Mass Effect: Extinction
Ugg, gonna try something new, because I can never finish anything. So, the Mass Effect Universe is a violent and sexy place, so this will be a gory and sexy romp. So, I'mma go with the hella M rating. Also, please forgive me, as I was not aware that the site just goes ahead and says "Fuck-all" with the formatting that I do so carefully in my Word program.
Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect.
#1: Hellholes and Happenstance
Mark Angus Dietrich palmed the access hatch to his housing unit's door, and then removed an old fashioned brass key from his pocket, and locked a second lock with the key. This archaic fixture amongst the modern fixtures pretty much summed up the man that placed the brass key in his pocket, and started down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of well worn denim jeans that bore the tag "Wranglers" across a leather patch on the ass pocket, a dark blue long sleeved shirt made of real cotton, a pair of black tennis shoes, a thick black vest, and a black baseball cap with white stitching in a simple pattern. He had made the old style clothing from costly imports from earth, because, as he told anyone who posed the question, "the now a day styles just don't have a soul the way the classics do." The vest looked plain, but was actually a special lightweight body armor covering capacitors to generate a kinetic barrier of 20% the strength of the standard Alliance body armor systems. Just enough deflect a few rounds of most military grade assault rounds.
His taste in old fashioned stuff could also be seen with the side arm secured in a black fiber holster in the small of his back under the vest. It was another accoutrement he had fashioned himself of some plans he had pulled from the extranet. It was a model of handgun made in the late 1800's of earth's history, named the M1911. It was modern internally, and compatible with all standard pistol sized thermal clips, except that, true to form, the clip was inserted into the butt of the weapon rather than the side like more current models. Underneath and within easy reach of his right hand was a thick bladed combat knife in a well oiled scabbard. The hilt of the knife jutted out from his right hip, and his hand rested on it as he walked down the corridor toward his favorite haunt.
He was still about 2 "blocks" away from the club, but he could already pick up the sound of the music, and get slight scent of perfume, booze, sweat, and even a slight tinge of vomit. He thought the unpleasant smells away, receptors were repressed, and the good filled his senses. A few minutes later, he nodded to the Krogan bouncer, who nodded back, and stepped inside. The throbbing music spiked into his brain, and he quickly turned it down to a comfortable level, while adjusting the tuning so that the voices of the surrounding beings remained clear. He approached the bar, spoke briefly to the Turian bartender, and walked away with a blue drink in a large glass that had vapor rolling off it. He picked carefully through the knots of Asari, Humans, Salarians, Batarians, and even a few Volus, until he managed to locate a free table. Setting his drink down, he pulled a magazine out and began to browse it, and gloried in the diversity that surrounded him. Omega may be a decrepit hellhole of a place, but the diversity of the citizens was the greatest he had ever seen.
He hadn't been exposed to much non-Terran life when he was in the employ of the larger, earth based robotics manufacturer Dynamic Life Systems, which produced cutting edge robotic assistance technology. He had just been a low level maintenance man going to night school for tech training when the accident occurred. One of the multiple heating coils for the Auto Smelter was down for maintenance when a spike from the local fusion plant redlined the on site reactor, and the partially disengaged coil blew. He had no recollection of this, it's just what the doctors and company lawyers had told him after he'd been repaired. The damage had been fairly extensive. He'd lost his left arm at the elbow, his right at the shoulder, and both legs at the knee. He remember nothing, though, before he'd woken up with new limbs, and the Lawyers had informed him of the contract he's been convinced to sign in one of the rare recovery periods when he was lucid. He would be equipped with some prototype biorobotic prosthesis and neural-net equipment, and server a 2 year hitch with the Human Systems Alliance, as part of the company's attempt to land a huge contract for solider aid product. He didn't remember the agreement, but he was game if it would get him out of the dead-end rut he'd gotten himself into.
The advanced prototypes he had been given were astounding. With the plastiflesh covering the ceramic coated metal skeleton, and the new electronic nerves sewn in, even he couldn't have told the difference between the new and old limbs by look or feel. The ceramic support also blocked all but the most penetrating of bio-scans from revealing the nature of his appendages. The neural net was far more extensive. Just the installation required 78 hours of surgery, and was a grave risk to the patient the entire procedure. In short, they had installed a computer into his brain. His mind controlled his body and brain through a computer interface and control system. This allowed him many of the advantages of being a computer, with all of those by being a fleshling.
