Chapter Text
Katherine has never been particularly sane. Even before Torfan, her history was littered with psychiatrists' notes including words like hypervigilance bordering on paranoia and acute panic attacks. She had been shocked when she passed the Alliance's psych eval – there must be something to be said for repression.
But she had never heard voices before. And she liked to think that if she did, it wouldn't be some bitch with an Australian accent telling her to wake up. Like a mother chiding her child for sleeping in on a school day.
Her eyelids felt like they weighed two tons each. Her eyeballs felt strange – tight and slightly itchy. As she tried to blink the room – so bright white and sterile – into focus, images and sensations flashed in her mind. The inky, brilliant blackness of a sky, the shrill whistle of escaping air – and the crushing weight of breathlessness behind her ribs. Her heart began to pound erratically, pressure in her chest like a fist gripping tight. Her vision grew dim around the edges, stars dancing like they had in the sky over Alchera -
"Shepard, you have to get up, this station is under attack."
The word “attack” was like a slug to the head. Her vision cleared. She bolted upright, fought a groan as the movement caused pain to radiate through her. It felt like she had been ripped apart by a thesher maw and stitched back together. She dug her nails into her palms, hard, refocusing her breathing. She inhaled once, deep, through her nose and cleared her mind.
The stranger with the accent was a shrill bitch, but she made good sense, and Kat's brain felt fuzzy, like the morning after too much whiskey. So she let the voice guide her, through putting on her armor (how did they have her armor? She filed that question away), loading the pistol (lightweight and poorly made, she missed the heft of her rifle), dashing to cover. Let it guide her through the maze of a building, through rogue mechs and asshole doctors. She pressed play on audio logs that spoke of billions of credits being used on Project Lazarus, whatever the fuck that was. Her limbs felt awkward and clumsy, her aim was a mess and her heart continued its erratic dance, at times racing wildly without any rhyme or reason.
And when she demanded answers from Taylor, in the pause between gunfire she heard “meat and tubes” and “2 years.” She registered this with almost clinical dispassion, filing it away in her head with the memory of her own breath, loud in her ears, turning to panicked gasps as the stars shrank around her. She saw the orange logo on his chest and nearly turned her gun on him right then. Fucking Cerberus, of course they were behind this. She had missed two years and god only knew what the Reapers had been up to. But like it or not, she was in no shape to fight her way out of here alone. Turns out, becoming Frankenstein's monster really took its toll on a girl. But she let him take the lead – she would be damned if she turned her back on him.
–
Miranda, it turned out, looked exactly like she sounded – prim and far too pretty. And the Illusive Man? That pretentious asshole was, well, an asshole. Playing at god with cybernetics and skin weave.
Kat stood under the hot spray of the shower, one thing she had no qualms about using on this ship, and ran her hands over her body. Was it really hers anymore? Old marks and wounds were gone – the tattoo of Athena on her left shoulder, the thick rope like scar on her right wrist, the beauty mark on her thigh. The skin, in those places, was now shiny and pink like a newborn baby. New scars crossed her cheeks, glowing from beneath like embers on a fire. They had managed to keep her freckles, although she had found herself scrutinizing them in the mirror, checking that the pattern was the same. Her palms were smooth and soft, her feet aching like they had the first time she wore combat boots. This entire body screamed brand new so loudly, she half expected to have that new car smell. Hell, she wondered if she would have to lose her virginity again.
Meat and tubes. Two years. Meat and tubes. Her thoughts pulsed, the shiny new skin feeling suddenly too tight. Meatandtubesmeatandtubesmeattubesmeatmeatmeat
She punched the wall, gasping for air as the sharp sting brought the room back in to focus. The water had shut itself off, her skin pimpling in the cool air.
“Commander, is everything alright?” The voice came from the ceiling and Kat jumped. God damned AI.
“I'm fine!” She practically snarled, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around herself. Paused, thought. “Do we have any bourbon on this ship?”
Nothing like getting drunk to forget that you were just brought back from the dead.