Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect. At all.
A/N: What is up guys, I'm going to be writing the first few chapters of this story, and if there is any interest (at all), I shall continue it. Keep in mind that this is my first story, so the usual problems of new writers will most likely apply. I'll correct any errors if they are pointed out to me. With that, enjoy.
Detroit, Michigan.
January 21st, 2013. 7:05 A.M.
The day starts as it usually does for me, an unreasonable migraine and the sounds of early morning traffic on the streets below my apartment. Well, I say my apartment because I clean it and live in it more than my mother, but her name's on the lease. A description and backstory would be nice right about now I guess.
My name is Cory Weston. An auspicious name I know, but I didn't have much choice in the matter at the time. I stand 5' 11", and weigh about 160 pounds. Black hair, blue eyes that look gray from afar. I'm fifteen years old, but hit my growth spurt pretty early on, and look older for it. My outfits usually consist of plain, clean clothing with muted colors.
My life has always seemed like a bad joke. Between my twisted, man-chasing mother, and the men she managed to latch onto, I never had much of a reference when it came to being a good human being. Despite that, I've always tried to do what was right. It hasn't been easy, but I've more or less raised myself. No other family that I know of, beyond estranged aunts and uncles in other states. So, growing up it's just been the three of us: me, my mother, and her bullshit, which takes on a life of it's own.
Looking at other families has always made me jealous. I wonder what it's like to be apart of a normal, functional family, not having to wonder if you're going to be evicted because your parent can't be depended on to keep their job. I know that she has her side of the story, but I can't help but resent her for it. As for my father, I have no idea. No matter how much I ask, I've never gotten a straight answer as to his identity, or his whereabouts. Then again, my mother knows if I knew who he was, I'd probably run off to live with him. The only reason I haven't left already is because my mother lets me do pretty much as I please, though it's more neglect on her part than being nice to me.
Back to the story at hand.
I slowly get up from my bed, rolling my neck to ease the muscles back into action as I take a look at my room. Nothing special, a desk with some schoolwork and textbooks on it, posters of various video games and bands lining the walls. I had a decent gaming setup at one point, Playstation 3 and a 32-inch T.V., but that was long gone to some small pawn shop in New Center. I was told I'd get it back once my mother got some money together, but that was over a month ago, so there was no getting it back. I think the most pain-in-the-ass part was I had finally gotten the Mass Effect trilogy after scraping some money together helping some neighbors in an adjacent apartment move out. I had gotten into Mass Effect 3, Watching as a giant, malevolent squid was swallowed up by the Tuchanka sands, before powering down for the night. The next day, my system, games, and T.V. were "appropriated" to help pay our power bill. Utter blasphemy in my eyes, but my protests went ignored, and have continued to be over the last month in terms of getting a new system. Merry f'ing Christmas.
I stand up and make my way to the bathroom for my usual routine, showering and the like. Stopping at my mother's door, I hear the tell-tale snoring of her latest man-friend, Bill. I completely detest the man; while usually amicable sober, he can get nasty in the blink of an eye drunk. The bruises I've seen on my mother's arms from where he's grabbed her attest to that. But a man standing at 6' 2", 250 pounds of mostly muscle is a bit much for me to deal with. I dress and continue to the kitchen after, grabbing a cereal bar and putting my hoodie on before heading out the door, not willing to deal with the two people in my life who destroy any sense of cheer I have without even trying. Not that there has been much of that for me in the past month.
On December 19th, my lanky best friend and one of two people in the world with which I'd trust with anything, Alex Wolfwood (yes, Wolfwood, you read right) disappeared. He was declared a runaway, coming from an even more broken home than my own, but I knew that he wouldn't have taken off without saying something to me. Thus, I did looking of my own, and found out that none of his other friends knew where he went either, which further cemented my feeling he didn't leave of his own volition. But without anything to go on, there wasn't anything I could do. This had me walking in the morning cold towards the house of the only other person I trust, Ana Richards.
We've been going out for about eight months, getting into the trouble that teenagers do, but I know in my heart that I love her. We grew close by growing up in similar circumstances. But where my mother simply doesn't really care about me, her single father strikes out at her at the slightest provocation. We've learned to rely on each other for emotional support, but she, understandably, deals with major depression. Lately, however, she's been cheerful, though she hasn't told me why. I've taken it as a good sign regardless.
I reach her house fifteen minutes later, a small, one-story place with faded paint, and walk around back, knowing that her dad would not be home for a few hours due to his habit of getting drunk and crashing at his girlfriends house. Opening the back door that hasn't locked properly since they got the place, I walk into the house to find it eerily quiet. 'Ana gets up before I do, where is she?' I think to myself as I move towards her room. A note on the door stops me, and as I read it, my world comes crashing down around me.
Cory, knowing you, you're standing here wondering what's going on. I can't do this anymore. I've made my decision, and this is what I want. You didn't do anything to cause this; in fact you delayed this from happening. I'm so, so sorry it has to be like this but know that I love you with everything I have. Please, don't come in. You shouldn't have to see. Goodbye.