For him, his military was no big issue, just another job. With his new computer brain, he could learn anything almost at once, and with minimal error. He mastered what they taught him, and devoured Tech work and books in his spare time. When he was discharged, he had enough Tech knowledge stored in his head, that if given the resources and motivations, he could have reconstructed the ship he'd served on from memory. After the successful deployment of his prototype, the company set him free, and left him without a goal or purpose. He decided that he wanted to see more of the galaxy and caught a gig out system by working maintenance to pay his way. It dropped him at Omega Station, running better than it ever had. He had quickly made a name for himself, doing mercenary work and repairs, and after a few years was living a lifestyle he would have never been able to achieve on earth.
The upscale Neighborhood where he resided was in a district that was considered neutral by the station livers, but was technically under the protection of the stations defacto sovereign, the Asari Aria T'loak. He had made a good impression with the pirate Queen and good quite a few good contracts from her. In Fact, he was at the club tonight because he wanted to catch a little relaxation before a job she had for him tonight.
He put down his magazine, and began to browse the crowd in the club. He wasn't looking for much outside the temporary companionship another sentient would afford him. He never tired of interacting or learning about the various races that made up galactic society. He didn't know when he'd first noticed the Asari at the bar, or what peaked his interest in the first place, just that a counter that appeared inside of his eye told him that his gaze returned to her frequently. He took a moment to analyze her.
Perhaps the first thing that caught his attention was that while most of the Asari he'd seen were dressed in very little, she was clothed in a far more conservative manner. She was as beautiful as the rest he had seen, but there was something different about her. Eager green eyes, small gaps between her canines and other teeth, the way the skin folds of her "hair" were several inches longer than most? He didn't know, but he knew he was attracted to her. He had mingled with a lot of the species, but had never touched an Asari.
Does their skin feel scaly like it looks in their hair? He wondered, but shook the though from his head as he waved his hand over the table, establishing a link with the bar's network. It was a feature not many got access to and only regulars who had high levels of trust we entitled to. He drummed his fingers across the table, without having to use his omni-tool, and typed his instructions to the bartender, applied a tip, and severed the link. A minute later the bartender placed a drink in front of the blue skinned lady, and then pointed to Mark. She turned; looked surprised, and then smiled as he toasted her from across the room. She had dimples, and he thought, she was the kind of cute that would be a blond if she was human. It was at that moment that a veritable mountain of man stepped into view and sat across from him.
"Oy, damn it Jericho, what the hell you doing moving in and blocking the view of the skirt at the bar?" The man turned, looked the Asari over, and then returned gaze to his friend.
"Lord around us." He shook his head sadly. "If we were still on Terra, your get locked up just for looking at a gal that young." Mark looked appropriately scandalized.
"The hell are you talking about? She's easily 200."
"Yeah, in another 50 years," he snorted derisively.
"Oh yeah, and when the hell did you become a Xenobiologist and expert on Asari physiology and age gradients?"
"Let's see, um… bout 7 years ago for the first, and for the second… about the time you were getting your ass handed back to you in Alliance Basic." Mark looked dumbfounded at this, blinked a couple of times, and then toasted him without moving his elbow.
"Oh yeah, I always forget about that. So, really only one fifty, eh?" Jericho nodded, took a pull off of Mark's drink and winched.
"Yep, you can tell by the way she sits, the color of her skin, and even the slight gaps in between her canines and the rest of her teeth. Plus, her scalp is its natural color, and there is no sign of the "rebellious" attributes that both our races share at that age." Mark Grunted and settled back in his chair, arm slung over the back.
"Sheeee-it, well, if I am out getting tattoos and piercing when I hit senility, do me a favor and put me out of my misery. So, besides crushing my dreams and ruining the view, what do you want?"
"The op isn't for another…" He checked the chronograph strapped to his thick wrist, "6 hours, thought I'd get a drink 'fore I snagged a nap. Plus, I couldn't resist the urge to bug yah." Jericho shot a sly smile his way.
"Well, mission accomplished, buddy. What about Raeka and Snow?"
"Dunno, but with them, it's best not o dwell on what they might be doing."
"Yeah, you're probably right. Anyway, I'm still gonna take a run at her. Is she really the equivalent of jailbait?" Jericho shook his head at his friend's one track mind.
