Taking a step back and analyzing myself honestly, I really do not fit the demographic in terms of disposition for gun owners. Certainly I do not adhere to the redneck sensibilities that seem to come with owning a firearm of any sort, which is why I never really made a big deal out of it in the past. The current stereotype for gun shops in 2015 is something akin to a trader shop out of the Old West, a place where bows and arrows adorn the walls while camouflage costumes hang on the racks, with rows and rows of shotguns all lined up meticulously behind a tobacco-chewing shop owner sporting a beard to make even Santa Claus blush. I always felt uncomfortable going into one of those stores; I grew up in a city, not the country, so such a style of living is practically akin to living on another planet, ironically enough.

I did not get that sort of feel from being in this gun shop, though. Instead of the rustic theme I had been expecting, the presentation of the wares in question on the Citadel was more delicately handled. The style of the place was futuristic like the rest of the surroundings, but the owner here treated the items he was selling like they were jewelry or artifacts in a museum. By that I mean that glass cases were set up all around the store with weapons of every shape and size locked behind them like you would find at a diamond shop. Lights illuminated the guns like they were in a showroom and the entire place had a sleek, glossy finish to it. Standards sure had changed while I was away, and for the better, I might add.

That, however, did not mean that I was any less overwhelmed. I was expecting a rather modest collection of pistols and perhaps shotguns here like what one would find at any sports equipment store, but what I found was that this place was selling a bit more than paltry defense items. Try full-blown assault and sniper rifles out for size – at least that was what they looked like – and I quickly got the sense that I was out of my league here. People took their weaponry seriously here in the future. I wondered how this could be legal or if you needed a special permit to buy guns like that. It then occurred to me that I had not bothered to check if I had the equivalent of a carry permit encoded into my omni-tool for me to be able to actually purchase a gun. I wouldn't have the first clue where to look on there, so I simply resorted to eavesdropping to gauge if I should depart and come back at a later time with the proper paperwork or just go for it and buy a damn gun.

I elected to edge closer to the front counter, maneuvering behind a rather tall turian in line. They were wearing what looked like a black trench coat with a few modified metal flairs and it was only from the turian's reduced crest and fringes could I tell that it was a female. I did not catch the front part of the exchange between the female and the shopkeeper, also a turian. Responding to his customer's order, the man brought out a rather large shotgun and what looked like a demonic skull, but I quickly realized that it was a helmet of sorts. A rather odd and downright scary helmet with an ivory colored jaw and a chromed dome. Without a word, the female handed the male a credit chit and it was quickly scanned without any other form of identification accepted. I guess that I didn't need any permit after all.

"All set, madam Grevel," the male turian gave a nod. "Thank you for your business."

The female just gave an uncharacteristic grunt and slid the helmet over her head after slotting her new shotgun over her back. The helmet's eyes blazed a fiery orange and the bottom piece of the mask appeared to move in time with the movements of the female's jaw. That was rather unsettling. Cool looking, but unsettling.

As the turian named Grevel stomped out of the shop, I edged closer to the front counter where the pistols were currently being displayed. I bent my knees and tried to see if I could discern a model I liked by sight alone. As you could imagine, I was not having much success. The models locked behind the glass were tools so futuristic that I had no idea what the pros and cons were of each type. At this point, all I wanted to know was that if they were able to shoot bullets. I eventually settled on a sleek white model near the exit and tapped the glass, calling the cashier over to me.

"You want to check that out, sir?"

"If that's allowed," I shrugged as I scratched the back of my neck, a reaction to whenever I get nervous. "To be honest, I have no idea if that pistol is any good compared to the rest of the, uh, competition offered."

"It's definitely a good one for beginners," the turian said as he ducked behind the counter, coming up moments later with a contraption that looked like it was taken straight out of Star Trek. "Pretty easy for a human to handle and it's sufficient for home defense. I say that because you don't look like a hunter to me." He handed the weapon to me, grip first, and I hesitantly took it from him.

The pistol itself was nothing like I had ever seen before in person. It was a lot bulkier than the conventional weapons that I was used to, but because of the lightweight metal and white plastic that made up its frame, it weighed about the same as a standard handgun. There was a secondary barrel underneath the main one – I had no idea what that was for. There was a guard for the trigger but there was also a guard for the entire hand that jutted from the grip. That was a design feature most likely intended to cater to all species as some had bigger hands than humans. The sighting mechanism was a bit more elaborate and I took a few seconds to aim down the weapon, finding that it was intended for accuracy.

The clerk crossed his arms expectantly. "Yep, that's the M-5 Phalanx, Mister…?"

"McLeod," I said as I turned over the pistol, trying to figure out where the magazine release switch was. "I know it seems like I just got off the boat here, but I swear that I'm not always this hopeless at firearms."

"Only experienced with civilian models, eh?"

