"Today, Westerlund News brings you an exclusive interview. Just a few hours ago, the Systems Alliance unveiled a report from the Theshaca raids, which included the names of several survivors from the batarian slave trade. We were fortunate enough to be able to talk to one, who, after eleven years of slavery, has finally regained her freedom." The reporter, Al-Jilani, turned from the camera to look at Ida, who offered up a faint smile in return. "Ida Ivanovna. Thank you for being here with us today."

"You are making a bold move, with unpredictable results," Anderson commented, arms folded over his chest as he stroked thumb against forefinger, as they stood slightly removed from the stage, withdrawn into the shadows.

"It is one I will have to make; there are questions that need answers," Nihlus replied, focused on the two human women talking in the poorly faked intimate setting, with one camera shifting light between Ida and the interviewer. He couldn't help but wince at how the reporter had gotten the background all wrong, but Ida was clever enough to elegantly correct the reporter without coming off as the abrasive person she usually was when provoked.

"You are sacrificing her for it. Is she even aware of the full extent of this? Her parents were involved in black ops, that alone adds a troublesome dimension to the Tempus accident."

"We all suffer for what our parents did."

"Is it right, though?"

"History does not see it as such. History occurs, that is it. The repercussions will echo, perhaps, and we will have to shoulder them. We accept the consequences."

It was a delicate balance he had engaged in. Not only in regards to the tangled relationship he had with Ida, but also in trying to protect her while luring out her past.

The thought had sprung into his mind shortly after seeing how vulnerable she truly was. He had realized then that, no matter where he brought her and precautions he took, she would keep on being hunted; both in the physical and psychological sense. To bring the whole ordeal to its final conclusion, he had seen no other way but to shed such bright lights on her. It would attract attention extremely quickly; Arcturus being the important gateway it was, there would surely be some there who would jump at the chance of capturing Ida.

The idea had struck early on in his bargaining with the Alliance for her identity; just the previous day, he had managed to convince her to shoulder her old name, her old history, and go public with it. He had merely told her it would provoke those behind her eleven years of imprisonment, and would give them the opportunity to come closer. He had not revealed the full extent of his idea to her, only to captain Anderson, to ensure the Alliance's co-operation in the matter. The Alliance, eager to do such a relatively menial task in exchange for the prospect of a human Spectre, had followed along with his manipulations.

He watched as his weakness was exposed fully, feeling just as uncomfortable as she felt, sitting stiffly in the spotlight.

"On New Year's Eve of 2168, your life was changed forever. Tell us, in your own words, what happened."

Ida kept her teeth gritted during the interview, and he could see she was trying her best not to tear her own hair out over the questions the inquisitive reporter asked. She had told Nihlus she hoped she would get away with a short, ten-fifteen minute segment, but the woman from Westerlund news had insisted that it had to be an hour, at the least. The woman maintained a deeply serious expression of compassion and understanding while she had cruelly prodded and poked Ida's past, without any thought for Ida's own sense of privacy. After half an hour, Ida was sneaking glances at her wristwatch, but did little else to squirm away from the reporter.

Nihlus found it disgraceful to watch such a blunt force bludgeon into the hard-walled history of Ida's, especially when the questions began to stray towards Did you ever feel lonely? and How did you cope with it?, as they left Ida stuttering and fumbling with the words, a blush creeping up her face. He had prepared her for difficult questions to be asked, but all the wrong ones: this had not been in his calculations at all. Nihlus had figured that even an inquisitive reporter would know where to draw the line.

"Do you know who did this to you?" Al-Jilani asked, leaning forward in her seat.

"No, not really. Everything was highly anonymous." Ida twisted, almost imperceptibly, in the chair, crossing her legs to still a slight twitch in the left one.

"If they were ever found, would you want them to answer for their crimes?"

"I... I don't know. It's not even a thought that has crossed my mind. I doubt it's an organisation that can be brought down so easily, and especially not one brought to justice like that."

"So you don't want justice?"

"It's not that easy. I don't see how justice could be served in a right proportion to them, either. What they did seems to be beyond legal penalties. Can we comprehend that? Looking at what we did to Pol Pot, I doubt it. There's no way I can get an adequate revenge for those years, and I'd rather not spend my time thinking of revenge. Not anymore. I have to find a new life, don't I?" Ida tried to smile confidently, but under the bright camera lights, she merely felt a twitch in the corners of her mouth. If Ida was to fight, or just spar verbally, she wanted to come out on top: Nihlus knew as much. This Al-Jilani woman was not playing fair.

