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Enslaved Shepard: Slow Drip

Fill based on: http://masseffectkink.livejournal.com/3083.html?thread=5995275#t5995275

I would like to see a fill in which one of the female crew-members is captured on a mission and sold into sex slavery.

Depicted should be the training and breaking process that turns them from rebellious into a submissive and "willing" slave.

Note: Fic will contain themes of drug abuse, body horror, and non consensual sex

Slow Drip 1

She felt as if she were floating in lukewarm water. Her eyelids felt so heavy and unmovable that she couldn’t lift them. Her awareness beyond her closed eyes felt fuzzy, like the frayed end of an old blanket, something that would snag on the edges of fingernails. As she struggled to concentrate, she could feel a flat surface underneath her body, her arms and legs all neat and parallel to her spine. When she tried to move a limb, a hand, a finger, she found that she could not. It was as if her hand had fallen asleep, or perhaps her whole body.

“Tell me what it is I’m looking at here.” There was a voice coming from above her. It was unsettling. Filtered through the translator in her head, the original language distorted into something she could understand. The deep, hushed tones of it was human but-not-quite.

A loud exhale came from the right side of her. “Human, female, mid adulthood, but you’ve gathered that much.”

There was a faint sense of whiplash as the two voices came from one side, then the other. “Yeah, no shit. But she’s been on your slab for three hours now. What have you found out?”

“She’s covered in wetware. Human’s more teched up than your average personal VI.”

She felt the faintest tingles of sensation over her chest. It was a mix of cold, and pinpricks of pain all in a line from her collarbone to her navel. There was something nauseating about the feeling, and she struggled and was able to open her eyes. Bright light flooded down into her sensitive pupils, and the lids came down tight again.

“Never seen muscles that looked like that.”

“She has a normal epidermis, but everything under that is synthetic up until her bones. Muscles are heavy weaved, internal organs are lab grown and enhanced.”

“What’s in her skull?”

There was a shuffling snort from her right. “Brains, I would imagine. I’m not about to start sawing open the cranium. But her translator’s built directly into her ears, removing them would be a pain. She’s a biotic, by the way. Took out her amps and set them aside there.”

She heard the sound of metallic clicking, as something small was picked up and then set down.

“Looks like some high end stuff.”

“That’s not the end of it.” She felt fingers on her wrist. Thin, but padded. Cold. Like rubber gloves. They turned her hand over so her palm was flat and outstretched. “Calluses on the trigger finger from shooting, as well as between her thumb and forefinger from holding onto the grip.”


“I don’t think so. Take a closer look at her skin. What do you see?”

“Human anatomy all looks the same to me. What am I supposed to be looking for here?”

“Is there anything notable you see on her skin?”

“No, I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly. No scars, no bullet wounds, nothing.”

“So… what, she’s never been in battle before? Just been shooting target practice all her life?”

“It’s possible, but it’s more likely that she’s been well medicated. Medigel and tissue regrowth doesn’t leave many scars.”

There was a pause, and the sound of nails raking across skin in a casual scratch. “So you think she’s a soldier.”

“The physical features point to it.”

A scoff, or maybe a snarl. It was ragged and unpleasantly familiar. “That’s just great. Soldiers are impossible to keep and even less likely to sell. Did you get any results from the DNA scan?”

“I…” Another object was lifted, more plastic sounding. It passed hands with only the sounds of soft rasps of skin on a surface. “Yeah, I did, but I’m not sure what to think of them.”

Silence, as the one on her left examined what he was holding. “Shepard. The Shepard. As in, human spectre, hero of the Citadel Shepard?” Shepard. That… was her name, wasn’t it? That was what they were calling her. Things like names, soldiers, seemed so far away from her right then. “What sort of fucked up readings were you getting off of this thing?”

“It’s as precise as we can afford. And I checked multiple tissue samples, it’s not a localized chimera or anything like that. Assuming it’s not broken, that’s her DNA.”

Slow Drip 2

“Yeah, but Shepard’s been dead for two years. And not shot in a way you could fake a death. She was dropped out of a destroyed ship, asphyxiated in space, burnt up in reentry, and went splat on the surface of a planet. She wasn’t anything but toasted varren meat by the time they put out a closed casket.”

“I know that.”

“So… you think she might be a clone, then?”

The person on her right gave another sigh, and took the object back from his companion. “It’s… possible, but I don’t remember ever hearing that there were samples of her DNA on the market. As far as I know, the Human Alliance kept a tight watch on any outgoing samples. Probably patented her too, considering she’s the poster child for their advertisement campaign.”

“What if it was an eccentric’s pet project? Might explain why the DNA was out there but never for sale.”

“Like I said, it’s possible. I’m only telling you what I’ve noticed.”

Her hand was turned back so her palm was facing the surface she was lying on. Once more she tried to open her eyes, and this time she was able to take the lights above her face. It made her flinch a little, and she scrunched up her nose like she was about to sneeze. Her lungs ached in her ribcage, and she felt the flickers of pain across her chest again. The feeling of sickness flooded into her mouth, dry and sticky from the back of her throat.

“One more thing I forgot to mention.” The person on her right was moving, and a face came into her field of view.
Male. Batarian. Dark skin. Four pitch black eyes.
They met her gaze.

“Yeah?” came a question from her left.

The face she could see turned to look at his companion, “Her metabolism is extremely advanced, probably from her synthetic insides. She wears off the cocktail I gave her three times as fast as humans her size should.”

The Batarian turned around, reaching for some object hanging off of a rack. Through the thick white mist that made up her clouded vision, she could see what looked like an IV drip. He pulled up a syringe of liquid to add to the bag.

“So up the dosage.”

He shook his head. “Can’t go too high. Could kill her that without even realizing it.”
He adjusted the tube that led into her arm. From her wrist, she could feel a creeping cold crawl up her shoulder and into the pit of her stomach.

The Batarian looked back at her. His eyes were liked a four pronged spear. There was something inscrutable in his facial expression, not hatred, not sorrow, not satisfaction.

“Go back to sleep, human.” He murmured to her. “It’s better for you that way.”

The last thing she was aware of as the muscle relaxants put her back into darkness was looking down and seeing her bright red chest peeled open like an unzipped bag. Paler ribs, slick tissue of muscles and abdominal cavity all gleaming wet in the bright florescent lights.
She tasted sick and bitter medicine in the back of her throat, and then nothing.

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Slow Drip 3

There was an uproar in the war room, For the first time, the entire group of the Normandy’s vagabonds had been gathered around the conference table together. And there weren’t enough chairs for all of them, either. Kasumi and Thane stood stiffly in the corners of the rooms, the lights too bright to grant them shadows to hide in. Grunt was on his feet and pacing around, his heavy armored boots sounding off heavy footfalls.

“We lost Shepard. On Omega.” Miranda’s piercing gaze traveled back and forth across the room, between the shifting Krogan and the woman across the table.

Jack broke into a snarl, bearing her teeth in the gesture. “Well don’t look at me, it wasn’t my fault. I was the one who was sent back to get reinforcements or what the fuck ever.”

“You should have stayed with her.”

Jack pointed a finger at the young Krogan, and it was more like a punch than anything. “That was his. fucking. job.”

Grunt turned immediately to face his accuser and roared. The entire room of people flinched, save for Jack, who was just as mad. In spite of more sensible reasoning, Jacob held up his arm in front of him to try and calm him down. “Tell us what happened back there.”

The krogan clenched his teeth, slitted pupils traveling around the room to the faces that had all turned attention to him. He took a deep breath, and released it. “She told me to go on ahead of her.”

The room broke into furious argument again.
“You left her alone? Injured, on Omega?” If no one knew any better, Miranda almost seemed furious.

“She’s my battlemaster, and when she tells me to go some place, I do it, no questions asked.”

“Well great job, numbskull. Now she’s fucked but at least she had your unquestioning loyalty.”

Then Grunt was reaching across the table in an attempt to seize Jack’s throat. “If you don’t shut your mouth, I’ll do it myself.”

“We’re wasting time.” Garrus spoke up over all the other voices. The tones in his own were strained, but stern. The arguments paused as they turned their attention to him. “And we can’t stand to be doing that right now because Shepard doesn’t have much to spare.” When he noticed all eyes were on him (and Grunt’s hands had uncurled from Jack), he continued. “Look. Slaves don’t typically stay in one hand for long on Omega. They get passed around a while, and each time that happens the trail to follow gets a little colder. For all we know, Shepard’s no longer with the guys that caught her. And by the time we find the guys that did, she’s already been traded off again. That’s what we’ll be dealing with.”

“So you’ve dealt with slavers before.” Jacob tilted his head.

