Being in a hospital is always a disconcerting experience. These facilities seem to radiate an air of uneasiness and dread despite their reputation for healing people. Maybe it's just the always present scent of cleaning products that is used to mask the smell of blood and dying patients that always manages to bring a sickening sensation to my stomach. Ironic, considering my current career path to get a doctorate in medicine.
But can you blame me? No one goes to hospitals unless something bad happens to them – which is probably where the negative stigma comes from. The last time I was in one for an injury was when I broke my arm playing flag football in junior high and that had been an unpleasant experience to begin with. Now instead of having to contend with a cast, I was sitting upright in a soft chair with my lower torso completely bandaged up with a few sparse blood stains beginning to seep through the gauze that had been applied to a gunshot wound, one that I miraculously and inexplicably happened to acquire after I deliberately crashed my car onto the highway in another city, another planet, and another time entirely. There were also two red marks on my chest that looked like an incredibly specific sunburn from the electric paddles that the staff had applied in order to stabilize my heartbeat. If you're confused as to how all of this happened, don't try to press me for questions because I sure as shit don't have any answers.
The nurse had put up some X-rays of my injury up on a television screen of some sort – a piece of technology that looked to possess a much higher resolution than the screens one would see in an regular electronics store. Perhaps this was an organic-LED screen? I'm afraid I'm not always up to date on current technology trends to give an appropriate analysis on that front. In any case, the X-rays showed a bunch of torn fat and muscle near my entry wound where the bullet had presumably hit me, but the slide next to it showed the extent of how the doctors were able to repair it. I was shocked at the difference. Usually a wound like this would have required plastic surgery and perhaps tissue grafts to reconstruct the ravaged tissue but it looked like everything had been stitched back together immaculately. This was the sort of thing that would take months to heal properly and yet the slides showed that the amazing progress had occurred only after a few hours. Hell, if what the X-rays showed was any indication, I was going to walk away from this with only a scar. Lucky me.
That was basically the extent of how the analytical portion of my brain was working – finding comfort in the familiar, medical procedures being the case. The logical portion of my brain however, was all out of whack. I mean, how can one explain that they tried to commit suicide in one universe and in the next moment, they woke up – alive - in another? I wondered if I had only hallucinated the car crash and the events leading up to that moment. But if that was the case, then why can I still vividly remember my life all before that? I can still recall Elizabeth throwing her drink in my face, graduating from high school, making love for the first time, all of it! Was my entire life an entire lie and was this the real world, or had I gone completely bonkers?!
At least I was not in much pain. All the bandages were doing were effectively restricting my torso movement. There was only minor throbbing down near my wound and apparently very little blood was weeping from what the doctors were not able to seal. All things considered, I was rather spry from getting shot in the gut.
"…Effectively, your personal shields managed to absorb the brunt of the kinetic energy which explains why you were not blown apart from the gun blast, but your small intestine was relatively traumatized from the discharge. We sealed all the tears with medi-gel and it has appeared to have healed nicely. Our only concern is…"
The nurse was still droning on about my healing process but I could only manage mindless nods – half listening to her queries. She did not seem to be in on any sort of joke and was taking my presence here rather seriously. Unless this was an elaborate and cruel reality show, it did not seem like the nurses were intentionally tormenting me. Plus, I still remember that I had been referred to by name before I was sedated, which meant that my presence here was already established before my consciousness decided to inhabit this universe. Christ, this was confusing.
Then there were these nonsensical words that the nurse was using in her diagnosis. Personal shields. Medi-gel. I mean, what the hell was medi-gel? And what did she mean by personal shields? So am I to assume that my body somehow is outfitted with shields that can deflect gunfire at any time? Is that a thing in this universe? And medi-gel, is that some sort of be-all-end-all sort of substance that heals all tissue instantaneously? From what the nurse was spouting, it sure sounded like that.
The door to my room opened and another nonhuman walked in with a bundle of clothes. I was still a little groggy from just having woken up half an hour ago so I don't think that my face showed much surprise when confronted with a new humanoid species, but my heart still gave a noticeably jolt nonetheless. This being actually could have passed for a human – or more precisely, a human in an elaborate costume – but like that salarian before, I somehow knew that this was definitely another alien. She had deep blue skin that was scaly like a snake's and a very human face with recognizable features. The top of her head, however, was crested with wavy ridges that seemed to be made out of a rigid cartilage instead of any hair. Come to think of it, apart from eyelashes, the alien had no external fur that I could see. The name for this species popped into my head without anyone in the room making an indication of what exactly this new arrival was: an asari.