I furrowed my brow. "Wait, I thought these were the civilian models."

The turian shook his head. "Not exactly. These are just military models that have been modified for use by the public. This store doesn't stock the types of meager weaponry that are used solely for target shooting. All the stock you see is for home defense."

"That makes sense, I guess," I shrugged as I set the pistol down on the counter. "But I think you're going to have to walk me through how to operate this damn thing before I walk out of here with a purchase."

I think that the promise of a sale was what caused the turian's demeanor to become a little brighter in an instant. "I'd be glad to show you," he said jovially and lifted the gun up and pointed to the mechanisms. "Okay, primary trigger is within the trigger guard, obviously. Secondary trigger is down by the base. You squeeze that and then you pull the primary trigger to fire your secondary ammo."

"Sorry," I interrupted. "Secondary ammo? What is that?"

"The bottom barrel here is for concussive bursts. Completely messes up biotic barriers and will stun anyone who isn't covered by armor. Knocks them right down to the ground. That should be used if you're unwilling to take care of problems lethally."

"Makes sense," I agreed.

"Onto the main specs, then. The Phalanx is a highly accurate model, but as it is a heavy pistol, you're going to be encumbered by severe recoil unless you add some mods to it. Firing speed is 80 rpm, but you're going to get nowhere near that number before you overheat the sinks."

"That's when you reload it, right?"

"What?" the turian looked confused. "No. Of course not. There's no reloading anything. You just have to sit out the cooldown period before you can fire the gun again. It's also not like the ammo itself is finite, you'll be able to last forever on what is already in the weapon."

Crap. I forgot that the reloading mechanics were not implemented until after the first Reaper attack. Way to not look like a foreigner, Sam. "Right," I said, hoping that I sounded somewhat focused.

"The Phalanx also comes with a laser sight, activated here," the turian gestured to a hidden button. "The rounds themselves work well against armor, and you have the concussive bursts to take out barriers, but if you don't get the modification to include disruptor ammo, you're going to have a tougher time shooting at someone with shields."

Boy, did this guy know how to make a sale. He was casually talking about shooting people like it was an everyday occurrence for him. I better just buy this thing before I happen to get shot by one of the toting crazies in this place.

"I don't suppose that you happen to sell that modification, then?" I asked, making sure to bump my eyebrows upward in a savvy manner.

"Sure I do," the turian leered. "But it's going to cost you extra."

"I can live with that," I answered. "I don't suppose that there's anything else that I might want to add to the gun that you can sell me?"

"If you're just using it for defense, then I don't think I can really entice you into anything else. If you include the disruptor rounds, you'll have all the equipment needed to sufficiently tackle someone in your way if it comes to that."

"Except when they come within arm's reach. I'd guess I might have a problem then."

The clerk lowered his eyes in thought. "For that, I'd recommend having a knife on you. But you do know the dangers of carrying a blade, right?"

"Sure do," I nodded morosely. "Everyone loses if you get into a knife fight. Injury is guaranteed from all the wild slashing between two opponents."

"Finally a customer with common sense. What are you looking for in a blade of choice?"

"Oh, I don't know," I mumbled as I glanced down at the glass counter again, looking through all of the various blades and extras associated with them. "I'd guess that I'd take anything that can do sufficient damage without requiring much skill on my part."

The turian looked pleased at that. "Turns out you humans have just a tool for that purpose." He rummaged around the shelves for a bit before he produced a wickedly curved knife, the blade black as soon. "Modified blade in what you refer to as a 'karambit' style. Good for creating long, deep wounds from slashes. Not quite as effective for stabbing. Can be folded into the grip, which is modified for your hand style, and it can be withdrawn with a simple button press." He flicked the blade out for emphasis, the point shining in the bright light.

"Yikes," I said as I cupped my chin. "I would be deterred alone by the mere sight of such a thing."

"That's why this is one of the more popular items. Even us turians have adapted the style for personal use."

I glanced down into the glass case again and pointed to the knife. "I'm sold, then. You can throw in that knife with my order– along with a holster for both it and the pistol."

"Most excellent," the turian nodded in an appreciating manner. "That will be 5500 credits in total."

It took a lot of willpower for me not to choke on air. 5500 credits was a little more than two months' salary for me, but then I remembered that I was overflowing with wealth, so this was practically a drop in the bucket for me. I began to breathe normally again. Trust me, going from poor to rich in literally no time in all takes a long while to get used to.

I signed off on the receipt (and just like before, no identification was requested) and the clerk slid the weapons across the counter in my direction. I slipped the knife into its holster and fastened it to the waistline of my pants. The Phalanx I placed into a large pocket of my jacket.

