Looking back, I really had no idea what I was getting into when I started reading fanfiction.

In all honesty, I had simply assumed I would find more people like myself. People who had seen their favorite character and thought "I wish he would have done X instead" or even "This guy is so cool, it's a shame that there is only this one movie to showcase his cool skills." I expected continuations, agreements on existing characters traits.

What I did not expect was the wide sprawling community I walked into. There were divisions and clubs and jargon and new flame wars that I had no idea existed just days before. I was exposed to entirely new genres of writing that swung rapidly between the scales of masterpieces to absolute lunacy. But, it seemed natural. There was a progression and a logic, abet a twisted one, that at the core showcased a bunch of very motivated authors writing about their favorite subjects.

Except one.

I actually scoffed when I encountered a 'self-insert' fic for the first time. I didn't even spare it a second glance; I just scrolled past it and read something with actual quality. It was odd though, as it seemed like the floodgates had opened. Nothing was sacred. All of a sudden, there where these damn self-insert fic's everywhere, clawing at my mind. It was madding, endless, and annoying. So, like all lesser souls when confronted by an unending truth, I broke down. I read one.

It was horrifying. Right off the bat, it appeared that the story was written by some sort of grammatically challenged seven year old. Once I managed to decode the poor spelling and pathetic sentence structure, I found it got even worse. The character had developed some sort of godlike power to control fire or some such nonsense. This combined with the fact that the character had apparently encyclopedia-esque knowledge of events lead to one of the most boring things I had ever seen in my life. There was no conflict. There was no tension. How was I supposed to read this garbage?

Then it hit me. Why the hell did I care? I mean, seriously, I had read poorly made fic's before. I had read fic's with stories so bad they gave me a headache. I didn't really mind those, they just came with the territory. So why did this particular brand of lunacy bother me so?

I took about thirty minutes of intense soul-searching, but I came up with an acceptable answer. It wasn't that the story was boring or the characters were dull (although they were), it was something else entirely. I liked the original story. The inclusion of what amounted to a god in the formula destroyed that original story and left a pale imitation in its wake.

Logically, as a fan of the original work, I felt insulted when it was torn down and painted over. It was at that moment I came to a very happy conclusion. When, and note the use of when not if, I wrote a story, I would be original. I would not simply insert myself into a story and ruin someone else's beauty.

I was wrong. I never went on to write anything, ever. I was just one of those things that constantly ran away from me. School or work or friends was an obstacle that I could simply not overcome. I suppose it could be considered sad, in a way, seeing as how it was once my dream.

I was not totally wrong, however. The idea that it was wrong to destroy the narrative formula with advanced knowledge and otherworldly characters lurked in the edges of my mind for some time, waiting for a chance to be applied. In an average life, it likely would have never manifested.

I think it would be fair to say my life isn't ordinary.

Case of point, let's do a basic run down of my surroundings, shall we?

The air was choked full of smoke that bellowed ominously from the ruins of formally picturesque farmland. The sky was an unearthly shade of red, accenting the carnage this world was currently experiencing. In the distance, great skyscrapers collapsed under the bombardment of synthetic beings, entombing there inhabitants under tons of rubble.

Above all this destruction, this death, a glint of life appeared. A light shining in the darkness, as it were. As the glint grew closer, its features began to shine. It was a spaceship, sleek and smooth. The black, white and red color plate hinted at the hero within. As it arrived at the edge of a small clearing, its identity became clear. The SSV Normandy, an Alliance frigate.

The sight filled me with an unshakable dread.

"Damn," I couldn't help but mutter to myself. "Why do I always lose in the final round?"

It was total bullshit, you know. I had been so careful. I had backup plans for my backup plans and then backup plans for those. I had ships and men and powers the average man couldn't comprehend, but I still had to fail. I could take over a star system, if I truly wanted, yet I couldn't avoid this.

You see, I didn't want to help the great Commander Shepard. I don't want to stop the Reaper invasion. I can honestly say I don't really care for the majority of… beings in this fake galaxy. I have my own goal. My own path. My own destiny. This game is not one I wish to play.