"You seem to have some resentment towards humanity."

"What an implication," Ida said, smiling. The verbal fight was going to get dirtier.

"She sounds like you," Anderson commented. "Critical of the Alliance."

"You believe this opinion has been passed on to me from Saren," Nihlus said, finally breaching the topic both of the males had been avoiding.

"As you're being so bold, then yes, I do. I still don't trust you, nor your intentions."

"A wise decision in trust, captain. Still, I am inclined to point out that Saren and I have had some minor disagreements on humanity's future role in Citadel space."

"Are all Spectres so invested in politics?"

"It's necessary."

Perhaps he should have prepared her more. But too much knowledge could work to her disadvantage; she was a bit too honest for her own good. He did not know what waited for her either way, so what could he have said?

He would have to approach her when the interview concluded, he decided. There may never be a chance for him to explain the reasoning behind his actions, but at least he could give her a little something as a parting gift, however meaningless.

"To end on a lighter note, what plans do you have for your future? Any expectations?"

"I don't think about tomorrow much. I'm still trying to make it through each day as it comes."

"Surely there must be something you dream of? Some place you would like to go, some career you might want to pursue..."

Ida took her time, mulling the question over, before she resumed the uncertain smile she had forced forth on her face during the entire interview. "The Citadel. I would... Want to live there, very much." She threw a glance into the shadows where he stood, no doubt only seeing his white facial markings. "I hope I can have a future there. A bartender gig, perhaps, or anything, just to keep busy. Build a completely new life."

"Thank you for sharing this, especially during what must be a difficult time for you," Al-Jilani said, voice dripping of empathy. Ida bowed her head, and then the cameras shut off. Al-Jilani immediately began chatting to a technician about the extranet live broadcast, inquiring into the numbers of viewers.

The interviewee quietly slipped away from the centre stage, and Nihlus, seizing the opportunity, gently tugged her into the secluded shadows, away from prying eyes.

"I promised Kaidan to go for a cup of coffee," she murmured as he brushed his nose lightly against her forehead, uncertain of what he could do to convey his... Apology? The loss of appropriate terms frustrated him. She heard his low growl and, most likely misinterpreting it, grabbed onto his collar to tug him down for a kiss. She wasn't masochistic enough to try and stick her tongue in his mouth again, but it only made him want to taste her even more. Gripping onto her jaw, he forced her mouth open, his tongue flicking out to touch her soft lips. The moan her elicited from her pleased him, yet he held on to her tightly, unwilling to let her leave.

She broke the contact first. "You're different," she said in a husky voice. "I quite like it. But I do have to go. See you later?"

"Hopefully," he replied. As she was about to leave, he let one talon linger on her belly, rasping against her shirt. The pressure was carefully calculated to break through fabric and skin, and when he withdrew his hand and saw the blood taint on it, he sighed. The only thing he could do now was to wait.

The television screens in the elevators of the Arcturus showed glimpses of her interview, and Ida crossed her arms and leaned into the corner as the elevator lurched upwards. Some people would glance at the screen, then at her, the pity evident in their eyes. Kaidan found it slightly amusing to see how she simply shrugged them off, continuing their casual chat as if the fact that she was all over the news meant nothing to her. It was a good defense mechanism, perhaps. It wasn't his place to speculate on any possible inner turmoil she was experiencing; at any rate, she preferred to discuss more light-hearted topics with him.

They had transferred from their third elevator to their fourth, the inefficient floor planning causing them to undergo such a long trip. While it grated on Kaidan's nerves, Ida seemed to take pleasure in the extra time during which she could discuss Blaise Pascal that he had recommended her: a bit tongue in cheek on his behalf, perhaps. However, it was nice to see that she was enjoying it, even understanding the subtle jokes in the texts like he had.

"I mean, I did lose interest a bit when he started his attack on the Jesuits," Ida said as they stepped into the final elevator. "But I suppose a lot of religious texts and criticism of such texts have gotten to feel a bit obsolete at this time. Still, he has a lot of valid points and quotes that ring true with their condensed ideals..."