Before I left, the clerk raised his hand. "One more thing. Store policy states that I have to remind you that you're not going to be able to fire that weapon for the next forty-eight hours. It's part of the safety regulation that all gun proprietors now follow since last month in that the latest software inside the gun locks up the mechanism until the stated time period has passed."

I unconsciously patted the gun that was now in my jacket. "No, I did not know that," I mused. "Why was that implemented again?"

"To deter criminals from immediately performing crimes once they get their weapons or to give an appropriate amount of time for suicidal people to consider their disposition after they purchase a firearm. It hasn't really effected sales all that much, so I guess I can't complain."

I stared sourly at the pistol in my pocket. Great, for forty-eight hours I would still be vulnerable to anyone with a weapon in hand. If was going to be mugged and shot again, I would still be unable to defend myself. I could always lock myself in my apartment for the next two days and have my groceries delivered to me before I could pronounce it safe for me to venture outside again. At least I had options to consider.

I had barely gone three steps out of the door with my new, yet currently functionless, pistol before a light on the back of my hand started pinging. I jumped, startled, but realized that it was just my omni-tool that was producing the light show and annoying sounds to go with it. I opened my tool and found that apparently, I was getting a message from a "Nathan Houser." Apparently this man's name was also labeled as "Asshole" in parentheses. Great, now I really was looking forward to answering this call. Somehow, I doubt I would enjoy talking with a person that I had apparently disliked before in the past.

"Hello?" I answered, not sure if I should hold my hand close to my ear like a cell phone or that the cybernetics in my body would catch my words without me having to speak in my tool. Could I treat calls like Bluetooth devices in that they were hands-free? Culture shock is very real here and I'm not even close to getting caught up.

"Where the fuck are you, McLeod?!" a raspy voice burst into my ear. This guy sounded like he had some beef with me and I was still fumbling in the dark. I was at a loss for words momentarily.

"I don't know what you're talking about…Nathan," I said, almost forgetting the man's name and tacked it on at the end like it was an afterthought.

"Enough with the lip, you little prick!" Ouch. "You said that you were only going to take four days off for vacation time and guess what? It's day five and you are not in your desk and those three dozen T-SOS reports have not been inputted into the ERP system yet, which is what you said you'd do when you got back. I've got Clusky breathing down my neck for an update on the Rider account and with your disappearance, we've gone nowhere! Our progress has stalled, clients are bombarding me left and right, IT is useless at resolving the software issues, and we've got several shipments stalled in drydock! Order batching is fucked, pal, so where the fuck are you?!"

Geez, sounded like this Nathan Houser had a legitimate problem. I knew a potential meltdown when I heard one, but there was virtually nothing that I could do at this point. The Sam McLeod they knew was well-versed in business law but right now that is a field that I know exactly jack about. I was about as useful as a grave robber in a crematorium to them, all things considered. I just had to handle this situation as delicately as possible so that I would hurt the least amount of feelings as possible.

"Sorry," I blurted out loud. "Can't help you with that, Nathan."

You're a fuckhead, Sam. "Delicately" just isn't in your vocabulary, eh?

"Hey, wiseass!" Nathan bellowed. "Just because you think you're hot shit from getting rich off the stock market while the rest of us saps have to bust our asses just to have ends meet doesn't make you above the rules of this firm! You get into this office at the end of the day or so help me, you will never set foot in another law firm in this galaxy! I know you, McLeod, and that means that you're not the type to burn bridges like this. You've always been a pain in my ass, but you're a hard worker. Don't leave me hanging like this, man."

I was torn. What could I do? Sit blankly in front of a computer monitor and attempt to interpret documents that I did not have a clue of what they meant? Like I wanted to sit in a cubicle for the rest of my professional career. This Nathan Houser, despite knowing who I was, did not know who I am now. To be brutally honest, this was a bridge that I could afford to burn, yet I did not know how to put my line of reasoning into a form of verbal communication that would make sense to even the most observant of conversationalists.

It took a moment of hesitation, but my next move was to simply press the disconnect button on my omni-tool, leaving me to mentally move on with my life. I was never one to have some sort of smart comeback at the critical moment, especially when faced with losing a job I never even knew I had. Nathan Houser would most likely be shitting his pants on the other line, but when my current knowledge of such an industry would be more detrimental to his firm than helpful, I was actually doing him a favor, all things considered. I had no knowledge of my workplace, my coworkers, or even my job title. I know it seemed like I was being a dick, but in my head it was better to cut all ties rather than string everyone along for a lie I knew I could not keep up for very long. I had the luxury of starting anew, if that was ever going to be my intention.

Having been walking and talking at the same time throughout that short-lived conversation, I'm afraid that I had made a wrong turn somewhere in my absentmindedness, because the route that I was on did not look anything like the boulevard back to my apartment. That was probably going to be a common theme because I found that I got disoriented a lot more easily as of late. Gee, I wonder why? In any case, this dark alley that I was in looked rather rapey, but all I had to do was turn a corner at the next crossroads and I could reconnect with the street that took me back to my place, according to my map application. Not too far to go, from what I understood.