"Unidentified combatant, you are order by the Systems Alliance to relinquish your weapons and turn yourself into the approaching Alliance squad. You are wanted for questioning." The unfamiliar voice burst through the static of my headset, its source undoubtedly from the approaching ship. I was once more threatened to sink into depression, to mule of all the sin of my past and all that I had lost.

But I resisted. What matter now was that Commander Shepard was landing less than a football field away from me and all my hard work was in jeopardy. Running really wasn't an option, I wasn't going to blow my own brains out, so that left one option.

Damage control. I needed to keep this encounter as close to cannon as possible and slip away at the first opportunity. It seemed simple, it was simple. But there was, of course, one hook up.

The Commander and I had… a history. Back when my existence wasn't a threat to this universe, back before I started my crusade, I remember the little red-head that ran on piss and vigor. The girl that I had to give math questions too and share meals with.

I gulped once. I took a deep breath. I made sure my face was fully covered and I sat down on the most comfortable pieces of grass I could find. And I waited.

Much Earlier

"No, no, no. You have to place the money in the cash-credit column, not the cash- credit. The guy removed money from the company, you see?"

No, I really didn't. And the fact that Steven Stealman, what a stupid name, was taking money from his equally stupid pool cleaning business gave me a headache. Hey, don't get me wrong, Stevan could be a nice guy. But the fact is I have to read about the fact he took money from his own company, and that means paperwork. Paperwork means headaches. Headaches mean I will be in pain for the remainder of third period accounting and possibly fourth period math. Whoop- de- do.

"Ohh, okay, I got yeah" I lied "so put the $20 in this column?"

My savior, junior Ralph Phillips, cuffed me in the back. "God dude, you can be so stupid sometimes. You're lucky I'm around for you to copy off of." God, he had the most annoying grin. Damn egotistical jock, but hey, coping was easier than working. Plus, a friend is a friend, not matter how stupid he is. I learned that one the hard way.

I was about to shoot back a snappy retort about his moms intelligence quotient but the overly long bell blared through the school, causing me to jump in surprise. Ralph started laughing just as Mrs. Lantross started yelling at us about assignment 12-5 is due on Monday as my class streamed into the packed hallway, desperately trying to escape her wrath. Ralph and I followed, talking about our weekend plans.

Separating from Ralph, I pushed my way to my locker, trying to avoid getting trampled by my fellow classmates. I always felt like a cow ready to be slaughtered in these situations, but you learn to live with it.

I almost made it.

I think it was my show lace, but I ended up tripping into the nearest wall. Throwing my arms in front of me, I braced for the shock of hitting a brick wall with my face.

And felt a force pull me right back. "Gotcha, friend." The owner of the hand that had grabbed my backpack said.

Common courtesy instilled in my since childhood kicked in. "Thanks buddy." I said as I turned around. To say he was distinctive was an understatement. First, he was wearing suit in the middle of a high school in Farmville. Second, he appeared to be late twenties. Third, he was radiating confidence and people never radiate things, especial from my point of view.

"Might want to watch wear you step next time, my friend." He said with a chuckle.

"Ohhh… yem yea, thanks again. Are you… a speaker or something?"

Another chuckle. "No my friend. I'm simply checking on old friends and meeting new acquaintances."

Well, that's not creepy. Plus I was running late for math. "Well, have a good day." And then I high tailed it down the now empty hallway. I managed to banish mister creepy from my mind by the time I got to math class, but not the feeling of his eyes watching me as I left that hallway.

Sleep eluded me that night. Every time I closed my eyes I got a sadistic dream about Mrs. Lantross accusing me of being a 'degenerate to society'. By 1:00 A.M. I decide that staring at the white walls of my room was better than reliving that again. By 1:20 I decide that playing Angry Birds was much more interesting, which lead to me googling random movie quotes by 2:00.

I final fell asleep at 3:00, never guessing that it would be the last time I saw home in a long, long time.

In the future, super boring and redundant authors notes will end up down here.