I can feel every synthetic piece of my body. Every galvanic cell, motor, hydraulic joint, servo and pump. In the quiet, when I'm still, I can feel the hum I can't quite hear. Then there are the subtler pieces like the reinforced skeleton– metal pins, lattice plates, and microscopic fasteners. My muscles are laced with nanofibers– electroactive polymer filaments that increase efficiency without significant bulk.
My skin has always been porcelain smooth and fair– except where it's been cut, burned, or blown apart– but now it is literally unnaturally so. This skin may not scar– it can scarcely be damaged, pierced or cut. No fine, light hairs attempt to cover my artificial hide. In fact, the only hair that dares mar this freakish, perfect skin is relegated to scalp, eyebrows, and lashes. This body, even in its naked armor, is newborn. My locks end in fine, wispy curls– never cut– and this body has clearly skipped half the biological processes of physical maturity. I expect to be decried as a fraud, but when people stare, it's not horror behind their eyes, but envy, lust, admiration, scorn, and every other human and alien emotion except the fear and revulsion the construct before them deserves.
My nerves are all too real. Every pathway screams in protest at the foreign, inorganic invasions. My body knows it is dead, but my body is not a majority shareholder in project Lazarus and the vote swings in favor of still alive– the agenda of the synthetic. There is no choice and no argument, just silent pinpricks and tingles and numbness and the occasional burning agony– tiny acts of rebellion and shows of solidarity with elusive death.
I can feel changes they made to my biotics– my brain and nervous system. Eezo nodes, bio-circuitry, biotic field amplifier. My connection to the impossible is stronger than I ever imagined. When I pull at the void, where once it pulled back, now it bends to my will like a familiar lover, eager and potent. The power is heady, and I can feel more just beneath the surface. I don't know how to use all that I have, but I will.
My instincts were honed in countless conflicts, and those are sharper than ever. I died in my hardsuit, once, but wearing that armor I'm practically invincible now. Instead of dragging on my limbs, the weight anchors and grounds me. I have the polymers woven through my muscles to thank for this. The 'squish skin' underneath the hardened plates is my second skin. The medi-gel it oozes at the smallest indication of a wound repairs me as quickly as it repairs itself. My body responds to the medi-gel so quickly that I barely know when I've been hurt. I'd say the system was tailor-made for me, but that's backward. I was made for this. My body was designed for combat. My body was rebuilt for maximum efficiency. I am an integrated circuit in this deadly system.
What I can't feel is the synthetic parts of my mind. I know they're there, I just can't see them for what they are. Is my memory of my mother real, or is it a synthetic implant? How much of my character has been augmented and enhanced? How much has been dampened or eradicated? Are my thoughts what I think, or are they what the new, artificial invaders think? Is there a difference? And ultimately I know I have a choice– an important question to answer. Is this a new life or a continuation of the one I lost? Am I who I think I am now, or should I live for the woman who died? They are not the same.
I need to know her. The public footage and records and opinions aren't enough and they're wrong. I need to know how she thought. She would know what to do. I don't have that answer, but I can feel it. Either they left that piece out or it's being silenced. But I need to hear it, because knowing it's there isn't enough. I need to discover if Shepard is alive, or if she is dead.
A/N: First attempt with first person. How'd it go? Because of the point of view, I chose to separate this as a one-shot. It could belong to either of my Mass Effect stories, Valor or No fear. Well, if you liked it, please leave me a note or go read something else I wrote. ;)