Disclaimer: I do not own Mass Effect and make no profit from this work.
Mass Effect: Abduction
Chapter 1
Darius Shepard, for the first time in a long time, did not wake with a sudden start. The cold sweat and clammy skin that had become routine made no appearance, and no half-memories of nightmares surfaced to haunt him. Instead, he was encompassed with the kind of comforting warmth people usually regret getting up from in the morning. Lacking any sense of urgency, Shepard remained beneath the covers, happy to enjoy one of the many comforts he'd been denied since the beacon's visions had first been burnt into his mind.
Eventually, though, his muscles grew stiff from remaining still so long. Shepard let out a jaw-cracking yawn as he stretched, and then blearily rubbed his eyes as he sat up in bed. He found himself in a dimly-lit hospital room. The soft beeps of his heart monitor became apparent as he slowly returned to his full senses. He gave himself a short once-over, and was relieved, if slightly confused, to find himself entirely in one piece. He was fairly certain that the Catalyst had stated that he would die when he activated the Crucible. Faintly, he worried that his being alive meant the machine had somehow failed, but a quick look around his room reassured him. He doubted that any place like this would still exist if he hadn't succeeded.
With a beep, the door to his room slid open. A bespectacled, brown-haired man wearing jeans and a red hoodie stepped through, immediately meeting Shepard's gaze with a small smile. The man pulled a chair away from the wall and over to the side of the bed before sitting down.
"It's good to see you awake, Darius," the man said, extending a hand. Shepard took it, shaking firmly. There was a short silence before Shepard gathered his thoughts well enough to decide on his first questions.
"Did we win?" he asked, just to be sure. The man's smile grew.
"Yeah. The Crucible fired, and the Reapers immediately ceased hostility. The Mass Relays were destroyed, but with the Reapers' help, will likely be restored before long. Your crew got out on the Normandy, which crashed on a garden world somewhere, no casualties. Again, with the Reapers' help, they'll probably be picked up before too much time passes," the man explained, hands folded in his lap. Shepard let out a sigh of relief, smiling faintly. Another silence passed.
"How did I survive activating the Crucible?" he asked next. The man leaned back in his chair, chewing his lip thoughtfully before answering.
"You didn't," he replied. Silence, a third time. Finally, Shepard closed his eyes and chuckled quietly.
"Well, it's not the first time I've come back from the dead," he sighed, shifting so that he could rest his back against the headboard. The man cracked a smile and adjusted his glasses. Shepard stared blankly for a moment before dropping his head into his hands.
"Please tell me you didn't bring me back to save the galaxy again," Shepard groaned, rubbing at his face with his hands. The stranger snorted and broke into a belly-laugh, leaning back and clutching his sides. After a moment, Shepard joined him, and the two laughed until they had to wipe tears from their eyes.
"I'm so sorry, but that reaction was priceless," the man apologized between gulps of air, covering his grin with his hand. Shepard waved it away, still trying to catch his own breath, too.
"No, no galactic threats hanging over your head this time, Darius. Not unless you want one, anyway," the man said, settling back down. Shepard blew out a huff of relief, but furrowed his brow when the words hit home.
"What do you mean, 'unless I want one?'" he asked. The man sighed, then looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. When his answer didn't come, Shepard crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. The man blinked and met Shepard's eyes again, grinning sheepishly.
"Sorry, I'm just trying to figure out how to explain this. It's pretty out-there, even by your standards," the stranger placated. Shepard grunted.
"Try me," he groused. The man stared at the ground for a second before taking a deep breath and letting it out.
"In my universe, you're the main character in a videogame series called 'Mass Effect.' The series starts with the geth attack on Eden Prime and continues until you fire the Crucible. The player gets to experience everything you go through, from gunfights to conversations to romance, making decisions as they go. Shepard, you, is a customizable character, and your appearance, abilities, and personality are determined by the player. You, specifically, are the character I created and played as throughout the three games," the man explained, eyes on the floor and hands wringing nervously. Shepard stared blankly, lips slightly parted in astonishment. After a moment, he stood from the bed. When the man made no attempts to stop him, he walked to the door, opened it, and stepped through.
There was nothing. Blank white space stretched out into infinity. There wasn't even a horizon. When he turned around, the door to the hospital room was gone. The only thing in sight was the man, standing with his hands behind his back. He smiled weakly.
"Believe me now?" he asked. Shepard's fists clenched at his sides.
"You're trying to tell me that everything I've been through was some… videogame? Some kind of fiction?" Shepard asked, voice colored with confusion and desperation. The stranger frowned, crossing his arms.
"Of course not. Well, yes, in my universe, but not in yours. For you, it's very real. You're very, very real," he said, almost sounding confused himself. Shepard relaxed slightly, unclenching his fists and looking around again.
"Okay, so… what is this place, then? How did you bring me here?" he asked, not very reassured. The man grinned.