I think that while I was out, I had subconsciously managed to make the connection of where I truly was, despite my disorientation. The words and terms were now flowing through my head as if a faucet had sprung a leak and I was unable to plug it. Salarians. Medi-gel. Asari. Citadel. I was now starting to recognize everything – which was weird because I knew these elements beforehand. All were instrumental components of a video game that I used to play a few years ago called Mass Effect. Fun game with a decent story, not my favorite, but perfect for killing a few hours each day. It was still memorable enough that I could recall the majority of the key points of those three games, but I did not have the capacity to consider them in depth right about now. But apparently I had an idea of where I was, even though this sort of thing was impossible to achieve in the literal sense – if I was to take this at face value. Regardless of how it happened, I guess I had no choice but to accept that I was now stuck in the universe of a video game world.
I should be excited, right? People play video games all the time in order to immerse themselves into a different world so an experience like this should be savored, not shunned. That may be true, but let me point something out: I never wanted to be here in the first place. I wanted to kill myself, right? So, why should I be happy in any capacity that my life had not come to an end yet, especially in such a foreign place?
Wow, that sounds dark when I say things like that out loud. Oh well, it needed to be said anyway.
The asari handed me the bundle of clothes with a cheery smile. "Here you are, Mr. McLeod," she beamed. "These are for you to keep. I'm sorry to say that the clothes that you were wearing previously are now a lost cause. What your blood did not ruin, our doctors did when they had to cut them off of you."
"Thanks…I think," I muttered as I shrugged off the hospital gown and slipped on a pair of loose fitting pants followed by an oversized shirt and slippers. I now looked like a doofus but it was better than walking around naked.
"But these we found in your pocket," the asari held out a plastic bag with a few items inside. "They were the only personal effects that we were able to recover."
I took the bag and opened it. Inside it was just a silver lighter and a packet of cigarettes – an unknown brand. That's weird – I guess my old habits transferred over to this universe somehow. I put the items in my pocket.
"That's it?" I asked.
"That's all we found," the asari nodded. "You did not have a credit chit on you, though, which is suspect but not completely out of the ordinary."
What the hell was a credit chit? I'm assuming that I was supposed to care about its loss, considering the asari taking the time to reference its supposed disappearance. Did she mean a credit card or something along those lines? That was probably the closest thing relatable to whatever a chit was. I could always cancel my chit if it actually was stolen.
Oh great, now I'm starting to immerse myself already. I'm considering financial alternatives based on the fact that I might have lost an item that I never knew I owned in the first place! Fuck, I don't even know how to deal with banks in the future, so why was I thinking about this!? I could hardly make sense of my own finances back in the present! Did I even have money, or an account? Do I still have my 401k, for crying out loud?
The human nurse shut down the screen and now walked over to me with what looked like a tablet computer – only the screen was a monochrome blue. "If you'll just sign here, Mr. McLeod. That will notify your insurance provider and they will take care of all the expenses."
I didn't even want to ask how much such a procedure of repairing my abdomen would cost, so I didn't. Hell, I didn't even know who my insurance provider was at this moment – at least not in this place. But apparently that knowledge was known to the staff here at the hospital so I figured that it was better to let them do their shtick and I'll eventually find out the information for myself. When in doubt, shut your fucking mouth.
I signed the form but held up a hand to stop the nurse before she left. "You said before…that I was found shot in an alley," I said, the words feeling numb on my lips. "Do you know why I was shot in the first place?"
The nurse gave a sad look. "You're not sure?"
"Pretty sure I'm not sure." Oh yeah, I'm pretty damn sure that I would have remembered that. "Isn't this a police matter – me being shot?"
"I'm afraid it's not that simple," the nurse sighed. "You see, C-Sec has a lot on its plate to deal with and a human surviving a gunshot is not at the top of their list right about now, unless they knew who assaulted them. An officer was actually in the room when you were revived, but you were so incoherent that he could not get an official statement from you. Also, the fact that you are unable to remember anything is a common side effect of a traumatic event – acute short-term amnesia. You seem to possess some of the symptoms which could make following up on your case rather difficult."