Turns out I was terrible at reading the legend on my map as the next corner was over thirty meters away from where I currently was, and the atmosphere did not look any more inviting. I should have turned back some time ago but since my common sense was operating at an all-time low, I kept going. So far I had not seen any people trying to rape or murder me in the shadows, never mind a single soul at all, so I was feeling more confident at keeping my chin held high. Project an air of confidence and trouble will not pounce was my line of logic. Just ten more seconds and I would be able to see the light at the end of the tunnel around the bend. I'll be back home before I know it!

Right as I was about to turn left, I heard a high-pitched scream echoed from the rightmost side of the alley that I was approaching, causing me to stop in my tracks. My hands instinctively shot towards my gun but slackened when I remembered that the pistol still had the electronic lock on it. I also had that knife, but I was not one for getting up close and personal, despite purchasing such a weapon. I've seen way too many war movies to know that getting knifed in retaliation is not a pleasant way to go. I believe that this was the point that I began to regret buying a knife in the first place.

The screaming continued and I shut my eyes, sickened at my situation. The person in need sounded about my age, a woman, but there was nothing I could do. I had no appropriate weaponry to swoop in and save the day like a superhero. Hell, I never would have done such a thing back in 2015, so why was I considering this in the first place?

"Don't do it, Sam," I whispered to myself. "Don't get involved."

Oh, fuck that, Sam! The little voice in my head yelled. Someone might be getting killed next to you and your first instinct is to do nothing?

"It's not my place to step in," I breathed. "That's a job for the cops."

Like they're going to arrive in time. You're in an alley where no one dares to venture unless absolutely necessary. For all you know, the cops are never going to show.

"Then I'll run and get help myself. I'm not going over there!"

You'll be too late. Whatever happened to the man who would stand up for a woman in need? You've gotten your ass beat before from defending women before. Granted, they were girlfriends, but how is this any different?

"It's not that simple," I emphasized. "I'm not going to risk my neck for someone I don't even-"

"Help!" The same woman cried, seemingly far away. "Someone help me! Pleeeaaassseeee!"

There was a thud, a high cry, and a masculine yell of, "Shut up, bitch!"

You're really going to walk away now, big guy?

I grimaced, now feeling nervousness begin to seep into the soles of my feet. I pounded the nearby wall in frustration before I drew my pistol from its holster. I gave the trigger a test squeeze and found that, yep, the software still had the entire contraption on lockdown. It was nothing more than a paperweight at this point, but no one else needed to know that. There was a word for someone like me at this moment: insane.

"Fuck!" I mumbled savagely. "I know I'm going to regret this."

And, like the idiot that I am, I proceeded not to the left as I had originally envisioned, but to the right with my useless pistol out in front. As I got closer to the sounds of the commotion, the noises from the victim were making me sick to my stomach.

"Please! I didn't steal anything! I only- AAH!"

"Jesus," I breathed as I heard a sharp sound of what was undoubtedly a kick. The woman started to make terrible gulping noises as the wind was knocked out of her. I gave my head a little shake and crept forward, careful not to make any sounds from my shoes on the ground.

"Don't lie to us!" A nasty voice echoed. "Where else would you get something like that unless you stole it? You seriously believe that filth like you earned that legitimately?"

Another kick, another yell. I was getting less nervous and more infuriated. I hated to know that an innocent woman was getting hurt. My overinflated sense of honor was kicking in here, giving me the urge to jump in and defend the helpless. In my opinion, beating a woman is one of the lowest possible things one could do. This had to end now.

As I edged around a dumpster, I could see three shapes standing over a figure huddled over the ground. Three? Shit, I only thought I was dealing with one guy. Too late, though. I'm too close to ignore this, so I'd better hope that all three of these assholes fall for my bluff. Two of these assailants were human but the ringleader appeared to be a turian. They were dressed plainly, dark colors, but their overall demeanor told me that they were used to trodding over those they considered to be lower than them. These guys needed to be put in their place.

Through the tangle of feet, I finally got a glimpse of the woman, which made me gape in surprise. My mental image, naturally, was of a human in distress but I guess I was not prepared to see a quarian instead. The alien was wearing the traditional bodysuit that all members of their race wore, colored a midnight black, and her hood was a deep blood-red. That same color also appeared in vivid trails down the fabric that enveloped her body. The quarian currently lay in a fetal position, one hand raised in pleading, the other near her face to protect her visor from shattering. Even without any facial cues for me to pinpoint, I could definitely tell from her body language that the female quarian was deathly afraid.

"No…" the quarian whimpered. "No…OWWW! AGH!"

