Mass Effect Biomech Specter 2088

**A/N:** (Note that it's "Specter," not the canon "Spectre" in the title.) A kink meme prompt asked for a cyberpunk setting, so this is my (hopefully not disastrous) attempt at it. Since it takes place in 2088, the existence of biotics has been moved into this timeline, but there are no aliens upfront, sorry. I can hear about 80% of you stampeding out now…

**Chapter 1**

Two months had passed, but Shepard still saw the lifeless eyes staring right at her, the lingering condemnation echoing in their depths. Red stained the entire scene, leaking in a steady tempo from the gaping slashes in the wrists and throat, forming a small pool on the wooden table. The lips had been halfway sewn shut, and the stained needle dangled from the tail end of the thread, dripping crimson. Second degree burns covered patches of what used to be a handsome face. The victim had met his end in the most brutal, grisly way possible, but even more horrific was the fact that it had all been by the victim's own hand.

Self-mutilation. And suicide.

Shepard shuddered at the memory, which still haunted her with frightening clarity. The movement was out of place in the crowded atrium seating, and through her heightened processes, she felt the stares of several classmates around her. Some seemed unaware of her connection to the tragedy that had occurred the previous semester, but some considered her the one to blame. In particular, the girls to her right exuded unadulterated menace as they glowered silently at her. Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized them as members of the most prominent sorority on campus—the sister sorority of the victim's fraternity.

Fortunately, their professor made his tardy arrival and hurried to the front of the vast classroom, wiping his perspiring forehead and straightening his lint-covered blazer. "Sorry, everyone, the first day of the new semester is always somewhat hectic… and the barista A.I. in the faculty lounge had malfunctioned again…"

Shepard tried to focus as he introduced himself as Dr. Shu Qian and welcomed them to the spring Artificial Intelligence 101 course. She drummed her fingertips on the unprogrammed datapad textbook on her desk, feeling stifled, restless. Dr. Qian smoothed down his receding black hair and activated the projected hologram of the introduction slides in the center of the steel atrium. As he babbled on about how much fun they were going to have this semester, Shepard cast an agitated gaze at the outdated fluorescent lights lining the ceiling, which he'd switched on to shine right into the students' faces.

Her claustrophobic feeling persisted as the professor continued the discussion of his class format. She redirected her attention to the large, ocular windows, which offered various directional views of the gray January sky. Several people on hoverboards zoomed by outside the building, and her sharp eyes tracked their movements until a girl sitting at her two o'clock pulled out a large retractable mirror to check her makeup. Shepard glanced at the reflective surface and found that even from far away, she looked worse for wear.

Long and unbrushed auburn hair framed her ashen face, accentuating the redness of her nose, which was irritated from excessive blowing due to a recent cold. Dark circles muted the usual bright effect of her green eyes, and her shapely lips remained chapped from the weather and minor dehydration. The atypical pallid color of her skin rendered the glowing cybernetics underneath more pronounced, and she pulled the hood of her jacket over her head, feeling extra self-conscious.

Inevitably, as she ran out of things to occupy herself with while Dr. Qian's monotone voice droned on, the demons seeped back into her mind.

Visions of blood and mutilated flesh blazed across her memory again. The body had been discovered in the studio where Shepard normally had her painting class. Screams throughout the art wing still echoed in her ears. With pristine clarity, she recalled her entrance into the fine arts building that November morning and the speeding rhythm of her heart. People were fleeing from the direction of the studio, and so that was where she headed. Nothing prepared her for the sight inside. At the center, atop the table where their still life project had been set up, a young man's gory corpse lay sprawled, his disfigured face positioned toward the doors. Numerous shards of bloody glass surrounded him on both the table and the floor. A blowtorch used for flameworking lay next to his hand. The entire area reeked of death…

And Shepard had recognized him immediately.

"Selene Shepard?"

The sound of her name startled her out of her thoughts. "Yes?"

Dr. Qian waved from behind his podium. "Ah, you're present. You hadn't signed in on the class terminal, so I wasn't sure. Did you hear my question?"

She blanched, kicking herself for zoning out. "Oh, um… no."

The students around her snickered, and a flush rose to her cheeks as Dr. Qian sighed.

"From what I've garnered of your student records, you possess some cybernetic modifications. I asked if you would be willing to share whether you experienced any cognitive alterations after getting them done," he declared.

Shepard's mouth flattened into a straight line. Was this even allowed? Calling students out on personal and contentious lifestyle decisions?

Not that the implantation of those mods had even been consensual on her end.

