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The doors to Officer Amelie LaCroix’s private cabin opened automatically with a soft whoosh as Gabriel Reyes approached them. He immediately noticed the window to the stars and elegant décor. His benefactor hadn’t spared any expense. The officer in front of him couldn’t be more disinterested in the view, however. She was typing rapidly on a holographic keyboard, likely reporting their investigation on Freedom’s Progress. She glanced up at Gabriel only once.
“Commander Reyes. What can I do for you?” LaCroix said, typing uninterrupted.
“I’m exploring the ship, and part of that means getting to know my crew.”
“The sordid details of my life are of no consequence to our mission.”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes. “With all due respect, Officer LaCroix, I think it is.” He crossed the threshold into her cabin, reaching out for one of the obscenely expensive-looking chairs. Gabriel pulled it towards him and sat down comfortably. When he did, LaCroix stopped working and crossed her arms. He could see the side of her pursed lips twitch with irritation. Good. He leaned forward, fingers laced together in his lap. “It’s simple. If I can’t build some repertoire with you, you can kiss trips groundside goodbye. That’s how I run my ship.”
“I do not need to fight beside you to report your progress to my employer.”
Gabriel shrugged, “Sure. But wouldn’t Doomfist be happier if he got that information first hand?” He pointed to her unfinished report for emphasis. “Keep track of his investment. I’m worth what, three billion credits?”
“Four,” LaCroix sighed, “O’Deorain’s insane project cost Talon four billion credits.”
Gabriel whistled. “I’m one expensive dead man.”
“What you are, Commander Reyes… she uncrossed her arms and ran a hand through her long, dark hair. It was immaculately kept and unnaturally glossy, like her nails. Talon’s dress regulations couldn’t be more different from the Alliance. “... is needlessly difficult and manipulative.”
“I didn’t save the Citadel by being friendly.”
“Talon is more than aware.” LaCroix’s body relaxed, but her expression remained unchanged. A mixture of annoyance and uncanny focus. “And yet, you were quite amicable with your previous crew. It is a shame you will not extend us such a courtesy.”
“Talon doesn’t get niceties,” Gabriel replied, “but Amelie LaCroix might.” He wasn’t going to let her change the subject, especially not to that. It was a nerve Doomfist already poked.
“You’ll need to assemble a crew. We’ve selected some potential candidates for you, all highly recommended. Officer LaCroix will send you dossiers when you board the SR2.” On the other side of the galaxy, Doomfist’s eyes glowed. His silhouette outlined by a dying star. The visual noise of the virtual conference gave his gaze an otherworldly quality. He tapped his cigar on the rim of an ashtray before taking a long drag. “I’m certain they’ll meet your standards.”
“I already had a crew, the best in Citadel space.” Gabriel said with a scowl. The last twenty-four hours had been hell. One moment, he’d been suffocating to death over Alchera, losing consciousness just as he felt his skin begin to burn. Next, he’d woken up in a sterile medical bay, sirens blaring, a thick French accent in his ear ordering him to move . Only afterwards did he realize he was a dead-man-walking. The great Commander Reyes, miraculously resurrected at the whim of an organization he once swore to bring down. Terrific.
“Correct, Reyes. You had an excellent crew.” Doomfist chuckled. “You’ve also been dead for two years. They’ve scattered to the solar winds, and if my information is correct, some left the original Gibraltar of their own volition. Leave the past in the past.”
Gabriel told himself that wasn’t for Doomfist to decide, but he’d play along for now. What other choice did he have? Humans were being abducted. The Reapers would soon arrive from just beyond the veil of dark space. If Gabriel Reyes was alive against all odds, his fight wasn’t over.
“Very well.” LaCroix closed her report. With a flurry of practiced taps, she pulled up Doomfist’s collection of dossiers, swiping under she found her own. The name “LACROIX, AMELIE '' materialized before Gabriel in holographic bold-faced font. It sat above two professional photos of the officer, both expressionless. After a moment, the profile dissolved and was replaced with assorted images and looping videos of LaCroix in action.
“I am genetically modified with enhanced dexterity and vision. My specialties are long-range combat rifles, the class or make does not matter. When I joined Talon, they funded my training in social engineering. I am quite familiar with extracting critical intel from marks.”
“Oh, but I’m the manipulative one.” Gabriel interrupted.
From behind the hologram, Gabriel saw LaCroix roll her eyes. She continued, “I also have basic training in biotics, specifically to optimize hand-to-hand combat. I am most useful in urban environments, especially undercover.”
Gabriel examined one of the videos, stroking his beard. In the footage, LaCroix disassembled and reassembled an M-92 Mantis with surgical precision. It reminded him of an old friend. Of course, she hadn’t sported a blank, thousand-yard stare. No, the SR1’s hold was full of quiet laughter and stories of old missions gone comically wrong.
“This is all very impressive, but why Talon?” Gabriel asked. “With these credentials, you’d be a shoe-in for the Alliance. Special Ops is always recruiting.” Privately, he was fascinated with anyone’s reason for joining the organization. What about “unethical freak chimera experiments” didn’t bother them? Perhaps it was ignorance, but that seemed unlikely with LaCroix.
The officer clicked her tongue. With a graceful wave of her hand, the dossier and all its contents disappeared. “It’s quite simple, really. The Collectors are a threat to humanity, and the Council does nothing while the Alliance licks its wounds. Talon, however, has the resources to accomplish its goals. An easy decision.”
The two of them looked at each other in uncomfortable silence. Outside, stars glittered in the cold vacuum of space. Gabriel could tell LaCroix was running out of patience. One last question, he thought.
“Come on, you’re not in it for some deeply personal reason? Looking for some lost Reaper technology, or soul-searching in a cold, unloving universe that doesn’t appreciate you for who you are?”
For the briefest of moments, he thought he saw confusion cross LaCroix’s face. The kind when someone unfamiliar with any real sort of empathy suddenly confronts human connection. At that moment, she hesitated, as if evaluating whether it was ‘safe’ to open up to her superior officer.
The report on Freedom’s Progress suddenly obscured Gabriel’s vision.
“Each of us has our reasons.” LaCroix said, typing resumed. “With all due respect, Commander Reyes, I cannot think of anything less desirable than to discuss mine with you.”
“Alright.” Gabriel stood up, looking out the window. “I get it, there’s a lot to do. But if you ever need an ex-partner brought to justice, or some ancient family armor found, let Commander Reyes know.” He laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I hope it never comes to that.”