Disclaimer: It should go without saying but I do not own Mass Effect or its characters.
A/N: In the good words of Nathan Drake: this is it, this is finally it. God, what's it taken to write this . . . Believe it or not, this single chapter took me the better part of a year to write. Logically, it should be pristine but it's far from it. I decided it was time to get it out there before . . . you know, writer's block. You be the judge.
More notes at the bottom, if you care for that sort of stuff.
Ch. 1: Interrogation
A dead man once told me that things never get more real than down the barrel of a gun. From the first moment that corpses started hitting the ground, I knew what the cold and calculating bastard meant. At first, my naïve mind and body wondered how anybody could find any enjoyment out of killing another sentient being, even if it were insects like them. That very same rookie was seeking revenge of all things. It's a wonder how I didn't die sooner.
It wasn't just about the supposed rush of wiping the floor with their mandibles. My first warzone and my old C.O. told me the exact opposite. When you find yourself blown into a hole two meters below ground, a trench that would most likely become your grave, the famous "life-flashing before your eyes . . ." never hits you. Staring down the barrel of a hostile's gun, the little things of that short moment are the only things that become vivid. There's no time to re-think or reflect. It's not about if you're ready for death. You never truly are. The real question is: Are they? The people who love you?
I thought I had nothing to lose except for my life. Everyone I loved was gone . . . or so I thought. Shanxi was where everything started for me. When the assignment cropped up, I knew I had to return, to come to terms with the phantoms among this hallowed ground. That's where the Skulls found me.
Shanxi, Turian 43rd Regiment Installation, December 16th, 2157
14 months since First Contact
"Now let's try that again."
The Turian leaned forward in his chair, his glinting predatory gaze piercing the near total darkness of the room. It was the only thing the soldier could see after the last hit besides stars.
"Tell me everything you know about Outpost Tempest, human, and I just might let you live."
The soldier glared into his interrogator's eyes, nothing but contempt written on his face. He only paused his dagger-like stare to spit the pool of blood in his mouth to the side. He wasn't going to give the enemy the satisfaction of seeing him in pain.
"Crawl back into whatever trench you were born in, bird." He put as much emphasis on the slur as humanly possible.
The alien leaned back against the chair and did the closest approximation of a dejected sigh, his mandibles flaring outward like the star of some ancient monster flick. He lifted his hand to the flickering light mounted on the ceiling, flexing and studying his three-fingered hand.
"You know, we started filing our talons once we began our great civilization. It was used to show that we were no longer an animal. During wartime, we let them grow back naturally . . . for whenever it was needed."
Suddenly, his talons plunged down into the soldier's thigh with a sickening squelch! The man grunted in pain and stifled a yell as the turian's talons raked aside his skin, sliding downward as if his flesh was made of butter. The turian leaned forward calmly, cocking his head to the side in mild derision as tiny red geysers erupted onto his talons. That same sickening wet sound followed the alien's retreating talons. It nearly made the man vomit. He let his head hang as he fought for consciousness, his vision fading in and out. The soldier could barely process the turian's next words.
"Your physiology is weak. Your flesh is inadequate. How did your people survive long enough for space travel?"
With some strength regained, the human lifted his head and tried to even his breathing. Focusing on his hatred for the turian in front of him was the only thing that dulled the pain.
"With a hell of a fight."
The outline of the turian's shadowy form started to shake vaguely before a cacophony of horrible sounds erupted within the four walls. The human flinched, his hair instantly acting on a vestigial reflex and standing on end. It took the soldier a few moments to understand what it was. Laughter, combined with the natural tremor in their species' voices. The final puzzle piece in his image as a sadistic demon.
"How much longer do you think your puny Alliance can hold out? Your species knows nothing about waging a galactic war."
The soldier snorted derisively.
"Puny? I'd say we've given your forces a run for their money," he said, ignoring the confused twitching of the turian's mandibles. The soldier decided to go another step further.
"You obviously don't know anything about us. I know we're new to this frontier but we're going to fight like hell to survive, to defend our own. We have come this far, and you'll be damn sure we're going to fight with tooth and nail to see another day. If you expect us to go quietly, your species is in for a rude awakening."
The turian regarded him calmly, casually wiping away the blood on his talons against his armor.
"Are you done? Give us the information we need or we'll begin testing that faith of yours."
"Sure, carve me up like a fine turkey all you want but you're getting nothing from me." He spat at the ground again, now mostly pent-up saliva than blood.
