"Fate is like a strange, unpopular restaurant filled with odd little waiters who bring you things you never asked for and don't always like."

- Lemony Snicket

CRITICAL MISSION FAILURE

"Fuck!"

By some act of higher power, my Playstation 3 controller didn't break as I hurled it into the wall. Still, it crashed into the white drywall with a banging sound so loud that I thought it an accurate representation of the frustration I was feeling at the moment. The black Dualshock 3 bounced onto the equally black plastic top of the console, causing the sliding disk drive lid to open. Unfortunately for it, I was about four killscreens past caring. I just stood up, ripped my headphones off, and stormed out of my room. My thought process?

I need a fucking drink.

I stomped through the house, making as much noise as I could even though I was the only one home. It didn't take longer than five seconds before I was in the garage. I mashed the door opener, snagged a Mike's Hard Lemonade out of the fridge, and let the afternoon rise to meet me. Slowly, the garage's musty smell and gloomy atmosphere were replaced by fresh air and sunlight. Sure, it was accompanied by the absolutely obnoxious clanking of the garage door taking forever to open, but that was only temporary. Once it had opened enough, I ducked under, popped the cap off my drink, and took a deeper swig than was normal for me.

When the door finally stopped opening, the process of healing truly began.

"Fuck Mass Effect."

Dust in the Mass Effect

Chapter One

"Rage Quit"

I sat quietly in my lawn chair, sucking at my alcoholic lemonade. It was a mid-April's Monday, the morning of which had been rainy. The humidity was out in force, making me feel damp and dirty in the lazy breeze that was blowing through my valley, but that was the way I liked it. It was nice to cool off after an arduous session of gaming. Playing Mass Effect on Insanity difficulty got me heated like few other things.

The thought of this made me intensely question the logic behind my pursuit of completing it. I wanted that trophy, dammit!

But that is neither here nor there. I was done with that game for the day, I figured. I'd been stuck on the last firefight on Ilos for over three hours by that point. Trophy or not, I had other shit to do. Other shit, that is, like sitting outside with a cold drink and enjoying the post-rain sun.

The birds were at it. Finches, robins, bluejays, the whole rogues' gallery. Across the street was our cleave of the lake, its waters disturbed as three different boats trolled about in search of whatever fish hadn't been caught during the tournament last weekend. A few cars slipped by, a few bikers revved towards the bar up the road, and one beer truck blazed away in hopes of meeting some deadline or another. It was just your typical weekday. Nothing impressive. Nothing to get worked up about.

So I sat and drank my alcoholic lemonade. I thought about going in and getting my guitar out and giving the yard a little music, but that would have required getting up. It would have required seeing that killscreen again. It would have ruined the moment. I wanted Mass Effect to be the furthest thing from my mind.

Smiling, I reclined and let the afternoon have me.

It ultimately took a vibration in my pocket to draw me out of the moment. I pulled it up. I had a text message from my dad.

"Going to bubba ritos. Meet me there" it said.

Bubba Ritos. The thought of snagging a ten inch quesadilla filled to the brim with steak, beans, and rice was practically irresistible to me. I sprung up, finished off my drink, and cruised back inside to prepare for an outing. I trashed the bottle, threw on some shoes, and grabbed my keys. Before I could turn and head out, however, I caught a glimpse of my TV. It was just the way I'd left it. Giant red letters, options waiting to be chosen, and darkness having eaten the scene of Shepard's death. I sneered in disgust.

"Fuck you, game," I reiterated my statement from earlier as I leaned in to turn the thing off.

Apparently, it took offence.

I felt the power button on my PS3 click, and that was it. The room around me vanished, replaced by darkness. This wasn't just your 'oh, the lights went out' darkness. It was pitch fucking black. To make things even worse, the PS3 had disappeared out from under my finger. The sudden lack of sensation caused me to reel back, at which I realized that my feet were no longer touching to the floor.

I expected to totter over and knock over the several expensive electronics I'd just been standing by. Instead, for better or worse, I found myself free-floating. It wasn't like I was falling or swimming. It was more like gravity had simply ceased working on me. I tumbled through space, unable to speak, breathe, or even think. The only thing I could fully process was how my stomach was churning and how, if this crazy ride were to ever end, that Mike's was going to complete a U-turn straight out of me.

