A/N: First of all, I must thank DelVarO, CuHnadian and Delfin Jonte for reviewing! Thanks guys! You're awesome for that in my book!

Now, here comes the second chapter. I don't know how fast I can dish them out, but I'll try to be as productive as humanely possible.

Now, without further ado…

Survival of the Fortunate

My consciousness returns to me at last. I think, it's not like I can actually tell. I turn in the bed, noting that it's not as comfortable as my own. Damn, I must've been dropped off at Mike's house.

But whatever. I just barely returned to the world of the sober. And that was one hell of a dream I had. Getting rescued by Shepard from batarians on Torfan… Way wilder than my previous Whiskey-induced delusions. And I drank down enough of that stuff in my life to know.

Wait. Come to think of it, from all the Whiskey I had last night I should have a hangover – Scratch that, the Mother of all Hangovers. Yet I don't feel a damned thing. Plus, why is my left leg aching so much? Did I get run over by car or something?

Wait, wait… Wasn't I shot in the left leg in the dream?

My eyes flash open. And I am not greeted by the familiar sight of Mike's house.

Instead, I'm greeted by the unfamiliar sight of what seems to be a makeshift futuristic field hospital. It's dark. It's certainly not a building originally designed to be a hospital. It's got flashing blue diodes and lights everywhere.

So… Me getting transported to Torfan somehow? Those people getting shot? Me getting shot? It all happened?

No, no, no… This - This must be some sick joke. Someone must've put some LSD or something in my Whiskey. That is not below the pretentious assholes that are my friends… Right?

I-I-I have to get out of here! This can't be real! This can't be possibly happening!

I look down to my right arm to see some sort of injector tube. I promptly rip it out, ignoring my arm's protests and the subsequent wound, and practically jump off the makeshift medical bed, much to the surprise of other survivors that are awake here.

But instead of being greeted by my legs firmly holding me up, I collapse down to the floor. As I hit the floor, something hits me: My friends, my family, my whole damned life is gone. Plain and simple, gone.

I hear some footsteps approaching me. Likely the medics here. But I'm too focused trying to deal with the fact that this is actually happening… Back there before I blacked out, the setting seemed surreal, but this? Reality hits you. And reality is unforgiving.

One of the medics grabs me by the shoulders and he practically yells at me:

"Hey, hey! It's okay! You're safe now!"

Or at least that's what it seems to me. Not like I'm paying attention to him anyway.

And then, I can't help but be angry at myself, for allowing my feelings to get in the way of my better judgment. The fact is, I'm here. And I have to get my priorities straight. Guess I gotta get some rules.

Rule #1: Survival first, angst later.

Meanwhile, the medic continued to shout something unintelligible to me. As he stops after a few seconds, I simply blurt out:

"Yeah, right… Sorry."

"Never mind that. You have to get back into the bed. You're still weak." – He replies nonchalantly. I guess he had a few patients in similar predicaments to deal with today.

And so, with the help of two medics, I'm helped back up to the bed. As I lay back down, the medic takes the injector tube back into his hand, sighing and shaking his head.

He opens up his omni-tool and pointed the thing at the tube. I guess he is trying to disinfect it. Either way, the button mashing continues for a few seconds… And then I decide to break the silence:

"So… How's the fighting going?"

For a moment, he shifts his gaze to me before turning it back to his omni-tool.

"It's over, actually." – He replies with sheer simplicity.

"Oh?" – I say, hoping to get him to be a little bit more specific.

"It was over for about a day." – He elaborates, as the button mashing continues. – "But damn, we beat those batarian barbarians tough."

I make a facial expression indicating that explanation wasn't going to cut it.

In response he rolls his eyes, before continuing:

"That one Lieutenant – Shepard? – Placed a trap for the retreating slavers. And she took no prisoners." – He says, before his face changing to a bit sourer one. – "We took a lot of casualties. Had to treat at least a dozen Marines myself. Guess the batarian bastards got what they deserved, though."

