DISCLAIMER: ALL RIGHTS TO MASS EFFECT ARE OWNED BY BIOWARE
A/N: All right. First fic, so please be patient. (ETA: with the help of a couple friends, I've gone over the story and did some minor editing: adding descriptions/details and tweaking some of my language)
"The monster's loose and now you know the truth," I sing under my breath as I walk through a tunnel of ancient stone an archaeologist friend of mine discovered in the Sierra Nevada mountains. Shining my LED flashlight on the walls, I marvel at the strange glyphs that have been carved into the smooth surface. These are unlike any we've ever seen. No wonder Hank is so excited. I think, tracing their odd shape with my fingertips.
"C'mon, Ian. Let's pick it up," one of the archaeologists says in his irritating, nasally voice, wearing the obligatory "scientist in the field" outfit; khaki shorts and shirt, knee-high socks, and boots that are more form than function. "I know you're an amateur, but you could at least show a modicum of alacrity," he continues, highlighting the fact that archaeology is more of a hobby than profession for me for the umpteenth time.
"Ever heard the saying 'Haste makes waste'?" I ask nonchalantly, getting irritated at this pretentious snob. Just because my daddy didn't pay for me to go to Yale… I continue to myself, adjusting the shoulder rig holding an H&K P30 pistol and a couple spare magazines that I'm wearing over my midnight blue t-shirt.
"I didn't know they used big words like that in the Marines. Then again, you could just be parroting someone and have no idea what the big words mean," the jackass answers. Calm down, Ian, I think, getting tired of his shit already although I've only been on site for a week. He's not worth it.
"Reginald, Ian's here as a favor for me," Hank says from his place at the back of our little line. His outfit is functional like mine: durable cargo pants, well-worn boots, a pack to carry minor equipment in, et cetera. "You, on the other hand, are here because I needed someone to schlep my gear and because your professor decided you could use a little seasoning. Believe me, if I had any idea that we'd be making a discovery like this, I'd have left you behind," he finishes, putting the rich kid in his place.
Moving forward at a slow, but steady pace, I pay no attention to Reginald's mumblings as I look over the walls and floor. As much bullshit is spewed about booby traps in fiction, ancient ruins are still hazardous. Then I hear something that gets my attention: the distinctive sound of a zippo being opened. Motherfucker… Whirling around, I snatch the lighter out of his hand before he can strike the flint. "Just what the unholy fuck do you think you're doing?" I ask in a tone I haven't used since I left the Corps. And even then I only used it for a special brand of fuck-up.
"I wanted a smoke," Reginald whined.
"You wanted a smoke? How about I smoke you in the motherfucking throat? You had better un-fuck yourself right now before I rip your head off and skull-fuck you for almost getting us killed! Do you have any motherfucking clue as to what gasses are in the air of this tunnel?" At his stunned silence, I get in his face. "Did any part of that last question sound rhetorical, you jackass?"
"There's no gas here. I don't smell anything," he muttered.
"Well aren't you the motherfucking genius. Mummy and daddy paid for you to go to Yale and now you're the reincarnation of Indiana motherfucking Jones. Apparently you missed the day where the chemistry professors explained that many flammable gasses are FUCKING ODORLESS! The ONLY reason gas 'smells' when you're working with propane or other commercial gasses is because the companies add sulfur to give said gasses a rotten egg smell to let you know if there's a leak! I swear to everything holy and blasphemed: if you were in my platoon, I've have turtle-fucked you and busted you down so low you'd be lucky to be cleaning the fucking head with your god-damned tongue!"
"Easy, Ian. He's got the point," Hank says. Never having seen this side of me before, it's pretty obvious from his expression that he feels that I'm about to get violent. Slapping the lighter back into Reginald's hand, I go back to leading the way, noting that the acoustics of the tunnel are shifting as we go further along. After a few more minutes of careful walking, we enter a massive chamber, easily the size of a small city with some kind of pyramid in the center.
"My God…" Hank says in wonder. "Just look at the size of this place." "It's incredible," Reginald says, his voice similarly filled with awe.
"Our lights don't even reflect off the other side." "Look at the structure in the middle. It looks like some kind of pyramid or temple," I comment, trying to fathom how anyone could build something like this. "And that spire, it looks like some kind of ring with two prongs pointing towards the ceiling."
"Reminds me of the assassin's blade from Halo," Reginald replies. For once, I agree with him.
"This truly amazing," Hank states as we all carefully pick our way down a half-crumbled stairway towards the pyramid-like structure. As we get closer to the floor of the chamber, I realize that this place is truly massive.
