MASS EFFECT: INTO THE TRAVERSE
By M. Cartwright
A/N: Hey folks, welcome to my latest project, "Into The Traverse." This is going to be an experiment for me, of sorts. I am well aware of the sordid reputation that has followed stories of this nature. And I can give you a laundry list of reasons why most of you don't like them. Admittedly, I find some of the stories terrible and don't like seeing people writing for purely wish fulfillment purposes.
An author's concern should be writing something enjoyable and entertaining not only for himself/herself, but for his/her readers as well. So, with that said, I was inspired to write this type of story after reading some really good ones from various authors. Chiefly among those being EcoSeeker247's Dead Space series involving the OC Timmy Stamford who gets sucked into the bleak, and frightening universe of—you guessed it—Dead Space. If you haven't come across it, I highly recommend you reading her stories. They're phenomenal in my opinion.
Anyway, for those of you that have read these stories you're probably familiar with the basic structure. You're introduced to a character, sometimes a self-inserted one, and within the first chapter they have somehow been sucked into the game world, much to their confusion and dismay. While this eventuality will come to pass, I have decided it will not occur in the first chapter. I want to develop my OC so that you guys have a reason to read my story for more than just to see what kind of Shepard I'll be representing and what choices he or she makes.
If this story should prove to be successful and well-received enough, I may write its sequels that follow the storylines of the other two Mass Effect games. Be warned that, while I will try to keep things as they were in the game as best I can, some liberties will be taken. I assure you, though, that the liberties taken will be in good taste.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own rights to Mass Effect nor am I associated with Microsoft Game Studios or BioWare in any way, shape, or form. I do not hold rights to any of the video games mentioned in this story or the companies that produced them. This is solely written for the enjoyment of the readers and fans of the series and no profit is being made, requested, or accepted for this work of fiction.
CHAPTER I: BRADLEY SIMMONS, USMC
It was another chilling November late afternoon. The sun was teetering on the distant horizon, the sky cast in a hue of orange and pink. Clouds were spread intermittent in the sky, but for the most part, the day had been mostly cloudless. Though my attention was only half-focused on the beauty of the youthful evening; the double doors to one of the many base medical offices called for the other half of my attention.
I was standing in the parking lot arguing vehemently with myself. You see, I was scheduled to see a Navy psychiatrist to talk about my experiences overseas. Now, mind you, this was not a choice of my own free will; my company commander had ordered me to do this. I've seen the shrink, Lieutenant Commander Xander, a few times already and I can already tell you that I absolutely do not like him. He tries to pry into my personal life way too much for my liking.
Which, I guess I can't fault the guy too much. It is his job, after all. And it's not that I'm some wacko who's in denial about his mental stability or anything crazy like that.
I just don't like talking about myself.
And I can't remember a time when I did.
Maybe it's a by-product of living with my family. My mom worked nights—so I never got to see her as much as I'd have liked—and my dad was pretty much an asshole drunk. Now, I'm not saying he was your stereotypical drunk; a beer bellied couch potato, who got his rocks off by beating his little kid to vent his feelings of worthlessness and unattractiveness.
Because, that's totally not how he was.
He was a retired Army sergeant major; served twenty-three years and saw combat action with the Big Red One quite a few times during his career; and served as a drill sergeant for awhile to boot. After the military he picked up a day shift at a factory and got off an hour after I got out of school everyday. When he'd come home the first thing he'd do is march over to the fridge, grab a cold one, and do whatever the hell he pleased the rest of the day.
Whenever I'd bother him—be it while he watched TV, did the dishes, worked on his car or the van, or just anything, really—he would get upset and tell me to go away. If I told him I needed to tell him something he would generally inform me that "No one in life will care what the hell you have to say until you've earned their respect."
Great role model, huh? Unlike most kids I just shrugged it off and went into my room to play video games or watch TV. And that was pretty much how every day of my life aside from the one-every-year events like family gatherings, Thanksgiving, Christmas, etc. So, I just kinda naturally became an introvert.
Though, I gotta give me dad some credit; when I enlisted in the Marine Corps and got shipped off to Parris Island, I didn't have a problem keeping my mouth shut like some of my fellow recruits did. That isn't to say that my drill instructors didn't find things to torment me about… because… they did. But I suppose I was better prepared for the whole thing mentally than most of the kids who signed their souls away to good 'ol Uncle Sam like me.
Anyway, after coming to a stalemate in my argument with myself, I sighed in exasperation and marched my way into the building. It took me roughly half an hour to finally get called to see the Doc and I followed some good looking Navy gal to his office door. She knocked on the door gently three times. "Enter," he called, and I already knew he was waiting behind his desk. I could picture that smug smile on his face even before I walked in the door.
