Labelled as important but really not

Before we get started it is important to know that yes, I deliberately didn't write a back story or 'happening' of where the character came from or how he got there. Sorry, no random sucking into a television today. Also, I'm trying for an angle of what a relatively 'normal' person would do in these situations - to see how the character transforms from a regular person throughout the story. No, he won't be human, but he was.

Now this idea has been floating around in my head for a long time. I plan to make this fully fledged, encompassing the three games. I have a fair amount of time for the next three weeks, however that probably will not matter since I hope to prewrite the next several chapters (and post one every two days. Or week. Or something).

Relatively important

This has been written in a 'journal type' format with estimated dates. Other chapters won't be. Character has no real concept of time, however it is there to provide context to the reader. Because time in ME is all weird, we will assume that years are in Earth years, unless stated otherwise. After these journal entry things it will evolve into an actual story.

Really low level Starcraft crossover. Remember that the Protheans warred with the Reapers for several hundred years. It is likely there were ex-Prothean systems they had abandoned which the reapers would still need to destroy all evidence of life from.

LotV stuffs (char power scope)

When I originally drafted this I had based it around the HotS hybrids - the ones almost able to kill Kerrigan (who was fairly strong). Main character will be more in tune with these newer hybrids - nothing to sneeze at but not a one man slaughterhouse. Just imagine another Wrex or Shepard.

Day 1 - Waking up in the facility

He stared at the barrier in front of him. Every now and then it would waver - just a little bit. He'd woken up here, already completely restrained. It was horrifying at first, but after what seemed like mere seconds he had already exhausted his strength. He had struggled - twisting, contorting, and pulling his limbs like a drowning man in a vain effort to remove the energy shackles holding him in place.

He couldn't really say that he had much experience with situations like this; heck, he wasn't even human.

That had come as a shock. After groggily forcing his eyes open, staring down at the ice grey colour of his flesh had really done a number on his stomach. Or where used to be his stomach. He wasn't quite sure what was going on down there anymore.

This had led him to his next revelation - he had no mouth. He couldn't talk. He had no idea if he could even talk. In fact, he was ninety percent sure he had extra things. Stuff that wasn't there. He was fairly sure he had some kind of tentacles sprouting from his back, but he wasn't quite sure if he was ready to check yet, even though he was fairly sure that there were a bunch of tentacles waving around behind him.

He could feel the power, if that made sense. He'd always been kind of envious of animals. Not of their existence, but of their often physical superiority over Humans. Tigers, Lions, Jaguars, they were all natural born predators. They had bodies that were rippling with strength, built over thousands of years of survival of the fittest, ready to overcome the harsh conditions of the wild.

That was how his body felt right now. He could feel the lean power inside of his funny-looking silver limbs, yet despite this new-found strength he could not get out of the shackles - he couldn't even take an inch. They bound him, strung him up like a prisoner of old, locked away in the castle dungeons.

And he hated it.

It was degrading, and he had no idea if he was being watched now. Was anyone even looking for him? He'd had a life before, and to suddenly disappear...

He knew it would impact his family. His mum. His dad.

Hell, who was meant to give treats to the dogs if he wasn't around?

He already missed them, the homesickness slicing through his weak stomach-thing.

It had only been three hours.

But he didn't know that.

Day 8 - Beginning of Waver Standard Time

He had quickly realised that he had no concept of time here. There was no clock, there was nothing telling him the time. The lights in the facility had slowly been getting dimmer, and his view out through the energy-barrier-thing had been quickly fading. He'd taken his time looking around - well, looking around as much as he could. If he couldn't tell any better, it seemed like he was in some kind of prison, or something. It struck him as familiar - the whole place, it really tugged at his memory, it teased his tongue (yes, he could imagine himself having a tongue if he wanted to, damn it), tickling it's tip but never actually revealing where he was.

His dull eyes stared forward at the barrier. He'd thought of his own time system, it was genius really. The waver of the barrier seemed to be fairly constant, and so he'd decided that this would be how he would count time. He would pioneer the waver-time system.

Over the last few hundred wavers his tentacles had also made an annoying intrusion. He had been staring at the barrier, vaguely aware of what was going on, yet focused on not losing count when these glowing blue things had dropped into his field of vision.