The alien's growl seemed to vibrate in the man's teeth, an ominous preview of what was to come.
"Testing my patience. That is very unwise."
His talons plunged down into his other unharmed leg. If anything, this one was much more excruciating than the last. A deafening yell rang out against the confines of the room as his flesh gave way and parted before the alien's daggers-for-talons.
This one left him brawling to stay awake. The blood, his blood, began to plink down on the linoleum, drip by drip at a hypnotic rate. The sound of it should have been slight but it was like thunder to him, the embodiment of his energy slowly ebbing away. The lulling warmth of the pooling liquid coaxed him into unconsciousness. It must have lasted for only a few seconds because his dulled sense of touch felt something rapping against his skull.
"I'm not done with you yet," a murky voice came. The soldier's senses were returning slowly to him as well as the physical agony. He didn't dare look down at his legs to see what was left of them.
"Outpost Tempest, human! Where is it?"
"No," he groaned.
A blow landed underneath his left eye, plated alien knuckles digging and grating for bone. Even the chair rattled in protest with the force. A caustic metallic scent began to spread around the room.
"Tell me!"
"No!" he said more insistently.
The turian's claws raked apart the length of his face in one swift movement, blinding him with the spurt of blood. In those moments, it was more like xenomorph acid rather than blood, leaving molten trails of flesh across his cheek. The pain was so excruciating that even the muscles in his stomach twisted itself into a pretzel.
"TALK!"
"NOOOO!"
Before the turian could lay another talon on him, the door swung open, sending a wavering stream of golden light across the awful, peeling walls like the gates to heaven from hell. The soldier struggled to clear the bloody veil hindering his vision, blinking away furiously. He attempted to shoo away the blood trickling towards the edge of his lips but was forced to swallow the copper-flavored fluid. A volatile cocktail of sharp bile, mixed with rancid blood threatened to erupt all over his interrogator. Despite every frightened gulp of air he took to force it down, he felt like he was drowning. The turian knew he was going to crack, and by god, he was about to.
The only thing that stopped him from spilling the beans was the anticipation to an end of his torment. He managed to make out a figure framed in the doorway. It was a female turian, lacking the defining characteristic of crested horns. Immediately, the soldier's final bit of resilience escaped out of his chest with a puffy gasp for air.
Of course, it was a turian. How could it not be?
The soldier watched, trying to keep his wits intact despite the fact that his whole body felt like it had been dipped in sulfuric acid.
She said something to his interrogator that he couldn't make out. The male made an almost imperceptible noise followed by a clear groan of disgust. He whispered something back to her and promptly rose from his chair.
"It seems that your comrades are here to liberate you. I'm sure I'll find someone a little more . . . responsive."
"Don't you dare touch-"
The alien produced a pistol the soldier hadn't seen before and pointed it at his head. At that point, he would have liked nothing better than to remain defiant under his scope to the very end, to deny the turian of his sickening gratification like a smug hero in the vids. Instead, he wiggled like a pathetic worm against the bonds but his strength had thinned to a hair long ago. If turians could grin, that's what his interrogator did. Even as his eyes frantically searched the room for something he could use, he knew it was futile. Something guided his panicked gaze past the deep abyss of the gun's barrel and study the female in the golden light streaking in. Somehow he understood, with a surreal flash of almost alien insight, her expression of sheer terror. The female turian said something quickly in their rough, grating language.
The male turian kept his stance for a few moments before lowering the pistol begrudgingly. He snarled at him, a deep, menacing sound and turned his back on him, moving to one corner of the room. A breath of relief escaped from the human, coming out in ragged scraps of whistles.
"Just so you don't try scurrying away . . ." The words hung in the air like a poignant cloud when the interrogator approached him once again with an object obscured in shadow. It was only when the thing came swinging down that he finally understood what it was with verifiable horror. An organic sort of crunch resounded within the room as the odd ball-point hammer connected with his right knee.
This time, there was no measure of self-inhibition to stop the soldier's deafening cry. His vision turned washed-out and pallid as tears and unrestrained howling set his own ears ringing. The man was faintly aware of the hammer being tossed aside with a clatter.
"Now that's better. It's like an anthem ready to be spread to the masses. I would stay and enjoy the show but as you humans say, cheerio!" The soldier faintly caught the turian walking out of the room as every curse known to man ricocheted around the whole installation until his strength to even speak was reduced to a mere sliver. His throat shriveled into a mummy-like husk and a sharp bout of aching pounded away like a jackhammer against his skull.
