Chapter Text
The Illusive Man was patient.
To an extant.
Miranda had turned up short in reviving Commander Shepard. She was intact, her body restored to its former state, better than before. Shepard was perfect now. Shepard was also perfectly comatose. Nothing could wake her.
They watched the broiling star in front of them. It was a churning and pulsing creature of light. Miranda stood by, waiting in the dark. She was there to report the failure and possible solutions. Again. They both knew none of them would work.
“It’s been two years,” said The Illusive Man. “We’re running out of time, Ms. Lawson.”
“I know,” whispered Miranda.
“And I don’t mean us, I mean humanity,” he went on. He took a drag on his cigar and sighed, “We need her now. More than ever, and in whatever condition we can get.”
“I’m working as fast I can. She just needs-” begged Miranda as she stepped closer to him but he held up a hand. He leaned back in his chair with a thoughtful expression and tapped his cigar over the ash tray on the handle of his seat.
“You recall Shepard’s past on Earth,” said The Illusive Man. He waited. It was her turn to speak. Miranda didn’t like this game, but she supposed that was just a part of his nature.
“Orphan, raised on the streets, got involved with gangs, joined the military to get away from it,” she listed off quickly, hoping to get to the point.
“And what is it about Shepard that made me start the Lazarus Project,” he prodded. That was a sore spot for Miranda. It was her own shortcomings staring her in the face. She hated the lack of faith he had in her. As well as the lack of faith she had in herself.
“She’s one of a kind; ruthless, charismatic, and unapologetically human. She’s a force the Reapers can never anticipate,” said Miranda. “They’re scared of her.”
“But is she really one of a kind?” asked The Illusive Man. He brought up a hologram with Shepard’s dossier. A mugshot of her younger self sporting a busted nose and a black eye. Just below the dip in her collarbone was a small tattoo that she later had removed. A purple fleur-de-lis. An old symbol for the Catholic Church, which had been taken and reinvented by a most unhinged group of criminal outcasts.
“She had a mentor, Ms. Lawson. Someone back on Earth. Someone even more grossly human. Someone even more...”
He lingered on the word, smiling as he said it.
“Chaotic.”
“You’re not serious,” balked Miranda. “That maniac’s completely out of control, there’s no way she could get the mission done.”
“She would if she wants her crew back; loyal to a terrifying fault, that one. She’ll come around,” chuckled The Illusive Man. “I believe you have a prison break to plan, Ms. Lawson.”
Miranda, speechless, turned to leave.
“Oh, and Ms. Lawson,” he called. She stopped, waiting, as he took a long drag on his cigar. He breathed out a plume of smoke and said, “I believe she goes by the title, ‘Madam President’ these days.”