My eyes fell upon the office I had begrudgingly become familiar with since I began seeing Doc Xander. It was a pretty standard set up, to be honest. A concrete floor painted in a tacky yellow color and contrasting white walls with framed pictures, certificates, and commendations mounted to them. A pair of rectangular windows were situated in either of the back corners allowing what little natural light that the setting sun provided to flood into the room. There was a file cabinet along the left wall towards the back of the room within a few steps distance from the large mahogany desk that belonged to the Lieutenant Commander.
The Doc was sitting in a comfortable looking black padded office chair, leaned forward with his elbows on the desk and his hands cupped together under his chin. Lieutenant Commander Xander was a handsome man in his early thirties with close cropped jet black hair and baby blue eyes that sparkled as they landed upon me. He had a light tan complexion and appeared to be of Hispanic descent. As he extended his hand towards me, he spoke, his voice deep with a barely detectable accent.
"Good evening, Lance Corporal Simmons," he greeted, and I grasped his hand in a firm shake. "How was your day?"
I sat down in the considerably less comfortable swivel chair opposite of the commander, the desk between us, and simply shrugged at him. "Woke up, showered and dressed, only to be put on standby all damn day before finally heading out for PT and then a class on CLS by our corpsman," I droned, and then added with a totally intentional tone of annoyance, "and now I'm here."
The Doc tilted his head towards a piece of paper over top a folder that I assumed was my patient file and began writing. I couldn't tell what his reaction was to my quip as his face became totally unreadable. When he looked up at me finally, he smiled, but it didn't show in his eyes.
"I see," he quipped and leaned forward towards me. "So, let's pick up where we ended the last session. We were speaking about your experiences in Iraq, yes?"
I shook my head. "Not exactly; as I recall, you were asking me a bunch of questions regarding my time spent over there and my answered all amounted to 'I don't want to talk about it'. Which, I'll happily tell you again if you'd like." I chuckled. It appeared that Xander did not share my sense of humor as he stared at me rather stoically before nodding at me.
"Very well."
I gazed at him uneasily as he resumed writing on the previously blank piece of paper. Presumably about his observations of me and my answers to his queries. I was curious as to what exactly it was he was scribbling on that paper but I wasn't about to ask him. Besides, maybe I didn't want to know what it was he was saying about me.
After several moments of silence broken only by the sound of pen scribbling against paper, the doctor looked up at me with renewed interest. It visibly unsettled me.
"Something you said stood out to me, Simmons."
"Oh yeah?" I asked, my eyebrow cocked as I glared at him inquisitively. "What's that?"
"When I asked for clarification about whether we were speaking about your experiences in Iraq, you refused to refer to it by its name," he elucidated, leaning in far closer to me than he had before. "Instead, you chose to refer to it as 'over there'. I find such a thing interested, and quite a bit curious."
I rolled my eyes with a scowl. I despised this guy and his freaking job with every fiber of my being. He kept fishing for something, as if he wanted me to be your stereotypical head case after coming back from a combat zone. Really?! I spent seven months in that hellhole of a country just doing my job while trying to do as much good for the locals as I could in the time that I was there.
Did I see shit that will stay with me until the day I die? You bet your ass I did! But I didn't let it faze me like some of the other Marines I served—and continue to serve—with. I don't care who you are or where you were brought up, nothing can prepare you for seeing people residing in stone or mud huts, drinking dirty water and living in their own filth. No running water means no showers, no showers means dirty people. The stench when entering a home was enough to make my stomach churn.
And, I mean, not all parts of Iraq was like that. There were upscale sections that had many of the commodities we take for granted here in the great US of A and the some of the people bathed regularly. But for the rural areas? It was terrible.
Fortunately, about half way through the deployment some Army engineers came in and started building better housing for the people and developed a water purification system and installed basic plumbing to the households along with electricity. By the time we left at least some of the village had the things I had always taken for granted.
But all of that paled in comparison to my first kill.
That had been a rough one. But, that's a story I prefer to keep to myself; albeit, in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind.
"I don't know what you're driving at, Doc," I started, staring Xander right in his baby blue hues. "But I don't like it. I don't even see why I am here. There is nothing wrong with me. Yet, for some God awful reason, my CO goes and orders me to come see you. So, I'm left with no choice but to suffer the dissatisfaction of sitting across from you while you try to pry your way into my mind and try to find some way to accuse me as some psycho. There are plenty of Marines who are worse off than I am. You should be talking to them and not me."