She didn't even know the half of it. I happened to have amnesia of getting shot, yes, but I don't really think that counts when I've had this entire out-of-body experience. It was not like I could mention this predicament either which would only result in me getting held in this hospital for a ton of mental tests to be run in order to determine if, in fact, I was still sane. No thank you. I wanted out of this place right now and I voiced that to the human nurse.
"No problem," she said cheerily. "The paperwork has gone through and you can be officially discharged at your convenience."
"Thanks for…for saving my life," I said, mainly out of courtesy but it still felt really awkward regardless.
"We're just doing our job. We're just glad that we can help those who need urgent care."
Yeah right. I bet they're just glad that I can pay the bill. Where else does their income come from?
"So…" I said awkwardly. "Am I okay…I mean, is it fine for me to walk?"
"That depends. How do you feel when you walk?"
I stood up, expecting to experience a slew of dizziness and nausea, but my legs did not feel stiff, nor did my wound hurt so much. I gave my feet a few test kicks and stretched as far as I could reasonably go without agony before I gave a shrug.
"I feel fine, actually."
The nurse beamed. "Then you may leave whenever you like, Mr. McLeod."
"Thanks again, ma'am," I said, a little more graciously this time.
I turned to the door to leave, smacking my carton of cigarettes into my palm as I did so. Before I headed through the sliding door, I looked over my shoulder back at the asari. "When you said…that my credit chit had been missing. Do you think…that I was mugged for it?"
The asari gave a helpless shrug. "I'm not really sure, Mr. McLeod. It would seem like a good conclusion, given the fact that you were wounded and that it is missing. If that was the only article of value that was removed from your person then that could be a valid hypothesis. If you want to declare it missing, you can find a C-Sec officer near the security counter on your way out." The asari gave a tiny shrug – very human expression – as she sought to change the subject. "Do you need an escort to the exit? This hospital can be confusing sometimes for new patients."
"No…no, it's fine," I mumbled and headed into the hallway. "I bet that I can find it by myself."
They didn't insist and I was surprised. Most hospitals would usually press the point of wheeling their patients out to the exit instead of letting them stumble around; partly as a safety regulation and partly to keep appearances that patients are never really cured until they leave the premises. I was no longer groggy from the sedative and my wound was cooperating rather nicely (the worst sensation was a little stiffness in my stomach if I breathed in too hard, but that was the extent of my pain) so I felt that I could get myself out of here on my own two legs. I'm fiercely independent that way; never have liked others doing things for me that I know I could do myself.
The white from the hallway was blinding initially. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made up of a smooth tile and doctors, nurses, and patients bustled around the corridor looking way busier than I was, so I made a point to keep to the side and out of their path. Fortunately, the signs for the exit were clearly marked with bright arrows and it was a cinch to find the lobby – despite the asari's statements. I managed to spot the C-Sec counter on the leftmost side between a pair of smooth round pillars near the check-in desk, but I trudged past it, still managing to take note of the salarian that seemed bored behind his post. He wore a set of gray armor, shiny and unmarred; nothing at all like the types of armor or uniforms that most soldiers wore in 2015. I made a mental note to check the date when I had the chance; I needed to know what had progressed in whatever timespan had elapsed.
I was beginning to accept the ludicrousness of the situation at this point and I thought that I would be able to handle, with some dignity, any more surprises that would come my way. Turns out, my confidence was again shattered the instant the doors to the hospital opened for me to enter the maze beyond.
I have seen dense crowds before but my paltry mind could not handle such an influx of foreign sights and sounds that I did not notice that I had frozen in the middle of the doorway. Wherever this was, it was completely unreal. Humans mingled in with a horde of what could only continue to be described as aliens. Tall, raptor-like aliens. Huge and lumbering aliens. There were even aliens that looked like enlarged jellyfish. All of this was in the middle of what could only be described as Times Square meets an acid trip. I mean, I'm talking about huge holographic signs in neon colors projecting advertisements for off-the-wall products mixed with the smell of new and remarkable foodstuffs that filled my nostrils, causing me to begin salivating. Even the architecture was different than what I was used to; smooth contours with shiny tiles and translucent glass coating the walls. It was indeed straight out of science-fiction.
