneath her usual calm. "I'll authorize full lockdown protocols. Jacob and Tali will assist."
"Good. EDI—try and keep the Normandy under the radar. Make us disappear from their scanners. Use everything you've got."
"Activating stealth profile, Veil Mask protocol in effect. I will mask our heat signature, warp emissions, and decouple drive identifiers. However, Commander, that will not prevent visual acquisition. The Empire's fleet will locate us given sufficient time."
"I know," Shepard muttered. "Do it anyway."
She clicked back to the team line. "Garrus—move your squad to my position. Double-time. I want us back on the ship before this turns into a full-blown funeral procession."
"Copy that," Garrus answered, voice steely. "We're en route. Just keep breathing until we get there."
Shepard took off again, sprinting down a partially caved-in hallway, steam and fire leaking from burst conduits. The floor trembled again—whether from Omega's failing stabilizers or the sheer weight of something breaking loose.
===============================
NORMANDY SR-2 — Command Deck
Joker's hands were a blur over the controls, the ship's sleek HUD casting blue light over his face as he rerouted power and plotted their escape vector.
"Come on, come on…" he muttered, rerouting a secondary power conduit around a fried panel. "Gonna need a miracle and a warp ghost to pull this off…"
Suddenly EDI's voice crackled across the bridge. "Alert: Multiple unknown contacts have entered the system. Total readings: approximately 1,000 ships. At least 50 are dreadnought-class. Remaining ships are in coordinated flotillas. Estimated combat capability: overwhelming."
Joker stared at the readout, mouth slightly open.
"Well, that's one way to ruin a guy's day," he mumbled. "Hey Shepard—uh, might wanna pick up the pace. This just went from simple bad to screwed without dinner bad."
Shepard's voice crackled in his earpiece, calm despite it all. "Copy —" static cut in, "—"
"I'm finishing the jump path now," he continued, working the nav panel. "Problem is, EDI's cloak might hide us from sensors, but if one of those snub-nosed Interceptors so much as squints, we're a big, sexy glowing target. I'm prepping for engine burn now."
"Interceptors have entered local space," EDI confirmed. "Trajectory suggests they are scanning for live signatures."
Joker's jaw clenched. "If they ping us, Commander, we're gonna have to either pull a runner before you're aboard—or abandon ship entirely and hope you don't mind hitching a ride home in a trash compactor. Not ideal."
OMEGA – Approaching Afterlife Junction
Shepard didn't answer right away.
She ducked behind a pillar as an explosion rocked the corridor. Fire licked the ceiling, casting dancing shadows along the wall. A few bodies lay still nearby—station security, civilians, maybe even mercs. Didn't matter.
This wasn't war. This was extermination.
She tapped her helmet.
"EDI," she said, breathing hard, "what's th—" static cut in, "— of the station?"
"Most of the Omega Defense Fleet has engaged the incoming force. Resistance is extensive but ineffective. Preliminary projections indicate station security will collapse within five minutes. Energy readings suggest the Imperial fleet's main weapons could destroy the station's core with a glancing hit."
Shepard's gut twisted.
EDI continued, clinical but urgent. "Once the defenses fall, projections indicate the Imperial fleet will move to encircle Omega entirely and disable the mass relay. Time to full occupation: ten minutes. Recommend expedited retreat to Normandy or consider surrender. The Empire has not destroyed the station immediately. It may be seeking targets of interest. You are likely to be a confirmed one."
Shepard slowed.
That idea had been sitting in the back of her mind since this began. Every Imperial broadcast, every intercepted message—they were watching. Waiting. She knew how militaries operated. And these bastards were smart. Surgical.
A surrender might just buy her a face-to-face with the brass of the Empire. With whoever was behind this.
Then—movement.
Ahead, figures broke through the smoke. Garrus, Grunt, Jack, Zaeed—rushing toward her from the opposite end of the collapsing corridor, their armor glinting under the emergency lights.
"Hold —" static cut in, "— tion!" Shepard ordered Joker as she met up with the rest of the team.
They skidded to a stop, ducking behind debris.
She stared ahead, mind racing.
The Normandy could get away—maybe. But if they left now, there'd be no coming back. No intel. No opening. No conversation. But if she surrendered—if she let herself be captured—she might finally get to cut through tons of red tape in moments.
A meeting. A possible ally, quite possibly on par with the reapers in their upcoming war against them.
She raised her hand again to signal the team. The helmet muffled her voice, but the words still rang with force.
"Go, double time it to the ship."
She made sure to consider it as a solid backup plan... one that didn't need much of a preparation.
A.N: Originally it was supposed to be longer... but I'm kind of struggling which POV to choose and didn't just want to keep you guys with nothing.