I stand there, reading the note but not comprehending it. My hands shaking as I hold it, I look at it again. "There is no way" I mutter to myself, turning the handle and finding the door locked. "Ana? Come on, open the door. Ana, this isn't funny!" At this point I'm pounding on the door, heart hammering and breath shaky as I refuse to acknowledge what the circumstances imply. After a few moments, panic wins out, and I start putting my foot to the door. After a few strong kicks, the flimsy door swings in, revealing the sight that turns my panic and dread into shock, and stops all of my thoughts in their tracks.
She's lying there motionless, face towards me, eyes glassy, skin pale. Underneath her, the bedsheets are stained red with blood. In a heartbeat I'm at her side, looking at her wrist, the epicenter of the stain. 'Oh god, she's been like this for hours.' My hands fly to her neck, feeling for a pulse and finding nothing. I'm losing it, tears already flowing freely down my face, ear to her chest listening for a heartbeat I already know won't be there. "Oh Ana, please no. Nononono..." I cradle her, rocking back and forth, all rational thought gone. As I move, I notice a metallic glint in her enclosed hand. I reach out, and after a moment pull loose dogtags, the tags I'd had made for her , one listing my information, the other her own. I'd had them made for her, telling her we'd always be together. Cheesy, but she smiled. Now stained with blood, I stare at them, feeling the raw emotion of grief overtake me.
The next twelve hours are a blur of walking, crying, and losing all sense of purpose. The one thing still keeping me going is gone, leaving me with an empty place in my heart. At some point, I end up home again, staring blankly at the front door. I'm numb and cold, face expressionless. I can hear them, my mother and Bill, arguing about something. I open it, drawing their attention to me. Immediately, I hear my mother's voice. "Where have you been?" she asks, no real emotion in her voice. I don't answer her, simply moving towards my room, but I'm stopped by Bill.
"Hey you little shit, where have you been?" I can smell the cheap liquor on his breath, and I know this won't go well. "I asked you a question!" he says, his voice rising.
"The hell do you care." I reply, toneless.
"I want to know!" he's right in my face now, staring at my vacant eyes. He takes in my disheveled appearance, and surprisingly, chuckles. "Been getting into trouble?" He asks, and I look down.
My hoodie is slightly smeared with blood. Only noticing now, I can feel myself becoming emotional again. Looking up, I see Bill moving back towards my mother, and almost immediately their argument picks back up. I stand there, unable to move, as they go at each other. I don't really pay attention to it until I see him smack my mother, and i watch as she slams into the kitchen table. He hits her again, and goes for a third time but at that point I'm on him, pent-up emotion making me rush into him. he stops only long enough to shove me into the counter my hands stopping me from hitting too hard but still slamming my head. My vision goes red, only clearing as I hear my mother screaming "STOP!"
I look down, staring from the knife in my hand to the twitching Bill underneath me. I had driven the knife into his chest, repeatedly. The fury in Bill's eyes was replaced with an unfocused terror, and then nothing. My eyes see all this, and my body goes into autopilot, moving as fast as it can out the door.
When I regain some semblance of thought, I'm outside, leaning on a railing. As I take in my surroundings, I realize I'm on a bridge. Not just a bridge, but Ambassador Bridge. 'How in the hell did I even get here?' I wonder, looking out over the water. I'm brought from my thoughts by somebody next to me, leaning on the railing as well, taking in the view.
"Not bad" the person says, and from the voice I can tell it's a he, though with a slightly high-pitched voice. "But I've seen better." I look over to him, taking in the hooded outfit, it hiding his face.
"Who are you?" I ask, though in my state of mind I didn't think much of another person on a restricted footpath.
"It isn't relevant at this point. What is important is that I must ask you something." I stare at him, though he continues to look over the water, towards the city.
"Well, what is that you want?"
"There are those who believe you can help us. That you can change things." He turns slightly towards me, and I take an immediate step back. His face, from what I can see, is gray, and most definitely NOT human.
"What the hell?" Is my eloquent reply. He seems amused by it.
"Not what you were expecting, I'm sure. Do you think you can help us?"
"With.. With what?" The surreality of the moment, coupled with the day's events, leaves me thinking I've finally lost it.
"There are things set in motion, things that need to be stopped. We need your help." I stare over the water, waiting for him to keep talking. 'If I've lost it, might as well listen.' I think to myself.
"Look out onto the water" He says, and I do so. "Do you see it?" I do. There is a faint, pulsing glow, as if a strobe light is under the water. "Get to it, and you'll be.. Transported" I look at him, realizing that he may be more insane than I am.
"Are you serious? What, am I supposed to just jump off the damn bridge?" I stare fully at him now, waiting.
"You'll make it." Is his reply.
"You are insane. This whole conversation is insane." I continue to stare at him, fully convinced that I've lost it now. He merely smiles slightly, and looks toward the glow. Taking a moment, I look at it too, and make my decision.
Now he seems slightly surprised as I climb the guardrail and hold on the outside of it now. " If I am insane, then what are you doing?" he asks. I glance back wards, then look back out at the water below.
"Embracing the madness"