“I was on Omega for a while, it wasn’t something that I went looking for so much as I couldn’t avoid it. During my entire time there, me and my gang were able to find and rescue three people who had gotten caught by slavers.”

The other man’s expression shifted into a frown. “And how many didn’t you find?”

Garrus paused, and simply shook his head.

Jack folded her arms across her chest and sat back in her chair. “We don’t even know if she’s still captured. Hell, for all we know she could have escaped by now.”

“What do you mean ‘escape’?” This time Miranda was the one to press further.

“Escape. Get away. I’ve done it a few times myself.” She gave a wave of a hand, “And Shepard’s not an idiot, it’s possible she could have gotten loose.”

“So let’s say she got loose. What happens next?”

“Well.” Jack seemed to have to think for a moment. “Well if she’s smart, she’ll head to Afterlife, and ask Aria a favor. The Asari’d probably grant her protection until we got there.”

“That’s assuming…” Garrus cut her off, “That she’d know her way around that ward of Omega. …or that whatever transport she gets won’t simply turn her back in.”

“Okay, yeah, but it’s still possible.”

Miranda took a step forward. “How possible?”

Slow Drip 4

The turian cleared his throat. “It depends on the methods of the slavers. With some, you hear a lot of talk about escapees.”

Jack smirked a little to herself. “You got the guys who put explosive collars on the people they catch. Once you figure out how they work, defusing the collar is a little practical application of biotics. …Other guys just cut you open,” she gestured down the length of her bare stomach, “And put the proximity rigged bomb in there. That’s harder to deal with. But then you have the cattle ranchers.”

“I’d feel sorry for the slavers if those were the ones that caught Shepard.” Sensing the confusion of some of the others, he continued, “Cattle ranchers just beat their catches and throw them into pens with other slaves. The holding cells are pretty well guarded… but getting out of them isn’t impossible. And with Shepard, well, she’d probably already be forming a resistance movement by now.” The slightest cheer in his voice failed to brighten the moods of anyone else in the room. Not even Grunt.

“And then you got canners, like the assholes on Purgatory.” She made a cupping gesture with her two hands. “They put you into cryo until they need you awake. Once those guys catch you… they could keep you like that for years and there’d be nothing you could do about it.”

Miranda let out a low breath and rubbed a hand over her temple.

“And then,” came the grave voice from the other end of the room, “You have your cocktail waiters.” Zaeed leaned back in his seat, his boots crossed on the edge of the table.

“Cocktail waiters?” Jack gave a snort. “That’s a new one.”

“I think you know what I’m talking about, Naught.” There was no dry smile on the old merc’s face today. “They call them that because they run a slurry of drugs through your system, a mixed drink of muscle relaxants and hypnotics. They make it so you can’t move, can’t think, can’t even remember your own name. It’s a bunch of Batarians who’ve made capturing and selling slaves down to a goddamn art form.”

“And…” Jacob was simply cringing, “I’m guessing not many people get loose out of that.”

“You don’t escape them. Not even if you kill a guard and run for home. Not even if you have a bunch of friends that can break you out of there. Even if you get away, you’re already hooked on the same drugs they caught you with. I’ve seen the withdrawals on the slaves. …There’s not much left afterwards.”


A/N: I'm afraid I'm not quite capable of writing a completely hopeless situation. That being said, things have only just begun...

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Slow Drip 5

When she was aware again, she was in a distinctly different position. Her entire body weighed on her heavily, especially her shoulders. She could feel the press of some sort of unyielding bounds holding her upright. As she opened her eyes, her head was swimming, and her thoughts slipped out of her grasp into deeper waters. She didn’t remember much. She remembered a Batarian, bidding her to sleep, but she was awake now.

She was cold. Cold because there wasn’t any armor or cloth covering her skin. The walls of the room she was in were white, and not just from the blaring florescent fixtures in the ceiling. It was a tiny box. Barely four meters in each dimension, just enough to uncomfortably pace in circles. She wanted to pace, but she couldn’t move her limbs.

Footsteps echoed from somewhere beyond her sight. One set was louder then the other, deeper in tone.

“Been a while since your last visit to Omega. I would hope you’ve gotten some new meat by now.” The first voice was a stranger’s. Deep and rumbling, familiar in that it reminded her of others she’s heard.

“We don’t hold the same stock for very long, you should know that by now.” The second voice she knew, she had heard it before back when she was flat on a table, memories of pain within split skin and flesh. Not the one whose face she’d seen, but his companion.

“So what have you got for me?”

“Got the crew of a commercial flight this week. Another client came and shipped off most of them.”

The footsteps came and stopped just beyond the walls of her room. “What’s this one?”

“Found her by accident out in the wards. She got into a fight with some mercs, and we happened to catch her off guard. We think she’s a soldier, though, but I wouldn’t recommend her.”

“Why not? I’ll buy soldiers and ex mercs.”

“Modified like a personal terminal. Has her own set of organs put in, the works. At this point we’d classify her as ‘pre-owned’.”

“Mind if I take a look myself?”

“Feel free.” There’s a sound of an access code being accepted, a digitized chime of affirmation. Then the door to her cell slid open with a hiss, and she saw one of the speakers. It’s a krogan. She should have realized. He sounded like the other Krogan she’s heard. Deep green head crest, grayish skin. He stared at her, but their eyes didn’t meet.

He came close to her, and reached out. There was no hesitation in his hands when he grabbed the middle of an arm to test the feel of the muscles. She doesn’t feel pain when his fingers tighten around a bicep, but the pressure against her skin makes her feel as if she should be in discomfort.
Then two fingers cupped her chin and tilted her head up and around. She stopped tracking the krogan with her eyes and just lets her gaze fall to the blank walls of the cell. Her neck was forced to stretch and arch before he released her.

One hand cupped and squeezed a breast, and her eyes shut out of instinct. The krogan gave a low, guttural chuckle. It reminded her of Wrex and the thought of that is distressing. “These seem real.” What was worse was that she noticed that she could feel the vibrations from his voice through the arm touching her.

“How’s she like down lower?” he asks over his shoulder, back to the person at the door. Without warning, he forces a thick finger up inside her, and her chest tightens in a not quite gasp. It parts and spreads her open, and she feels that more than anything else she can remember.

“That’s not our doctor’s area of expertise. You should have your own people take a look at her.” The finger curls, and there’s the first hint of pain that cuts through her half sleep. It’s intrusive in a way she’s never felt. If she were more there, if she were thinking, she would be enraged or disgusted.

But she’s not. The feeling of horror in her gut is muted like a smothered scream.

“Yeah.” Finally, it’s out of her body, and the krogan turns away. “Your man's an ex surgeon, right?”

“That’s right. So what do you think?”

He turns his enormous body to look back at her once more. His wide mouth is stretched to show his teeth. A smile. “How long until her dosage wears off?”

“Thirty minutes. Maybe less.”

Then the krogan steps out of the room, and the door shuts behind him. “Come get me when she’s sober. I want to see what she’s capable of.”

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Slow Drip 6

Over time, her mind became clearer and her awareness of herself became stronger.

She was Shepard. Alliance Marine. Ex Spectre. Ex dead. Her memories returned to her in pieces. She could remember what had happened to her in the past few days first, then in the past few weeks.

Recalling how she had gotten herself into this position was jarring. She could still faintly feel the bruise on the side of her head from the blow that had rendered her unconscious. The rest of her body ached in equal measure, muscles drawn into a tight line down the center of her chest. She knew she was naked just by the cold air, as the room wasn’t ventilated with human comfort in mind. It was awkward and embarrassing, but she couldn’t even bend her knees or cross her legs to cover herself.

She hesitated a while before she could persuade herself to look down at her own body. The memory of being on a operating table was the freshest in her mind, and she wasn’t sure what she would see.

It was better that she knew, though.
After a dry swallow, she tilted her chin down and examined her chest.
There were three great lines over her torso, forming a shape similar an ‘I’. The top line was just below her collarbone, the bottom was underneath her navel and the last went straight down her center. The wound had been stapled back together, and she was almost relieved to see that her synthetic muscles had healed over and reconnected themselves. Her skin had yet to, and because of that the lines of the cut glowed a deep red like the faint scars on her face. It was an ugly injury, and she didn’t know how badly it would feel if she tried to move or bend at the waist.

But that was the least of her worries at the moment. She had to find a way to get out of here. The room she was in was purposely small and featureless. The air ventilation system was a small vent just next to the ceiling light. It was as impossible to reach as it would be to fit through. The material of the room was all polymer, The walls weren’t so thick that she couldn’t hear outside the hallway, but she doubted she would be able to force her way through even with a biotic charge.

