Following his last battle of the Great War Shepard has to come to terms with a new development. Shepard clenched his hand into a fist, the metal prosthetic obeying his mental command instantly, the dull grey fingers closed against his fake palm. He left it that way for a second, turning it over to look at the back of his new hand. He could just make out his face in the metal; he looked tiered and pale in the morning sunlight streaming into his hospital room.