With those words out of the way, he suddenly grabs my right arm, and with brute, yet precise, efficiency he… Reintroduces it to my arm, just below my self-caused wound.

And without another word he walks away, presumably having other patients to deal with.

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The past few hours passed pretty uneventfully. And I was thankful for it. I still had a tough time accepting what happened. Then again, there was little point to not accepting it all. It's not as if reality cared what I accepted.

However, the reign of uneventfulness was coming to end. I saw another medic coming. He could be, of course, coming to help out some of the other dozen survivors here, but the uneventfulness was never going to be the same again.

But he seems to be coming right towards me. And after I few seconds, this theorem gets itself a confirmation.

"Someone would like to speak to you." – The medic informs me.

"Uhh, I might need a little help getting there." – I reply, remembering my previous attempt to get anywhere by myself.

"No you won't." – The medic replies with a sign of boredom in his voice. – "The meds should've worn off by now."

Indeed, come to think of it, my leg started to hurt worse in the recent hours.

"I'll still need some help with this, though." – I say, pointing to my right arm and the injector tube.

He simply rolls his eyes, and promptly proceeds to remove the tube before I even know what's going on. He then looks upon me, as if trying to hurry me up.

With the still clumsy support of my arms, I get up. My legs still feel a little… Off, but this time I didn't collapse. I'll go ahead and take that as a sign that my survival prospects just skyrocketed. Usually I'm not an optimist, but this is the one exception when a little optimism won't kill me. Most likely.

With a simple movement of his hand, the medic instructs him to follow me. And besides a few stumbles, this is proceeding quite well. As we exit the room, I can see just how many casualties the earlier medic was referring to are here.

We find ourselves in a large room, by the layout I'd presume it was a mess hall once. There are at least fifty mixed troopers and survivors here.

The medic, unfazed by all of this, simply proceeds to walk towards our objective.

And after what I presume is a minute of walking, he points me at one particular door. I, having little other choice, enter.

"Ah, there you are." – An oddly familiar voice bids me a greeting.

As I turn to face my unknown host, I realize who it is.

"I'm Operations Chief Alenko, and I'm hoping you can clear some things up for us."

Although I considered Kaidan to be one of the blander characters in-game, I can't help but stare a little. Unfortunately he notices this.

"Is there something wrong?" – He asks.

Damn it, I have to snap out of it! I mean, meeting two major characters of the series in matter of… What was it? Days? Hours? Either way, it can't be a coincidence.

"No, no, nothing at all Operations Chief." – I lie, if a bit unconvincingly. – "I think you said I could clear something up for you?"

Apparently thinking nothing of it, or perhaps dug in too deep in all the paperwork, he simply nods. Why would a biotic be in charge of logistics anyway?

"Right. When we brought you in we scanned you for your ID chip. We found none." – He says. – "Could you explain that to us?"

Oh. Now, that might be a bit of a problem. I just have to stay calm and come up with a convincing backstory that won't raise any eyebrows. Because if I told the truth I'd be placed in a mental institution. Oh, no pressure, no bloody pressure at all.

…

And after a few seconds worth of silence, Kaidan speaks up again:

"Is everything alright, uh mister…"

His intentionally trailing off voice serves as an indicator for me to introduce myself.

"Sergei." – I say, all too nervously. – "Sergei Pavlov."

He nods, and then speaks up again:

"So, according to the slavers' records you were captured on board MSV Ebon Hawk."

Wait a second. Why don't I remember any of that? Huh. I guess the situation isn't about to get any clearer and actually start to make sense. Oh no, that would be far too simple.

Also, Ebon Hawk? Really? I truly despise coincidences sometimes.

"The Ebon Hawk was, according to what I could find, making its standard cargo run from Terminus Systems." – He finishes.

Terminus Systems? Yes, Terminus Systems! That would be my way out of this mess! Long live the Terminus!

"Ah, right!" – I reply a bit too eagerly. – "You see, I was born and raised in the Terminus Systems. I was making my way to Alliance territory when the Ebon Hawk was ambushed by the slavers. I got captured."