Even ignoring the room itself, she still had to find a way to get out of the bounds holding her upright against the wall. There were matching clasps around her shoulders, wrists, thighs and knees in addition to a single large sized one around her waist. Though she could shift and squirm in them, movement was ultimately impossible.

Her analysis of her captivity cut off when she heard the sounds of footsteps at the end of the hall.
It must have been thirty minutes since she was visited. She was ‘sober’ now.

But it was noisier this time. It didn’t just sound like the ones she had heard before, Two sets of feet stopped in front of her cell. “Well, is she awake?”

“She’s reacting quickly. Probably cognizant.” The door opened with a confirmation chime. There was the Krogan. Red armor. Blood Pack. Next to him was a Batarian, but it wasn’t the surgeon that she had seen. His clothes were simple. Tight, light armor, neutrally colored with mostly blacks and grays.

“Go ahead and let her back on her feet.” No sooner had the Krogan said that, the clasps around her limbs went free, and she sunk onto her knees. It was all she could do to fling her arms out in front of her to keep her face from slamming against the floor. Her body had not held itself up in days, and she could feel it. The only small mercy came in the form of a lack of pain over her stomach. The cut had healed good enough for her to be able to move. Slowly, bracing herself with her hands, she lifted herself up off of the ground. She needed to lean against the wall to get to her feet, but at least she was standing, and the muscles in her legs were waking up.

“Good to be back in the land of the living, isn’t it, slave?” The krogan chuckled again. He was staring at her legs as they shuddered from keeping her upright. Once more she felt the urge to cover herself, but Shepard ignored it.

Slow Drip 7

When she didn’t react or answer his statement, he turned to the Batarian, “Did you remove her translators, or something?”

“No, we couldn’t. They’re built into her head.”

“Hm.” He craned his head a little, his gaze sharpening. He seemed dissatisfied.
Shepard could hold her weight without pressing against the wall behind her. Her calves still trembled, but she could stand. “You mentioned that you might think she was lab grown somewhere. Have any idea how old or smart she is?”

“Not a clue. Doesn’t seem very chatty either. Usually they’re screaming or trying to bargain by now.”

“Guess we’ll find out.” The krogan backed away from the open door and two Vorcha. Also Bloodpack, by the looks of them.
Her blood ran colder in her veins at the implications of their presence and this time she did try to cover herself. She backed up against the cell wall. Her teeth were bared, she was scowling without even thinking of it.

She outstretched her arms, and flared a biotic impulse. The only thing that answered her was blue sparks over her skin and the clench of a muscle cramp along the length of her spine. Her amp. They had taken it out of her and it had been years since she had used her biotics without one. And she had never used the experimental implants from the Lazarus Project without one, ever.

“You took out her amp, right?” The Krogan folded his arms across his chest.

“Of course.”

He reached out and struck one of the vorcha’s shoulders. “Go soften her up. And try not to scratch the paint.”

Her biotics wouldn’t help her here, and the vorcha were on her in seconds.

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Slow Drip 8

The first blow was a set of knuckles to the side of her head. She had tried to brace herself, but that single backhand was enough to knock her off her feet to the floor. A boot hit her collarbone, and then everything from there was a barrage of pain. They kept kicking her, occasionally grabbing one of her arms to drag her upwards so she could be properly struck with a curled fist. True to the Krogan’s word, they didn’t use their claws. Instead they used their limbs like bludgeons, and pain bloomed in deep marks all over her body.

Like an animal, she curled in on herself, hiding her head in her arms in hope of some kind of protection. The toe of a boot slammed into her forearm, and nearly dislodged her miserable barrier.

This wasn’t like how it was on the battlefield. She had been shot, brutalized and beaten there, but even then there had always been some chance at relief. Of killing the attacker. Of hiding behind cover until her shields sprang into life. Of cool medigel spread over the wound to stop its pain. But all she was doing—all she could do--was pull her legs closer to her body to try and shield her vulnerable stomach.

It did not work. A foot slammed into the flesh just under her ribcage and something inside her screamed. The sound ran up her spine and escaped from her body in a sudden barking cry. The agony remained as a stabbing sensation, and for a sheer moment of terror she was afraid her wound had split open and she’d be seeing her organs spill out onto the floor. She tried to curl over, but the pain remained, and something inside her changed. Something in Shepard’s body was working overtime. Some gland, some construct granted by Cerberus. She dragged in a breath despite the clasp of forming bruises wrapped around her ribcage. The gaps between the throbs of her pulse seemed to expand. Adrenaline laced up her body and through her every blood vessel, energizing the weakened muscles and dilating the pupils of her eyes.

Get up, Shepard.

Another kick landed in the small of her back, and her entire body flinched. She was tightening like a metal coil.

You’re a fighter, so fight.

She slammed a kick into the side of the leg of the vorcha in front of her. It was hard enough to knock it out from under him and he let out one of those nasally cries she had heard so many times fighting mercs. The other vorcha paused in the assault to look up at his friend in confusion. With a hand slammed against the ground, she heaved herself to her feet. She stumbled once as her world was upright once more. But then she was stable, and ready.

The vorcha snapped his attention back to her and lunged forward.
He was stopped when her fist connected with his jaw. The burn on her knuckles from the impact felt incredible. As the vorcha staggered, she wound up her arm and swung. Her blow connected with the inside of his throat and he fell with a hoarse choke. The top of her foot met the side of his face as he was down, wringing an angry screech out of his gaping maw, that was abruptly silenced by a second, harder kick.

By now his companion was back on his feet, and snarling low in the back of his throat. He made the first move, swinging an arm at her head. She jerked herself backwards, avoiding everything but the backwind of the blow. Then, she counted in the most simple way she could.

She rushed at the vorcha in a headlong charge. His back hit the wall, and his knee hit her chest. There was that stabbing writhe in her gut again and she faltered long enough for him to get another backhand right across her cheek. This time, she stayed standing. She answered him with a punch of her own, slamming his head to the wall. And another, as his eyes lost focus from his daze. Another, and she could feel the outline of his teeth forming against the skin of her knuckles. A fourth punch and he sagged down the wall and to the floor.

Shepard stepped back from the two vorcha, her limbs trembling but tense from exertion. Her gaze went to the doorway. There was the Krogan and the Batarian, unmoving.

The Krogan was smiling.

Slow Drip 9

There wasn’t much time. She didn’t have any time to kill the vorcha and because of that they would be back up on their feet soon. She needed something, anything that she could use as a weapon. But when she looked to the fallen vorcha, she couldn’t see anything on them that would be useable. No guns holstered, no knives. Even the spikes or blades objects that usually adorned their armor weren’t present. There nothing sharp enough to be used—

Almost nothing.

She grabbed the head of one of the vorcha and pried his jaw open. He howled as she did, but she forced him to keep open while her free hand closed around one of his long fangs. And pulled. It gave resistance at first, then the sensation of something stretching. She dug her grip into the ridges of his face to pull harder.

The dental nerve snapped off of the gums and the tooth came free with a splatter of dark blood. With the needlelike weapon in hand she turned and charged the door.

She had one shot, and that was the Krogan’s eye. If she could destroy one, then maybe she would have a chance. She howled as she stabbed upwards at his face with her bloodied weapon, aiming for his great gold eye.

His hand caught her wrist in midair, as if he were swatting an insect.

“Not bad, slave.” His voice washed over her like a shower of debris. “Not bad at all.”

His fingers tightened around her wrist, clenching down on her muscles until her hand spasmed and she dropped the tooth. He held fast to her even as she thrashed about in his grip. Lifting up a leg, she tried to kick at him with her bare foot, only for his crimson armor to absorb the force with little complaint.

“Let me tell you something, slave. I consider myself to be a reasonable Krogan.” His thumb pressed hard against the flesh of her arm. The suggestion of pain there was becoming much more explicit. “With me, you get what you give. And when you give me a fight, well… I always make sure the punishment fits the crime.”

She was biting back a cry as the bones in her arms buckled in warning. The Krogan leaned in closer, bringing his face at level with hers. “From this point on, you belong to me.” His hand twisted in a sharp and simple motion. There was only so much her body could take, and in that moment she felt a bone in her forearm snap. Splintered shards cut right into the muscle around it as an incoherent sound escaped her lungs. The pain was unbearable and senseless, even as she clutched her arm and tried to find a way to will it gone.

The Batarian stepped back away from the two of them. “Figures. As soon as you buy one, you break it.”

A deep, echoing chuckle came from the bottom of his chest. “Breaking? No. I haven’t gotten to that, yet.” Finally he seemed to notice the vorcha, who were recovering enough to drag themselves back on their feet. “Have your doctor fix her up for me, will you?”