"Excuse me," a man interrupted, as he leaned in towards Ida. "You're bleeding," he said, looking down at her belly. Ida touched her abdomen and, bringing it up in front of her face, muttered a low curse. Kaidan couldn't believe had missed it, but her dark shirt only looked like she had spilled some liquid on her, not injured herself. "Will you be okay?" the man asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

"Yes, I will be," Ida replied, smiling gently at him, then checking how many floors were left with a quick glance to the elevator monitors. The man followed her gaze, then upon seeing her interview on the TV screen quickly went back to looking her over again.

"You are her," he said, incredulous. "Wow."

"Wow, huh?" Ida said, and it didn't escape Kaidan's notice to see her biting her lip to hold back a snappy remark.

"What a thing to survive... Hey, could I have your autograph?" Kaidan had to shake his head at the misguided idiot, but was surprised to see Ida give it to him, although she was clearly about to bite her lower lip right off.

"Thanks," the man said, admiring the handwriting of Ida's. "My wife will be so impressed! I'm Conrad Verner, by the way. Ah, this is where I get off... But if you ever swing by Earth, let me take you out for a drink!"

When the elevator doors closed behind him, Ida banged her forehead against the hard wall, then grimaced. "Where do they come from?" she asked, glancing at Kaidan as she rubbed her sore skull. "I mean... He asked for my autograph. Then told me he had a wife. And that he wanted to take me out for a drink." At this, she cracked up, and began snickering slightly, then fell into a fit of giggles. "How does a man like that function? How does he even dress himself, knowing he'll wet his pants as soon as he sees someone semi-famous?"

"What an unpleasant idea," Kaidan said, chuckling. Ida laughed, then immediately winced in pain. "Maybe we should get that wound checked up for you," he offered.

"And postpone a good cup of coffee? It'll heal, become a scar, it'll be fine." As she reached to touch it again, she hissed. "Still, a medical professional might give some immediate relief."

Getting off a floor below the one they had originally set out for, they weaved through the corridors until they came to the small med bay where doctor Chakwas was usually found. She greeted them with a shake of the head as she saw them.

"You are my most frequent visitors, you two," she said, opening up her computer console with medical records. "So, which one of you has been a fool today?"

"Me," Ida said, pulling up her shirt high enough to reveal the wound. The gash went quite deep, yet the blood only trickled slowly from it. "Kaidan insisted you take a look on it."

"Indeed," Chakwas muttered, putting on some sterile gloves as Ida stood before her, scrutinizing her injury. "Seems your blood clotting enhancements are working fine, but let me see if there are any possible contaminants that could lead to an infection." Chakwas began cleaning the wound with a small amount of alcohol, and Kaidan pitied Ida: he knew how much it stung, especially on a larger area. He had his fair share of scars, after all: he was a soldier.

"There we go," Chakwas announced, putting down the bottle. Barely had it touched the surface before the com link on her table whirred.

"Doctor Chakwas, could I see you in my office, immediately?" The voice of captain Anderson was easily recognizable. Chakwas furrowed her brow.

"I'm busy with miss Ivanovna and lieutenant Alenko," she said.

"Bring Alenko with you," Anderson said firmly. "I just need a minute of your time."

"Very well," Chakwas said, pulling off her gloves and discarding of them into a waste bin. "I dislike having a non-professional doing my job, but I'm certain you can apply medi-gel yourself by now, Ivanovna? The dispenser is in the corner. I'll come back to inspect that you did it properly."

Kaidan, finding the whole thing extremely odd, followed with Chakwas anyway: he knew better than to question his superiors. Hell, he knew better than to question the majority of sound, reasonable people. Chakwas clenched her jaw as they walked through the corridor, up two sets of stairs into the military office wing and into Anderson's office. Inside, the captain was waiting with Nihlus.

"What is this about?" Kaidan asked suspiciously. Nihlus raised a finger to silence him, then nodded towards a video screen he was looking intently at.

"They certainly don't waste much time," Anderson said.

"Indeed," Nihlus replied.

Kaidan's curiosity was piqued, and he looked at the screen.