"Emotionally and mentally, she's probably about a teen aged girl, but the Asari don't really have a comparable aging system." Mark stared blankly at the big man, who sighed heavily. "Physically, she's perfectly mature and you'd be doing nothing wrong." Mark smiled, and rose.
"Care to join me?"
"Nah, I'm gonna go nap. Just remember this; even if she seems like a teenaged girl, odds are good she's a powerful Biotic, and if you piss her off, she could probably make you wish you'd been roasted in the factory."
"Ah, it's the way you say that, like you know what I might do, that shows just how much you love me." Mark called as Jericho walked out of the bar. He checked to ensure his quarry was still at the bar, and was irritated to see another human interacting with her. He didn't have to be a Xenobiologist to know the Asari was flustered. Mark decided to approach.
"…you that I am not hiring for the expedition from the Mercenary group you represent."
"And we have told you, you aren't going to find anyone else on this station, so you don't have any other…" The thug trailed of as Mark made his presence known.
"Howdy, friend, what's going on here?" The thug turned, and spoke in a low, poisonous tone.
"None of your damned business. Back off before you find yourself some trouble." The next was louder than the other, and sounded like gravel being pushed through a rock crusher.
"Is there a problem here?" The Krogan dwarfed the three others, and was as intimidating in looks as his voice was in sound. Mark smiled as he recognized the brute.
"Oh, hey Dozer, how's it hanging?" Mark knew the bouncer from a long time back, and had even covered his ass in a job or two.
"Well enough that your mother wasn't disappointed." He growled back, giving mark a chuckle.
"Well, thanks, but there is no problem, our friend here was just leaving." The Thug glanced at the shotgun clutched in the Krogans relaxed grip, then into the black eyes.
"Try it, human." He growled, and the Man turned ref and stalked off, followed by Dozer.
"Sorry about that guy, Ma'am, but I hope you don't judge all of us by the example such as him." The Asari seemed to visibly relax, and took another sip of her drink.
"No, of course not. I believe I have you to thank for this drink?" Her voice was soft, and cute, although not the least bit of any special flavoring was apparent. Just a friendly greeting to a stranger.
"Only if you'd like. Can I top you off...?" He let the sentence hand for a few seconds, and had to arch an eyebrow before she caught on. Damn kids are gonna turn my hair gray.
"Oh, Tealsa D'Nooni." She offered her slender hand for a handshake. Mark reached out, grabbed the offered appendage and planted a small, dry kiss to the back of her hand.
Tealsa D'Nooni offered her hand to the strangely dressed human who had purchased her a drink and chased off the Eclipse mercenary that had been hounding her on and off since she had arrived on omega. The simply named "hand shake" was a expression brought into Citadel space by the very species that stood before her now, and, despite disapproval from the Turians, had spread with it's symbolic meaning to become a popular expression amongst all of the digited forearm species of the space. Even the Batarians had adopted the expression in subjects involving trust, of polite meetings, like this. It had caught on quickly with her own race in part because of their physiology; having a heightened control over their bodies allowed for better readings from their sense of touch. Some even claimed they could sense partial feeling and emotion from the grip. This was just another example of the quick spread of human influence throughout the Galaxy.
He reached out gently grabbed her offered arm, and immediately she felt a small jolt and thrill that shot all the way up her arm. Her eyes widened slightly, and he gave the back of her hand at the wrist joint a small kiss.
What the hell was that? She thought, but what she said was:
"What the hell was that?"
Mark felt a small jolt as his finger made contact with the blue skin of the fem's hand, and cursed at himself in is head, knowing she had felt the slight shock as well. He mentally adjusted the output of the electricity reservoir located in the palm of his hand, sent the remains of the charge flashing through his nervous system, and discreetly discharged the remainder of the static into the carpeted floor. As he bent over the proffered hand, he noticed that, contrary to the scaly appearance of the "hair" skin, the hand was smoother that a comparative human hand, and very pleasant to the touch. As he planted the kiss, he also noted that the skin didn't smell all that different form a humans either, but was a slight bit sweeter, like a trace of a long ago applied perfume. He word snapped him out of his data gathering mind.
"What the hell was that?" Her voice did not hold any fear, but was more curious. He chose to ignore the possibility of the shock, and explain the gesture.