Shepard’s hands were dragged back behind her back and she let out a low groan of pain at the touch to her broken arm. Her wrists were clamped together, and the Batarian prodded her back. “Walk forward, eyes forward, slave. Try anything, and you’ll suffer for it.”

The vorcha shuffled out of the cell and back to their boss’ side. One of them, the one with the bloodied mouth rubbed his face in irritation. “Sick varren.” He snarled. “Should be put down, not bought.” His red eyes stared right into hers. There was disgust there, and something else, some message she had passed through her body language that couldn’t be said in words.
The Korgan answered by striking him again, across the mouth. He flinched away and went silent.

But then the Batarian shoved at her shoulder. “I said eyes forward and walk. Don’t make me say it a third time.”
She turned away from them and faced a long hallway covered in identical doorways, just as white and blinding as her cell.

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Slow Drip 10

Shepard was led down identical, sterile hallways. There were cameras in every corner, tiny but noticeable. Every door she went past had its own console and were locked tight. There was no clear glass on the doors, so she had no way of knowing if anyone else was inside them. From time to time as she walked, she could have sworn she heard things. Footsteps pacing in a circle. A single, wretched moan.

The Batarian at her back would shove one of her shoulders to guide her into turns. One turn right. Another turn right, then she was turned left to face a set of double doors. It was the single unique feature she had seen so far in the facility, and through the clear planes of the door she could see a medical office inside.

Ice cold tendrils of dread went through her body as the doors slid open at the command of the Batarian behind her. “Go and sit on the examination chair.”

She hesitated, glancing around at the seemingly empty clinic. A flat palmed shove in the center of her back pushed her through the doors.

Seeing nowhere else to go, she walked forward and turned to sit in the plastic covered chair. The Batarian at the doorway had his pistol trained on her. Her heart leaped at the weapon. Not out of fear, but out of a sudden swell of hope. If only she could just grab it, she could—
As she sat back in the chair, she leaned on her broken arm wrong and felt another wave of warning pain.

She could hear a set of footsteps and looked up to see the doctor from her churning memories enter the room. Same dark face, same four black eyes. They jolted into an expression of recognition when he saw her, and then his face settled back into that unreadable look she had seen before. “Didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon. You’re early, human.”

“Her arm’s broken.” The man at the doorway grunted.

The light from the fluorescents bouncing off of her skin reminded her of how naked she was, and of the gaze of both men in the room. She crossed one of her legs over the other, bringing one knee closer up to her chest which remained woefully bared.

The doctor’s face darkened a little at his partner’s words. He approached her, and she flinched a little in the chair.

However, he was just as cautious as she was, moving slowly as he got within arm’s length of her and reached behind her back. She heard a click, and her hands were released from the clasp. Her first instinct was to grab the doctor’s throat or stab at one of his eyes. Then she felt fingers curl around her uninjured wrist, pulling them up towards the arm of the examination chair.

There was a mechanical whine, and she looked back at the doorway to see the Batarian closer to her, with the pistol calmly leveled at her head. That coiling feeling in her spine returned, and her bruised muscles began to tense.

“Human, do you want me to fix your arm or not?”
The question caught her off guard and she turned away from the pistol to stare at the other man’s face. The brows over his top set of eyes rose. “If you do, I’m going to need you to stay put.” He placed her wrist on the arm of the chair and strapped it down. All the while his motions were deliberate, but unthreatening, and as a result the tension gradually ebbed from her body. She held up her own broken arm in front of her chest, looking down at the ugly discoloration in the shape of a Krogan’s hand over her wrist.

The doctor held out his hand to her, five fingers covered in a blue rubber glove.

She placed her wrist in his palm, and he stretched her arm out away from her body. He brought up his omni tool and began scanning her forearm.

“Simple complete fracture of the ulna. Shouldn’t be a problem to deal with.” He placed her wrist on the other arm of the chair and stepped away to gather something from further in the clinic.

With his back turned away from her, she almost didn’t realize he had asked her a question. “Any particular reason why you’re not talking, human?”

She blinked owlishly at his labcoat covered back. Swallowing down a bit of roughness, she countered, “Any particular reason you’re trying to make smalltalk?” The guard at the door shifted a little at the sound of her voice. Her words were raspy from a throat which had been last used to scream rather than speak.

Slow Drip 11

The doctor returned back to her side with a sizable syringe and a small metal objected loaded inside of it. “It helps to pass the time. Glad to see you’re capable of speech after all.” He held up the syringe in front of her face. “This is a splint. It’ll keep your bone in place for it to heal.”

She nodded, and he aligned the needle with her arm. “It’s going to hurt going in, but you’ll stop feeling it. Don’t bite down on your tongue.”
The thick needle pushed into her skin of her arm, and the doctor pushed down on the plunger. She felt something pushing under her skin and past her muscles like a blade, and saw a snakelike tube dig its way inside her. She couldn’t help but flinch as the metal device shifted and settled within her forearm.
Then, though the sting from its motions were still there, it stopped moving and she eased a little.

The doctor pulled the needle out and patted away the droplets of blood that oozed out of the puncture point. “The device will stimulate bone regrowth while it’s in there. Should heal on its own in a few days.” Then, his tone changed away from professionalism again. “Surprised you’re not trying to talk your way out of this.”

Once more he was directing a statement her way, and she flexed her fingers to test the feeling in her hand. “…Would you even believe me if I said I had friends in high places who want my release?”

He tilted his head, as if considering. “No. Do you?”

In spite of herself, she gave a bitter smile. “Several.”

He gave a snort, which she supposed was the Batarian equivalent of a chuckle. It sounded just as forced as her smile. “Anything else broken?”

She glanced down at herself, at the blooming violet marks all over her body in the shape of vorcha fists and feet. The glowing red lines of her surgery scar stood out even more in contrast. The doctor approached her again, holding out one of his hands toward her like one would a frightened dog. When she didn’t lash out or try to bite him, he placed his hand over her sternum and felt around her ribcage, touching lightly over the particularly vibrant bruises. “You heal quickly. These marks will probably fade fast.”

Shepard recalled the intense hurt she felt in her stomach before. “I felt something… lower.”

He glanced up before touching the bottom of her ribcage.

“No, lower.”

He jerked his hand away from her, “You don’t have ribs to break there.” His words were abrupt, harsher than anything she had heard from him before. “And if your spine was broken, we’d both already know.”

The guard at the door cleared his throat. “So she’s fixed?”

He turned his attention from her to look his way. “She will be.”

“Good. Put her under.”

There was a visible pause in the doctor before he nodded and left her side again. That dread was back in Shepard again, returning after her brief reprieve. This was getting familiar again.
The Batarian returned to her with a fresh syringe and the urge to fight broiled back into her brain before she could consider her situation. The doctor moved before she could, putting a firm hand over her broken arm, keeping it down against the chair arm.

The yearning to struggle was quashed with the threat of her bone and the splint, and she flinched away from the clear liquid in the syringe. She ground her teeth as the tip of the needle slid into her wrist.

“Remember what I said before, human.”
The doctor’s voice was just a murmur, and when she glanced up, his face was just in front of hers. Again, there was that indiscernible look over his features.

As frost crawled up her naked skin and buried every other sensation in her body, she had a moment of clarity.

The expression on the doctor’s face was pity.

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Slow Drip 12

Outside of Afterlife was the typical line of people being held by the bouncer, switching their weights from one foot to another in time with the strumming music coming from just beyond the door. Their posse was significantly larger than usual that day. Miranda lead the pack, followed by Jacob, Zaeed, Jack, Tali and Garrus. When they approached the door to the entrance, the Elcor bouncer placed one enormous leg in her path.

An unfriendly jolt went through the group of individuals behind her. Tensions were understandably high as it was, and Miranda had already been forced to intervene and defuse situations between the squadmates. In the process, she had gained new appreciation for what Shepard did with the crew. She waved her hand behind herself to quiet the group before any of them could start trouble.

She turned to look at the alien in its wrinkled face. “Excuse me, we are meeting with Aria on behalf of Shepard.”

The elcor paused, and glanced down at the line of humans and aliens behind her. As usual for a member of its species, it erred on the side of caution. “Apologetic, My mistake. Go on through.”

She could hear Jack sneer in triumph at the bouncer being told off. At another time she might have shot back a warning look, but right now she’d consider that wasted energy. Instead, she led the posse within the club.
Through the heavy red lights, flashing strobes and pounding music, the group stayed close and clustered together as they cut through the crowd. Zaeed, trailing the pack, was the only one who would drift away before returning to the line. They climbed the stairs up to the balcony and were stopped by Aria’s Batarian.

Anto intercepted their path, examining the group briefly. “My recognition of humans isn’t the best… but I’m not seeing Shepard with you.”