Then, when Kaidan gives me an odd look, I realize just how ridicules I made it sound with the way I described it. What is it with me and ruining decent plans?

"Right. I guess that explains it, kid." – He says.

What? Kid? You've got to be kidding me! Wait, no… He's already doing it! I'm twenty for crying out loud! And he's not even all that older!

"Anyway, since you seem to be able enough to walk, you should probably join up with the evacuees. The first batch is going in less than an hour." – He says.

Evacuees? I guess I'm still on Torfan.

"Where are they evacuating us to?" – I ask.

"Bekenstein. It's in the heart of Alliance territory." – He replies.

Wait… Wasn't Bekenstein that planet from Kasumi's loyalty mission?

"Once you exit this office, go left. At the end of the hall's the evacuation room. There they'll give you some clothes and credits, and then they'll load you up on an evacuation convoy. From there, they'll take you to the LZ, and from there it should be a two day's worth trip to Bekenstein." – Kaidan explains.

I simply nod and turn towards the door. As I exit he bids his farewell:

"Good luck, kid."

Damn it, Kaidan!

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So, there I was: Getting ready to be assembled for evacuation. The Alliance was kind enough to provide me with new clothing (thank goodness, those medical uniforms, or whatever they call them, were simply horrific – And that's coming from someone who isn't picky about his clothing) as well as a whole hundred credits. Gee, how generous! Ugh, I like the Alliance already…

The officer in charge of the evacuation was calling out names and sending them to a designated transport. Were the Makos they seemed to be assembling as an escort really necessary, though? I though fighting stopped yesterday!

"Johnson, Robert!" – The officer shouted. – "Transport 5!"

"Barclay, William! Transport 5!"

"Reed, Anna! Transport 5!"

And he continues for what seems to be an eternity. With the boredom of waiting, I turn to face the transports. I'm a bit amazed at how similar they look to Makos. Except they're far larger and don't appear to have a cannon, but a machine gun. I just hope they drive better… Argh, Mako mechanics! That brings back some memories.

"Pavlov, Sergei!" – The officer finally shouts out my name, snapping me out of the previous line of thought. – "Transport 6!"

And thus begins my struggle to get through the crowd and into the transport. The crowd's willingness to cooperate in this particular matter surprises me. I guess they realized that the faster we're done with the faster they can go home.

And soon enough, I find myself in front of the transport. Or rather, in front of the back entrance. Apparently I'm the third to enter, leaving some seven seats unfilled. The other passengers seem as eager to leave as I.

And after a minute or so, the other passengers arrive. With the last one's entry, the hatch closes. There, however, still was one more transport to go.

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And finally, after some delays, some more delays, and – You guessed it – Further delays, we exited the compound. That was thirty minutes ago.

The trip itself seemed boring enough. What these few days taught me was that boring was good. Boring meant you weren't about to get killed, or worse.

Still, I couldn't help but be a little suspicious about our escort. Five Makos seems a bit excessive, especially after the fightings allegedly ende-

And then, quite the loud explosion cuts me off. I can't make out what's happening, but I hear explosions, machine gun fire and accelerating Alliance vehicle.

Panic seems to be a common sight on the faces of my compatriot passengers. And if how I feel about any of this is any indication, so is mine.

And then, the entire vehicle seemed to be blasted by a quite intense white light and a deafening explosion. The Alliance driver addressed us over vehicle's intercom:

"We're hit! Primary fuel lines' are on fire! Everybody out!"

The driver obviously wasn't taught the finer points of subtlety, as the passengers, myself included, rushed towards the back ramp, trying to get it open. If there was a panic before, this was a full-scale riot!

Finally, someone managed to hit the "Open" button and the ramp, painfully slowly, opened. That didn't stop some poor bastards from trying to get out at the earliest opportunity. As a matter of fact those poor bastards were all ten of us.

Probably expecting an explosion, we rush as far away from the vehicle. Shots seem to be fired at us from all directions. This is not good.