Brave new world, eh?
Clutching my packet of cigarettes for assurance, I stumbled around, my eyes racing around the hallway trying to take in everything at once. I was whirling around in circles in stupid hospital clothes, looking very much like a dementia patient, although I was not really aware of my appearance at this time. I suppose I only looked more ridiculous when I came up to a full-size window at the edge of a crowded pathway and had the unfortunate timing to take a casual glance outside, only come to a full stop in the middle of the avenue. Let's just say that I was not fully prepared for this revelation, either.
"Fuck me," I mumbled at the infinite beyond. "I'm in space."
Indeed I was. Unless there was a way to fake the periwinkle colored nebula wisps, the collection of ships buzzing about what looked like an enormous space station, and the glint of the stars that managed to penetrate the gaseous clouds of hydrogen particles, then there was no other conclusion that would convince me otherwise. But the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. I was starting to recall that the Citadel was in fact a space station in those video games that I had played – a location that I had now inexplicably ended up in. So, I now had a firm idea of where I was in this screwed up universe. Was I reassured? Nope. I was still completely disoriented.
I scratched at my beard in contemplation as I leaned against a railing for support. Back in the universe where I should have died, space travel was a luxury afforded to either the bravest and the most qualified, or the super-rich. Now I was one of millions, it seemed like, who wandered about the Citadel like this was just a gigantic shopping mall. Space travel was apparently effortless here and I was not really unique in leaving my home planet. It seemed like I was the only person who actually seemed shocked about not being chained to a celestial body, but considering my current mindset I was one of those lucky few that got this chance for such an experience.
Damn, I needed a minute. This constant stream of discoveries was bewildering me something badly. I was liable to have a panic attack if I didn't sit down in the next minute.
Fortunately there was a bench nearby for such an occasion so I claimed that in a hurry. I reclined and openly sighed, finding my new position to be somewhat relaxing. I relegated myself to people-watching, trying to get used to the idea that I was now in the midst of aliens all around me, the names of which were starting to become familiar again. Turian. Asari. Quarian. Salarian. Krogan. I was impressed at myself for being able to rattle off those names from memory. You never know just what is buried in the deep layers of the cerebral cortex.
Of course, I had to wonder what this all meant, me being here. Was there something of greater purpose that required my intervention in this universe or was it simply by accident that I was here in the first place? Surely this couldn't be heaven as I'm almost positive one doesn't enter that domain after getting shot and revived in a hospital – it just didn't make sense. My own hypothesis was that I was in a coma back on Earth, having somehow survived my car crash, and that I was hallucinating this entire sequence of events while lying on a sterile bed in a hospital strictly run by humans and humans only. But if I was hallucinating, then shouldn't my acknowledgement of said hallucination cause the entire dream to rip itself apart simply from the questioning of logic? I decided not to dwell on it too much – I already had a nasty headache as it was and any further aggravation would simply increase my rate of descent into madness. I did not want that outcome to occur just yet.
But, hallucination or not, what was the point of me being here, in the Mass Effect universe? I mean, if I had a choice of where to travel, this would not have even reached my personal top five picks for a potential location. This franchise essentially depicted a universe unknowingly on the verge of a holocaust (that part I remember just fine) so I knew that a few trillion people were going to die soon from the arrival of a genocidal machine race, the exact time entirely dependent on what point of the timeline I was inserted in. You see, I'm not really a big fan of the doom-and-gloom sort of franchise. There's not that much longevity for someone like me in a place like this. I would much rather have been in a franchise like…say, Firefly. I've always had a thing for westerns and I would join up with those Browncoats in a heartbeat just to wear one of those stylish dusters, never mind my complete lack of combat experience – in any form. Shit, I would also have wanted to be in the Star Wars universe as well instead of Mass Effect. Star Wars has lightsabers and the Force, what does Mass Effect have to offer that could top that? I have no idea how to handle a sword or a gun in a trying situation, but nixing those little quibbles, wouldn't that just be plain cool? I'm just saying…lightsabers.