“Yeah, no shit, four eyes.” Came Jack’s immediate retort.

This time, Miranda did turn back to face her. “Jack.”

The biotic continued her glare before faltering. “Whatever. Your move, cheerleader.” She crossed her arms over her tattooed chest.

Miranda made her move, stepping forward and placing a hand on the Batarian’s shoulder. “We didn’t come here to waste Aria’s time.”

“Don’t play dumb, Korragan.” Garrus stepped out from behind Jacob. “You know exactly why we’re here.”

Though Anto scowled at the contact, he glanced over his shoulder at the Asari reclining at the cusp of the balcony. A single wave of the hand was given to him, in affirmation. He stepped aside, moving out of Miranda’s grasp.

They climbed the remaining stairs, up to Aria’s throne. The woman was sprawled out as usual, the look of cool contempt on her face a constant as she regarded her visitors. Her gaze fell upon Zaeed and the contempt intensified. “Massani.” She acknowledged.

He gave a fingery wave. “Pleasant seeing you again too, Aria.”

“Surprised they dragged a relic like you all the way up here.”

A vague line of amusement made its way onto the scarred merc’s face. “I’m playing the role of the muscle today, on account of the Krogan’s being grounded.”

In the silence, Aria spoke up. “I see you’re missing someone.”

She stared back the Asari, meeting the cruel gleam of her eyes without looking away. “We’ve lost Shepard. She was separated from us during a fight on the wards.”

“Funny. I seem to recall warning Shepard not to go around starting fights with the mercs. Too bad she didn’t listen.”

“We believe she’s been captured.”

The Asari shifted, resting her head on the knuckles of one hand. “I fail to see why that’s a problem of mine.”

Garrus let out a low, flanged sound.

“It’s not a problem of yours.” It was getting a little more difficult to keep her voice level, but as always, Miranda managed. “But Shepard… and Cerberus would be indebted to you if you would assist in her retrieval.” She didn’t want to play her hand so early, but she knew that they didn’t have many options and a promise of some sort of loyalty was the best thing they had to offer Aria at the moment.

A brief expression of interest passed over the other woman’s face, before it was summarily quashed. “What makes you think she’s even still alive?”

Slow Drip 13

“Why are you asking us? Don’t you know what happened to her?” Despite Miranda’s earlier warning, Jacob raised his voice over the music.

Aria’s focus snapped to him, and to his credit, Jacob didn’t shrink away or flinch. “No. I don’t.”

“I thought you knew everything that happened on Omega.”

Miranda grabbed onto Jacob’s arm. There was a reason she had asked him and Garrus to let her do the talking.
The Asari’s stare had sharpened in distaste. “I’ll let that comment slide this time. I don’t know what happened to Shepard, but I intend to find out. Now answer my question.”

Jacob cleared his throat a little, “We went over the ward after the fact. Didn’t find a body, didn’t speak with anyone who had seen one.”

“That doesn’t exclude her from being dead and dragged off.”

Miranda cut in again, “No, it doesn’t, but we believe that is one of the ways you can help us.”

“Explain yourself.”

She stepped forward, closer to the woman, “We need access to the security feeds in Omega, so we can find out what happened to Shepard and who was it that took her.”

The curve of one of her brows arched upwards at the proposition. “That’s a ludicrous request.”

“You said you wanted to find out what happened to her. That would be the fastest way to do so, wouldn’t it? Oversee us while we’re doing it, place whatever restrictions you need, but unless we get those camera feeds, we don’t have any definite leads to follow.”

Aria lifted her head from her hand, staring them all down one by one. Then she turned to Anto, beckoning him their way.


The Batarian lead them to a place deeper into Omega, far away from the thrumming Afterlife and the busy streets of the dirty markets around it. They were being taken to the underside of the station, the underlying skeleton with which Aria controlled her territory. Piping, ventilation systems, and electrical wiring ran across the walls and ceilings, making the pathways cramped and ugly.

Finally, they came to a much, much larger room, the first they had seen that was brightly lit. The light, however, was coming from the hundreds of monitors across the wall, all displaying the records from the cameras on the station. They would change intermittently, flickering one feed from the next to the point that tracking the location of any of them was disorienting.

There was the click of an intercom, and Aria’s voice filtered over the speakers of the room. “You can have access to the hour during that fight of yours, and only the cameras on that particular ward. You overstepping your boundaries is not something I’m going to be able to forgive. You got that. Cerberus?”

Miranda nodded, “Understood.”

“Good. Anto.” The Batarian’s head lifted at his name, “I’ve already got people monitoring them, you don’t need to be here. Get back to Afterlife.”

“Yes ma’am.” As he stepped around them, he gave a nod to Miranda and left.

There was silence as they all stood in the nauseating light cast by the displays.

“Alright.” Miranda looked around. “Kasumi?”

The thief appeared to solidify from the very shadows in the corner of the room, stepping forward with a smile on the only part of her face visible from beneath the hood. “Oh, I always wanted to know where they were keeping this place. Nice job getting us in, Miranda, I knew we could count on you to work your magic.”

She was acting a little too pleased. “We’re being monitored, Kasumi.” Miranda reminded her.

She glanced around the room, the look on her face turning more mischievous, “We don’t have to be…”

“No. Didn’t you hear what Aria said? Besides, we’re here for Shepard, not for our own gain.”

Finally, Kasumi seemed to deflate. “Fine, fine.” She brought up her omni tool, bathing herself in the orange glow from the device. Miranda could see her eyes shining in the light from underneath her hood.

Approximately half of the feeds in the room clicked off, making it a good deal darker in the process. The rest became still images of familiar parts of Omega. “These are all the cameras on the ward Shepard and company was on. What time was it when they were in the mission?”

Slow Drip 14

“I believe they were deployed at 14:50, and Jack returned to the Normandy to get help at exactly 15:85.”

The feeds flickered again, jumping either ahead or backwards in time. Then, they began playing footage. It was still difficult to try to look at them all at once since people were constantly walking in and out of view. Then, abruptly, most of the people on the ward headed for cover, ducking into buildings and out of sight. Turians, Batarians and humans in blue armor stormed into view in several of the feeds.

The mercs.

Kasumi held out her hand and stopped one of the camera feeds, “And there’s the first sighting of our Shepard.” There she was, in her armor with her weapon raised and at the ready. Kasumi let the feed run again, and then in the next second, Shepard had biotic charged right out of the frame of the camera.

“And… there she goes.”

Jacob searched through each of the still active screens. “Why isn’t she showing up in another camera?”

“Obviously the coverage in the wards isn’t that good. There might be a single camera on each street.”

Garrus stepped closer to one of the glowing screens, getting himself a better look. “So Shepard getting caught might not even be on camera?”

Kasumi shrugged her shoulders, “It’s a possibility.”

“Is there any way to speed things along?” Miranda folded her arms across her chest.

“Well…” The thief glanced back at Tali, who startled a little when she realized she was being looked at. “You wouldn't happen to have facedata for Shepard, would you?”

Miranda nodded, “Of course.”

“Well, Quarian, what say you and me program a little VI to check the video feeds for us.”

Tali perked up at the idea. “I could do that.”

The facedata had been gathered during the Lazarus project, a 3D representation of Shepard’s face. Using all the possible angles from the data, the VI would scan the various feeds from the cameras and try to match the faces it saw to Shepard’s. Tali had to tweak it a little so it was refined enough to stop mistaking Jack for Shepard, but the extra hair one of them had helped it along.

There were a total of four instances in which Shepard had appeared in the feeds. The first, when she charged off screen. A second prolonged period in which she was pinned behind cover.
A third period where she told Jack to go back to the Normandy. By that point, the three of them including Grunt were already nursing wounds after facing down an entire group of mercs. Jack was the least injured of the three of them, and the one most likely to get back to the ship by herself. Jacob found himself agreeing with her judgment call.

Then, there was a large lapse in her appearing on camera. For a while, Blue Suns were still getting shot, until the last group of them decided to fall back.

At the 15:98 mark, Shepard crawled into view of the camera. She was a mess, and she was looking worried for herself. One hand held up her heavy pistol, the other was pressed down to her side as blood oozed from a wound that had gotten through both her shields and armor. Shepard crawled up to a crate and let her head loll back as she gulped in air. Her omni tool activated and she pressed medigel to her injury. Suddenly something caught her attention from offscreen. Her head turned and she held up her heavy pistol. With her free hand, she prepared a biotic shockwave, but then a bright projectile arced straight towards her.