Three people were in the med bay, leaned over Ida that lay on the floor, twitching in spasms. He could see that she was in great pain: the camera zoomed in on Ida's face as her mouth hung wide open in a scream silenced by the recording equipment. One of the dark-clad hostiles stuffed something into Ida's mouth before another gave an injection into her arm; within a few moments she had stopped thrashing and her eyes glazed over, then fluttered close.

"You've got to stop them!" Kaidan said, making a move towards the door.

"Stop, Kaidan," Nihlus said. "I have to let them do this."

"This is hardly how a medical unit is supposed to be used," Chakwas commented darkly. "Healing, not... Who knows what those people want from her."

"Who knows indeed." Nihlus, so calm and cool, angered Kaidan.

"You're just going to let them do that? What could you possibly gain?"

"Answers, solutions, conclusions. We are tracking them, hoping they will reveal the greater organization behind this all." It clicked in Kaidan's head then.

"So the interview... Revealing Ida... It was all to draw them out. Nothing of it was for her sake, you just used her as mere bait." Nihlus chose to keep his silence, infuriating Kaidan even further. "So you threw her out to the carnivores? She asked for your protection, not your cold ruthlessness."

"She knows me."

"I doubt she does anymore."

A young technician stormed into the room at that point, but seeing the gathering of people he faltered.

"There a reason you come barging into my office?" Anderson asked.

"Sir, sorry sir, but we are receiving a message," the technician said, his eyes nervously darting between the Spectre and the captain. "It's... It doesn't make sense. It's from the station itself, the VI, but it's directed at the Spectre agent. Here, I'll play it for you." He activated his omni-tool: a synthesized voice, mirth still clearly tangible in it, began talking.

"A cordial invitation to the great Spectre agent Nihlus Kryik: please come join the festivities on Noveria in a week's time. Note that it's a bring-your-own-gun party, and do not forget that a good environmental suit from Devlon Industries will make anyone look lethally sharp."

"A trap," Anderson muttered. "But an honest one. According to the manifest of the shuttle they are using, in the past five years it has only been used for travel between the Arcturus and Noveria."

"Then trap or no, I will go there when it's time."

"That's it?" Kaidan asked Nihlus. "You're going to just wait?"

"I will wait the requested seven days."

"They could torture her in that time, or kill her! If not that, they could change her irrevocably from the person she is today!"

"I am very well aware of the risks, lieutenant," Nihlus said, his calm suddenly gone. "Do not remind me. You would do well to leave me alone now."

A dream. Ida's body is restrained, and she hears murmurs above her head. The words graze her understanding, but do not go any further.

Many images flicker by her in rapid succession. Lights flicker, drag out into endlessness, moving like small worms across her retina. She grasps at one, and manages to pull it closer, opening it up and climbing inside it.

She sees Nihlus, his vividly green eyes locking with hers as she is straddling him, his talons digging into her shoulder blades; she is moving her hips, there is sweat and rapid movements and shallow breathing and such pleasure pooling; but just as she is about to scream out in pained pleasure he isn't under her: Kaidan is. A mass effect field swirls around them, and he tries to reach his hands up to her, but she pins him down, hands pressing down at his shoulders. He smiles up at her, then closes his eyes, enjoying her frenzied touch.

Just as she is about to climax, she closes her hands around his throat, pressing down harshly. She leans her head back, smiling into the ceiling, eyes closed, as the pleasure ripples through her body. His hands are clawing at her, trying to make her let go, but she only presses down harder, until when the final wave has passed, she eases her grip. He doesn't react.

Opening her eyes, she looks down at the body beneath her. The long, red hair has curled itself around Ida's wrists, chaining her to the corpse of Maeve. Ida leans close to inspect her sister, but on closer examination, it is Belle, face still wet with tears, exhaling her last whimper.

She feels something warm spread through her body, pulling her away from Belle. More words without meaning, the sharp sting of metal against flesh.

Grasping at the dream, she finds herself in front of the full-size mirror in the bathroom of the medical unit. She pulls her top up to reveal her stomach, where the recent injury still shines brightly red against her skin. Other scars criss-cross her body; there are old and new puncture marks at her hipbones, partially concealed by her pants. A long scar begins at her navel and travels around to end at the base of her spine, and running her fingers along it, she feels more recent scar tissue, gingerly touching them as well, memorizing herself.