The turian had given yet another kick to the quarian, this time in the chest, and took the moment when she was flailing about to stamp down on her hand hard. I could hear a crunching noise and I knew that bones had been broken. The combination of the quarian's cries and the laughter from the men surrounding her was driving me over the edge, my own survival instincts be damned. It was time to settle this.

I chose an empty bottle on the ground to bat away with my foot and announce my presence, causing the three men to turn around abruptly. "Fellas," I said, amazingly without a hint of fear in my voice, as I held my pistol out. "You'd better back away, real slowly."

There was no hammer for me to cock back, which was always a silly move that was prevalent in films, but I think that such a noise would have provided me with a bit more of a backbone. I certainly could have used a bit of assurance right now. The assaulters did not seem to be afraid, despite the fact that they held no weapons apart from a bottle that one of the humans was holding. Could they tell that my gun did not work? Did I just happen to screw myself over by doing this?

The lead turian gave a snort and a dismissive wave. "Piss off, pal. This doesn't concern you."

"Oh yeah?" I retorted with a jab of my pistol. "Well, pal, this does happen to concern me. I don't like people beating up women. The fact that you three would stoop so low to do such a thing is beyond scummy. Get the fuck out of here before something happens that you'll regret."

"Really?" the turian laughed. "We're just doing our civic duty here. Suit-rats should not be allowed free reign on the Citadel. Why would a human defend a quarian, anyway?"

"Does it really matter what race she is?" Well, it was not like I had my entire lifetime to develop grudges against any of the races. To me, they were all equal. Yet that was obviously not how the galaxy saw it. "I won't ask you again."

"Help…m-me…" the quarian whimpered.

The human on the right took a swig of his bottle and belched. "Fuck you, asshole. You're a pussy. If you were going to shoot us, you'd have done it by now."

I now held the Phalanx with both hands and aimed it at the loudmouth. "Call me a pussy one more time and you'll see if I have the balls or not."

My big mouth was acting up again. If I wasn't high on adrenaline, I would have known that I just fucked myself by bluffing too high.

The quarian was softly moaning behind the men and I involuntarily glanced in her direction for a split second. That was when everything went to hell all at once. The human with the bottle wound his arm up and chucked the glass in my direction, yelling "Pussy!" for emphasis. I turned back at just the right moment for the bottle to smash onto my forehead and shatter, the glass slicing my skin open in several places. Blood poured into my eyes and the remaining alcohol splashed onto my cuts, creating a stinging sensation. I yelled at the terrible pain and clasped a hand to my face.

My arm that held the pistol had been pointing down at the ground while I was reeling from the first blow, and the attackers promptly forgot about the quarian and ran towards me instead.

Oh boy.

Fists suddenly smashed into my head and I dropped to a knee, my arms blindly swinging about, trying to catch one of my assailants. It was no use, though. A hail of punches battered my body and I screamed, facing the worst pain in my life. I was thrown this way and that, blood spurting out of a dozen places in my body. I expelled the foul substance from my mouth, my teeth stained a deep red, and I collapsed to the ground.

I felt fingers scrambling to pry the gun out of my grip, but I resisted and curled up into a ball on the grimy and filthy ground. That did not stop the men from laying into me as hard as they could. Kicks were substituted for punches and each blow was hard enough to create bruises. I shut my eyes and prayed that the agony would end, but an errant foot caught my nose at precisely the right angle and it broke with a horrid noise, causing me to cry out in pain. Blood gushed in a torrent down my face as my nose jutted at an awkward angle. My entire face felt numb and I felt like I was about to black out. My eyelids felt swollen and heavy, my lungs ached, and my body throbbed.

Well done, Sam. Another idiotic blunder to add to your ever-growing resume of fuck-ups.

A foot drove itself into my back and I arched in pain, only for another foot to sink into my stomach, driving the wind out of me. As I doubled over and coughed, the turian's fingers made another grab for the pistol in my left hand, only this time I was in no shape to properly mount a defense. The alien twisted the pistol violently and two of my fingers broke, but I barely felt it. The gun was now in the hands of my attacker while I bled in this godforsaken alley. All three men backed away to give the turian some room. I spat out a red string of drool, slowly trailing my head up to face the dark barrel of my own Phalanx, cradled in the hands of an out of breath turian while he bore down on me.

"Surprise, asshole," the turian cackled as he pulled the trigger, but his face quickly changed from gleeful to confused as he attempted to fire the gun, only to realize that the firing mechanism had been locked this entire time. The alien shook the weapon in his hands, desperate for it to work, while I slowly brought my right hand underneath my jacket, towards the side of my waist.

I gave a tiny laugh, watching the turian grow more and more frustrated as the pistol failed to fire. Guess the bluff worked in some small measure after all. "Surprise," I breathed as I slid the black knife from its holster and, with a surge of fresh energy, raised myself up off the ground and slashed at the turian's side with a quick movement.

