Shepard X Part 2

 The Architect's Fear

Admiral Svetlana Shepard was feeling remarkably pleased. She sat in her sleek, secure office high within Arcturus Station, reviewing the next phase of the Project Phoenix resource allocation. The project was running smoothly, and the asset—the Commander—was conveniently classified as KIA, allowing them to proceed with the core research uninterrupted. The Illusive Man's insistence on such a high-profile subject had been risky, but the data harvested from her unique stress tests was unparalleled.

I always told my sister she was extraordinary. Now I’ve simply codified it, Svetlana thought, a faint, proprietary smirk touching her lips.

The thought was instantly obliterated.

The reinforced door—a proprietary Alliance design—didn't just open; it vaporized with a thunderous crack. Before Svetlana could even process the security breach, a black and red blur launched across the expensive imported carpet.

The impact was catastrophic. It wasn't a tackle; it was being hit by a kinetic barrier at full force. Svetlana’s breath was punched from her lungs as she was slammed back against the wall, the back of her head hitting the solid synth-steel with jarring force.

A low, vibrating roar filled the air, not human, but mechanical and feral.

Svetlana’s sophisticated military mind struggled to register the threat. It was Susan. But this wasn't her sister. It was something heavier, faster, and utterly unrecognizable. She looked up, and her professional detachment dissolved into pure, raw terror.

Three flawless, silver claws—the very extensions she had designed—were vibrating inches from her face. They were poised to drive through her prefrontal cortex. The rage emanating from the figure pinning her was physical, hot, and utterly focused.

A second figure—Ashley Williams, her hair tightly pulled back, pistol drawn—stood by the ruined desk, coordinating a hasty security protocol bypass.

The claws retracted slightly, the movement a hesitant flicker of humanity that Svetlana recognized as Susan’s control, not the asset’s failure. She needed to exploit that flicker.

Susan hauled her up, slamming her against the cool glass of the desk. The pain flared, but Svetlana forced her lips into a condescending smirk.

"Why?" Susan asked, the word a ragged, strained whisper.

Svetlana managed a dismissive, breathy laugh. "Susan, darling. What on Earth are you talking about? You burst into the administrative offices of Special Forces Command and assault a flag officer? I think the question is, why are you assaulting your commanding officer?"

"The implants. The adamantium. The rage," Susan ground out, her eyes blazing with unshed tears and rage. "Why did you let them do it?"

"Implants? Dear, I think you've been listening to too many conspiracy theories," Svetlana taunted, hoping to trigger the soldier reflex, the trained obedience. "I suggest you calm down, secure your sidearm, and submit to an immediate neurological evaluation. You're unstable."

The tactic failed spectacularly. The sight of her arrogant, dismissive face was the final catalyst.

Susan didn't scream this time. She didn't roar. Her eyes simply went dead cold, and the primal, terrible red rage surged. It was silent, contained, and utterly devastating.

Before Svetlana could blink, Susan's left hand grabbed her shoulder, and the sheer, impossible density of the adamantium-coated skeleton transferred into a single, devastating twist of pure force.

A sharp, wet CRACK echoed through the office. Svetlana's breath hitched, replaced by a searing, blinding white-hot agony that ripped down her arm. Her shoulder—her entire clavicle—was instantly shattered. She slumped forward, stifling a scream through clenched teeth.

"You arrogant little bitch! You think this is a joke?!"

Ashley was instantly at Susan’s side, gripping her partner's arm, her voice low and ferocious, aimed directly at Svetlana.

"You need to shut up, Admiral," Ashley hissed, her face inches from Svetlana's, utterly terrifying in its protective fury. "You should know exactly what you and your Cerberus scientists did to Commander Shepard. She runs on pure, weaponized pain right now. You might want to think about who is standing over you." Ashley nodded toward Susan, whose control was trembling violently on the brink.

The pain from the fracture was staggering, but Ashley's words—coupled with the sheer physical devastation of Susan's strike—finally cut through Svetlana’s arrogance. This wasn't a rogue Alliance soldier; this was a successful, lethal experimental subject. And she was facing the wrong way to survive.

Svetlana swallowed the agony, lifting her chin to look directly at Susan, the taunting gone, replaced by tactical realization.

"Get me off this station," Svetlana managed, the words tight and sharp despite the pain. "Get me to the Normandy. And I will tell you everything."

The Hunter on Arcturus

Shepard didn't wait for a response from Svetlana. She yanked the Admiral, whose face was pale with shock and pain, to her feet.

"Ashley, you take the Admiral," Shepard commanded, her voice low and efficient. "Get her moving, now. Straight to the bay. No detours."

