Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Bioware or Mass Effect. I do own the "she" in this story, but that's not saying much!
Non-Standard Author Disclaimer: This is a first for me in several ways. Present tense, first person, drabble format and … the entire thing in OC point of view. I know that I'm venturing into territory most readers don't like with the O/C and (please at least read this chapter – don't let this next descriptor throw you too badly) the "self-insert" feel to it (and I stress FEEL) But I wanted to fix something in Mass Effect 3. So I am. Sort of.
She arrives, naked and shivering. A newborn brought into a new, metal, and false world. There is no memory of what happened to bring her here. The air smells weird, the lights seem off. The shame for her overweight, pale and flawed body is nearly completely buried by confusion, and that's likely a good thing. It doesn't take her long to be arrested, despite her clumsy attempts to hide. No identity, says the arresting officer. She thinks he must be in the military. Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here? Where are you from?
She answers to the best of her ability, earnestly seeking help from this example of trusted authority, and he scoffs. Then he calls in a psyche consultation.
When the psychologist enters the room, her skin is blue and she has sculpted folds of flesh instead of hair.
By the time the girl stops laughing-crying-and-spitting her recognition, the Asari is gone. In the silence left behind, she eventually calms. It's a dream. She cannot be here. It's a weird dream. Or perhaps she's in a coma or someone drugged her. These thoughts are not comforting, but they keep her company through the night, tested against the rage and rush of her fears.
Sometime later the officer comes and tells her that she'll be transferred to a mental institution where she can be helped. He uses a calming voice and gentle words. She barely hears him.
When they come for her, when they escort her from the room, though, she spots him again. This time he is at his desk and she's had time to place his voice. Something snaps in her mind and she grins at him, "Bailey!" she calls familiarly, "Tell me. Have you ever met a Specter named Shepard?"
The woman and man escorting her pause and Bailey just stares for a minute. "No," he says finally. "But I hear she was a good woman."
The girl relaxes at the use of past tense and doesn't speak another word for three days.