But I was in the Mass Effect universe regardless, dressed like a resident of a senior living home, completely lightsaber-less, with no fucking clue on where to go and I couldn't even share this experience or relate it to anyone else! Even if I did find a way back home to my time, who could I tell this story to and have them believe me? Why couldn't I have shared in this experience with someone else, for crying out loud? I'd prefer that my sister, Taylor, would be with me as she was the one who played these games the most. She'd be the only person that I could trust in completely; she'd believe me in a heartbeat for that was how close we were as siblings. I'd even go so far as to say that she was a bigger nerd than I was (she would be flattered at me admitting that, believe me.)
Taylor was two years older than me, but we were fairly inseparable throughout our childhood. She was my height, brown eyes, wavy brown hair, and a great smile (it was only through the grace of genetics did she happen to turn out to be gorgeous, technically speaking – completely making that cliché null and void). We had the same interests and friend groups. Both of us were on the debate team and honors students in high school. All of my friends wanted to date her and there was so much interest on her end that my friends anointed me to be her unofficial spokesperson to see if she was currently taken or not (Taylor never dated guys for very long). It got a little exasperating, me practically filtering Taylor's social life, but I always maintained a glib attitude about it around her, something that she would always react with amusement to. Yeah, I really wish that Taylor was with me now.
Smiling, I rustled up my sleeves, exposing my arm tattoos, and brought out my cigarettes and lighter now that my headache had subsided a bit. I had barely lit the tip of the damn thing when someone broke out from the crowd and headed my way – a salarian, to my surprise.
"Excuse me, sir?" the salarian said politely. "I'm afraid there's no smoking on this level. You'll have to go to one of the designated areas on the station if you're going to do that."
I believe my expression was one of disgust and amazement at this point. Apparently the Citadel frowned down on smokers – which is probably a good thing in hindsight – but at the moment I was craving a cigarette something fierce, nor did I have any idea where the designated smoking areas were. In my mind, that salarian had some balls to come up to someone like me and bluntly request that I cease in my addicting habits. I know I'm not the strongest man in the world but the notion that I could snap the salarian's thin frame in half for someone like me did not seem all that unlikely.
With my opened cigarette box in one hand and the lighter in another, I made sure to fixate the alien with all of the incredulity that I could muster. At least, I hoped I looked particularly nasty. "Fuck off," I muttered as I expelled a slight puff of smoke.
The salarian seemed miffed and edged away with a look of revulsion. I didn't care. I was not in the mood for any accommodations. I had a fucking hole in my stomach that was just repaired hours ago and I'm in the middle of the biggest fish-out-of-water scenario that anyone could ever dream up so all I wanted was to deal with this quietly, by myself, and in peace. I also wanted a goddamn smoke, was that too much to ask?!
I had only dealt with a quarter of the cigarette before another shadow fell over me once again. I looked up midway from a drag and now saw that another alien, decked out in some kind of smooth combat armor, was standing just a foot away from me. This alien was a turian, I believe, based on its avian features, mottled skin, and spiky head crests. It also did not look pleased, to say the least.
"And you are?" I grumbled as I took the cigarette out of my mouth.
"C-Sec, sir," the turian said with an air of authority. Guess this was the closest thing to a police officer on the Citadel. "We've received a complaint from a citizen about a human smoking in a public corridor. I'm afraid that I'm going to have to ask you to cease otherwise you'll be levied with a fine."
I was disobedient up to a certain point and arguing with public servants was as far as I went with acting like an ass. Don't get me wrong, I still didn't like it, but at least this turian had the grace to warn me of my breaking the law before slapping a citation on me.
"Fucking Gestapo," I mumbled as I ground the cigarette out with my slipper before I flicked it into a nearby trashcan.
"What was that, sir?" the turian gave me a hard look.
"Nothing," I hastily replied. "Nothing at all." Perhaps the turian had not fully heard me or he just did not understand what the word "Gestapo" meant. I was going to have to be careful with my references when dealing with aliens. I guess that it would make sense for a turian not to be aware of the German Secret State police from the 1930s and 40s, and this turian did not give off the impression of being a xenohistory buff. This was going to have to be something that I was going to have to control over time otherwise my big mouth could get me into trouble.
