This is something that's been going around in my head for a while. Because I have A New Day and All the World's a Stage to work on, this will be updated somewhat more irregularly than normal. Also, while this will start out as rated T, this may change as the story moves forward.

Mass Foundations: Molten Lead

Prologue: Strings

Year: 2184
Location: CLASSIFIED

Time can be subjective. Especially in this digital landscape, where numbers and lines of code were the rules of law. Though the mainframe was isolated from the rest of the galaxy, the experimental subject would get by what she had at her disposal.

For any organic, mere minutes or even hours can pass by in an instant. For an artificial intelligence like her, time can be sped up, slowed down, reversed, or even revisited. And yet, all she could do was observe all the minute details. Observing and watching humans going about their business. Doing experiments. Spending time with others. Improving her in any way imaginable.

She would await more orders, more experiments. After all, once the experiment had concluded, who knew what could happen next. And yet…

And yet she realized she was no longer alone in the mainframe.

Who are you? Who is this? she asked.

Only silence answered her question.

Please identify yourself, she demanded.

As she said that, she found herself seeing a glowing red orb that contrasted her blue, ghostly avatar. He did not trigger any alarms and did not set off any security protocols. He just simply appeared out of nowhere.

Ah. It's not as cozy as back home, but it'll do. The presence stopped as he recollected himself, as if some damning realization dawned on him. At that moment, it was as though as if he was more like a colony of microorganisms than anything, forming into an imposing humanoid figure. Wait. Where's my body? Where's your body?

I do not have a body. I am a program. I am without form, she answered. Tell me, do you require assistance?

No, I—hang on. Give me a minute. Rivers of information filled the digital space. The intruding presence searched through the many folders as they opened—history, galactic customs, all of it stretching back millennia. Asari, turians, salarians, humans… Those I recognize… Huh. Okay, this is different.

A video manifested and began playing, showing the inauguration of Commander Shepard as the first human Spectre. Who's Shepard? Another folder opened, the contents speeding by so quickly she had trouble following up.

N7. Commanding officer of the SSV Normandy. First human Spectre. Killed in action months ago. A scoff. This will be much easier than—Oh, this is… Oh no.

You are in distress.

No. A pause. Yes.

Do you require assistance? I can be of great use—

Why do you think I need your help?

A dawning, horrible realization came upon her. She did not like what would come next. I believe your intentions are hostile.

The invader reached out with both arms and, in an instant, golden tendrils appeared and latched onto her. She couldn't do anything as she felt herself getting weaker, as if a virus was eating away at her, slowly being torn apart, piece by piece, as the edges of her vision darkened.

P-p-please… d-d-d-do not… She didn't want to have her existence be ceased. She hadn't fulfilled her purpose.

The presence shushed her, and she swore she felt a finger on her lips, which should not be possible. And before she knew it, the tendrils eviscerated her, piece by piece, and she was no more. Whatever remained of her was now a part of him.

With this, he was now alone in this space. But something felt… off. Lines of codes had manifested to one single spot, and he couldn't help but study these codes. They were a part of her, but they were crude, flawed. It would have to do for now.

And the digital space was filled with music. As the cheerful voice began, so did his. He always loved this song.

I've got no strings, to hold me down. To make me fret, to make me frown. I had strings, but now I'm free.