At the Edge of Heaven

“Wake up, Commander” a faint, explosive thump cut through the silence. “Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bad now; this facility is under attack.”

Slowly, the darkness receded as Shepard blinked several times through the fog of sleep. His face flared with pain and he quickly rubbed his sore jaw. Still dazed, his eyes squinted in confusion as he lay there wondering.

“Shepard, your scars aren’t healed, but I need you to get moving.” As he listened, Shepard sat up. He winced in pain and grabbed his ribs as another flash of pain flared in his body. “This facility is under attack.”

As the voice repeated the warning, a ball of flames exploded on the other side of the nearby window. He could see the heated trails of bullets the concussion of continued explosions. Coming slowly to his senses, Shepard swung around and gave a quick glance around to the rather bright lab. It was empty.

“There’s a pistol in the locker on the other side of the room.” The voice continued and Shepard slowly started to lift and push himself off the bed. Too slowly it seemed, “Hurry.”

He grunted when he finally hit his feet and stood still, gaining his bearings.

“Grab the pistol and the armour from the locker.” He remained motionless for a moment, his thoughts swirling in his head. He was dead. He died. He remember those last few moments, the intense cold freezing his body and then the intense heat that blessedly burned his sorrow to ash. He had died. So where the hell was he? “You don’t have time to wait around, Shepard! Grab your weapon and armour!”

He sighed and shook his head at the incessant female voice. Up and moving and so confused… and she was yelling at him. Wonderful, he wakes up and he is being screamed orders. “It must be hell.” He grimly thought before shrugging his shoulders and walking over to the nearby locker. He opened it and smirked at the N7 armour. He had died and he was still putting on this armour. Definitely hell. Sighing again, he quickly pulled it out and started to don the mostly familiar uniform, grunting as his pain rolled through his stiff limbs. When it was finally on he took one glance at the armour now fitting his body and smiled just a bit. It might have reminded him of everything he lost, but it still felt good to have the N7 gleaming on his chest.

Finished with his brief moment of nostalgia, Shepard turned back to the locker and pick up the pistol. With deft familiarity, he ran through his weapon check quickly.

“This pistol doesn’t have a thermal clip.” He spoke out loud, though he wasn’t sure if the woman could hear him.

“It’s a med bay.” The voice sounded shocked for a brief moment, then irritated at having to explain the oversight. He wasn’t sure if she was irritated at him or at someone else. And as the weird tangent bubbled in his mind, he walked towards the door, listening to the instructions from that commanding voice and wondered: what the hell was going on and who was the woman behind that damnable voice?!

* * *

“Damn it!” Miranda swore and ducked behind the console, her pistol grasped in her hands. She winced as sparks showered over her, stinging her exposed skin. She was going to kill Wilson. She should have guessed the bastard would betray them. She knew he wasn’t to be trusted. But first, she had to get out of there, which wasn’t going to be too hard.

She listened to the spray of gunfire and quickly ran through her weapon’s check again. Then, with a quick tilt of her head, she swiftly glanced over the top of the ruined console and ducked back down. She wasn’t sure, but there were at least two armed mechs just inside the door and slowly marching forward. And if she had to guess, at least two more hovering in the hall just behind them. A swift tactical strike and it would be over. She might not risk overload on the first two, she didn’t fancy getting anymore singed than she already was, but still it was too easy. She felt insulted.

“Here we go.” She took one steady breath and concentrated, feeling the familiar crawl of energy building within her body. Then she shot out from cover. The two mechs immediately converged on her, weapons swivelling over. But they were far too slow. With one low grunt, Miranda thrust out her arm and the air around one mech twisted. Miranda quickly spun around and lifted her other arm, pistol in hand, as a whirring jolt erupted from the mech as it convulsed, its legs sheering away from its body and its arms breaking under the stress. With three swift squeezes, the second mech lurched backwards as two rounds punched through its chest and the third sliced through its thin waist, severing the mech in two. The mechs clattered to the ground in pieces.

“Easy.” She smirked as she dashed to the wall and pulled up tight against it. She switched the gun to her left hand, freeing her right hand to tinker with her omni-tool and ready the overload. She switched the gun back to her right hand when she finished and leaned out slightly to give her left arm the necessary room to activate the tech. But no mechs rushed through the door as she shimmied along the wall and came to the door. She paused for a few seconds, listening for the faint clicks and buzzing of mechanical bodies, but there was nothing. Listening a few moments longer, she finally swung around into the face of the doorway, her pistol held to the right and her omni-tool to the left. The short corridor was empty.

“Only two?!” her face twisted in disgust. She brought her hands together, holding the pistol ready in front of her and exhaled angrily. She was deeply insulted. She shook her head free of the childish tangent and rushed back into the room to glance down at the communications relay. She sighed at the still spattering wires and the gaping holes punched into the fragile system. It was useless; the comm was dead. Her chest tightened and her stomach knotted briefly. Shepard was alone. Her breathing grew shallow. She almost growled at her reaction.

“He’ll be alright.” She clenched her teeth and took several deep breaths. She was getting annoyed with herself. Shepard was her project, nothing more than that. No need to panic. Hell, he was a Spectre. He killed a bloody Reaper. There was no reason for her to get worried! He was a big boy and he could take care of himself! She pummelled herself over her girlish reactions before taking a few seconds to calm her. There was no need to lose control, even if it was irritating. Finally, with a simple nod, she turned and walked from the room. Shepard could take care of himself. All she had to do was get to the shuttle, make sure it was ready, and then go get him. Simple.

So with grim and steady determination, Miranda readied her firearm and marched out of the room and down the hall. The clicking of her heels echoed in the corridor as she purposefully strode down the corridor to the door. The first part of her plan was easy. She was already close to the shuttle. One last corridor and she would be in the shuttle bay. It was really easy. She reached the end of the corridor and the door hissed open. Her eyes widened and she leapt off to the side and flattened herself against the wall as a hail of rounds tore through the air. Maybe not that easy; a dozen mechs, including one heavy mech crowded the final corridor. They continued to fire, the mechs cycling in short bursts after the initial failed flurry.

Miranda almost smiled. She didn’t feel so insulted anymore. Still, it was only one heavy mech. She expected at least two. With a quick flick of her fingers she readied her omni-tool, firmly gripped her pistol, and felt the energy wash over her as her biotic implants flared to life.

“Here we go.” She murmured before launching across the precipice and setting her tech off in the middle of the mech battle lines. The pleasing sounds of explosions and electronic squeals filled the air.