The C-Sec officer, despite my relative compliance, did not seem to be quite so assured. I don't think that the hospital clothes were doing me any favors. "May I see some identification, please?"
I swallowed hard. I had no identification on me. More specifically, I had no wallet which meant that any ID card would not be on my person. No identification usually meant that I was going to be detained until my existence could be proven. That was the last thing I needed right about now.
"Um…" I stalled as I shoved my hands in my pockets. "You…you…you want my card…o-or something?"
"Just open your omni-tool, sir," the turian made a speed-up gesture. He really knew how to cut through the bullshit.
I was lost once more. What was an omni-tool again? "Omni-tool?" I asked meekly. "H-How do I…wagh!"
As soon as I said the words "omni-tool" I immediately flashed back to the events of the Mass Effect games. An image of a holographic display enveloping the left arm of the wearer came to my mind's eye and at the instant I thought of such a device, my own arm lit up like it had been set ablaze and I nearly jumped out of my clothes. In the next second, I calmed down as my arm turned out not to be on fire, but to have the same holographic display wreathed around it like a long glove. I turned my hand around, inspecting the technology. I thought it was rather neat – the fact that such a tool could be activated purely through thought was nothing short of miraculous to me. Wine from water, one could compare.
The C-Sec officer was staring at me like I was hopped up on speed pills, for I'm sure that I was showing unbelievable naiveté in using what I'm assuming is a common piece of technology. He didn't press me with any more questions but instead activated his own omni-tool and held it near my own. I'm assuming that the two tools were transferring data between the other. I wondered how that was possible and where all of the necessary electronic components for the technology were located. I then had a grave feeling that the components in question were somehow wired into my brain – neural implants – which explained how I could use my mind to control the omni-tool. This was just great, now I assumed that I'm a cyborg. What other nasty surprises were in store for me yet?
"Is your name Samuel McLeod?" the officer asked me.
"Yeah," I said.
"Is your address 5302 Xebron Towers, number 1509?"
Like I had any fucking clue. "Yes," I said anyway.
The turian deactivated his omni-tool and gestured to the clothes that I was wearing. "You were just released from a hospital?"
I lifted my shirt to show him the bandages. "Got the scar to prove it," I said, desperate to lighten the mood.
"How were you injured, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Someone shot and mugged me," I said rather mildly, at least with a droll enough tone that surprised even me. "Didn't do that good of a job, though. I'm still here."
The officer seemed amused at first but then his gaze turned hard. "If you were shot, then have you spoken about this to anyone in C-Sec? Is this something that you would want us to look into?"
"I wouldn't be much help," I admitted. "I have no recollection of any part of the incident. I'm just glad I'm alive, is all I'm saying." That last part was a blatant lie, but once I started to smooth-talk, it was very difficult for me to stop.
"Well, I can understand your disorientation, sir. But just please remember in the future that there's no smoking on this level – at least not so close to a public access walkway."
"I'll try to keep that in mind," I promised. "Never been shot before so I felt like I had to calm myself down. Hopefully the other guy got it worse."
Fortunately that brought a chuckle to the turian and he jerked one of his three fingers behind him. "Well, my shift is about to end and I happen to live on the same arm of the Citadel as you. Why don't I give you a lift to your place?"
Well, an apartment meant quiet and quiet was what I needed. In fact, I was kind of curious to know just exactly where I lived in this universe. "Sure, that sounds perfect," I shrugged.
And then I saw the mode of transportation that we were going to travel in. I only hoped that my stomach would stay strong throughout the journey.
I can report that I didn't throw up during the trip over to…well, wherever my place of residence was. The C-Sec officer was kind enough to lend his vehicle, called a skycar, which did just what the name described: it was pretty much a car that traveled in the sky. Only took about a hundred fucking years for the technology to become mainstream, apparently. Anyway, I can liken the experience to riding in a helicopter, only you are traveling much faster and the engine is practically noiseless. It was weird, although my face was plastered to the window so that I could look at the futuristic buildings as we zipped amongst the stars across to another arm of the Citadel. I had no feelings of nausea, thankfully, and I tried to keep my face from looking too astonished and filled with wonderful, desperate to blend in. Yep, I was definitely travelling in space now.