Ashley immediately switched her pistol to a non-lethal grip and placed a firm, guiding hand on Svetlana’s good arm, keeping her close. The sight of her partner holding the woman who authorized her torture was a grim testament to Ashley's professionalism.

Shepard took point, moving out of the shattered office and back into the quiet executive corridor. They moved with urgency, but Ashley’s disciplined pace, supporting the injured Admiral, forced a slower rhythm. They drew the occasional startled stare from passing personnel—an Alliance Admiral being escorted, clearly injured, by two N7 officers—but Shepard’s commanding presence and the activated disruptor units kept any immediate security alarm from being raised.

They made good progress, descending through the central access points, with Kaidan quietly confirming clear routes and short-circuiting local cameras. But as they approached the bustling loading zone of the shuttle bay, Shepard’s enhanced senses screamed a warning.

She stopped abruptly, raising a hand to halt Ashley and Svetlana behind her.

"What is it, Susan?" Ashley asked, her teeth clenched as she fought to keep Svetlana moving.

Shepard didn't turn around. She listened, her head tilted almost imperceptibly. She heard ten distinct heartbeats, heavy and regulated by combat stims, approaching from a maintenance plenum two decks down. They were moving too fast for a standard patrol, converging directly on their position.

"We are being tracked," Shepard stated, her voice tight. "They tagged us with a silent beacon, likely when we bypassed the main security hub. Get Svetlana to the shuttle. Now."

Ashley's eyes hardened. "I'm not leaving you, Susan."

Shepard finally turned, but she was already moving away. Her stance was fluid, her spine perfectly straight, and the subtle flex of the liquid crystal armour seemed to make her movements impossibly smooth. The Commander was gone; the predator remained.

"You won't make it off the station if I don't deal with this," Shepard stated simply, already heading for a side maintenance hatch.

Svetlana watched her go, a flicker of awe—the cold appreciation of a scientist observing a perfectly functioning experiment—crossing her pain-ravaged face. "She's hunting," she whispered, an unintended compliment.

Ashley looked at the Admiral with pure, concentrated disgust and shoved her onward toward the landing bay. "Then you better pray she's fast enough."

Shepard silently slipped through the maintenance hatch and into a short, dark corridor. The rhythmic thump-thump of heavy combat boots grew louder, closer. She exited into a massive, cavernous Cargo Bay—a dark, multi-level storage area filled with towering stacks of containers.

Shepard paused, assessing the arena. The low emergency lighting cast long, confusing shadows. She smiled gently—the terrifying, feral smile of a hunter in her element.

She leaped. The tremendous, reinforced strength of her legs propelled her upward like a rocket. She landed silently atop a stack of containers nearly twenty feet high, crouching low. As she waited, the cold, calculating focus of her control settled perfectly into place. Her silver claws slowly extended, catching the faint ambient light.

Moments later, the ten-man Alliance Special Forces squad, clad in heavy grey armour entered the bay. They moved with slow, disciplined caution, weapons raised, sweeping the shadows.

Shepard took a deep, centering breath.

She leaped from the stack. The distance was easily cleared, and she landed squarely in the centre of the bewildered squad. The momentum, combined with her mass, was devastating. The red rage flared, but this time, Shepard held the reins. It wasn't uncontrolled; it was a tool.

The first strike was silent and terrifying. Her right claw exploded through the helmet of the squad commander. There was a sickening crunch and a burst of oxygen, instantly silenced.

The rage bled away, replaced by the clinical efficiency of the predator. Her claws flashed in the low light—a blur of silver. She moved constantly, avoiding the incoming laser fire, weaving between panicked soldiers. She struck at weak points: visors, neck seals, and articulation points. She gutted one trooper, kicked another into a stack of containers, and used the momentum to drive a claw into the chest of a third. The adamantium spikes were surgical, unstoppable tools of destruction.

It was over in seconds. The nine remaining troopers collapsed or stumbled, destroyed by the relentless, hyper-fast violence.

Shepard slowly retracted her claws. The engineered rage had done its work and receded, leaving her energized but focused. She walked slowly out of the bay, bypassing the carnage.

Shepard paused only when she reached the entrance to the docking bay. It was then, in the brighter light, that she noticed the two small, cauterized holes in her Alliance duty uniform—one in the sleeve, one just above her hip. She had been shot twice, and hadn't felt a thing.

Shaking her head at the sheer impossibility of her body, she broke into a fast jog toward the waiting Kodiak.

The Commander’s Roar

Ashley shoved the injured Admiral Svetlana Shepard forward, her pistol trained on the Admiral’s lower back. The proximity to the bustling landing bay was a relief, but the noise level was deafening—a mixture of cargo handling equipment, engine noise, and the constant announcements of the Arrivals Tower.

