I do not own Mass Effect. I just own the main character and the plot. The title comes for the song from Breaking Benjamin. I thought it was appropriate.
Cold. It is so cold. It is always cold. I can't remember a time when I was ever warm. In this place there is no comfort. It is a constant struggle for survival. Against whom? The only answer I have is they. They are the ones I fight, constantly struggle against. Men, women, they are all the same. Their eyes watch me constantly. Their stares burn a hole through my being, leaving me open, as though I am being flayed alive. No one should have that kind of power over anyone. I hate them. I hate them all.
My one wish is to take back the power they have over me. I will bide my time until I am strong enough to act. Now, I am much smaller and weaker than they, but when I am older, I will get my revenge.
I know very little of my location. To me it is a cross between a lab and a prison. I know even less about the true nature of my enemy. Some come to me as men and women with guns. Others usually wear white coats. What they want with me, I do not know. The white coats are the ones who run tests on me everyday. I believe they are scientists whose sole purpose is to study me. I do not know what the tests are for. They peer at me with clinical detachment. It does no good to voice any concerns or fears I may have. Most give me a smile that does not reach their eyes and pretend that I had not said anything at all. Not all of them treat me like a lab rat. I can see the pity in their eyes, maybe a flicker of guilt or doubt. It does not matter. In my eyes, they are all guilty.
There are those I recognize as teachers. Their main objective is to cram my brain with as much knowledge as I am capable. From the basics like math, languages, and history to more esoteric subjects like quantum physics and biomedical engineering. The class work is copious and never ending, and the teachers are demanding. I don't consider them overly cruel, just unemotional. They are not on my shit list. Yet.
Suddenly my cell is filled with light. The light blinds me. The door to my cell opens. Two amorphous shapes swim before me as I try to see.
"I hate wasting my time with this shit. Fucking kid," says one of the shapes. I can see clearer now. He is dressed in some kind of uniform, a security guard. That ubiquitous orange-yellow six-sided symbol is prominently displayed on his breast. My eyes are immediately drawn to the gun he holds in his hands.
The other figure places a tray on the floor before me. I recognize him as Dr. Miller.
"Good morning, Aeris. Make sure that you eat all of your food today. We want you to grow up nice and strong," he says, like he is talking to a child.
I know that I am only 5 years old, but my brain is far more advanced than a normal 5-year-old child. I do not behave or think like a child, and his constant disregard for my intelligence infuriates and offends me.
I glare at him and the guard. My mind is reeling with possible escape plans. None of them are to my liking, so I continue to glare at them.
"Are you done yet? I have to take a piss," whines the guard.
"Alright, alright. I'm coming. I will see you later today for your weekly checkup," Dr. Miller tells me.
They turn and walk into the light. The shapes retreat, and the door closes. I stare at the tray of food on the floor before me.
Present - 13 years later
I crouch behind a crate, grimacing as a hail of bullets shoot over my head and embed themselves into the wall in front of me, creating a small cloud of dust from the impact. My patience wearing thin, I peek around the side of the crate, and fire three well placed bullets into the chest of an Eclipse merc, taking out his armor. The merc grunts in pain and quickly ducks behind cover. I do the same just before a salvo of bullets rain down on my previous location.
One of my teammates, Nick Daniels, decides that he should take the chance to fire back at the mercs while they concentrate their fire on me. He doesn't check his surroundings before popping out of cover and firing. He completely overlooks the mercs flanking our team on the left. His shield drops instantly from enemy fire before he has a chance to duck back into cover.
"Daniels, get your ass behind cover and stay there! Aeris, cover him!" yells team leader Ted Blake.
I snort in derision. I have no inclination to help any of my teammates if they don't know how to conduct themselves in a firefight. Let the dumbass get himself killed. There will be one less incompetent fool to worry about.
The mission turned out to be a crapshoot from the get go. Blake had been selected to head the mission to send a small team of four operatives to infiltrate an Eclipse hideout. Apparently, the mercs were being paid handsomely to transport medicinal products from Thompson and Warren Pharmaceuticals and deliver them to Mayer's Pharmacy Corp., a chain pharmacy and a rival company of one of Cerberus' front corporations. The Illusive Man discovered that a major shipment was being transported by the mercs. He thought it would be a good idea to harry the opposition by attacking the mercs before they reached their destination. Our team was charged with the task of taking out the mercs and securing the cargo. This would put a severe dent in Mayer's profits. As for the cargo, we were instructed to sell it on the black market, earning Cerberus a pretty good profit.