Commander Xander exhaled a heavy sigh and sat back in his chair. He gazed at me with a look of defeat. I simply stared back at him apathetically and ran my hand through my short dark brown hair cut in a medium fade style. Finally, after a couple moments of uneasy silence, the doctor picked up my patient file and opened it up, his eyes skimming through its contents.
"Do you want to know why your platoon commander ordered you to see me?" he suddenly inquired, catching me off guard.
It took me a moment to process his words before I finally answered. "No."
"Hm," he mumbled quietly under his breath. "Then allow me to enlighten you. He told me that several of the Marines in your platoon, including your roommates Lance Corporals Donaldson and Martinez, had come to him expressing their concern for you. They informed him that ever since your return stateside that you've been borderline anti-social. After duty you shut yourself in your room to play violent video games and drink beer until you decide it is time to hit the rack."
He paused, looking up at me, as if expecting me to offer a rebuttal. I was too shocked at the mere fact that so many people were so concerned with my well-being—however misplaced that it was—that they were willing to go to Second Lieutenant Mitchell about it. Plus, I assumed there was more that he was going to tell me.
Seemingly satisfied with my lack of responding, he continued. "You rarely leave the barracks and mostly only to buy beer or another video game, and then you come back to lock yourself away again. Martinez and Donaldson have apparently have repeatedly invited you to join them in town or to a party which you have declined every time. People are genuinely worried about you, Bradley."
I blinked at him in surprise at the use of my first name. It sounded so awkward to escape from his lips. Mostly because I was used to only hearing it from my mother. My dad, just like every Marine I've ever run into it, calls me by my last name. I don't know why he does it, and to be honest it perturbs me, but I'd never openly admit that to him. Even after having been out of the military for a good number of years, he is still a very, very scary person.
One who I don't quite wish to ever piss off.
I thought about everything the Doc said for I don't know how long. I kind of lost track of time whilst in the midst of the swarm of thoughts that buzzed around in my head. Xander glared at me with a look that I interpreted as his hoping I would give up, throw up the white flag, and start spilling my guts to him. Unfortunately for him, I had a much different plan in mind.
"First off, I'd like to express that I appreciate the concerns of my fellow Marines," I said, coming up with what I wanted to say on the fly. "I wasn't aware that they were so concerned about me as I see nothing about what I do to cause them concern. I'm a grunt, and before that, I'm a Marine. Marines drink. It is as much a part of our culture as anything else that has been passed down from generation-to-generation."
"As for the violent video games thing, I have been a video gamer since I was a kid. I always enjoyed a good war game and can remember so many titles that I've played over the years." Saying that brought back a flood of memories to me of all my favorite action and war games. Army Men 3D, Operation: Desert Storm, the 007 games; all of those I'd played at some point in my childhood and teens. "It's not something new that I picked up after returning home. I've always loved that genre of video games. I don't see that changing, either."
Now I had to drive the rest of my argument home. I wanted to prove my point so I could be done with all of the bullshit I had been subjected to. So I could leave this office for good and never have to see Lieutenant Commander Xander again. "As for being distant, again, that is something that isn't new. I'm an introvert, I am not much of a people person and am kinda socially awkward. I don't like crowds, they aren't my thing. I prefer just chilling, kicked back, talking to a small group of friends while enjoying a nice cold beer together. So parties? They aren't my thing. Martinez and Donaldson enjoy them and I don't. There is nothing wrong with that."
"No," Xander retorted, shaking his head slightly. "There is not."
Thank you! I thought gleefully. I had finally gotten my point across. He had actually listened to what I had to say. I almost couldn't believe it and I couldn't resist the smile that had crept its way onto my face. "So does that mean you'll stop scheduling me for sessions and let me go about my business?"
Xander shook his head again. I felt my shoulders slump in disappointment.
"No, but I'll consider it," he said, which gave me some respite despite his declination. "There are a few more things I'd like to discuss, but I suppose it can wait until another day. You can leave and return to your barracks, Lance Corporal."
I nodded and stood up. "Thank you, sir."
"You're welcome."
I arrived to me room to find Donaldson and Martinez inside. The latter was sitting at the computer desk situated ahead and to the left of the door with a laptop open and on Skype while the former lay on the bottom rack of the bunk with a porno magazine in his hands. I rolled my eyes and felt a pang of anger rise up in me as I laid eyes on them. They were partially responsible for the weekly torment I received at the hands of Doc Xander.
However, despite the feelings that began to boil inside of me, I kept a stoic expression as I marched over to the mini-fridge against the wall by the door that led to the Head (bathroom). I fetched myself a bottle of Budlight, twisted the cap off, and flicked it at Martinez's head. To my sheer disappointment he barely reacted as it bounced off his shaved skull.