The explosion, however, never came. Instead, the transport simply burst out in flames. A breathe a sigh of relief, however a short lived one. The remainder of the passengers – Just four of us – Took cover behind one of the Makos.

The Mako itself is spinning up its machine gun and letting it rip in the direction I presume that the enemy – Likely batarian slavers – Were coming from. We the passengers are too scared to do anything, and simply grateful for the cover.

Apparently seeing our predicament, I can see that an Alliance trooper orders two more to follow him and starts running toward our position. But long is the way between two Makos. As they run, a bullet impacts one of the troopers' heads, resulting in something my stomach finds vomit-worthy.

I, however, ignore the urge to vomit as that would be wholly inappropriate in the situation. By the time I got myself into control of my stomach, the troopers have already arrived and are now taking cover behind the Mako.

"Sir! Rodriguez is down!" – One of them says.

"I've noticed, Koslowsky!" – The other one replies, and then turns towards us, apparently to introduce himself. – "Gunnery Chief Armstrong, 3rd Platoon!"

"I thought we got the last of these bastards yesterday!" – I say, still trying to contain the contents of my stomach.

"Yeah, so did we." – He replies simply. – "Koslowsky! Give me a SITREP on the vehicles!"

Koslowsky leans out of cover for a second, and observes the situation, before all too eagerly returning to cover.

"All but one of the transports are down!" – He reports. – "Two Makos, including ours, still operational! And they both look banged up as hell!"

"What about the transport?" – Armstrong asks.

"Looks operational, as well as abandoned!" – Koslowsky says.

Armstrong apparently switches to his contemplative mode for a few seconds, and then he looks back up at Koslowsky.

"Koslowsky." – He says. – "You think you can make it to the transport?"

"If I had covering fire, yeah, just maybe!" – Koslowsky replies.

At this Armstrong raises his assault rifle and fiddles with settings a bit. Then a holographic representation of a flaming bullet appears at the gun's right side.

"Alright." – Armstrong says. – "If these batarians think they're going to hell, I'll send 'em some inferno."

"You're staying here?" – I ask incredulously.

"Look kid." – He says. – "Our comm. units are jammed, and we didn't ask the Brass for reinforcements. And those Makos won't hold out for much longer, not against that many batarians."

"But you'll be killed!" – I point out the obvious.

At this, Armstrong merely lets out a chuckle.

"Kid, I'm an Alliance Marine. Do you know who's like us?" – He says.

I merely stare at him blankly, not getting the reference.

"Damn few, and they're all dead!" – He answers proudly. – "Now, whenever you're ready Koslowsky."

"Ready, Sir!" – Koslowsky sounds off, before adding: "And Sir? It's been an honor serving with you."

To this, Armstrong merely rolls his eyes before saying:

"Koslowsky, don't get all mushy on me. I'm not dead yet." – He says. – "Now go!"

"Alright, everyone! On me!" – Koslowsky orders us. As he exits the cover, so do we.

And so we all start running towards the transport. The batarians are quick to take notice of us, as I hear dozens of bullets flying past us… Damn, it is only now that I realize how many civilian bodies lay on this makeshift battlefield… I guess not a lot of us will be getting off this planet.

Then all the sudden, I see a batarian approaching, ready to gun us down. Damn it! Couldn't have they just let us go?

Then the batarian bursts out in flames, and while his alien screams can still be heard, I can hear Armstrong – Barely – mouthing off something like:

"You want 'em? Try and get 'em!"

Alright… Now we're just some ten meters from the transports… Damn, I'm really out of shape… Should've practiced more back home…

But despite my lack of conditioning for this sort of ordeal, we manage to get to the transport.

We all rush to enter, seeking refuge in the damaged, but still operational-looking transport. As I am the last one to get in, I get a glimpse of Koslowsky trying to hold off the batarians on the outside.

"Koslowsky!" – I say. – "Get in!"

And just as he turns to me, as if to ask me what I said, his body yanks unnaturally. Firstly just once, then again, and again and again. Then he falls to the ground… It takes me a few seconds to realize what happened.