However, intel on the mission was limited. We only knew the location of the pick-up point and the time. As soon as we walked into the warehouse, we quickly realized we were out-gunned, out-numbered, and lacked the experience to take out so many at once. We only had enough time to hide behind cover near the entrance before the mercs saw us. We may have had a small advantage of surprise if Ben Havers hadn't shouted "Fuck!" as soon as we walked in the door.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" whimpers Havers, his voice rising in pitch with each word. God save me from cowards, I think to myself.
I glance at Havers. "Shut. Up," I growl at him while reloading my pistol. Havers glares at me before briefly leaving cover to fire a few shots at the mercs.
We are a fairly inexperienced team. Blake has seen the most combat. He has been with Cerberus for over ten years, mainly participating in field operations. The other two are pretty green; they have been on a total of five missions between the two of them.
I have quite a bit of experience, just not with a team. This is my first mission with a team, and I don't like it. I have been doing solo missions for Cerberus for seven years. I was forced to undertake my first mission when I was nine.
"Daniels, Aeris! Concentrate on taking out the mercs to our left," orders Blake. "Havers and I will focus on getting the attention of the other mercs and drawing their fire away from you."
"Roger that," says Daniels. He looks so serious, I almost laugh.
This is child's play for me. There are three mercs to our left. I focus my full attention on them. Everything around me - sound, my teammates - falls into the background. I can see the mercs so clearly; I can make out the pimples on one merc's face, see the sweat dripping from the chin of another, hear their breathing. There is a rhythm to all of the data my senses collect. If I can discern the beat, move in time to the rhythm, everything will lock into place. My movements will become fluid and precise. I stop breathing, waiting for the right moment. I completely ignore Daniels; he's taking shots at the mercs, but he's not doing much damage. Then just as a feeling like a bolt of electricity shooting through me, my body acts of its own volition.
I rise from behind the crate, and fire my pistol. All I need are three shots, three headshots for each of my prey. My body rigid with concentration, I pull power from my massive and dense wellspring, the core of my being. I concentrate the power to wrap around each bullet I fire, making them denser. Each bullet rips through the barriers, armor, and flesh of each merc. Three instant kills.
All of this transpires in one second.
I immediately become aware of my surroundings, coming down from my state of hyper-awareness. Daniels mouth is open in surprise. I continue to ignore him.
I quickly assess the situation. There are ten mercs left. Blake and Havers are pinned down to my right, futilely trying to take them down.
"Daniels, pick your jaw up off the floor, and help Blake and Havers," I say to him. He immediately snaps out of his stupor and fires his assault rifle at the mercs.
I am calm. However, I begin to feel excitement well up within me. With one burst of power, I could take them all out. Normally, I would have taken out the mercs a long time ago with a large burst of power. Yet, I hesitate. I am not sure if I can contain the backlash of power I unleash. The cargo must remain intact.
I want to release my power, need to. It is like the euphoria an addict gets when he or she takes a hit. It feels so good when the power surges through my limbs and flows from my body that it is almost impossible for me to stop.
I can't take anymore. It is as though I need another fix. The first use of my power has made me hunger for more.
I am still rational. Some may say I am under the influence of the pleasure that using my power brings. I say I am not. The need to use my power doesn't hinder any of my judgments on the battlefield. I merely decide what is expendable and act according to my desires. All that matters to me is the objective of the mission and disposing of the enemy. Even my teammates are dispensable. They are pawns to be used for their abilities. To me, their usefulness has now ended.
I have the ability to control what my power becomes, what it does. I immediately wrap my power around my body, making it become a hard shell that will deflect any projectile or sharp object. I stand, and my mass effect shield drops instantly, but I suffer no damage because of my personal shell. Then taking hold of the nearly inexhaustible power within me, I fling it out in a wide arc at the mercs.
This time I shape my power into a solid wall of air that hits the mercs like an asteroid striking the surface of a planet. I catch six mercs with the arc. The force of the blow lifts them off their feet, and throws them back. The blow rips skin and muscle and breaks bone. They are dead before they hit an object that stops their backward momentum.
Oblivious to Blake's shouts, I sprint towards one of the remaining four mercs. I am moving so fast that to them, I look like a blur. An engineer throws a warp at me, but I slap it aside like an annoying, petulant child. I can see the shock on her face, and it makes me smile.
There is a liquid substance based in the radius bones in both of my forearms. When I will it, I can force the liquid out though a small grouping of miniscule pores on the back of my hand. As the substance hits the air, it hardens all the way into the bone and forms a beautiful slender blade. The more of the liquid I force out, the longer the blade.