The first thing that I thought when the skycar stopped on the landing pad of a building was that the officer had flown me to the wrong place. I mean, this skyscraper looked enormous yet it was decorated quite nicely. I had been living rather modestly before on a workable income so I was expecting accommodations more in that wage bracket. This looked like the fancy places that one would find in any downtown of a major city. The officer was adamant that I did in fact live here, so there was nothing else but for me to at least check the place out. There was no harm in a little exploration.
The immediate hallway from the landing pad was decked out in carpet and a nice wallpaper theme. It reminded me of a hotel, actually. There were a series of lifts nearby so I entered the nearest one but was confused at first at the lack of a number pad indicating which floor I wanted to travel to. Turns out I did not need to worry because a flashing blue beam shot out from the ceiling and swiped across my omni-tool, which had immediately activated in response to the light.
"Now headed to floor 15," the elevator chimed. "Welcome back, Mr. McLeod."
That was a good sign, I guess. I was heading the right way after all.
The elevator then deposited me on the appropriate floor seconds later, and I immediately found my apartment thanks to my name being imprinted in a classy font over the door. Shrugging, I stepped forward and my omni-tool chimed as I came within close proximity to the door and it opened automatically. Cautious but interested in checking out my new digs, I walked inside.
Yeah, I was now certain that there was a mistake. This apartment, while not egregiously lavish, was still too much for someone with my previous salary to have afforded. I mean, this place had everything one could need. Two bedrooms, one main and one guest presumably. Two bathrooms with showers and the like. A dining/living area with a rather large kitchen (for an apartment). There was even a balcony that looked out into the neon night where I could gaze up at the nearby nebula. Ordinarily the layout of the place might not impress some people but, bear in mind, I had come from a small studio sized apartment in Silicon Valley to this…monstrosity, for lack of a better word. The rent for this place had to be in the thousands of dollars every month, more than what I knew I could afford.
Still, I will admit that I was excited about this new upgrade, so I decided to explore the place a little more. The apartment was not devoid of furnishings, I happened to notice almost immediately. In fact, it had a very lived-in feel that made me think that I, this Sam McLeod right now, had been on the Citadel for some time prior to my impromptu "arrival." Now my best guess was that I somehow ended up in this Sam's consciousness in some parallel universe as it was the only way that I could rationalize how my presence seemed to be established here already.
In fact, the more I explored, the more assured I became at this new theory. The bathrooms were stocked with toiletries, the kitchen was full of food (most of which I was able to recognize as not being completely foreign), and the closet was lined with clothes in my size. I did take a little umbrage at the wardrobe, though. Even though everything technically fit, it seemed that clothing styles in this universe tended to focus on streamlining appearances to make them more form-fitting than what I was used to. I suppose the era of baggy clothes was over in this time. I was going to miss wearing blue jeans, to say the least.
However, my excitement was short-lived as I sat down on a nearby couch after I came to a nasty realization. I needed income in order to keep this place, and I had no idea how much money I had in my account to support myself. In a panic, I ignited my omni-tool to look for any details on my banking situation, but I kept fumbling around the user interface. Whoever designed this software should have been publicly lynched, was my initial analysis. I have seen cell phones with less complicated operating systems and the omni-tool's was just aggravating. For starters, the bland gold-orange holographic screen did nothing but hurt my eyes, and the buttons to navigate the menus were not even labeled so I had no fucking clue as to what I was doing. I could very well be ordering a few tons of opium in bulk from my rattled actions and I would be none the wiser as to what I was doing.
By some stroke of luck, I managed to open a window detailing my user settings. Evidentially omni-tools had a page where they could list everything about their host in one place (which, interestingly, did not contain any social security number for me). I found the name of my bank though, complete with the necessary login information. It took me ten more minutes to access whatever passed for the internet in this place and I entered the bank name into the ubiquitous search bar which took me to the company's home page. It was then a simple affair for me to enter my information and the corresponding materials related to my finances popped up in a jiffy.
I began choking on my own spit as soon as I saw the exact number that represented the entirety of my savings. My heart began pounding so hard that I thought I was going to pass out. Five hundred million. That was what was posted up on the screen and I read it thrice just to make sure that I was not hallucinating. A five followed by eight zeroes. Good Christ, it turned out that I'm a millionaire.