My god… Did I just cause a man's death?

But I don't have time for that. As I see multiple batarians approaching, I simply hit the button and the ramp starts to close up.

"T-The driver's dead!" – One of the passengers says. – "What are we going to do now?"

Oh great… One thing after another. Indeed, what are we going to do now? We're screwed.

"Does anyone here know how to drive?" – Another passenger, a woman, asks.

"I might!" – The fourth passenger sounds off.

"Great! Now get in there and drive us as far from this place as you can!" – I practically order.

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We… We were lucky. The batarians decided not to pursue us… Likely didn't consider us a worthy target. They did massacre all other civilians, so what were we, four of us? Four out of seventy… My god.

The other passengers seem to be having similar thoughts, if their faces are anything to go by.

"We're approaching the Alliance LZ thing… I think!" – Our driver announces. Lucky bastard. At least he has something to distract him from thinking about the past hour or so.

Damn it, though. Have I caused Koslowsky's death back there? I have distracted him from the enemy, but maybe he'd be overwhelmed anyway. I don't know. And I can't afford to drive myself crazy with those thoughts. Not know. Not on the slaughterhouse known as Torfan.

Huh. I've survived two massacres in two days… I'm lucky as hell. And given that I never shot a gun in my life, I guess that's my saving grace.

Then, out of nowhere, Alliance communications fills out the vehicle via the intercom:

"Unidentified transport, identify yourselves or we will be forced to destroy you."

At this the woman orders our driver:

"Come on! Identify us!"

"I-I-I don't know how!" – The driver admits.

"Stop!" – I say. – "Stop the truck!"

He wordlessly complies and I hit the ramp button.

"Unidentified transport, you've got ten seconds to reply." – The Alliance informs us.

"Ten." – They say.

Come on, bloodied ramp! Open up faster!

"Nine."

Oh come the hell on!

"Eight."

Just half way there? You've got to be kidding me.

"Seven."

Alright, just a second more…

"Six."

"Everyone out!" – The woman says.

"Five."

We quickly exit the transport with raised hands. After all we were through, we are not going to be killed by our own soldiers!

"Four." – The transport's intercom can be still heard.

As some soldiers spot us, and I can hear their assault rifles clicking as they are aimed at us.

"Three."

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot! We're humans!" – We yell out almost in unison.

"Identify yourselves!" – One of the soldiers demands.

"Two."

"We're the evacuees!" – I yell out.

From a combat-ready face they have put on, I can see a change to one of pure panic.

"One."

"DON'T FIRE! They're the refugees! I repeat, don't fire!" – Their, apparent leader yells over the comm.

And the zero never came. I can hear several sighs of relief. Mine included.

"Where were you?" – The squad leader asks. – "You were scheduled to come here twenty minutes ago! And where are the rest of transports? And what about Makos?"

"They're all dead." – I say simply, too tiered for complications at this point. – "We're the only ones who made it."

"What? How?" – He demands.

"Batarians." – I answer.

After a second, his face changes to one of sour knowing.

"Follow me. The shuttle's this way." – He says, bitterness evident in his voice. We are all too happy to oblige.

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And there we were, the Four Survivors of the First Evacuee Batch, rising triumphantly over the reddish-gray surface of Torfan. The shuttle take off was actually surprisingly smooth.

But there is no triumph here, at least not for me.

As we accelerate away from the surface and towards orbit, I take one last look of Torfan – And I bid it a farewell. It will not be missed.

Damn it, just… Damn it. I'm not ready for this… Being here, or anything, come to think of it. I mean, I've read some SI fanfics back home when I was bored, but… Did it prepare me for this at all? No.

I have no mysterious guides or chessmasters to guide me here and no purpose, as far as I can tell. I am left alone. Me, and the now-dirty clothes I have.

I guess I dealt with a part of it, at least. I finally accepted that I'm all alone. For whatever good that'll do.

A/N: And there's the second chapter. Thanks for reading! I hope that it wasn't a major fall in the quality.