"Yo bro, that wasn't cool," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the computer screen for even a second.
I grinned. "Yeah, well, I was hoping you would have actually… y'know… react to it."
"Sorry homie."
Maybe it was because I was curious, or perhaps I just wanted to piss my friend off as payback for the hell he unknowingly put me through, but I leaned over far enough to see what the hell had him so entranced. I felt my jaw instantly drop as my eyes were met with the slim, curvaceous, and totally naked body of Martinez's girlfriend, Andrea. She was in the middle of dancing for him in a very seductive manner.
I must have been on the screen because she smiled and waved at me. Martinez didn't seem to catch that it was to me like I did, and I forced myself to look away before he did. I took a sip of my beer as I tried my hardest to erase the thought of Andrea from my mind. I wasn't the type to fantasize about another guy's girl, no matter how incredible she looked. If I remembered correctly she was a model trying to make her way to stardom.
She's certainly got the body for it, I mused with a lecherous grin before taking another swig of my beer and deciding that my Xbox would be a great distraction from the thoughts I was having.
I booted up my Xbox 360 and was pleased to see Call of Duty 4 was already in the disk tray. I selected it with my controller and clicked it, the screen fading into blackness as the system began to read the disk and load it for me.
I logged on Xbox LIVE and it wasn't long before I was in a game of Team Deathmatch shooting people up with my M16A4. Most of the rounds my team and I kicked some major ass; the highlight of one game being when I practically sniped someone from across one of the larger map's with my M16 using iron sights. The guy was pissed off and accused me of cheating. "You're using an aim bot!" he barked angrily.
Laughing, I ignored him. People like that weren't worth wasting my breath over. It would be like trying to argue with someone over YouTube with the intention on winning. No one, no matter how damned good you are at arguing with others, can ever win in a YouTube argument. What's worse is they all boil down to pointless insults and empty threats being tossed around like hand grenades from one side to the other; the point of the debate lost in the sea of comments.
Donaldson's voice tore my attention from Call of Duty, and I glanced at him from over my shoulder. I was in the post-game lobby so it wasn't a problem. "So, Brad, there's a new game comin' out tomorrow."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied. "You liked KOTOR, right?"
The mentioning of that name brought vivid memories of long nights spent staring up at my TV with my original Xbox placed on top of it, playing KOTOR until I grudgingly turned off the console to get some sleep before school. It had taken me a long while to beat that game… primarily because I had difficulty navigating my way through Taris. Especially when it came to running through the sewers of the Undercity, trying to get into the Vulker base.
That Goddamned rancor, I thought as the memory of fighting that monster flashed by my eyes.
"Yeah, I was a huge fan," I finally answered. "Why? Is it KOTOR III?!"
I had heard rumors that BioWare had been working on it, or at least planned to do so. The second KOTOR had been alright, but I remembered wishing that Obsidian Studios hadn't rushed the game. It was still fun to play and I enjoyed the story—but some of the plot holes left in it just made things a tad confusing for me.
When Donaldson shook his head I felt my heart sink in disappointment.
"No," he said, sounding somewhat disappointed as well. "But it is by BioWare. The game's called Mass Effect. Supposedly it's a sci-fi third person RPG. The graphics look pretty good and the main character is fully voiced."
Damn. That sound like something I'd be interested in. I returned my attention to the TV as I realized that the next game had just started. "Sounds cool. I'll definitely have to get it and try it out," was all I said before I succumbed to the allure of Call of Duty.
I played for a couple more hours before realizing that it was almost midnight. I quickly said my goodbyes to the friends I was playing with and shut off my Xbox, placing my controller on top of it. I stripped down to my skivvies and tossed my camouflage uniform off to the side before climbing onto the top rack of the bunk. Martinez was the senior lance corporal among us, so he had the privilege of sleeping in his own bed that was adjacent to ours.
As I wrapped up in the covers and fluffed up the pillow before resting my head against it, I grabbed my iPod and skimmed through my music track list before finding the song I wanted to fall asleep to. Knowing that my roommates would bitch about the noise, I plugged in my earphones and pressed the play button. The soothing—yet somber—melody of Ludwig van Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata rang in my ears.
As an afterthought I set an alarm on the handheld device and picked a song to wake up to. Then I closed my eyes and let Beethoven's music put me to sleep.
Terms & Phrases You May Not Know
PT – Physical Training. Self-explanatory.
CLS – Combat Life Saving. A course that Marines undergo, generally taught by a Corpsman (Navy version of a medic), that teaches basic combat first aid.
Skivvies – Undergarments. An OD Green t-shirt and shorts that're worn under one's camouflage uniform and to bed.