A few moments passed and he faintly noticed that the female turian was still standing there, staring at him impassively as if her adverse reaction never happened. Maybe it was a fool's sentimental dream but some part of him wanted to appeal to that brief nature if it even existed. He managed, with his tongue horribly mauled, to speak despite the fact that he knew his words would fall on deaf ears.
"Kill me. If you have any sense of generosity, kill me now," he begged hoarsely. The soldier's form shook and began to be wracked with sobs. If he survived this, it would be something that he could laugh cruelly at, crying in a puddled mess like that, but not that day, when it was happening right then.
By this time, the soldier felt himself nodding off again. The bang of the door sounded like a dulled thump to him. The return of the darkness left him alone and blind to his surroundings. An all-encompassing feeling of despair tightened his chest as his subconscious dropped deeper into the rabbit hole.
Inevitably, he fell unconscious once more.
A faraway, discordant voice broke through the blackness of his fitful slumber. The soldier grunted and opened his eyes. All of his senses were distinctly hollow, as if he were underwater. He attempted to rise from his position before realizing he was still in the interrogation room. The pattering of rain could be heard on the roof along with the faraway cracks of thunder. It felt like days had passed since he had fallen unconscious. The voice came again, hitting him like a bell in a bar-room. Blood and drool dribbled out of his gaping mouth when he groaned.
The female turian he saw earlier was kneeling at his side, applying a batch of medi-gel to the slashes he received. Confusion ringed inside his head. All of a sudden, he felt the cold tips of her talons and he instinctively jerked back, the chair nearly toppling backwards.
She uttered a cursory statement in (turian-nese?), dabbing at his wounds again with her talons, each respectively earning a wince from the soldier.
The turian moved to his face, claws gliding across the gash over his face with the ointment. His hands curled into fists at the sharp, stinging pain, his bonds quaking with tension. Blood roared in his ears like a biological battle-cry. Deep in his gut, he knew that they were just healing him to endure another session of interrogation. His thoughts turned furious when he remembered the other soldier with him when he was captured. Had Vega somehow escaped? He hoped he hadn't stubbornly mounted a rescue but history was not in his favor.
They all knew the risks, as with every reconnaissance mission. Facing the 43rd, the most decorated unit in the turian military, head-on was suicide and the higher-ups knew it.
The instant numbing effect washed over him, followed a few seconds later by a burst of energy. Then, the alien came in uncomfortably close to his face, her golden eyes surveying his facial wounds once again. He searched for something in them, some faint trace of humanity. It only took a few seconds to recognize that it was all in vain, subconsciously realizing he was foolishly peering into an animalistic golden abyss.
She leaned back on her perpetually arched legs and he was snapped back into reality. A halo of golden light appeared over her forearm. The turian tapped into the interface and there was a loud, hissing noise. She pulled out a wickedly sharp combat knife and a piece of cloth from her belt.
The alien stuffed the strange fabric into his mouth before he could react. His voice was all drowned out, all too late. The faint clacking of the chair pegs on the floor was in deep contrast to the returning horror raging inside him. She held the blade to the device on her forearm and the hissing sound came again. The awful scent of burning fuel came in wisps and his brain registered a blowtorch. He renewed his struggle as the alien brought the glowing blade to his legs.
If the soldier could choose one time to fall unconscious during this whole joyride of pain, it was then. Alas, it was not to be. His vocal cords were scraped and torn all to hell long before it ended. As soon it was over, the agony dropped out of FTL levels of nuts and was replaced with a dull ache.
Slowly, the turian pulled out the cloth and threw it away, landing with a squelch of bodily fluids on the ground. Something akin to disgust crossed her marbled face as she rose to dispose of the fabric.
The soldier tried everything to get rid of the husk in his throat, partly caused by stomach acid and mostly from sustained screaming.
She returned millennia later and inspected his wounds once more, a hard edge to her eyes. She cut the bonds and the soldier slumped forward like a lifeless body. The brief harshness of turian speech filled the room as she dropped to one knee in front of him. Like a bumbling fly to a web, she did exactly what he needed her to do.
Ignoring the fact that his wrists were seasoned with blood and that he had a busted kneecap, he lashed out at her, knocking the knife from her claws and pinning her to the ground. His old C.O would be impressed.
A surprised grunt escaped her mouth as the soldier perched himself above her on his good leg, ignoring the cries of the torn sinews in his thighs. It wasn't war that guided him then, the doctrine of having to do what had to be done. No, it was murder gleaming in his eyes, giving him strength and blindness.