"How the hell did anyone build anything like this?" I ask. "Even with current technology, there's no way we could carve out a cavern large enough to hold what looks to be a twenty story pyramid, not counting those odd spires on top."
"Of course the pyramid's artificial," Reginald said, clearly missing my point.
"I'm talking about this cavern, chamber, whatever the hell you want to call it," I explain, keeping my cool despite being irritated. "There aren't any stalactites or stalagmites, for one. Two, the stairs we climbed down, while worn, are in remarkable condition. Third, the stones under our feet is too smooth and uniform to be anything but worked artificially. Whoever did this was advanced as hell. Far more than we are."
"What are you saying? That aliens built this?" he counters, his voice condescending and smug.
"What I'm saying is that we may have just discovered evidence of a civilization that isn't mentioned anywhere in historical records, be they myth, legend, or otherwise," I answer heatedly, starting to lose my temper with this dimwit. "And I'm not discounting some kind of extraterrestrial influence, despite how crazy it sounds."
"I agree with you, Ian," Hank says. "This is unlike any kind of human construction ever recorded. Even the ancient myths of Olympus or Atlantis don't offer descriptions even close to what we're seeing here." Looking around, he makes a decision. "Let's take a couple samples and get back to camp. I'd like to run some tests and see if we can determine how old this place is." Breaking out the small picks and plastic specimen jars, we take several samples and return to the camp.
While Hank and Reginald work on putting the samples through thermoluminescence dating, I head into my tent and take my rifle, an HK91, out of its case and inspect it. It's a far cry from the M4 I was issued in the Corps, but it's a fine rifle. Might not have much for aesthetics, but it's a godless Teutonic killing machine that makes the AK look overcomplicated. Field stripping the gun, I check to make sure everything is still in order: the rollers for the bolt are in working order, the springs are fine, the barrel is in good condition, the scope isn't damaged, and so on. After a quick function check, I load the rifle, put it on safe, and take my pistol out of my shoulder rig and do the same general inspection and function check.
Satisfied with my weapons inspections, I decide to unwind a bit, getting out my guitar, an Ibanez Xiphos with an orange chameleon finish, and playing a few random heavy metal licks here and there. If only I had my amp with me, I muse silently. As I play, I overhear Hank and Reginald working at the makeshift lab we have set up.
"This can't be right." Reginald says.
"What is it this time?" Hank answers, clearly getting irritated over something.
"According to the equipment, these samples are fifty thousand years old." "What? You're reading that wrong," Hank answers.
Curious, I put my guitar back in its case and step outside, pistol at home in its holster and the rifle slung over my shoulder. "What's going on?"
"Apparently my gear needs to be calibrated. It's saying that the samples we took from the pyramid are fifty thousand years old…" Hank's voice trails off as the instruments beep. "What in the world?"
Intrigued, I walk over and read the display. "Hey Reggie, looks like you owe me an apology."
"My name is Reginald," the punk sniffed indignantly. "And what do you mean?"
"What I mean is apparently one of the samples has some kind of alloy that is completely unknown," I answer. "As in nothing like it exists on Earth. Add in the odd style of architecture we saw with that pyramid as well as the fact that it obviously took advanced technology to carve out that chamber and then build a twenty story structure, and you've got strong evidence of extraterrestrial influence."
"Right. There is no such thing as aliens. I'll prove it," he snapped back childishly as he stormed off towards the tunnel.
"Just where the fuck do you think you're going?" I ask, my tone shifting back into the "pissed-off drill instructor" range.
"I'm going to the pyramid," Reginald says, trying to sound tough but failing miserably. Figuring I might as well watch him make an ass of himself for the entertainment value, I un-sling my rifle, extend the collapsing stock to the right length, and hold it at the classic "low ready" position as I follow at a decent distance. When we get to the chamber, Reginald surprises me by climbing the pyramid without much difficulty. Slinging my rifle I follow him as he makes his way to the odd spires. "Now what, genius?" I ask sarcastically.
"Look, this spire, while awesome-looking, is nothing more than steel," he says, kicking it with his foot. Not the wisest idea since metal tends to fare better than bone on impact. While he's hopping about on one foot, something odd happens, the spire lights up and the hoops around the base start rotating around one another.
What the fuck? I think as the rings move faster and a bluish pulsing sphere appears in the center. My concern turns to outright panic as the sphere shoots out bolts of energy that wrap around me body. Before I can do anything I feel the world shifts around me, elongating and wavering before I see a flash of light. Then all is darkness.