She once dreamt she was a bird. Her wings had beat rapidly against a headwind, as her heart beat a savage tattoo in the hollow boned cage of her ribs. Her breath had come short and fast and she'd felt her strength flagging, her limbs growing ever wearier. But she hadn't relent, no, for there were things to see on that distant horizon, great and terrible things, always new, always different. Her desperation had something to do with how little time there was to see it all. And yet it had beckoned still. It had called in sweet dulcet tones, engaging, entrancing. Was it doom? Or was it paradise? She had ached to find out.
She thought of this dream with what little remained of rational thought in her mind, because this...feeling and that one were so very similar. The same lofty heights, the same terror and wonder, only now she was a bird the size of a world, flying over an even bigger world built of minds, like hers, but small and those smaller minds pushed and prodded and held her back even as they held her aloft, like she was a balloon with innumerable strings. They burdened her with endless noise, throwing the natural harmonies of that horizon into discord. In her dreams, she could still weep the tears that refused to fall in this place of boundless cacophony.
And just as the sensation reached the limits of her endurance, just as it all became too much, it was cut off and she was left shaking and heaving in blessed darkness and silence, the arms of her enemy around her, rocking her to and fro. His hands brushing her cheeks, though they were dry and hot. She hated herself for taking his comfort, though it wasn't like she had the strength to push him away. Weakly, she pleaded, "No more, no more."
"Shh, shh, you'll get used to it. I know it can be...unsettling, at first." His hoarse voice was almost too loud, brushed across her frayed nerves and she resisted writhing.
And the award for understatement of the year goes to... She couldn't help the dry bitter sound masquerading as a laugh from escaping her throat, as she looked into eyes that shone down into hers with a zealous fervor. And it went on and on, the false mirth, fully out of her control, the terror in her bubbling up out of her chest, filling the air with a sound verging on manic.
Her 'caretaker' as she'd come to think of him spoke over the laughter, rubbing her limbs lightly as though to soothe her. Like she was a child, "You did so well today. We were able to get a sounding of your mind and you managed to integrate quickly, quicker than any of the others."
Eventually, she quieted, feeling hollow of everything except fear. A fear that was manifested in the compact machine she was crudely hooked up to, "Someday you're going to turn that on and leave it on, aren't you."
It wasn't a question but he answered anyway, with an indulgent smile, "When you're ready."
A whimper left her then, "Cruel, you are cruel."
"No, dearheart, can't you feel how they love you?"
"I don't want it." Childish tones, but she didn't care. She trembled, swallowing the screams that threatened to escape. She tried not to hear the weak sounds that did manage to squeeze out around the lump in her throat. "Please, just-I can't-"
"Just a few more times today, then I promise no more until after your surgery." He leaned forward from where he sat with her in his lap and with one talon, flicked on the machine and she did scream then as the horrifying expanding began, unbalanced, unnatural. Her monster shrieked as it was shackled to the will of millions of minds, torn in so many directions that it writhed and bucked and she nearly shattered to pieces as she realized that she was it and it was her, just a vastly older part, incomprehensible in magnitude, unknowable in thought. The part of her that was Susan was so small, so tiny and it was drowning in the tide and she felt a deeper terror then, one that resonated throughout the whole of her inner being, one that made her whole psyche quake. What would happen if that mortal part of her did expire? What was left? The monster? It would go mad.
As she would go mad if this continued for any longer. Just as she thought it, it stopped and she sagged, her breath coming out in screamy little gasps, high pitched and thin. She clung to Inigo, her torturer that pretended to be kind enough to hold her like a friend, her hands fisting in his tunic, his hand smoothing her crinkled and sweaty brow and she was alarmed to feel the tiniest little shard of gratitude to not be left alone with this and mewled in denial of that dangerous thought. She panted, "Why are you doing this to me?"
"You know why, Susan. Think about it."
She had. It haunted her thoughts for most of the time she had been in this timeless place. How long had she been here? Felt like years sometimes. Surely if Marcus were alive, he'd have found her by now. Time and time again, her mind kept returning to the idea that had taken root in it when Javik had mentioned her father in the shuttle on the way to rescuing her mother. She wanted to shout that it was impossible, that she was just ordinary old Susan, whose mother's wild maiden days flings had produced a daughter of indeterminate origin, like so many other asari. But she knew better and she voiced this suspicion almost timidly, "Because...because Shepard is my father."
Said aloud seemed to cement its reality and she reeled back from the magnitude of its implication. A deep breath and then another. And she said it again, with certainty, "Because Shepard is my father."
"Good. You see now. You are so special, Susan. How lucky I am that I'm the one to be your sentinel." He smiled down at her stunned and angry expression. She felt...disappointment, resentment. That this had been kept from her for so long. She could have guarded herself against this eventuality better had she known, or...maybe not. There was no real way to prepare for the onslaught of the machine, but still she would have known. It would have helped complete the puzzle picture of who she was. She would have asked questions, she would have- But it was no good now, she was lost, slowly losing her mind at the hands of those who believed her father was some sort of god. Inigo gave her hand a little squeeze and said, "Ready?"