The soldier wrapped his fingers around her throat, intending to secure her very last breath like a trophy, off-setting every urgent damage report his nerves sent and channeling it into this one act. The turian struggled against the sudden assault, writhing underneath him as her mallet-like fist repeatedly connected with his side, her leathery throat bulging at his fingertips. With every fist that connected, the soldier's body bucked a little but remained committed to the act. With a halfway mixture of a grunt and a growl, the man lifted her up before slamming her head back down with all his might. A tortured cry managed to escape out of her larynx before her arms started to slacken. He took all this in like a calm predator, relishing the life fleeing out of her. If he was going to die, he was going to take a damn alien with him.
Something akin to a concussion grenade hit him along with a blinding blue light. Next thing the soldier knew, he was flying through the air. His back slammed against the wall and the soldier fell face-down in the linoleum, a cloud of cement enshrouding him.
"Oh, god," he groaned, hugging his sides, the pain registering once more. The cloud settled, revealing one pissed-off turian with a silenced pistol aimed at his head. He slowly scurried backwards and hit the wall, bringing his arm out in front of him like a shield but it wouldn't be effective against mass accelerator rounds. All he thought then was that he didn't want to see the flash.
A few moments passed and he heard the pistol audibly slide into it's holster, earning a frightened gasp from him. He cautiously lowered his arm before recognizing the turian's approach. He yelled as her talons unexpectedly pressed against his side. She held a finger to her (ear?) and the yellow hologram appeared once again over her forearm.
"What's the status on the transport? I have a wounded asset bleeding out fast, over!" A few garbled alien-sounding phrases were faintly uttered in response.
"I don't care. Make it happen. Set down as close as you can, soldier!" The turian dismissed the connection. The soldier tried to focus on processing this new information. The fact that she was speaking in near-perfect English (without a tell-tale translator) deserved more merit but between bleeding to death and possibly ending up as a POW for years, that was the last thing he needed to think about. They were probably transporting him to a different facility, wherever hostages go. As was typical of him, his mind decided to focus on the language part instead.
"You speak English?" the soldier asked, hoping to extract any useful info. The alien gave him a pointed look as she inspected her pistol.
"I recall a human saying that goes something like this: 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you' or in this case, the one that hasn't put a bullet through your head. Arterius didn't do it but cross me again . . ." The threat lingered in the air but like with most challenges that faced him, the soldier responded accordingly.
"And humans have another saying: go to hell." The female turian's mandibles flitted a little and her predatory gaze bored into his own, dangerously reminding him of his interrogator. In a staring match, he would have definitely lost. He had to look away as he searched for another topic.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Give me one reason why I should tell you," she snarled. At that, the soldier clammed up. Thankfully, her gaze softened as she stood and went into the hallway, pacing a little.
"I'll tell you this. I am not your enemy. I'm trying to get you out of here. I told your interrogator there was a human squad in the area to get the others out of the way."
There was a good deal of accent in her voice, except that it was surprisingly smooth. The natural vibration in Turian speech somehow seemed more pronounced in her feminine voice, apparent now from her more subdued tone in the past.
Darn it, focus man!
"W-why?"
"We started this war. Some of us don't agree with what our people did. Our military already has defectors, aiding your people in secret. This war has to end . . . for both our species' sake." She crossed her arms and leaned against the wall.
Shepard inched his back flat against his own personal wall, responding to the anxious pleas of his spine, spitting blood out of his mouth.
"How can I trust you? Your people attacked our colony. Shanxi was home to many settlers. Farmers. Men, women and children living an honest life. They all lie in unmarked graves here because of you bastards. The line between friend and foe is looking a bit blurry on my end."
Against his will, a tear began to streak down his face, the only thing that belied anything other than anger and pain in his expression. She stared down at him with renewed intensity.
"The way I see it, you have no choice."
The soldier laughed bitterly before groaning in pain.
"Hell, it probably won't matter. I won't be able to make it."
A bout of wet-sounding coughs seized him as the turian surged forward.
"Come on; wrap your arms around me. I'm getting you out of here."
No matter how much his blood boiled at the thought of cooperating with a turian, he was not in a position to resist. He gingerly complied as he reached for her extended forearm, trying not to show his surprise at the muscle apparent underneath her reinforced plate-like carapace. Frankly, it was the first time he felt any part of a turian without giving or receiving blows.