Upon impact, it burst into a wide net of electrical energy that wrapped around Shepard’s form. She immediately hunched over herself, thrashing, caught between attempting to escape it and writhing away from the electrical burning. By that point, her attackers had walked into the view of the camera. They were Batarian, dressed in dark armor without any visible insignia. Their motions were almost casual as they approached Shepard, rifles still raised and vaguely pointed at her head.

For a moment, Jacob found himself tense, waiting for what felt like an inevitable shot between Shepard’s eyes.

Then, as the net faded, one Batarian turned his rifle around and struck her in the head with the end of it. Shepard went down immediately, and the slavers wasted no time in binding her limbs and carrying her off.

Slow Drip 15


Kasumi had sat through the rest of the footage of the ward, waiting to see the Batarians again. “They must know where the cameras are on the ward, they avoided them up until they found Shepard and then the entire time after.” She concluded, finally, upset at being bested in the game of hide and seek.

After the search, they had turned over the footage of the capture to Aria. “Batarian slavers.” She quipped, “That really narrows it down.”

“So you’re saying you don’t know these people.” Jacob concluded.

“They’re not wearing any signs on them, so they don’t work for mercs. I also don’t recognize any of their faces so they don’t answer to me.”

“So…” he frowned, “What, was this a waste of time?”

“No.” Garrus shook his head. “We know that they took her alive, so at least it’s unlikely that she was killed. We also have some of their faces.”

Jack snorted, “Oh yeah, we have their mugshots, that’ll be useful in the sea of slavers on Omega.”

“It means that we’re going to have to find Shepard through other ways.”

“Like what, exactly?” Jacob was frowning. Somehow, actually seeing what had happened made the situation that much worse.

“We check the slave markets for her.”

Miranda and Jacob shared uncomfortable looks. “Alright.” She gave a short sigh, “What would we need to look for to find Shepard? Would they have announced that they caught her?”

Once more, Aria’s voice came out over the intercom, “She wouldn’t have told them who she was if she’s smart. Yes, announcing that you’re both Alliance and working for Cerberus would be sure to win friends among her Batarian slavers.”

“So Shepard remains anonymous. How do we find her then?”

Garrus waved his hand, listing off things in his head, “Physical attributes. Age. She has a rarer hair color among humans, right?”

Jacob nodded, “Sort of. So they would advertise her as a soldier?”

“No.” Jack’s voice was darker then. “You don’t capture a soldier and sell them as a soldier. You don’t want to hand a slave a gun if they know exactly how to kill you with it.”

“I thought a lot of slaves ended up as bodyguards eventually.”

“Yeah, ex merchants and ex travelers become bodyguards. They scare the assholes shitless and then they give them a job. They were civilians before, so they’ll behave if they know it means not getting beaten.”

The pit of his stomach clenched with the question forming in him. “So what do soldiers become?”

Jack opened her mouth, before she shot a glare at the blank wall. Zaeed headed for the exit of the monitoring room. In the doorway, he stopped and turned around, “Soldiers become warm bodies. It’s the only thing they’re good for at that point.”

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Slow Drip 16

Shepard woke once more to the sound of footsteps in the hallway. They seemed to echo all around her head, and for a moment she couldn’t track exactly where they were coming from. As she blinked open her eyes, the noises in her ears seemed to realign and she realized they were coming from just ahead of her.

“Is she awake?” The deep belted voice of the Krogan, just outside the walls.

There was the rough translated tones of a Batarian, but it was different than the ones she had heard before. “It’s still wearing off, like you wanted.”

“Good. How many doses has she taken?”

“Eighteen, counting this one.”

“Perfect.” There was the door chime and the squeak of moving polymer. The heavy stomps made their way into the room, echoing about the empty walls.

Shepard didn’t bother opening her eyes this time. The dreamless oblivion of her sleep was a lot more preferable to what was standing in front of her. She wished she could just roll over in bed and return to it. When she let her thoughts drift, she could almost feel that unconsciousness calling out to her, blurring the lines between thought and thoughtlessness. But then she could feel the puff of breath as the Krogan stooped close to her face.

“I know your type, slave. You’re a soldier trained. Once upon a time you were taken away from your world to be broken down and rebuilt as something new.”

One finger slid under her chin and tilted up her head. “Today, we start that all over again.” Her head was jerked and he released her. turning his huge frame around, he left the cell. “Get her set up in the open room.”

“How much slack does she get?”

“Set it at the default. I’ll take care of the rest.”

She remained in the white mist behind her eyelids, even as she was released from the clasps on the wall into the arms of the guards that had entered her cell. She was carried down the hall, and her mind was too muddled to track the turns and step step steps they took on the way down. Something slid back around her neck, something like the clasp on the wall but not quite. Then she was placed down on cold tile and simply left there.

Shepard rolled onto her back and slept dreamlessly. Maybe for a few minutes, maybe for a few hours, but it felt good to stay there.

When her body had finally had enough, or whatever drugs she was on had run their course, she opened her eyes.

Above her was a strange panel on the ceiling. It was cylindrical in shape and faintly glowing. She sat up and felt a weight press into her throat. She reached out to touch it and saw that there was a heavy collar on her. Her arms and legs were free and completely unfettered, and she grabbed at the collar, searching for some sort of lock. There was only a tiny seam where the two halves snapped together.

In a glance around the room, she could see that it was a lot larger than the rooms she had seen so far. The ceiling was also a little ways higher. Looking down, she could see that she was sitting in the center of a painted circle on the floor. It had about a three meter radius. She put one hand on the ground and felt chilly metal underneath her fingers. There was a small drain there, and faint stains of brown-red and dark blue were encrusted in the gaps of the tile near it. She felt a faint inkling of disgust, and rose onto her feet. Though she still felt that shaky soreness from the last time she had been standing, it wasn’t as bad this time. She wobbled back and forth for a while, since there wasn’t any walls nearby for her to brace herself on. After a while she seemed to straighten out her spine and caught her balance.

Her arm that had been broken felt a lot better. She could still see a violet bruise over where it had snapped, as well as the metal splint showing dark through her skin. But she could move her hand just fine, so it was some relief.

The room remained empty, even as she took a step further.

Shepard looked from one wall to another. Three other, different colored circles were on the floor in each quadrant of the room. There was a door on one wall, but she couldn’t see anyone behind the glass window in its center. With nothing else to do, she walked forward towards the edge of the circle.

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Slow Drip 17

As soon as one bare foot reached the red marking, the collar on her neck got a lot warmer and suddenly tugged back. She whipped her head around and saw a glowing kinetic line reaching from the back of her collar to the cylindrical panel on the ceiling. She leaned forward and felt the kinetic tether tighten further. When she grabbed onto the collar and tried to yank it, the line didn’t yield an inch.

Finally, the door to the room opened up and the Krogan stepped in. He wasn’t wearing his red armor this time, only the thick weaved under clothes that the armor would be placed on. He had his omni tool out, and his gait was casual as he approached her.

She began walking backwards, the collar she was wearing cooling then warming up again as she crossed from the center of the circle to the other side of the circumference. She stopped when the tether appeared again.

He noticed her retreat and gave a chuckle. Even though he was far away, she could almost feel it on her skin. “That was quite a stunt you pulled last time, slave. A vorcha’s tooth. Real clever. But you played your hand too early with that one. Had I been anything besides a Krogan it might have actually worked.”

She bared her teeth at him, her hands braced on either sides of the collar.

“Like the room? I figured you needed a chance to stretch your legs out again.”

After a few seconds of leaning her weight on the tether, she relented and moved closer to the center of the circle.

“But really, I’ve brought you here to begin… ‘instructing’ you on the behaviors you’ll need to learn. They’re pretty simple, you shouldn’t have any trouble grasping the basics.” He continued tromping forward, closer to the edge of the tether’s borders. This time, she stood her ground. “The only difficulty will come from you, slave. You can make things easy for yourself by taking these lessons to heart.” He craned his large head, gold eyes baring into her. “First one, come here.” He made a flip of his free hand towards himself.

She stood where she was, looking him back in the face and glowering.

He scoffed through his nostrils. “Really? This is the easiest lesson. I'm sure you can do the monumental task of walking forward, slave.”

Shepard waited a few moments, anticipating some sort of violent retribution in response to her disobedience. None came, however, and the Krogan just waited in front of her in silence.
Cautious, she took a few steps closer to the other. Not out of a desire to obey, but some morbid curiosity to see what it was he wanted from her.

He broke into a smile. “Now we’re getting somewhere. This next one might be a little more difficult.” The smile spread. She could see more of his molars than she had previously. “Get down on your knees.”

Whatever curiosity she had instantly turned into disgust and another, even colder feeling. She stayed standing and threw a dark glare at the Krogan.

