Heh, this is what I get for finishing another round of Inquisition and thinking, "What other games do I know of like this?"
Am I back in business? Probably not. But this is a start.
Good to be back everybody. So much to catch up on.
Ciao
Pain was a lot of things to a lot of people. It's been a reminder, like that of a dark past or that one is alive. It's been a burden, like having a permanent injury. Or it could be something to fight through, a last obstacle before the end.
Insightful, but grim. Especially when you're the one who has to deal with the pain. On those times, wise words are more irritating than anything else. But this we already know, so why open with this?
Everyone feels pain, even heroes. Worse, there's no pinch hitter for those moments.
These thoughts did little to alleviate Shepard's pain, as he made his way through the blackened husk of London. He wasn't born on his species' home planet, but he had seen much from pictures and videos. Seeing such a change wasn't easy for anyone. He'd have to ask the resistance fighters how they managed seeing it be brought down during the war.
He braced himself against a bent girder, letting his mangled legs rest a moment while he allowed himself a small grin of victory. Yes the whole thing had been hell, and it was bloody and costly, but they had won. The Reapers were destroyed and the galaxy was safe. Probably still on fire but hey, progress is progress.
He wondered if the Catalyst was speaking the truth there, that he really did kill the Geth, EDI, and every other synthetic life out there for this. If so, then he'd just have to manage. All that disconnecting from reality he had done in this whole fight made for excellent practice for something like this. People would probably frown about it, maybe even toss him in a padded room.
He smirked.
"Sounds like fun."
Spitting out a few drops of blood, he took a deep breath and moved on, his legs shooting sharp spikes of pain through his body with each step. He was gritting his teeth with each step, trying to minimize it as much as possible. Fittingly, this pain made him think of the other times he had suffered so badly. The first was when that chunk of Sovereign fell on him after its destruction. He got lucky, in that it hadn't landed on his head. The rest of him though was apparently fair game, which the piece made sure to recognize.
He didn't get the good fortune of being knocked out when he was crushed, so he got to feel every second of it happening. Even better, it all happened slowly. Murphy's Law in action eh?
He managed to yank his arms free quickly, working to at least push the piece off him at first, then life it off when he gained enough leeway. That was about the time when Anderson had come in, looking for him and any other survivors. And, as Zaeed would say, he got to be a big goddamn hero and emerge from the rubble looking unscathed.
Of course, in the celebrations following their victory, Shepard would make discreet visits to Dr. Michel's clinic to keep his ribs from digging into his organs. He valued her discretion, and he was a creature of pride and stubbornness, ergo why he didn't go to Dr. Chakwas. So he managed to hide that trauma until he healed, and things were okay again.
Thaaaat was about the time where he died.
His thoughts, morbid though they were, had the unfortunate side effect of distracting him. Which of course meant that the exposed rebar would trip him over in his state, making him fall face first into the dirt. Hissing from the impact, and the dirt now freshly in his wounds, he tried to push himself up only to find his body unresponsive. Continued attempts proved fruitless, and he resigned himself to lie there, if only for a moment. He could feel it really, the call of death. His muscles were screaming at him in a hellish chant to fall, to stop. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, his vision start to wobble and fade. His grip on the dirt beneath him was waning-
A brief flash of a familiar face, one he would not stand to lose, gave him all the motivation to try again. Growling to himself, he pulled himself onto his hands and knees.
"Then I'll fucking crawl."
And so he did. The Hero of the Citadel, Conqueror of the Collectors, Savior of the Galaxy, crawled his way forward. No fall from grace, just one stubborn bastard. He realized that is thoughts had at least taken the pain off his mind, so he delved back into them. Rather counterproductive given the subject matter but, no time for that.
He had a life to live after all. Two of them in fact.
Sometimes he doubted that his suit's O2 tank ran out from the puncture before he started his descent into Alchera. Sometimes he could swear he felt the burning sensation of entering the planet. Worked great for if he was ever cold in his cabin. Hell he even wondered if the tank being punctured was some kind of mercy from fate, as if to apologize for the immanent fiery death he was about to have.
He pulled himself to his feet, shaking the dirt off his hands as best he could. He wiped sweat from his brow with his arm, remnants of dried blood smearing off in the process. He brought his omni-tool out, the interface now severely damaged and barely functioning. But it had enough to show him that something was up ahead, something with people. Dismissing the device, he looked toward his destination, now a small blip in the distance.
"Just a little farther old man."
He broke into a run.
At that same settlement, there were important people. Oh not in the sense of doctors or rescue workers or things like that. No, just people who fought and helped end this war. A general term now, but not to them.
Not to the Normandy crew.
But still they helped, doing anything and everything they could. They had all chosen to come to this one shelter. One of them had a feeling about this place, and they trusted her with it. So they would stay until he was there, be that in person or dead once again. They wanted the former, but they also hoped for the latter. At least then, he'd be free they said. They would grieve, they would bleed, but they would eventually rise again. He brought them all up before, how could they disservice him by doing anything less?
The work wasn't a distraction, not with every night. They always went to a spot where they could all be, their own round table. The seat of their king empty, but the others would be filled. They would talk, it always helped. The future, their plans, their hopes and dreams, but it always ended with him. One thought, one memory, one lesson he gave them. One they shared, to keep him there.
The silent chair doesn't feel like such a grim reminder anymore.
This night would be their last, for reasons they'd rejoice over. The next night, the knights would have their king.
The queen would have her king.
The sun rose to that day, the crew stretching and popping out sores from work and slumber. They didn't mind, it was a good reminder for them all. They were still in this, and he had to be as well. Delusional possibly, but he came back from the dead didn't he? Hope makes people believe crazy things after all.
The night came quicker than usual, as if the sun was eager to hide for another day. The moon was full and the skies full of stars. There were ships up there still, people who wanted to go home. Though they couldn't, they weren't angry about it. After all, who doesn't want to visit Earth?
"Who names their planet after dirt? You humans can be really stupid sometimes." They laughed at her comment, some enjoying the playful stab and some sharing the sentiment. It was a good start to the night.
It would have a better end.
"Nice one Tali."
Three words. Three words and suddenly there was naught but silence. Even the fire nearby muted its crackling as the crew snapped to the direction of the voice. A chair was pushed back as one stood up, so sure her eyes and ears were playing a cruel trick on her. But he stepped out into the light, and she felt tears come to her eyes. He was bloodied, beaten, mangled and messy.
But he was here, grinning that same crazy grin she fell in love with. The one that told her everything was going to be alright, that they would win whatever situation they had got into. The injuries must have vanished from her sight, for she ran up to him and latched onto him with all her might. He swayed from the impact but stood tall, keeping her close to him. She was crying, whispering out that he was there over and over. He just smiled, pressed a kiss to the side of her helmet, and moved back a little. She immediately whined in protest, but he stalled her with a smirk.
"You sound like you missed me. Can't imagine why." She laughed, how good that felt to do so again to one of his silly comments, and fell back into his embrace.
"Never again Sirus, never again."
"I'll try not to disappoint Tali."
As always, I am open to comments, suggestions, snide remarks and constructive criticisms.
Ciao