Any steadiness that he regained of his nerves immediately fled to the night skies as soon as he put weight on his legs. He crashed to the floor, seething with pain. Solana plucked him back up, nearly carrying him off his feet.
"Alright, just slowly hop forward on your good leg. I'll catch you if anything happens."
The soldier looked at her indignantly but his expression softened too. An alien was pulling his ass out of the fire. It had to be a dream. A really, vivid dream. If that was the case, he wanted to derive as much information from his traitorous subconscious as possible.
His mouth was already forming words before he could clamp it shut. "What's your name?"
"Solana Vakarian," she grunted, brushing off her military tunic with her free hand.
"Cute name," he beleaguered-ly muttered. He gasped in pain as she planted an elbow into his already hammered side, somehow not impaling him with her spurs. Definitely not a dream.
"You're already on rocky standing with me. Don't push it."
Dark thoughts roiled in his mind as he limped along the hallway. Solana paused, searching the courtyards below through the window. Her gaze shifted towards the dark horizon, apparently catching sight of something.
"Let's go. We need to get to the rendezvous point."
He tripped over his own feet once they moved again, saved only by the turian's strength. The soldier couldn't ever remember being this distracted especially in a potentially dangerous situation. Maybe it was the intoxicatingly salty metallic scent roiling off her neck or maybe it was the lone butterfly going haywire in his stomach. He couldn't decide if it was disgust or . . . something else. The pain-killers in the medi-gel must have started working their magic.
His traitorous eyes surveyed her leathery neck, noticing the bruised imprint of his fingers around her throat. He sympathetically swallowed as if physically trying to force down the boiling feeling in his gut. Regret.
The soldier furrowed his brow and tried to take stock of his surroundings. Thankfully, it was quiet in the courtyards below. Even the thunder and rain had stopped roaring. The veins in his wrist fluttered as if anticipating an ambush. That struck a chord of fear in his throat.
"Aren't you going to tell me yours?"
His whole body prickled with surprise before settling at the lack of danger.
"Tell you what?"
"Your name?"
He was silent for a moment as he searched for it through a pile of cluttered folders. For a scary moment, he thought he had forgotten it.
"Shepard. John Shepard." His name sounded strange and foreign as if it belonged to someone else.
There was faint rustling of metal as Solana placed something in his limp hand. It was a dog-tag, his dog-tag.
"I managed to pick it off a guard."
He held it to his chest for a few moments before slipping it into his pocket, stilling the words of gratitude on his tongue. It effectively put his identity back into perspective, reminding him of who he was. Shepard settled for something different in response.
"What about my smokes?"
"Smokes?"
"Yeah, cigarettes." He motioned a hand over his mouth. She only stared at him blankly . . . or stoically. Correctly recognizing expressions on turians was very fifty-fifty.
"Never mind."
After a few moments of silence, he spoke again. "Why did you ask for my name in the first place if you already knew?" he questioned.
"I . . . wanted to see if you trusted me with yours."
Her gaze was set straight forward when she said this. He had no idea what to make of that statement so he simply hopped along as she instructed him to.
It pained him to admit it even with the drugs nullifying his most basic inhibitions.
"I don't trust you but thank you . . . for this."
She didn't make any human indication that she heard him except for an almost non-existent thrumming in her throat. A rhythm of calm set into the soldier's movements at this odd response while he systematically swung forward. He let himself take in every good sensation as if the dream was about to end. His waking hours would offer no quarter to him.
That's when everything went dark.
A/N: Yes! First Fanfic in forever! Let me know what you think in your reviews. Always open to constructive criticism other than myself.
Just so it's clear, this is going to focus primarily on the deadly serious aspect. I'm horrible at writing about heartfelt humor and comradery like the gems out there in this archive even though I am a pretty funny guy in general. (That's why I have a ton of one-shot ideas that will probably never come to fruition.)
I've always kind of didn't like how the characters in other Mass Effect fanfics seem to shrug off every single fight with witty jokes and humor. I know that's part of the identity of this amazing series so there WILL be a bit of comedy along the way although not as much as you'd expect. It's not exactly gritty, I think . . .
WAIT!
I forgot all about Shepard! Yes, I'm sticking to the default name for a good reason. Ever heard of names like Sebastian or Ethan Shepard? Just NO. Simple name for a complex person, alright?
My take on the First Contact War is an AU so I'm planning to include most, if not all, of the major characters in Mass Effect throughout.
Stay tuned!