"No," she replied, her vocal tuning snapping out the single word to reverberate throughout the atrium.

To his credit, Dr. Qian accepted the hostile answer by nodding and moving on.

She sank low in her seat as exhaustion took over. A half hour later, the class received an early dismissal. Shepard shoved her things into her backpack and took off for the door, sensing the furtive glances cast in her direction, sizing her up, judging her. She brushed past several people and holographic aides in her haste to exit the building. A cold breeze met her once she stepped outside, and she shoved her clammy palms into her pockets, sucking in a deep breath as if emerging from underwater.

The blackness started, tinging the edges of her vision and kicking her anxiety into high gear. She pulled up an internal chart of her own vitals, which went into overdrive as she scanned the area wildly for a secluded spot. Staggering over to a thick column of the atrium's exterior, she pressed her back to the hard steel structure and closed her eyes, doing her breathing exercises. For all her advanced technological enhancements, there was nothing she could do about the natural physiological processes of her body. Vaguely, she wondered if she could have done something more to cope, to forget. The incident haunted her every hour, conscious or otherwise.

Nightmares were a given, but the panic attacks were unbearable.

When her system calmed down and she grew certain of her ability to cross the grounds without keeling over and blacking out, she adjusted her bag strap on her shoulder and made the trek toward the shuttle platform. As she walked, she peered across the open campus of the University of British Columbia, taking in the sights of human and synthetic pedestrians going about their business.

Once Shepard passed by the mass communication building, a multi-floor structure with a ten-meter satellite situated out front, she noticed a small crowd of well-dressed people wearing ear-mounted microphones and toting along hovering video cameras. A few star-struck journalism students chatted with them as they loitered around the side entrance. Then, as soon as she identified them as members of various news teams, one of the students spotted her. Although she brought a finger to her lips in the hopes that he would heed the pleading signal of a fellow student, he promptly pointed her out instead.

"Hey, there she is! Selene Shepard!" the traitor hollered.

The news teams swiveled around, zeroed in on her, and sprang into action. She kept walking and cursed under her breath as one female reporter trotted over as fast as her stilettos would let her, the rest of the crew in tow.

"Ms. Shepard! Could we have a minute or two—"

"You have exactly the number of minutes it takes me to get from here to the shuttle because I'm not stopping," Shepard said in a curt tone. Even though she managed to maintain a passive expression, her stomach wound itself into knots.

The reporter finally caught up to her, slightly out of breath. "I'm Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani with Westerlund News," she proclaimed, brushing her short brown hair from her face. "Ms. Shepard, what can you tell us about your relationship with Synthetic Insights heir Curt Weisman prior to his death?"

Shepard's temper rose when a camera nearly flew into her face to catch her response. "Prior to his death? You mean as opposed to my relationship with him post mortem?"

Khalisah appeared undeterred. "We received reports that you were a speaker at the Candlelight Vigil held for Mr. Weisman in front of the Walter C. Koerner Library in December. Can you tell us why you chose to speak that day?"

"We knew each other in high school," Shepard answered, careful with her words.

"One year ago, you and Mr. Weisman made headlines throughout Vancouver when knowledge of your former affiliations with the Tenth Street Reds became public. As you know, past membership in a hate-crime gang is grounds for disqualification in this university's Artificial Intelligence Ethics program. Would you care to comment on that now?"

Shepard glowered at the reporter. "No, I would not."

"Although local news outlets reported that Mr. Weisman coerced and abused you during your days in foster care with his family, you faced communal defamation and criticism when it was revealed that you possess cybernetic enhancements. Knowing that human cybernetics are still a hot topic issue, what was your reaction?"

"I'm pretty sure I slept through that particular news story."

"Ms. Shepard, would you say you feel some responsibility for Curt Weisman's suicide?" Khalisah snapped.

Shepard stopped so abruptly that one of the other reporters almost ran into her. Images of Curt's wild, accusatory eyes came flooding back to fill her mind once again. Swinging a fiery glare at Khalisah, she growled, "Excuse me?"

Khalisah maintained her stern expression. "Could you answer the question, Ms. Shepard?"

"I think this interview is over," Shepard bit out as she started walking again at a brisker pace.

"You can't avoid this forever!" Khalisah called, struggling to keep up. "Given your history with Mr. Weisman, what possessed you speak at the Candlelight Vigil, knowing that the Weisman family would be less than welcoming? I need an answer, Shepard!"