She looks up into the mirror, and in the reflection, sees a woman she does not recognize. Then, there is pain, immense pain, that splits her apart, tears skin from flesh and flesh from bones, shatters her bones, puts out all seeing through blinding her with light. She tries to reach out, tries to struggle through the pain, fight against it, but something soft is stuffed into her mouth instead as she convulses. The light recedes, darkness returns.

A voice calls to her, beckoning her out of her labyrinth: it's time to awaken...

Ida woke up to the sensation of ice cold water trickling down her body. She pried her eyes open, looking around her. The grey walls, the grey people, the familiarity was striking. Blinking against the light, she tried to sort person from wall, but found it nigh impossible as it all blended into a dull mass in front of her eyes.

She held onto the metal chair as they showered her down, groggy limbs unwilling to comply. Her head swirled, and she had to steady herself so the nausea and bile rising rapidly in her throat would abate.

"We're glad you pulled through, Omega." A voice floated in the distance.

"What..." Ida leaned forward when she felt the sudden rush of nausea, dry-retching between her knees. When she stopped, the cold water hit her again, and a gloved hand raised her back into a sitting position.

"You were contaminated by project Sigma. Your immune system was not prepared for it, and you've been out of it for almost two months now. You were hanging on a thread there for a while."

"But..." They must be trying to trick her. She had to cling to the reality. Reject theirs, substitute it with her own...

"I imagine you must be confused. You've been delirious for a long time. Your mind will hopefully clear soon, but this is a transitory phase as you enter the final stage of recovery, and it may be difficult." She couldn't quite decide which was more real; fucking a turian Spectre or the grey facility's grey days of utter greyness. At that moment, both made her head ache.

The memory of the dreams she had had resurfaced, bringing with them another wave of nausea. She leaned forward again, supporting her head in her trembling hands.

"It was so real..." Her whisper provoked a chuckle.

"Your dreams? I would suspect as much. It'll grow better, and clarity will return."

"It wasn't a dream..." She flexed her hands in front of her, scrutinizing them. There was nothing wrong with them. The palms were calloused, the fingers a bit crooked, the nails cut short. She thought she could make out a faint scar among the palm lines of the right hand, but as she was fingering it, the man smiled.

"You stabbed yourself in your hand with a cutlery knife during your hallucinations," he said. "The fever ran quite high for a while."

She felt like raging against him; it had been Nihlus that had shot her, there was no other cause behind her injury. That the man even dared to attempt to erase him from her infuriated her. "I didn't dream all of that!" she screamed. "It was there, the scar, it was because of a gunshot wound! He was..."

"Who?"

"Nihlus!"

"The great turian Spectre? Hmm. You must have heard someone talking about his great adventures. We've loosened restrictions on the newsflow, by the way. You may enjoy the filtered news every morning at breakfast, if you so please."

Plastic gloves continued to scrub at her skin until it was red and sore, at which point they helped her up and brought her out of the shower room and into the dressing room, where they helped her into her underwear and then let her sit down on the metal bench.

She bit into her tongue until she drew blood, making certain she was alive. She spat the blood-tainted saliva onto the floor to the disgust of the doctor that joined her. "Really, Omega, some manners, please?" doctor Ross said, glancing over the younger woman briefly.

"You! You were at Feros!" Ida said, accusingly, trying to control her slightly slurred speech.

"Feros? Dreaming of Prothean ruins? My, are we out of it today." Ross, clearly amused, made a note about it on her datapad, then motioned at a low table. "Get dressed now. We have some routine medicine check-ups to do first. I doubt you're fit for much else today if your head doesn't clear up."

Ida dressed herself in the garments laid out for her: a loose-fitting kimono-esque top that she wrapped around and tied tightly at her side, and a pair of wide pants with large pockets that she shoved her hands into, balling her hands into fists as the other woman kept making notes and talking over her head.

Nihlus had saved her, hadn't he? So why was she there again? He had been real. He was real, she reminded herself sternly, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. The present was a sick joke her mind was playing on her, a mere nightmare. It couldn't all have been a dream. Because if it had, then she wasn't certain that her entire life was a huge dream, an ellipse that meant nothing.

She reached out for the small table in front of her, and hurled it across the room. She hit Ross, wrecked the computer terminals in the room, and screamed at the top of her lungs as tears began welling up in her eyes.