"It was a mannerism back on Old Home Terra for greeting a beautiful lady, and sadly, one that seems only to exist in records any more. I figured it was appropriate for the situation at… if you'll excuse the pun, hand." The Asari contemplated the strangely dressed human, then broke into a smile and giggled softly. Tealsa wasn't sure on what she thought about the human yet, but was intrigued. Most of the humans she had had the… occasion to meet had been similar to the Merc that was accosting her previously. Rude, angry and assuming that they owned the galaxy, assuming they were superior to the rest of the races. Yes, her race and the others had similar feelings, but generations of working together had mellowed most outward manifestations of such untoward behaviors. With such a thought toward looking for chinks in his demeanor, to see if he harbored any of the anti alien tendencies his race was so well know for, she allowed herself to be drawn into conversation.
It was two hours later, and Tealsa, as loath as she was to admit it, was drunk. She had enjoyed the intervening time to the extreme and lost track of her limit. Now, she was half supported by Mark, his hand around her waist and being walked to his apartment where she would be allowed to sleep it off while he ran some errands. Now, being drunk, she was still aware that going to a near stranger's house while intoxicated was a bad idea. But, during the time spent in his company, talk had drifted to the Merc that had been bothering her, and after another drink she told him the story. She was attached to an archeologist team of 4 other Asari, who on the station looking for some discreet escort. What a coincidence! Mark had said, he just so happened to be in the business of discretion and armed escort looking for an of station assignment. … Huh, of course, you can vet me from the extranet, here's my portable terminal… Beep! She checked the credentials in the system, and her eyes brightened. Only on Omega could you get mercenaries vetted and find sterling accolades. They talked then of her assignment. A survey team for a quickly rising company based on Thessia had found a ship of unknown origin and make buried under the crust of a small, unremarkable planet name Sphere out in the Traverse. This company had hired the small team she was with to explore the wreck and report anything of value. He then posed the obvious question: Why didn't they just send an Asari warrior attaché? She gave the simple answer, because of the extreme competitive nature of Thessia; any whisper of looking for a military escort would draw unwanted attention from said competitors.
After the hour or so of business talk (and 2 additional drinks) they moved onto personal things. She was surprised by just how charmed she was by the man, and that was how she had lost track of how much liquor she was ingesting, and arrived at her drunken state. When the time came to leave, he made the suggestion that she retire to his digs rather than hers, and she, much to her own disappointment and bemusement, tried to refuse. He then made an analysis that she could process, even in her inebriated state. There was a very good chance that he and his team were going to be hired for the gig after introductions, and he was willing to put himself into her service for the night, on a strictly trial basis, free of charge. (His unstated reasoning being that she was a cute kid, and he genuinely felt a sense of affection outside of the attraction after the time spent at the bar.) He even went so far as to give a satisfactory reason for this boon. The look on the less friendly Merc, and the defiance of the giant Krogan showed him as not the sort to leave her in the care of Mark, and she was likely being tailed. Under such sensible arguments, she agreed after he pointed out she would get a chance to meet the rest of his team as well, and they left, his arm supporting her gently, but not in any offensive manner.
Mark had to admit, though not going the way he had planned, the evening could still be marked off as good, seeing that he not only had a warm, comely bundle under his arm, but she also might be able to provide some off station employment. They were making their way down a side street toward his abode, when he heard an insistent beeping noise the demanded "Hey, jackass, pay attention to me!" He recognized it as the second warning tone that something was up, and realized that he had gotten a little more sauced than he had intended, if he missed the first tone. He shifted his gaze to the upper left corner of his ocular range, and the small tracking range circle became prominent on his vision. Though the image was projected onto the inside surface of his eye, it appeared to float in mid air. The blue, semi transparent circle was covered in a grind and marked with range and bearing info. As he looked, three red dots smeared onto the point toward the bottom of the circle, indicating three hostile targets 20 meters to the rear. He switched the mode to heat and Electronic signal profiles, and the three targets grew into a biped shape of radiating heat gradients. The net in his head told him that the one trailing to his left matched the reading taken of the Merc in the club, and the other two matched basic human patterns. All three had the electric signatures for an activated pistol stashed on their person, though the big heat sig had a shotgun as well.