The alien gave a howl as the cold metal pierced his skin underneath his flimsy shirt, creating a ragged tear that immediately gushed hot blue blood. I did my best to turn the blade within the man's body to cause him more pain, and I withdrew the knife before it became too agonizing for me to sit up. As I viciously jerked the knife away, the now blue shining blade caught the turian's hand that held my weapon during the backswing, and came into contact with two of the man's fingers. The Phalanx bounced to the ground, along with the severed digits to ooze blood all over the ground, while the wounded turian screamed and moaned, hastily retreating with his buddies. The trio skirted down the alley and took the nearest corner, frightened that one of their own had gotten seriously injured. I guess I was no longer on their chopping block for the day.

Groaning, I gingerly felt my face after I placed my gun and knife back into their holsters. My fingers came away dark red. Yeah, that was not a good sign. Half of my face felt sticky, my beard was caked with blood, and I knew that there were several bones in my body that were broken. So this was how being hazed at a fraternity felt like. The thought was so inane that I could not help gurgling out a dismal laugh, only to be cut short by the soft crying of the quarian behind me. I had almost forgotten about her.

"Christ…Almighty!" I bellowed as I hastened to stand up, only to be met with a fierce headache. Nails! It felt like nails were being driven into my skull! I gave up on trying to stand and crawled over to the quarian instead.

I found myself staring for a bit. The quarian was unlike any other alien I've seen up close, mostly because their race were restricted to form-fitting enviro-suits due to their weak immune systems, completely masking their faces and expressions. They were of similar build to humans, but they only had six fingers and toes in total compared to our ten, their waists were severely thinner, and their legs relied on digitigrade locomotion instead of plantigrade in humans. Because of the suit, though, I could not immediately tell where the quarian was injured, but from the way she was clutching her chest I could guess that she had a broken rib or two. Her dark red visor was still intact, and I could see the faint outline of a nose and two glowing eyes through the smoky glass. Much of the fabric that draped her form was in tatters; she looked pitiful.

"H-Help…" she coughed. "Help…m-m-me…"

The quarian looked to be in a bad way, so I engaged my omni-tool and shouted for it to find me a clinic. Fortunately, it indicated that there was one just a couple blocks down the way. There was no time for an alert to be processed if I knew that I could accomplish the job quicker, despite my injuries. Gritting my teeth and hoping that I didn't black out from the exertion, I lifted the quarian by placing her upper body and the back of her legs atop my arms in such a manner that they did not aggravate my broken fingers. My knees wobbled as I straightened up, but I did not drop her. With the taste of copper in my mouth and my own blood fusing half my face shut, I began the slow stagger out of the alleyway and into the streets of the Citadel.

It must have been afterhours or something because the pedestrian walkways were completely deserted. I was the only soul traversing them while carrying a quarian in my arms. I was huffing and puffing; sweat mixed with my blood in rivulets down my face. My vision was beginning to turn red; my body could not take more abuse.

"Who…" the quarian stirred, "…who…are…?"

"Save your strength," I shushed her. "Don't try to talk." However, I caught a pleading glance from her milky eyes underneath that visor and my expression softened somewhat. "Call me Sam," I whispered, trying to get her to relax.

"N…Ny…Ny…" the quarian tried to speak but she gave a tiny groan and fell limp. Alarmed, I tried to hurry my limping pace, ignoring the new ache that decided to flare up in my legs. I was searching for that big red cross, like it was a beacon of light guiding me on my path.

I did not notice the exact moment when I passed through the sliding doors to the clinic, nor could I feel the nurses gently taking the body of the quarian from my arms, leaving me to wheeze at the relief thankfully. Someone waved a flashlight in front of my eyes and dabbed at my face with a cloth, turning it bloody in an instant. I tried to mumble my way out of being interred here, but I was forcibly, yet gently, lowered into a stretcher.

The last thing that I remember is a slight prick on my arm and a needle gently withdrawing away from the area. At that moment, all I felt was exasperation and a sense of disbelief.

They just sedated me. Motherfucker.

"Not…again…" I slurred before the unwanted blackness swallowed me up.

Thankfully, I was not sedated as long as the last time.

My shirt was the only article of clothing ruined from my blood but I was still able to wear my jacket and pants. I was only out for half an hour and awake in forty-five minutes. No surgery for this go as there was minimal repair needed for my wounds. When I had awoken, the staff had given me a tablet listing everything that they had done to fix me up this time around so that I could review the procedures myself.