As I run towards the engineer, I extend my blades. She slowly raises her gun. At the last second, I dart to the right and spin clockwise, building up torque. I straighten my arm, and at the height of force, I cleanly decapitate her.
Not slowing down, but continuing my movement, I use the same blade but angle my slice so that I cut the other merc diagonally from his left shoulder to his waist. Stepping to the side, I put on one last burst of speed and sprint toward the last two mercs with my arms and blades crossed in the shape of an X before me. Before they have a chance to fire, I slice through their bodies in a cross-sectional cut. I had moved so fast that the bodies almost fall to the ground at the same time.
I turn to search for the cargo, but Blake stops me.
"Aeris, you are way out of line!" he bellows. He is glowering at me, his eyes trying to exude as much authority as they can as though he could hold me in place with his stare alone. I shrug.
"This is not about you. We work together as a team. You could have put us all in jeopardy by with that stunt."
I look at him indifferently. "If it weren't for me, you would still be taking crack shots at the mercs. You would most likely have died in the end." I glance around at all of them.
Daniels takes a step back. "You're a freak. What's to stop you from coming after us? I didn't sign on for this shit."
"Daniels shut up," orders Blake.
Daniels shakes his head. "No. You aren't human. No human could do what you just did. This is exactly why I signed up with Cerberus in the first place! You just can't trust aliens."
"Come on, Daniels, lighten up. She got the job done. That's all that matters," says Havers.
I am not surprised that Daniels harbors this level of hatred toward alien species. After all, Cerberus is known for being pro-human, and many of the operatives have prejudices against aliens.
I stare at Daniels in complete and utter shock. I can't be an alien. I was never told any such thing. I thought I was just a human who had been genetically modified by Cerberus so that I could do their dirty work. But, it's beginning to make sense. The pieces of a puzzle I didn't even know I was trying to solve are falling into place. I have never observed anyone with the kind of power I possess. I thought my power was something Cerberus created, a different type of biotic power. I am beginning to suspect otherwise.
If I think about it, even my appearance is slightly different from the average human. My hair is silky, black, long and straight. It is the texture that is odd; it is like running your fingers along the smoothest silk, and the fine strands move freely, like the gentle waves of a calm stream. My skin is the color of the finest porcelain, and my eyes are larger than a human's and a piercing blue, so light yet fierce in color like that azure evanescent color sometimes seen in an electric spark. They are framed by long, thick black lashes and topped by perfectly shaped, slender black eyebrows. The size of my frame is small, yet I am 5'8." My limbs are long and attenuate to the wrists and ankles ending in fine boned hands and feet. My facial bones come together to form a slightly narrower shape than a human's, and my lips are full, bow-shaped and the color of the perfect apple and reminiscent of a ripe peach. All of this combines to produce a surrealistic beauty, or so I have been told.
At that moment, I begin to feel emotions I don't feel often. I had learned long ago that such emotions make me weak, vulnerable. I have shut myself off from these feelings since I was a kid. However, my emotions are jumbled, and I can't differentiate one from another. The feelings I do recognize are fear, bitterness, and loneliness. These emotions have been with me for my entire life. They are the only emotions I have not been able to completely bury. This flurry of sudden emotions causes confusion in me. When I am confused, I become angry. It means a lack of control, and losing control, I have learned the hard way, can cause unbearable pain.
My ire rises. My anger is a wild thing, something I have difficulty controlling. I wonder for what purpose has Cerberus created me? I know that I am a pawn to be used for their political games, but Daniels's outburst once again reminds me of the vast amount of lies that surround my existence.
Daniels continues to sputter vitriol, Blake issues orders, and Havers delivers calming statements to acquiesce Daniels to Blake's orders.
I walk purposefully towards Daniels. He tries to back away, but I reach him before he gets too far. I raise my arm and point my pistol at his forehead.
"You're lying. I am not an alien," I say in a low dangerous tone.
Blake and Havers shout, trying to diffuse the situation, but I do not hear them. Daniels begins to realize that maybe he should have kept his mouth shut.
"Look. I didn't mean those things I said. I was just surprised, that's all. See, to show you that I meant no harm, I'll put my gun down," he says.
I watch him, pleading with me. He doesn't realize how close to death he is. I know he is lying to me. I could feel the conviction in his voice. His not trying to stand by his beliefs tells me just how weak he is. I hate weakness, in me and in others. I hate him for this and for the unwelcome feelings he has dredged up from their graves. I have had enough. It is too bad, really. He is just another operative, another man who has failed. It could have been anyone else who said those things. He is in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
My eyes harden, and my lips pull down at the corners in a frown. In the middle of his superficial rambling, I pull the trigger. I watch as his body falls lifelessly to the floor.