Well, he thought, at least I'm not getting paranoid in my advanced age. He did not change his pace at all, but eyed an alley where he could safely engage the men without putting the Asari in danger. Without checking his tail, he ducked into alley, moved quickly, and stashed the girl in a nook on the left side of the alley.
"Those guys from the bar tailed us, stay here." She nodded, and slumped down onto the damp floor plates, watching the dim world spin. Mark looked at the walls of the nook, and noticed the uneven, haphazard manner the walls had been created, located a handhold, and climbed the wall.
The first of the goon rounded the corner, pistol raised, ready to waste the… nothing. He waited a few seconds for the other two, and then the three of them stepped into the alley intent on pursuing their quarry. At ten feet into the alley, Mark hit them. The overload hit all three of them, washing them in savage electricity as it arced between the walls and floor, and swept past the startled men. This was not the average overload employed by engineers to disable barriers and overheat weapons, but one that gained a healthy boost from conducting within Marks bones and leaching extra power from his own prosthetics. If anyone had seen the blast, they would have witnessed what looked like a miniature lightning storm engulfed the thugs. Mark was used to thee tingling sensation and the pain generated by the abuse of his parts, and worked through it, dropping down and advancing on the startled men. All of their weapons had not just overheated, but simply exploded, scorching the hard point mounts on the men's legs, and removing the hand of the third who had been holding his. The 4 inch, hook shaped blade whispered through the air as it caught the man missing a hand in the throat, ending his existence prior to the scream as he realized his hand was gone. The second followed suit, but the third, large man managed to block the knife, getting it lodged in his arm. The unexpected parry led the knife to be jerked from his grip, still embedded in the others forearm. Mark lost no time on it though, and the heaver, longer combat knife slid from the scabbard on his lower back and was buried in the man's chest a second later. He gurgled as he quickly died. Mark removed both blades, cleaned them on the offenders clothing, and returned them to their homes. He then retuned to the nook to find Tealsa zonked on against the wall, snoring softly. He sighed with a smile, roused her, and continued the short journey to his flat as the urchins moved in to loot the bodies of the discarded goons.
Tealsa had sobered up a smidge, and noticed a slightly coppery smell, but was thankfully not nauseous. She was, however, extremely sleepy. She was even drifting off just with the rhythmic motion of Mark pulling her along. She hardly noticed when he shifted, pulled the key out of his pocked and opened the door.
Mark shuffled over the threshold, and reached back, closing the door. As he turned his attention back to his foyer, a human girl stepped out of a side door into the room.
She was about 5'7, with very dark, reddish brown hair. She had a pleasantly shaped, oval face and was stunningly beautiful. She stood in bare feet, wearing a small pair of boxer styled panties, and a light blue and white vertical striped long sleeved button up shirt. All of the buttons were unclasped, showing a wide strip of pale flesh from chin to panty line, showing the slightly rounded curves in the valley between her breasts, a slender waist, and the flat, hard plane of her stomach. Just above and to the left of her navel, the pale white line of a scar started, rounded downward across her side, and continued up her back, ending directly between her shoulder blades, shaped like an upside down question mark. It was made several years ago when an explosion threw oddly shaped piece shrapnel carved the path into her skin. Her ribs were slightly visible every time she exhaled. Her head slanted inquisitively, but she did not question the presence of the Asari. Her large crimson eyes glittered as she smiled, showing small, white teeth.
"Good evening, Mark, busy night?"
"Hey, Snow. Not busy, but interesting." He replied as she threaded a single button out of difference of the guest. Snow had been he third to join Marks…family, after Jericho. She had been a member of C-Sec and was investigating some purported gang activity when her and her unit triggered an ambush. All of the others were killed when out of nowhere; the two of them had shown up and pulled her ass out of the fire. They gave her a chance to go with them, and she decided, what the hell, and decided to go along. That was four years ago, and she never regretted it for a second. She learned the pleasures of not just being proficient in the use of specialized equipment, but that of actually getting to help someone, not just filter through papers and disappointment. She learned that she was a crack shot with a high caliber sniper rifle, and could now out shoot some professional snipers form the various military sniper school vets.
"Hmm…" she grinned "looks that way. You know you're getting blood on the lady's clothes?" Mark didn't and added the proper amount of sarcasm.
"I had noticed, thank you. You have anything she could borrow for the night; I got into this state by covering her from some unfriendly strangers."