As if cued by this thought, gravity retook its hold over my orientation. I flopped straight backwards, landing with a dull thud onto something cold and metallic. Reacting to the painful stimulus, my eyes rushed open, and my body shot upright. It was such a surge of motion and pain that I yelled out in confusion. Unable to orientate myself, I let my diaphragm give weigh and collapsed onto my side.

Whatever I had landed on, my face was now hanging off its side. I didn't need any more prompting. My mouth opened, sending white liquid spilling onto whatever was below. It didn't complain, so I let everything out there and then. Want to purge? Try vertigo. Thankfully, my lunch had been leftover pasta and water. Smelly, but easy on its way.

Once my esophagus stopped rebelling against me, I returned to lying on by back. My heart was racing, my breaths ragged, and I could feel sweat starting to compile in my nooks and crannies. To say I was a mess would've been an understatement. I felt like I'd just gotten metaphysically stretched like a piece of taffy, except maybe the stretcher was broken and one side couldn't move all the way back to the middle. Part of me was still strung out. Kind of like when you inhale some paint or marker fumes. You're not sure if you're on a high or just feeling overly existential.

I coughed, displacing a blob of spit from my throat. The blob flew upward, coursing upward across a bright light that was emanating from above me. As it broke the light's path, my eyes finally found focus. The blob flew off to God knows where, allowing me to see the light properly. It was strong, definitely stronger than the one I had in my bedroom. It was more like a gymnasium light. Heavy-duty LED. The lamp there was probably taller than I was. Looking on, you could see that there were several of these installed, though they were so spaced out that the entire place seemed rather eerie.

I stared at the light until my eyes were seeing spots, at which I promptly rolled over and looked off into the distance. It was something the likes of which I'd never seen before. Piles of trash stretching on and on, with the majority of it all being large chunks of metal. A junkyard, I figured silently.

What in the Nine Hells am I doing here?

I gazed out into the shadowy expanse, that question and a dozen more wracking my mind. Had I fallen asleep? Was this all just some alcohol-induced stupor? No way. Sure, I didn't drink a lot, but there's no way that one Mike's could give me hallucinations. What was the explanation, then? Did I eat some peyote without knowing? The paranoid part of me might have actually believed that. But no. I was too sensible to believe that my morning bowl of cereal or that leftover pasta had psychoactive cactus in it.

"Well… Shit," I mumbled as I proceeded to sit myself up. There was nothing left for me to honestly think, aside from the unhelpful notion that this must have been how Michael felt after he drank that PCP soda in GTA V. At least I still had my clothes on. Silver linings, y'know?

Sitting up didn't do much for me. It did allow me to look at myself, though. As it turned out, the clothes I was happy to still have weren't actually my clothes. My comfy slouch shirt, blue jeans, and flip flops had been replaced by some thin coveralls and a shabby pair of boots. It was all black, lightweight, and easy to move around in, but it still wasn't anything I'd ever worn before. Having the outfit on without knowing where I'd gotten it made my skin crawl. Unfortunately, I didn't appear to have any other options. Junkyards weren't exactly known for their immense hospitality, I derided.

I sat there for an unquantifiable amount of time, just looking around. I was gripped with confusion, but also wonder. I had never in my life seen a place like this. It was huge! The trash was packed so high that you could barely tell where they bottom was, and the walls were nowhere to be seen. What was visible were a couple of gigantic rigs that were suspended off in the distance. I figured they were used to pick out stuff for recycling, or maybe they just added to the mess. Probably both.

As I sat there, thumb up my ass and foot in my mouth, one of the rigs proceeded to switch on. Gleaming red caution lights began to flash, and the sounds of a distant-yet-obnoxious klaxon filled the air. The noise kept on for several seconds, only switching off as the thing began to move. Sure enough, it was headed my way.

"Time to go," I grunted to myself, scowling. I still didn't know what was going on, or even how it had happened, but I was certain of one thing.

This is going to suck.

I don't own Mass Effect. Surprising, isn't it?

Also, the first chapter is short because it's a first chapter. Don't worry, I'll post chapter two in a few days.