Not only had he lost count of the bloody wavers, but he'd accidentally brushed one of the glowing appendages against the electric-energy-shackle-things which were holding him in place.

The shock really put funny bones to shame. His tentacle-jerk reaction had flung the blasted appendage backwards and into the roof of the damned place. If he could bruise, then his ruddy tentacle would be purple for days.

Day 18 - 5 020 wavers from WST (beginning of Waver Standard Time)

He'd figured it out! He could realise how bloody daft he'd been! It was obvious from the beginning - it was those crappy ruins from those Mass Effect games, it was the ruins where that Liara person had got themselves trapped. Well, it was the same style. He was being a bit optimistic, really, since he knew if it was actually the same ruins then he would eventually be rescued.

Then again, if it wasn't those ruins, he was going to be waiting a long time.

A very long time.

This wasn't the ideal situation, either. He wasn't the biggest fan of the series - he'd played through it once or twice, but it's not like he had taken the time to memorize every tiny detail, as it was he barely remembered anything aside from the major plot points.

So much potential, but in this new body, there was absolutely no way he could stay out of the spotlight. And wouldn't even have the advantage that Javik had later in the series - by that time people were used to Shepard's travelling circus.

But... That left some choices. He could always, well, leave Shepard. Shepard would be able to stop the reapers on his/her own, without his help, that is, if this new world stuck true to the games.

He could just hide away - live away from everyone else and experience this world on his own, without the imminent risk of death that plagued Shepard.

Then again all this brainstorming could be for nothing.

He could be in another universe or whatever entirely. It could be Star Wars, X-COM, something completely different.

And yet, it wouldn't matter what world he had arrived in. As such a strange creature, he was sure to be a catalyst for trouble.

And the real question came down to whether he would be able to deal with that trouble.

Day 31 - 11 501 wavers from WST

It felt like an age. It really did. He could swear it had been at least a bloody year, at least. He didn't really know, anyway, since his concept of time had been completely fucked since finding himself in this god-forsaken hell-hole. It had been slightly, slightly interesting at first. Looking around, playing with his tentacles, but now he was out of things to do. And it was killing him. What he had found out, however, was that he didn't need sleep.

At least, not like he used to. He had been growing increasingly weary since finding himself in the buff grey halls. He had tried to sleep, but it didn't work. He could force himself to sleep, in the traditional sense. He would fall asleep. An unknown amount of time would pass. He would wake up.

Just as tired as when he went to sleep. He knew it was getting increasingly dangerous - everything needed energy. He didn't want to die in this shithole, to pass away without anyone even acknowledging his existence. He'd stared around the room, eyes swinging. There had to be someone watching him, they wouldn't have put him here, otherwise.

This sheer panic, this final struggle against what he thought was the inevitable, had caused what may as well be his greatest discovery while shackled in the air.

He'd swung one of his glowing tentacle things around, and it had struck the barrier in front of him. It wasn't like that time he'd struck the shackles, instead, he'd felt the energy flowing into him, if it made any sense. With this discovery, he'd slapped his tentacles against that barrier and sat twiddling his thumbs. The energy was incredible, it was intoxicating with just how ready he felt.

This, combined with what seemed to be a hibernation mode, had him already laying plans. Time didn't matter when one was asleep anyway. His only problem with this was if he was in too deep, and he missed his chances at a rescue.

Day 407 - 199 505 wavers from WST

He couldn't believe it. He'd succeeded, kind of. He gave a quick tentacle-pump before assessing his successful experiment with his sleep-state.

He'd managed, with all his incredible willpower and strength, to enter an extremely light state of sleep, with the fact that a particularly strong waver of the barrier waking him up being a testament to this fact. It couldn't have been much time at all, really. If he could do this more often, he could hopefully hibernate his way to freedom.

No effort required.

Of course he would need to estimate when these 'wake wavers' would happen, so that he could base how long he was sleeping off it.

Day 408 - 200 341 wavers from WST

He had it. A strong flicker would strike the barrier every 400 wavers or so - give or take five. Despite all the fun he'd had counting and recounting the wavers between the particularly strong flickers, he had no wish to do it again. It was a better time to start than any, really. He'd begun to feel rather weary, and so using his strong innovation skills he propped up one of his tentacles against the barrier, and drifted off to sleep.