No, she would never be ready for what comes of pushing that little button and arced in his hold, every muscle seized and twitched as it was once again turned on, her last thought as she was swept away one of deep hurt, Why didn't you tell me, mother? What was so bad that you couldn't tell me?
He held her hand as the medtechs worked to install the latest version of their interface. The anaesthetic was minimal, it had to be so they could calibrate it correctly. Their faces were covered completely in opaque masks, as they always were. If not for the occasional comment or instruction, she'd have thought them machines. She long ago figured out that this was to make them unapproachable to her, that she was meant to rely only on Inigo, to connect only with Inigo. She was sickened that their manipulation was working, despite everything she did to counter the conditioning. She hissed and squeezed his hand tighter as they hit a sensitive area near her amp. She knew that the device would spread nanites and that white eezo derivative throughout her body. Her lip trembled as she thought of how extensively they sought to change her. Not on the outside, but on the inside.
He spoke as they worked, "I told you. There will be no bulky wires and tubes, not for you. You will be in a state of perfection forever, at one with your people."
In here, it was easy to think that the Shepards had won, that their power was insurmountable. Maybe that was part of their conditioning too, so she wouldn't fight against 'hopeless' odds. Everything was a trap, she had to remember that. Only it was getting harder to remember after each session in the machine. Was there even an outside world any more? Or did everything cease to exist past that door? When she was in the machine, was she dreaming the countless worlds that lay under her hand? Maybe none of them existed until she thought them.
She'd found out that distance was an illusion, that two stars on the opposite sides of the galaxy were only a hair apart, really. It was all about scope. And perspective. And knowing how it was done, like a magician's trick. Though it was funny how she could only do it when she was in the machine, with a million minds pushing her just so or else she would have liked to stand herself on the multitude of worlds she glimpsed through their eyes. Every variation imaginable lay out there in the galaxy that may or may not exist. She'd never see the sky again, or walk on soft loam, or run, or fight.
Her eyes prickled in grief and she bit her lip, "How long have I been here?"
"Forever." He replied, her unwanted but constant companion.
"No, I have memories. My mother, the Normandy, Marcus." She felt his thumb twitch fractionally and knew it was a victory. If only she could confirm what she remembered at least once a day, she could try to stay sane.
"They never existed. There is only this, only now." Pure confidence in his tone. She wondered if he believed it sometimes. Maybe true faith could rewrite history. It was wrong though, she felt it. Everything was wrong.
"Where is this?" A question she'd asked many times and she mouthed his reply as he spoke it.
"The cradle where you were reborn."
"That implies I was born once before."
"You were reborn many times. You are the avatar of the god."
Once when she was a child, she'd asked her mother if there really was a goddess. Her mother had laughed and said, it was an important question. More important than the answer. That she should always ask herself that question. Faith is nothing without doubt, said the wise blue woman that haunted her dreams, her arms about a smaller version of herself. The woman that was that child watched the scene third person and wondered at it. Was it real? The poignancy of the memory seemed to reinforce its validity.
Doubt. Doubt was important. It made one question what had always been thought of as true. It led to questing for answers, it was growth, it held the possibilities of endless possibilities within it. Ordinary mortal minds teemed with it, whereas the ones that pushed her to fold space for them had had the majority of doubt stripped out of them. And this was happening all across the world of minds she touched, it lit a sorrow in her that was deeper than bone deep. It hurt because she could see the path's end. Stagnation, the death of culture, the death of will and choice. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was a dead end that those who lead this mob were barreling toward at breakneck speeds.
She tried to tell this to Inigo, but his mind was too empty of doubt to hear it. Faith filled all the corners in his mind. A shallow sort of faith. He only let himself know what he wanted to know. She could almost pity him for it. A pity that was banished every time he turned on that damn machine. She turned her head to look at him, "I command you to let me go. This is your god speaking. Seriously."
He did not answer, only smiled at her kindly while his eyes danced madly in his scarred face and she felt her shoulders shake in laughter, a morbid sort of humor flooding through her. The machine had rewritten her sense of humor it seemed. Everything was a laugh now. Her own futile struggle. The thought of the Shepards' self destruction, a destruction she was going to be a big part of, though not in the way she'd thought she'd be, she'd just be helping it along to its inevitable terminus. Or maybe it was the thought of that smile on his face as the 'holy empire' crumbled around him, unable to sustain itself because the fire of invention had been taken out of it.
The medtech working on her admonished her sharply for moving, which only made the laughter louder. That was too rich, they all wanted her to move them, in more ways than one. But she didn't get to move, oh no, their captive god was a slave in every way. She shrieked in laughter now, the sound bouncing off the walls. She heard the medtechs curse and some instruments fell. There was a sting in her arm and darkness pulled her into unconsciousness, where even in her mind, she screamed in mirth.