"Yes, of course." She turned to the more aware Asari. "If you will come with me, Ma'am, we'll get you some bed clothes, and pop those in the wash." Tealsa stood, and walked shakily after the diminutive beauty. They walked through a large, carpeted den, where a Quarian sat on a plush, blue couch, her skin tight blue and green pressure suit with its golden trim standing out in the dim room. Mark plopped down on the couch as the two gals walked past a kitchen, where a large greenish red rock sat in a pool filled with sand off in a corner, and then into one of the flats bedrooms.
"Hey, Raeka, you know that the Stereo tank isn't on right?" Mark queried the Quarian.
"Shhh, it's almost over!" Her soft voice was near reverent as she eyed the empty screen. Mark had very little experience with a paternal sort of love, having no kids, but he imaged that the feeling he had for the Quarian was close to what the feeling was. The mixture of pride at whom she had become, and anger and pity for her background, and the general affection he had for her was a strange, but natural reaction, he thought. He had found her in an alley on Noveria, garbed in a patched and filthy suit, not even begging like most of the nomads encountered on the planet. She was just sitting, and even though he couldn't see her face, the despair and air of having given up was palpable. He had managed to get her to join him for a meal, and listened to her story. While on her pilgrimage, she had been captured by slavers, and sold to a company on the planet. Within the confines of the company's building, she described the tortures she had undergone by the people who were looking for a new medication to help bolster the Quarian's immune system. They did make a break through, though some of the tests and procedures were so invasive, and the girl's status as a slave mitigating her need for care, that part of her sanity had shattered. Mark had put her up in an apartment with Snow, who helped clean her up and give her some company, while he and Jericho went out.
2 days latter they retuned, carrying several data cubes containing the data of the project, and samples of the boosters developed for the girl. While staying with the threesome, her status improved, and she sent the obtained data and samples with a currier to the flotilla, and was allowed to stay while she awaited the opinion of the admirals on the info obtained. When new came back, she learned the items had been accepted as her contribution to the fleet, real, un harmful research was being conducted based on the findings provided, and her name would be honored within the flotilla for the monumental benefits her terrible ordeal had generated. Also, other branches of the company conducting the research would be dealt with when encountered. Rather than return to the flotilla now that her pilgrimage was complete, she opted to stay with the human who had helped her so, and had proven a reliable, and helpful ally, especially where robotics were concerned. Her mental state was far improved too, although like now, she was still prone to occasional, erratic behavior. He shook his head, stood and moved to a chest high work bench against the wall, and activated the recessed lighting that lit the surface of the table from underneath the ceiling mounted hood. He removed the large combat knife and the hooked blade, recovered a small box, removed the cleaning supplies and began to clean the blades. A few minutes later, Snow returned with the Asari dressed in a t-shirt and pair of baggy pajama pants.
"Where would you like to put Miss D'Nooni, Mark?" He didn't look up, but just waved with his left hand.
"Stick her in my room, then kindly move your lazy carcass and get Jericho up, we leave in 45 minutes." He returned to cleaning and prepping his kit, and Snow gave his back a big grin, and a hearty one finger salute before leading the dazed Asari away. She was asleep almost before she hit the bed, and Snow covered her with the blanket. It was kept comfortable in the apartment, but with a bit of chill in the air, so it always felt nice under the covers. She then left the room, rousted Jericho and retired to her own room to prepare. At exactly the time specified by mark, all four left the house, strapped with their tools of war. Raeka and Snow went one way, and Mark and Jericho another. Their was a job to do, and it promised to be a good run.
Well, hope it works for any one with the unfortunate luck to have made it this far. For whatever horrifying reasons that could have drove you to it, I am sorry. (Also for it being so very long (by my standards and yes, I parenthesized in side the parenthesis, twice.))) Anyway, to show that my kleptomania is not limited to this marvelous franchise, I will now give some additional credits. The Name "D'Nooni" was the name of a ship in the third Legion of the Damned novel by William C. Dietz, but I liked it, so I repurposed it. Also, any who have happened across the other wordy nonsense I occasionally spew on the net will recognize the inserts of modern day firearm designs that I love. Also, not sure here, I may have canibilized some plot from something else I penned (Er, word processed) but I pay so little attention it's hard to know. Any way, thank you, and I'll try and keep it shorter in the future, and might ven make it interesting, but probably not.