Shepard felt the tension in her limbs, and her cybernetics glowed briefly before she managed to control the urge to strike the reporter. "Here's your answer, lady: 'Go fuck yourself.'"

They reached the path leading up to the shuttle platform, which required a student ID to access.

Without bothering to glance back at the news teams, Shepard remarked, "There's your story. Take it and get lost. I don't want to see you lurking around my school again. If I do, I'll show you exactly why people fear cybernetic freaks like me." And with that, she swiped her ID into the checkpoint scanner and boarded the first skycar shuttle that landed.

Slamming the vertical door shut as she took a seat, she threw her backpack down on the floor and punched in the code for her dormitory on the glowing dashboard. Her fingers trembled with a combination of fury and trepidation while she confirmed the route. She could see tomorrow's headline now: "Biomechanical Teen Displays Hostile Behavior, Normal Citizens Beware."

Shepard thumped the back of her head against the headrest as the shuttle GPS calculated the travel time and proceeded to its destination. _Why is this happening…_

"Rough day?" someone asked from the back seat.

She gasped and rotated to peer at the other passenger. "Sorry if I hijacked your shuttle. I just needed to get into one as soon as possible."

A dark-haired man wearing a navy blue jacket and jeans grinned at her, his brown eyes lighting up. "Actually, this worked out better than I'd hoped. I didn't think I'd run into you so quickly."

Shepard blinked at him, her heart sinking. "You're not another reporter, are you?"

He laughed, a deep baritone that rang around them. "Not at all, don't worry. Pardon my civvies, but I'm 2nd Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko with the Systems Alliance. You're Selene Shepard, if I'm not mistaken?"

Her guard rose as she sized him up. "That's right, but you're with the what?"

"The Systems Alliance. We're the international governing and military body of space-related affairs."

"…So, space travel and aliens? Did those dipshits at NASA finally make contact?"

Kaidan laughed again, shaking his head. "Well, our work is a bit ahead of NASA, but that's classified. And anyway, what I have to say concerns you."

Shepard stared at him dubiously. "Look, I have enough news teams, organizations, and random bandwagon citizens trying to intrude on my business, so—"

"Relax. I've seen and read the news stories, but this isn't about the incident regarding that Synthetic Insights boy," Kaidan assured her. "It's about your background."

Her brow furrowed as she scrutinized him. "What about it?"

"I understand you were orphaned as a child and spent your early years between the streets and foster care?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Your cybernetics. How did you afford the procedure to have them implanted?"

Shepard stiffened at once, her eyes narrowing. "It happened when I was living with the Weisman family. That's all I'm going to say about it."

"Fair enough," Kaidan remarked, inclining his head. "But does the name Cerberus ring a bell?"

"Well… yeah. Why does the Alliance want to know all this?"

"Here's the thing. Cerberus is under some heavy investigation by more than just the Alliance. Questionable things have happened and are still happening at their research facilities. That includes the time they installed your cybernetics."

Every process in Shepard's body stopped as his words sank in. "I don't have any knowledge of this."

Kaidan nodded. "I know. But out of a thousand subjects in the past few years, you're the only one who's survived their cybernetic procedures. Not only that, we managed to obtain some of their reports mentioning that, while in utero, you may have been exposed to a rare material called Element Zero." He leaned closer, the interior lights of the shuttle roving over the strong bone structure of his face. "Do you have any biotic potential that you're aware of?"

Shepard scowled and tried to ignore the captivating quality of his eyes. "So that's what the Alliance wants to talk to me about?" she snapped. "First cybernetics, which I do have, and now biotics, which are a fairytale. I don't need any more controversial topics pinned to my name."

"It's a lot to take in, but these are viable suspicions that the Alliance would like to either confirm or disprove," Kaidan told her. "If you're not a biotic, that's all right, but—"

"Biotic people don't exist."

He quirked an eyebrow at her, something switching in his face. She watched him, wondering if she had said something out of line. Then, slowly, he lifted a hand. Her heart leapt with surprise when a flash of visible blue energy surged from his palm, blazing across his arm to envelope his entire body. He returned her gaze, unblinking, and ceased the demonstration when he made his point.

"Reality can be harsh," Kaidan declared, settling back in his seat as his features grew impassive. "But I need you to listen. You're a prototype clone of the true Selene Shepard, an Alliance cadet still under cryosleep in Cerberus's main facility. You have her memories, her abilities, and her identity, but you're not her." His eyes, already deep brown in color, darkened to black. "So which one of us isn't supposed to exist?"


End file.

Mass Effect, Mystery, Sci-Fi