The list revealed a brutal assortment of injuries, to my shock. When the bottle, the first blow of the night, had smashed against my head, it had left glass splinters in my forehead. Those had to be pried out with tweezers and the wounds were sealed with medi-gel. In fact, medi-gel was used for pretty much every injury that I had accumulated, from my bruises to my broken bones. My nose had been realigned while I was out and fused with a direct injection of the miraculous stuff. It was as good as new now – no disfigurement or any scars. Hell, apart from some soreness, it did not feel that I had just gotten my ass whooped.

A couple officers from C-Sec had walked into my room just after I had woken up and asked me all the usual questions pertaining to identifying my assailants. I answered their queries as best as I could, yet I don't think the information I gave them was helpful enough to them in any way, yet they seemed grateful for my cooperation. They had left me in peace which was when I had started to look over the results from my operation.

I soon set the tablet to the side and hopped off the bench in the sparse room, making sure to zip up my jacket. A doctor with a somber smile entered the room just as I was lacing up my shoes.

"Leaving already, Mr. McLeod?" he asked.

"Something like that," I replied. "I'm not really content to stay in one place for very long if I can help it."

"No severe pain? Nothing too debilitating?"

I lifted my arms several times to test them and stretched my body a bit. "Not that much, actually. You guys did good work."

"Well, I'm glad for that," the doctor said, relieved. "Although it would be remiss of me not to mention that you should take it easy for the next couple days. Your bones are technically all healed up but it would be best to play things safely until your body recovers from the trauma."

"No need to tell me twice," I gave a nervous chuckle. "After what happened today, I don't think I'll be going outdoors ever again."

The doctor gave a smile and pointed to my abdomen, dismissing my glib comment. "I noticed that you appeared to have a recent scar on your torso, one that looks to be consistent with a gunshot wound."

"You would be correct. I guess I haven't had the best of luck lately."

The man's face was sympathetic. "Perhaps your string of bad luck ends here. For both our sakes, I do hope that this will be your last visit to a hospital in the near future."

"You and me both, buddy. You and me both."

Personally, I doubted such a thing.

I grabbed my items from the table and made sure to fasten them to my belt. The doctor accompanied me as I left the room and proceeded down the hall to the exit. "Did C-Sec put you through too much of a hassle?" he asked.

"What about?"

"About the people that attacked you, I mean."

I gave a shrug as we rounded a corner. "Not that much. They were actually very accommodating. Because the alley where I got attacked was pretty dark, I was not able to make out their faces quite so well. I don't know if I gave them enough information to find the people responsible, but I do know that I helped them to the best of my ability."

"Well, if you want my opinion, I'd suggest staying clear of the place where you were brutally assaulted. Those were some nasty wounds that you received."

"And again, I'm thankful that you patched me up," I indicated towards the doctor. "I'm able to walk away with nary another scar, all because of you and your staff."

The doctor's expression turned grave. "Yes, but unfortunately, the quarian you brought in was not so lucky. Here, let's make a quick detour."

The man indicated towards a hallway opposite the exit and I dutifully followed, interested to hear what he had to say. We proceeded down the corridor for a couple dozen paces before we stopped right in front of a large window. The doctor gestured me to glance inside but I was not quite sure of what I was supposed to be looking at. A set of white curtains was positioned in front of the window, completely obscuring the view inside but I soon noticed that a silhouette from a figure lying on a bed inside the room was being projected against the curtain quite firmly. The shape was small and slender, humanoid, and then I knew that I was looking at the quarian.

"Is…" I gestured. "Is she…?"

"Dead?" The doctor finished before he gave a shake of his head. "No, she is not. She is just resting. We had to remove her suit so that we could operate on her, though, and her body's recovering at the moment. She's still in her twilight sleep from the sedatives that we gave her – but she's still unmasked. It's a clean room, so there's no risk of her getting an infection. We put the curtain up for her privacy, you understand."

"Wait, operate?" I did a double-take. "What kind of operation are we talking about here? I assumed that because of her disoriented state and repeated lapses of consciousness that the worst she had gained was a concussion. A few broken ribs maybe."

"You seem to have some knowledge of these things. Med student?"

"That obvious, huh?" I scratched at my beard.

"Not that many people even know some of the symptoms of a concussion, much less are able to diagnose one. To answer your question, the quarian did have a concussion, most likely from a kick to the head that corresponds to a bruise we found at a potential impact site on her scalp, but that was not the worst injury that we discovered."

"Go on," I said, now feeling a bit nervous.

"The quarian had multiple broken bones, including a cracked tibia and some crushed digital bones. Those we repaired easily with medi-gel, but we first discovered that she was having difficulty breathing when we brought her in the emergency room. We took a quick X-ray and found something terrifying. Apparently, one of her ribs had indeed broken when she was being beaten, but it had splintered in such a way that it had been driven into one of her lungs, puncturing it and causing it to partially collapse."

"Oh Christ," I muttered as I ran a hand through my hair. "Traumatic pneumothorax."