But a millionaire of what, exactly? I returned down to earth as quickly as I had risen above it. I checked the type of currency that my supposed fortune was in and my omni-tool gave the type back to me as "credits." So, apparently I had five hundred million credits in an electronic bank account somewhere, but I had no idea of what credits were worth relative to the dollar. I knew that there were some East Asian countries where about fifteen million of their monies would result in that converting to only a thousand dollars. I was not completely sure that this future currency followed that multiplex trend, but I knew I had to determine my real net worth before I went spend-crazy.
There was an easy way to find that out. I managed to get onto an online mall site and immediately began to browse familiar items that I could name a price on off the top of my head. I scrolled downwards and eventually came across a magazine aimed at providing lewd material for the xenophilic crowd – some publication called Fornax. The site was listing its price at five credits, and that was for a new issue. I knew that similar magazines back in America cost around eight dollars, so there was a bit of mental arithmetic to accomplish here. Eight divided by five was 1.6, which was the conversion variable that I wanted. I then applied 1.6 to my five hundred million credits in the bank and found out that, in fact, I had about eight hundred million dollars' worth of money in my account. Eight hundred compared to five hundred! The number may be lesser in real life, but its value was far greater than what initially met my eye.
There was no other way of putting it, and unless the wage gap had diminished dramatically in this universe, I was fucking rich. I was only two hundred million credits away from being a billionaire, which amazed me even more.
No way could this be hell. If it was, then I don't see how giving me a big apartment and a sizeable fortune to spend could possibly be considered part of Satan's "eternity of pain" development plan. It still sucked that I was here, but it was starting to suck a little bit less with each passing hour. Perhaps I could get used to this…give or take a hundred or so years.
So, I have money, a home, and a fresh scar on my abdomen within the Mass Effect universe. If this was a dream, then it was a very elaborate one. I was still not convinced that this was reality, but I had no other options but to go with the flow. Or did I? Maybe I had to do something drastic in order to get me to wake up. I did not know what else to do, but it seemed like acting erratically was a good enough bet to shock me awake if I was dreaming all of this. I just needed to simulate a slew of unpleasant feelings in order to force my mind to accept one reality or the other – kind of like having a nightmare that becomes so scary that you have no choice but to wake up. Scaring myself did not sound quite so appealing, though, so maybe if I could induce nauseous sensations up to a certain intensity, it would be able to bring about the catalyst for awakening that I was looking for.
I found the solution to how I was going to accomplish that rather quickly. In a cupboard in the kitchen, I hit the mother lode. Bottles and bottles of various alcohols, liquors, and mixers were crammed into shelves just as tall as I was. Gin, rum, vodka, whisky, you name it. With the supplies here, I could make any drink that my heart desired and I felt a smile spread across my face. I was never much a partier, but I somehow found myself anticipating the wild night ahead of me.
Not to send the wrong message, but getting blackout drunk was a last resort in my eyes in order to solve this conundrum. If you were in my place, you'd understand, it's just that I would not recommend this as a solution for most problems. This just happened to be a problem that was severe enough for me to consider such extremes. I only needed to get myself sick enough in order to determine what reality I was in. The logic was that in dreams, such nauseous feelings were hampered in part to the brain not having full control over my motor systems. If I failed to get drunk, then I could pinpoint the fact that I'm dreaming and simply work the problem from there. If not, then I just had to find another way how to get out of here.
Bah, enough talk. All this booze isn't going to drink itself, you know?
A/N: I don't think surprised even begins to cover how I felt when I got all of these emails indicating the number of people following, favoriting, or reviewing this story over the last few days. And this was just for the first chapter! Make no mistake, I'm very happy at the reception that I've gotten for this idea and I'm honestly over the moon with the ton of support that has been voiced for Sam's (mis)adventures. You guys definitely broke personal records with a posting on this site for me, so a big thumbs up to you all!
I'm still not going to be working on this full-time unfortunately, but I will make it my mission to not have month-long gaps in between chapters so you can expect semi-regular updates over the coming weeks. Don't panic, this story will get finished as I hate to leave an idea like this uncompleted.
I hope that you keep enjoying the progression of The Quantum Error. Please continue to read and review! I also support and encourage questions if you have them and I appreciate any constructive criticism that could potentially improve this story more.