“No? You can disobey all you want, slave, but in the end you aren’t going to be fighting me. You’re going to be fighting your own body.”

Slow Drip 18

Raw anger rose from the back of her throat, boiling through the disgust and changing into a full on rage. She let go of the collar and lunged at the Krogan. She swung a fist at the side of his head, aiming just between the eye and neck.

He simply took a step back from the circle and activated something on his omnitool.

Suddenly the collar snapped against the inside of her throat and yanked her off of her feet. She hit the floor on her tailbone hard, but couldn’t even gasp for breath before the tether began rapidly getting shorter. Shepard was dragged up off of the ground, and as she scrambled to get on her feet, the collar dragged her back to the center of the circle and upwards.
When it finally stopped shortening, she was left standing on her toes over the metal drain, the edge of the collar pressed into the tender skin beneath her jaw and just barely letting her breathe.

“This only gets as difficult as you let it.” the Krogan lowered his omni tool, walking around the red edge on the floor.

She thrashed as far as she could, feeling for all intents and purposes like a fish on a line.

He watched her for a while, before shaking his head and letting out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.” Then, into his omni tool, “We’re done here. Take her back to her cell.” He left the circle, heading back to the single door in the room.

Faintly, she could hear a voice on the other end of the line, “You want her back on the wall?”

The Krogran stopped midstep to look back at her. “No. Let her pace. Might as well give her a chance to spend that extra energy.”

Then he was gone, and the door shut behind him. She remained where she was, still half dangling, still half choking on the unerring pull of the collar.

After what felt like half an hour, the door opened again, and the Batarian that had escorted her to the clinic entered the room. Her position was apparently unremarkable, he didn’t even stop to examine her as he approached and went around behind her. Like before, her arms were bound behind her back, and finally the collar popped off of her neck.

One hand held on to the bindings on her wrists while the other shoved her forward.

“Get moving.”

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Slow Drip 19

When they reached her cell, she was made to walk into the doorway. Behind her, the clasps on her arms were removed a second before she was pushed further inside the room.
By the time she looked over her shoulder, the door had already squeaked shut, the Batarian guard disappearing behind it. She heard as he left the cell, heading back down the hall to whatever next task he had.

And Shepard was left alone.

For an indeterminate length of time, she simply stood rooted to the spot, staring at the door and listening. She did not know what she was expecting, but being left alone and awake was certainly not it. But no Krogan came, no pitifully faced doctor arrived with drug doses. It was just her, and the almost silence of the cell block.

When she finally let herself move, she simply sank to the floor and sat down.

Her body was still a mess, like it had been the last time she had been awake. The cut on her chest had been cleared of the staples, and left as the series of healing scars. She felt along the bone of her arm, probing herself to check for pain. She could feel the splint under her skin when she pressed down. Her hand could be moved as normal, so she figured that was alright. Bodily, she felt fine.

Well, almost.

She could only stand to sit for a few minutes before she got back onto her feet.
There was nowhere to go, nothing to climb, no distance to walk, but her feet still ached with the urge to move.
So she did. She walked several steps, turned, and kept walking.
Turned again, and walked to another corner of the cell.

Turned again. Kept walking.

As she paced, her mind wandered. There was fear, and there was considering of her situation. Things hadn’t changed much. She was still stuck in an inescapable cell, even if she was no longer stuck to the wall. She had been trapped here for… what felt like days must have been days. And to her knowledge, no one had come here looking for her. That meant either her crew did not know where she was… or else they had already tried a rescue attempt and failed. The former was disheartening to consider, though she would have expected Cerberus to have stuck some sort of tracking device inside her. The latter, well, she didn’t want to think about that.

She thought about her crew for a while. She hoped Grunt had better luck than she. The last she had saw was him heading back to the Normandy, despite that look of protest on his face. Jack… had she gotten away too? It wasn’t possible to know. But the Blue Suns hadn’t been the ones who captured her… it had been someone else. And she had forced the Blue Suns back before Grunt and Jack had returned behind the lines.

Her feet ached as she kept thinking, and her mind wandered away from the cell. How much time had she lost here? Had there been any more Collector attacks? Did anyone else know she had been taken? The Illusive Man probably did.

That was a horrible thought.

She didn’t want to consider the way this would change his opinion of her. The way that, if—when she got out of this, he would hold it over her head.

As time went on, and Shepard grew tired of being inside her own thoughts, she realized that it had been hours and no one had come for her. She stopped pacing, and sat down again.

And she was at a loss of what to do. There was no means to entertain, or even distract herself, no noises outside her cell for her to engage with, no real physical task to take up. She lay on the floor on her back, rolling occasionally onto her side.

There was nothing.
There was no one.

She realized that her punishment from the Krogan was this solitary confinement.

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Slow Drip 20

The boredom itself was the hardest to deal with. She never thought it would be something to struggle with, but as she tossed and turned with nothing to do and no escape, it was stifling. She felt anxious, like she should keep moving, keep doing something even though she didn’t know what.

After a while she got back onto her feet, but the pacing made her feel worse.

Finally, she heard footsteps coming down the hall. She froze in place, before treading up closer to the door to more clearly listen. The footsteps stopped just outside her door, and there was the sot of a brief clatter. Then, a small slot next to the door slid open. She turned to face it, and saw a small outcropping with a tray inside. It had a tube of nutrient paste as well as a canister of some sort. She took the canister and smelled the liquid inside. Probably water. The nutrient paste was brandless, the stuff they handed out at stations to keep the vagabonds from starving and rations for small colonies.

Even though she was a little hungry, she was too wary to eat what they had given her. The hunger protest didn't last long. Now that the food was in the room, her stomach seemed to awaken. It was likely that she hadn’t even eaten in several days, and they had just given her nutrients intravenously while she had been drugged.

Before she could stop herself, she considered the doctor and the drugged sleep. In comparison to this, it would be a relief. Just no longer being aware of anything, no longer being alone with her own conscious thoughts.

But she did stop herself, she shoved those thoughts out of her mind. It was better to be awake. It was better to remember who she was.

Another form of surrender did come when she relented and drank the water and ate the salty flavored paste. Shepard reasoned that if they had wanted to drug her, they would have done it by now. The hunger in her stomach went away, but the growing unease in her bones didn’t.

Hours passed, and she felt a new sensation oh exhaustion. Her eyelids drooped, and her head ached in need of sleep. At first, she was all too glad to oblige, curling herself into the most comfortable position she could on the floor. But as she shut her eyes and willed herself to sleep, nothing came. She was still stuck there, in the cell, with that same urge to move around. The restlessness had her rising back to her feet and stomping around in frustration.

Maybe she just needed some more physical exertion.

She pretended as if she were still going through her Alliance training, and had just been asked to do some push ups near her bunk. Dutifully, she got down onto the floor and began letting her muscles work. It was a little trouble at first, strain on the once broken arm, but after the first five it was like clockwork. Her mood brightened a little as she did them. Surely this was good for her muscles, tasks for them after they had been resting for so long.

After she had lost count--was it 221 or 223?--Shepard flopped back onto her stomach, resting her chin on the cool polymer. That extra energy she had felt had been whittled down, and certainly she could sleep now. She shut her eyes and imagined herself in the cabin on the Normandy.

The thought faded away and she opened her eyes again. Still nothing.
She rolled onto her back and tried to sleep there.


For hours she laid around and tried to sleep, feeling only the exhaustion increase and her body refuse to rest.
When the anxiety returned, it increased tenfold, and she started pacing again until she was too tired to move.

She sat in the corner of her cell, knees pressed up to the scars on her chest, breathing as her pulse pounded in her head. Her brain felt like it was crushed in a vice, her muscles like rung out rags, but still she couldn’t sleep.

She wished it was two years earlier, and that she was still getting nightmares about Illos in her sleep. Even the frantic images of the Protheans’ doom would have been preferable to this. Even the deep, quiet nightmares of her breath running from her lungs as she was suspended in space would be preferable. No relief would come, and the hours stretched on.

Slow Drip 21

By the time someone came to her cell, her mind was such a haze that she didn’t hear the footsteps until they were right at her door. She jerked her head up out of her arms, looking towards the entrance.

“Get up.” Came an order. One of the guards.

She blinked back at the voice, before she struggled onto her feet.

“Face and stand against the back wall, in between the two center lines.” She looked to the wall in question, and saw the slightly darker polymer slots in which the clasps came out of. She walked towards the wall, and stood in front of its center.

“I said against, slave. Toes touching.”

She took another step forward, and the clasp from the wall came out and secured around her waist. The door to the cell opened and the guard walked in. Her two hands were grabbed and pinned behind her back before the wall binding released her. When she was secured, the guard turned her around to face the door. “Walk.”