Havers opens his mouth wide in shock while Blake aims his gun at me. Before he has a chance to fire one shot, I shoot him face.
As his body hits the ground, I train my gun on Havers. He is staring at me: eyes wide and mouth muttering unintelligible phrases. I can see a dark line of wetness running down the inside of his leg. I am thoroughly disgusted by his lack of professionalism and cowardice. Almost carelessly, I pull the trigger, ending his pitiable existence.
An intense feeling of calm washes over me. I close my eyes and savor the sensation, knowing that it will not last long. I will have to finish the mission myself. I don't care about any punishment I will receive for killing the team. I'm sure Cerberus can do no worse than it already has.
As I gaze at the bodies of my former teammates, I am reminded of a lesson I learned years ago as my body was incessantly battered, my mind frequently shattered, and my will repeatedly broken.
Never trust anyone.
20 years before the Present time
Dr. Paul Miller walks quickly to the Illusive Man's office. He is very nervous. He has never seen the Illusive Man in person and has no idea why the Illusive Man would want to see him now. Dr. Miller is also annoyed. He was interrupted while working on a project that involved splicing alien DNA with animal DNA from earth. He was just beginning to make a breakthrough in his research when he was called to the Illusive Man's office.
He reaches the office, and before he opens the door, he takes some time to compose himself.
During his entire career, he has always worked in the background and has enjoyed the anonymity. It has never his intention to bring too much attention to himself; he is comfortable working on research projects without the added frustrations of living up to others expectations. He has been with Cerberus for 30 years, ever since he graduated from university with a Ph. D. in Xenogenetics when he was 21 years old. He already knew that he wanted to work with Cerberus. They would be willing to take on projects that the Alliance would consider too provocative. Dr. Miller decided long ago that he will do anything as long as he gets to work the way he wants, and Cerberus provides that for him.
He remembers all of this while standing outside of the Illusive Man's office. He can't imagine what the Illusive Man would want with him. He takes a deep breath and opens the door.
"Ah, Dr. Miller. It's good to see you. How is your current project coming along," asks the Illusive Man, a self-indulgent smile on his face.
He looks around the room nervously, twiddling his thumbs. The Illusive man exudes an air of confidence and self-importance. He looks comfortable in his position of power. It is a sensation Dr. Miller knows he will never feel.
"It's coming along well. I just looked at the samples I created 3 days ago, and they are starting to grow," says Miller. The Illusive man is sitting in a chair, a beautiful, panoramic view of the Terminus systems prominently displayed behind him. The room is dark, mostly empty, and quiet. There are no extra chairs in the room. Miller stands in front of the Illusive man, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable.
"Excellent. I knew you could do it. I have been following your career for some time now, and I am impressed. You have always managed to achieve results even under the most difficult circumstances." He idly knocks the ashes from his cigarette on an ashtray that is resting on the arm of his chair.
"Thank you, sir." He didn't expect any praise from the Illusive Man. He wonders when the bomb will drop.
With an inquisitive tone in his voice, the Illusive man asks, "How would you like to be the director of your own project?"
Dr. Miller is extremely uncomfortable. He did not expect this and does not want this added responsibility. However, he cannot say no to the Illusive Man. "I would be honored, sir."
"Excellent! I will be pulling you off your current project and starting you on this one immediately. You know that the mission of Cerberus is to make humanity the most dominant species in the universe. I would like to do something that would help to solidify humanity's role in the political as well as economical spheres of the known universe."
Dr. Miller is stunned. "What do you have in mind?"
"This project will be the most challenging to date, and given your track record, I knew you where perfect for this. I want to create a biological weapon using alien DNA. Humans lack the abilities some aliens possess, and I would like to create a human/alien hybrid that can use some of those abilities to accomplish our goals." The Illusive man sits back in his seat with a slight smile on his face, utterly pleased with himself.
Dr. Miller is excited. This is on the cusp of cutting edge science and the kind of work he has always dreamed of doing. He is unhappy about the attention the project will bring, but he anticipates with pleasure the advancement in genetics this project could create. "I would love to, sir."
"Good! There is someone who has quite a bit of experience with this sort of thing. I would like you to work with him."
Dr. Miller wonders who his partner will be. He hopes there will be no problems getting along with him or her. "Who would that be?"
"Anthony Lawson."