Day 2718 - 1 355 211 wavers from WST

Rescue was near. He knew it. He could feel the rumbling. His vast recollection skills had informed him that the rumbling of the planet and the crunching of the stone was Shepard using the mining drill to free Liara from her shackles.

This was good, and very, very bad. This meant that this place would likely have the power fail soon. This was good, because he could hopefully find his way up somehow.

It was also incredibly bad because lava would soon flood this whole place, and despite his new appearance he really doubted that he could withstand thousands of tonnes of lava pressing down upon him.

Today was his lucky day, however. Or his unlucky day, depending on if he felt optimistic or pessimistic, since the rumbling was not in fact the mining drill, rather it was a kinetic bombardment. This realization was crushing. He would either experience a whole new world, or he had thousands of years to wait.

Neither was appealing.

He knew it was the Reapers. He couldn't explain it, but he could literally feel the indoctrination attempting to influence his mind, the seductive shadows attempting to nip at his thoughts, to inject themselves into his very mind. Despite the malevolent threat of indoctrination, he could feel his mind repulsing it - his body seemed to have some kind of antibodies against them, the dark influence being pushed from his mind before it could even take root.

This was bad news. Extremely bad news. Since the lack of Protheans in the facility meant that the reapers had already cleaned them out - and he was placed there after the annihilation had already ended. This also meant the the Reapers would now be bombarding the planet to remove all traces of life.

His situation was just shit. And he knew it. He knew it was 50/50 if he would live. All he could do was pray, just fucking pray that nothing they did caused the little hell-hole he was hiding in to be submerged in lava. Being awake wouldn't save him, he knew. He couldn't move anyway, and the shackles binding him in place were as strong as ever.

Hell, he'd rather die in blissful sleep than experience the horrors of being burned alive.

He propped up his tentacle against the barrier again, and began to shut his mind down; at least he would be able to hibernate, or sleep, or deactivate. Whatever he hell it was.

It would all be over in an instant. He would either wake up to painful agony, or wake up to another kind of rumbling.

The rumbling of a mining drill.

Year 188, Day 225 - End of waver standard time, Earthern Year 47,803 BC

He'd awoken with a rude shock. The barrier which he had drawn his power from, his energy, and flickered harshly, actually turning off for a brief moment, waking him up.

This wasn't optimal.

He knew enough now to know that he had to draw energy from somewhere, and that barrier had been a nice recharge station. He didn't know what he was. He didn't know how long he could last. He didn't know if the low rumbling he could hear was the place collapsing under the terrifying power of seismic activity, the planet voicing its anger at its intruder, or if it was simply explosions, the awe inspiring power of modern chemistry bringing the planet to its knees.

He didn't want to know, either. Ignorance was bliss.

These kinds of thoughts had been put off. He'd taken the blissful ignorance at first, ignoring the fact that he'd wound up in a strange place, in a strange body, with no real ability to experience time. And now the thoughts were really striking home. Could he talk? What's happening back home? Would he live? So many questions he could not answer.

So much unfinished business.

He still didn't know what an analytical continuation of a product log function was.

It was times like these where his frustration really showed. He wanted to lash out - verbally, physically, heck, even a mental lashing would be better than this. He could feel the cabin fever kicking in. He couldn't look behind him, for starters. In front of him was a tiny pocket of what he presumed was a cave system of some kind, but no light shone there. It was blank, empty space, only illuminated by the dull glow of a failing barrier, and he had no clue where it went, if it even led anywhere.

He renewed his efforts at twisting out of the shackles, but like he had experienced within his first moments in this new, pitiful existence, they refused to slip free.

He no longer cared what time it was. He couldn't count the wavers - and he was fairly sure they were inconsistent too. The barrier had abandoned him. He twisted his neck to the side, glaring at the chains of energy keeping him bound in place.

As a last resort, he guess he could smack his tentacles around those things and hold on. He shuddered at the thought of touching them. It had been pure agony last time he'd done that, and he was in no hurry to test his luck any time soon.

Yeah, it was his last resort for sure.

It felt like a lifetime ago, that he had arrived here. And the whole thing just sucked, on a fundamental level it just god-damned sucked, a twisted mockery of what life should be.

He slowly felt himself slip into unconsciousness, and he let it happen. If he could save energy hibernating or whatever, then who was to care? He might live to see daylight, but without the whole waiting-for-forever thing.

What a depressing thought.