Ashley reached the access ramp of the sleek, black Kodiak shuttle just as Kaidan Alenko burst out of a maintenance plenum on the far side of the bay, sprinting toward them.

"Go! Go!" Ashley shouted, pushing Svetlana hard into the shuttle’s depressurized cabin.

As Svetlana stumbled inside, the Docking Bay Supervisor, a stern-faced Lieutenant who had clearly just received an alert, slammed his hand onto a nearby terminal. A siren blared, not the general alarm, but a focused, piercing internal security alert.

"Alliance Special Forces! Halt and surrender the prisoner!" the Supervisor shouted.

Immediately, two heavy fire teams—eight men in total—poured out of the barracks door fifty meters away, weapons raised.

Kaidan arrived at the ramp just as the first energy bolts flashed past. "Incoming!"

"Fire, fire!" Ashley roared, dropping into a defensive crouch and unleashing suppressive fire from her pistol. The bolts impacted the bay floor, sending sparks flying.

Kaidan dug his heels in, his eyes glowing with biotic energy. He slammed his hands together, generating a powerful biotic barrier that shimmered into existence just outside the Kodiak’s ramp, absorbing the incoming fire. But the barrier was already straining against the concentrated assault.

"We are too exposed!" Kaidan grunted, straining against the biotic strain. "They'll flank us!"

The fire teams, disciplined and efficient, began spreading out, their suppressing fire forcing Ashley to duck behind the shuttle’s landing gear. They were being pinned down, and the Kodiak was about to be breached.

Suddenly, a sound unlike any other ripped through the chaos—louder than the sirens, louder than the automatic weapons fire.

It was a metallic, guttural roar, laced with impossible volume and pure, focused aggression.

High above the bay floor, a large, reinforced window on the upper administrative level exploded outward. The thick composite glass shattered like fine powder.

Commander Shepard launched herself from the broken aperture. She was an absolute blur, a figure of impossible speed and density flying through the air, her clothes billowing. Her claws deployed mid-air, a flash of silver against the black.

Shepard didn't land; she impacted the floor right into the centre of the nearest fire team.

The sound of the landing was a dull, heavy THUD that shook the entire landing bay floor, followed instantly by screams.

The rage was burning, but it was contained. She moved with devastating, controlled ferocity. The four soldiers in the immediate vicinity were dispatched in two seconds, their high-tech armour useless against the pure cutting force of the adamantium.

Shepard whirled toward the remaining team, using the cover of a massive cargo container. She was a silent, lethal engine. The claws flashed, slashing through the air, destroying weapons, and carving into body armour.

Kaidan, seeing his Commander’s distraction, lowered his barrier just long enough to hurl a massive biotic Warp at the advancing security team. The biotic wave hit the cluster of troopers, sending them reeling.

"Ashley, cover fire!" Kaidan yelled, throwing up a much smaller, focused barrier to shield her.

Ashley immediately seized the opportunity, laying down controlled bursts of fire while keeping her eye on Svetlana, who was now huddled in the back of the shuttle, watching the carnage with a mixture of horror and cold scientific interest.

Shepard used the distraction. She closed the distance on the final two soldiers. Her right claw smashed through the optical visor of one, and her left ripped the assault rifle from the hands of the other before crushing the weapon entirely. The soldier stared at his empty hands in disbelief before Shepard delivered a heavy, bone-shattering kick that sent him flying backward into a fuel drum. The bay was silent again, save for the sirens and the moans of the incapacitated security personnel.

Shepard stood in the centre of the carnage, her breathing deep and even, the silver claws slowly retracting. The red rage had dissipated, satisfied by the overwhelming violence.

"Kodiak, we are clear for departure!" Shepard shouted, turning and running full-tilt toward the waiting shuttle.

She dove into the cabin, landing beside Ashley and Kaidan.

"Go! Go!" Ashley screamed to Cortez.

"Hang on!" Cortez replied, immediately slamming the throttle.

The Kodiak shot vertically out of the bay at impossible speed, leaving the wreckage and the stunned station behind. As the shuttle rocketed toward the Normandy's location, Shepard stood up, leaning against the bulkheads.

Only now, in the relative quiet, did she notice the three new holes in her uniform—one on her thigh, two on her chest plate—bullet impacts that her armour had absorbed without her ever feeling the shock.

She looked across the narrow cabin at her sister, Svetlana, who was clutching her shattered shoulder, staring back at the terrifying, unstoppable woman she had created. The look in Svetlana’s eyes was no longer contempt; it was fear.