"This is a pocket dimension that I created for us to have this conversation. The hospital room was supposed to be comfortable and keep you calm, but, heh, I guess that didn't work out. Um, as for how I brought you here… creative license, I suppose," the stranger answered.
"Creative license?" Shepard asked, incredulous.
"Yup! I'm the author," the man said, throwing up a peace sign. Shepard pinched his nose.
"Elaborate, please," he said.
"As in, I'm the one writing all this," the man complied. Shepard was silent for a moment, forcing down his frustration.
"So this is fiction, just like the videogame? You're writing it?" he asked.
"Fiction for me, reality for you. As I said, you're very real. Yes, I am writing this. That pleasant, peaceful sleep was all me, by the way," the author replied.
"Why?!" Shepard asked through clenched teeth. The author threw up his hands appeasingly.
"Well, you see, I've written a number of works before this one, but they've all come out poorly. I'm pretty good at action, and I'm good with humor, but I suck at character building. I relate to my protagonists too much, and I always end up modeling them after myself no matter how much I try not to. Because of that, it always ends up devolving into a wish-fulfillment fantasy-" the author was cut off by Shepard's scream of frustration.
"You're trivializing everything I've ever been through - all the trauma, the pain, the loss - my entire life - because you're a BAD AUTHOR?!" Shepard screamed, taking a threatening step forward and jabbing his finger at the author. The author gave another sheepish grin, taking a step back.
"I'm not trivializing anything, Darius. I told you, everything you've been through was real. It all mattered. It all happened," he placated.
"Bullshit! How can that be true if this is just something you're typing out on a computer screen?!" Shepard demanded. The author's smile widened slightly.
"Because I said so," he said, suddenly firm. The words seemed to echo into the infinite space around them, and Shepard felt an invisible energy fill the air, buzzing against his skin.
"What?" he asked, his rage replaced with confusion - not at the author's words, but at the fact that he now believed them.
"I am the author, Darius. If I decide something is true, then it is. I could make the grass blue and the sky green if I so chose it. I decided that you're real. I decided that everything you lived through actually happened. So you are, and so it did. That's all there is to it," the author explained cheerfully. Shepard felt himself tense up as he met the man's eyes again. That kind of power… That grin suddenly seemed more threatening than pleasant.
"If that's true, then aren't I just your plaything? A construct created to carry out your whims, the same as all your other characters?" Shepard asked. The author laughed.
"I was getting to that. See, that's why I'm here. I'm gonna be playing around in your universe, having all the fun I want, doing as I please. Also, I've decided that you have free will, autonomous function from my influence. That way, I can get all of my desires out of my system, while the actual story is about you," he said. Shepard frowned.
"You brought me back to do it all again, only now I have to clean up your messes, too?" he asked contemptuously.
"Hell, no. Darius, I'm not an asshole. Do you think you'd have turned out as you have if I was like that? Here's the deal: I'm going to plop us down into an alternate ME universe where all the galaxy-saving is dealt with by one Jane Shepard. You won't have to raise a finger to stop the Reapers," the author rebuffed, smile fading slightly, almost offended. Shepard forced himself to relax.
"What am I supposed to do, then? And what the hell is your name?" he asked, throwing his hands up. The author snapped his fingers, and the white around them began fading to black.
"Call me Alias. And Darius? You have no responsibilities, for once in your life. Just do whatever the fuck you want!"
Darius Shepard, for the second time, did not wake with a sudden start. Once again surrounded by the warmth of exceptionally comfortable covers and lacking memories of the usual nightmares, he admitted to himself that he could get used to at least this much. Deciding that appraising whatever situation 'Alias' had thrown him into was more important than enjoying the bed, he sighed and sat up. The bedroom he'd been sleeping in was luxurious if bland: massive, with a walk-in closet and a queen-sized bed, as well as one of those artsy nightstands that was honestly probably worth less than a normal one. There was a huge vidscreen on the wall to his left, and window took up the whole right wall, though both the blinds and the curtains were shut.
Getting up and exploring revealed that the rest of the apartment was just as spacious and high-end, filled with overly-expensive furniture, stupid-looking modern art, vidscreens, a couple computers, full bookshelves, a stocked kitchen, bar, game room, and various odds and ends. Accessing one of the computers prompted a note with instructions on how to access his accounts. While they didn't just pop up with infinity symbols in his balances, he apparently had more money than he could ever need, even if he'd had to take the expenses of his old life as a Spectre into account. His extranet mail inbox only had one message that shortly said, "You're welcome."
Darius finally dropped himself into a seat at his bar, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. He stared blankly at the glass in his hands for a moment.
"How the hell is this not wish-fulfillment?" he asked.
Alias floated amidst Sovereign's wreckage in the void of space, laughing as he raked the slide on his god-mode plasma cutter before he slid it into the tool belt on his engineering suit. He stretched his arms over his head, looking over the bio-metallic chunks of what used to be the most powerful being outside of dark space.
"Best put him back together, I guess. I really love being the author," he said to himself, grinning behind the soft glow of his visor.