The hallway went by in a blur, and her feet somehow managed to carry along. She slipped once, but the Batarian behind her held her upright and dragged her back onto her feet.
They made it to a wide open room, and as she was guided through it she noticed the circles on the floor… and that there was already someone in the center of one.

It was an Asari. She was just as naked as Shepard was, and she could see every inch of her dark blue skin. For a moment, she stopped moving, just standing there in shock before the Batarian behind her growled something into her ear and forced her along into the center of the red circle. The tether was placed onto her neck before her arms were freed, and the guard left her in the circle.

Her eyes remained on the Asari, who was dangling by her neck similar to how she had been the last time she was in the room. It took her a while to realize that there was a male human standing outside the edge of the Asari’s circle, speaking to her so quietly that her translator wasn’t picking it up.

“Have a nice time in your cell, slave?”

Her attention snapped to the Krogan in front of her, arms folded across his chest, omni tool already active. She couldn’t find anything to say to him, she just stood in her place.

“You look like hell.” That smile had returned, a certain enjoyment in his golden eyes. “I warned you, didn’t I? Your body knows what it needs, and it’s going to keep telling you. No matter what you think you want. Now that I hope you’ve learned that lesson, let’s go back to square one.”

He beckoned with his free hand. “Come to me.”

She grabbed onto the collar around her neck and clung onto it as if it would help her stay standing. Perhaps it did; she kept her feet firm on the ground.

The smile on his face hitched, then faded into a lessened scowl. “Didn’t expect you to stay stubborn after all that. Most understand after the first forty hours. Don’t be a slow learner slave, I know you’re smarter than that.” Once more, he beckoned her with his three fingers.

Shepard didn’t move.

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Slow Drip 22

Not until a sudden, sharp cry had her flinching as if she had just been struck. Her eyes darted to the hanging Asari, who was convulsing while arcs of bright electricity ran up and down her body, flicking along her trembling limbs. It came from her collar, which was glowing a sharp blue. Her scream went silent as even her throat tightened and spasmed. The Krogan paused, and turned himself to watch the display along with her.

Finally, mercifully, the current of energy ceased, and the Asari sagged to the floor, the tether extending to allow it.

Shepard felt sick. Her knees bent a little as a heavier weight seemed to bare down on her shoulders. The Krogan approached her, crossing over the boundary on the floor. When he was close enough, he bent over to her height. “You know, some drivers believe that the best way to teach a slave is by an electric shock, as soon as they disobey. It is, admittedly, a valid method.” The Asari behind him was gasping in air, each breath peaking in a sob. He cupped her cheek, even as she grimaced at the touch. “But I disagree. You’re not a rodent in a lab, are you? You aren’t a vorcha that needs pain to learn. You can understand what happens if you don’t follow orders. And that you’ll get what you need when you obey.”

The only thing in her head that was certain, through her exhaustion and sleeplessness was that she hated him. She hated him so badly she wished he would burst into flames, that fire would eat through his thick hide and burn his redundant nervous system and kill him.
She wished she could kill him.
She stared up, forced her hating glare dead in the center of his face and wished she could kill him.

He sighed again, in that grudging way as if she had done something stupid, like a patient but overworked school teacher. His hand slipped away from her face, and he left the range of her tether.

“She’s not ready yet. Take her back to her cell.”

At his words, she froze, the boiling hatred freezing over in her chest. She didn’t want to go back to fruitless pacing in the tiny box. She didn’t want to go back to begging for sleep that wouldn’t come. All her rebellion faded in response to that continued suffering.
There had to be some way to avoid that, some way—

The truth made itself apparent. She had learned. Shepard understood what her body needed. And as she approached the edge of the circle, feeling her collar warm against her skin, she now understood what she had to go to get it.
She got down onto her knees.

The Krogan stopped short.

Her gaze fell to a spot on the ground in front of her, so she wouldn’t have to see him or the Asari struggling to stand. She felt the Krogan’s hand on her head, running through the hair on her scalp. The rumbling chuckle he gave went through her.

“So. We’re finally making progress.” To the approaching guard, he ordered, “Change of plans, have the doctor put her under. She’s earned some rest.”


When she was led to the clinic, the doctor did not even say a word. He just looked at the guard and then at her face and turned away to get an injection.
She found herself distantly grateful for his haste.

She sat herself down in her chair and let the clasps lock her wrists in. The doctor returned to her side, and patted down the inside of her elbow with a swab.

“Are you allergic to dextro proteins?” He asked her.

It took her some time to understand his question. “What?”

“Have you ever been exposed to dextro amino acid material?” he repeated.

She reached around in her sluggish mind for an appropriate memory. “I ate a Turian’s rations once, by accident.”

“And what happened?” The needle entered into the flesh of her arm.

“I spent the afternoon throwing up.” He opened his mouth in a silent sound of acknowledgement. “Why?”

“The Krogan told me to.” He breathed out a sigh, and pressed down the plunger of the needle.

She shut her eyes as the clear liquid was forced into her vein. Once again, she felt the creeping cold as the drug spread through her system. But this time, it was cool like gulps of water down a parched throat. It was relief.

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Slow Drip Alternate Chapter 1

A/N: This chapter is focused on what is happening on the Normandy, but it includes some lines about Shepard's past that are excluding to Shepards who were Ruthless, Earthborn or Colonists. It was my intention for the story's Shepard to be ambiguous, therefore this chapter is an 'alternate chapter' for you to take as part of the story if you want to.


From the deck above, Garrus could see Jack leaning onto a railing and looking out towards the pulsing engine. It was notable, since most of the time Jack kept herself in her dark den below, out of his sight. The fact that she was out and about was probably a bad sign.

Outside of the occasional status check in they had every ten hours, none of the crew was really talking to one another. Tali was the only one who would still hold conversations with him, which was some relief. If the Quarian engineer he had met on the original Normandy and helped save the Citadel with was still talking to him, at least they hadn’t all fallen into complete despair. But everyone else could barely stand to meet his eyes in the hallways of the ship. Especially Lawson, who seemed to be simultaneously having a meltdown and a crisis of faith and was only holding herself together with omnigel and bits of adhesive tape.

Jack and Grunt, being the last people who had seen Shepard, worried him.

Admittedly he had no idea how to speak with Grunt. Garrus suspected that the tankborn was still getting acquainted to the very idea of guilt, much less feeling it. He had tried in the last ten hours to talk to him about it, but he had an inkling he had barely avoided getting his head bashed in like the Turians from the war vids Grunt had taken the time to watch.

Jack? Well. They two of them hadn’t had many more conversations together either. The human wasn’t exactly a social butterfly and most of her smalltalk consisted of cussing at Lawson.

Though he and Jack had managed to exchange words that weren’t ‘fuck off and die’, she was a human and an unstable one at that.

But there she was, brooding downstairs just like he had been upstairs. He might as well go and try to talk to Jack.

She was still there after he had went down a floor, her forearms resting on the railings and her head bowed between them.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. “Jack.”

“Vakarian.” Like any other member of the crew, she could recognize him just by his subvocals. It took her a while to lift up her head, and when she turned around to sit up on the railing and face him, her expression was tired but neutral. “Any news from the Cerberus goons?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’ve been out of the loop since two check ins ago. Zaeed’s the only one that has a lot to contribute as an advisor. What about you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, angling one boot to idly hook under a bar of the rail. “Jacob stopped asking me questions a while ago. I burned most of my bridges on Omega, if someone else didn’t get to them first.”

“Same here. Almost all the contacts I had there ended up in the scope of my rifle, if you catch my drift.”

“Yeah, no kidding, mister high and mighty vigilante.”

She was trying to insult him, but her heart wasn’t in it. It didn’t sting like it should have. Instead, Garrus changed the subject to what was really on his mind.

“How are you holding up, Jack?”

She stared back at him, before scowling. “What kind of question is that? I’m stuck on a Cerberus ship spinning my heels waiting for them to find our boss, that’s how I’m holding up.”

“You and Grunt were the last Shepard was with.”

Her expression darkened further. Like he had worried, she was getting defensive. “What the fuck is this, an interrogation? I told everyone what happened and you have the video footage.”

He breathed out a huff that might have sounded to her agitated if she was a Turian. “That’s not what I meant. I spoke to Grunt earlier. He seems to be beating himself up pretty hard over what happened.”

Though Jack relaxed when she realized what he was playing at, that anger in her didn’t go away. “I bet he is. I bet he’s going around crying about he failed his battlemaster or whatever he calls it.”

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Re: Enslaved Shepard: Slow Drip

Attention A!A and SecondWind!A!A! Your houses haev been F5'd!
Continue writing these fills or else...

Please? Pretty please?!

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