"Precisely. As you know lung collapses can be fatal if not treated immediately. The quarian's blood pressure had fallen dramatically by the time we wheeled her in, which was an obvious indication that something was wrong apart from the impaired breathing. We had to make an incision in the skin as we could not reach the wound itself via the esophagus and sealed up the tear in the lungs while she received secondary oxygen." The doctor turned toward me, his face utterly serious. "There's no question about it, Mr. McLeod. If you hadn't intervened, that woman would be dead."

My head slowly rotated and I could feel my eyes widen dramatically. My chest tightened as my brain took a long time to process those words. "You're…you're quite sure about that?" I whispered.

"Absolutely. The quarian is alive now, thanks to you. It's only…are you all right, sir?"

"I…I…" I stammered as I raised a shaking hand to wipe the sweat off my brow. I felt clammy, like I was going into shock. "I just need a moment…to process this."

Oh. My. God. It had not occurred to me before, nor did it hit me until after the fact. How could I have been so stupid? Why did I not see it coming?

What have I done? What did I just do? Holy shit, I just changed someone's future. I saved someone who would have died without my involvement. By walking into that alley, I diverted all of the attention from the attackers onto me, and I drove them off. That quarian was meant to have died in that alley last night – beaten to death by a bunch of thugs - and I just altered the course of events.

Abruptly, I wheeled about and shuffled towards the exit of the facility. I could hear the nervous click of heels on tiles from the doctor as he tried to catch up to me. "Mr. McLeod, is something the matter? You look progressively worse than usual. Do you want to stay here for a little longer and rest?"

"Absolutely not," I snapped, my own lungs now feeling like they were the ones that were punctured. "I don't want to stay here any longer. But, can you do me a favor, doc?"

"What is it?"

I pointed back to the room where the quarian was resting. "Do not, under any circumstances, mention to her my name when she wakes up."

"Sir, you understand that I'm obliged to doctor-patient confidentiality but in this case, I'm a little confused as to you not wanting the quarian to know exactly who saved her. I would guess that such a fact would be the first thing she will ask for when she regains consciousness."

"Trust me," I hissed. "It will be better for everyone if I remain as anonymous as possible. Give her my first name if you must, but do not utter anything more than that. Promise me this, doc. Please."

The doctor swallowed hard, a noticeable lump traveling down his throat. "As you wish, Mr. McLeod. I will not say a word to her."

"I appreciate it," I said as I shook the man's hand. "Thank you for your assistance in the matter."

I could not get out of the hospital fast enough. As soon as I exited the doors, I felt immeasurably sick once again and I knew what was coming next. I double-timed it over to a nearby waste receptacle and bent my head just in time for me to vomit into it. I could hear disgusted noises coming from passerby, but I was too engrossed in puking my guts up to care. As soon as it ended, I slumped onto a bench, that terrible feeling of dread causing my skin to prickle uncomfortably.

I hated throwing up. Hated it! Yet this was the second time in a week that I had done it. I just felt so sick at this point, of thinking that I had done the right thing and having it blow up in my face. It was a horrible sensation, one that rooted me down on the bench for me to wallow in my misery.

Regret. That's what enveloped me. Just that sinking feeling of having screwed up so horribly that I found it hard to do anything else. I mean, for god's sake, Sam, you promised yourself that you wouldn't get involved in anything at all! Apparently I had a lapse of judgment in thinking that avoiding the main plot of the games would be the limit in terms of my participation. Well, now I've gone and done it by saving the life of a person who would have died in this universe otherwise. I should have planned this more thoroughly! What if that quarian was going to somehow be critical to the main plot, now that she didn't die? I could have fucked over everyone just from that simple act. Shit!

I felt like I was going to throw up again, but I didn't. Instead I sat on the bench for a little while longer, once again pondering if all I would ever do was to interfere with the narrative and mess everything up. If that was the case, then I should just do the honorable thing and make a second attempt at killing myself so that I don't end up disrupting anything else.

But there was still the flip side of the coin. Maybe that quarian's survival would do nothing to dramatically change the future. Maybe I would have a lucky break, but I would never know the definitive results of my work unless I saw them through until the end. Now I had a good reason to live, one that combated the desire to commit suicide head-on. Unable to come up with a definitive argument for offing myself again, I begrudgingly began to shuffle back home. I guess I could hang around and witness the fruits of my labor.

All this thought about suicide was giving me another headache. I needed a nap to clear my head and rest my stomach. I could use a smoke as well.

I'm just the embodiment of optimism, am I right?

A/N: Another chapter in and Sam already broke one of his rules. That man just can't do anything right.

What I've noticed in a lot of SI stories that I've perused, it always seems like the protagonist goes from being a wimp to being a master of all forms of combat without any prior training and without any character development. Sam, on the other hand, is going to get his ass handed to him whenever he gets into a brawl. It's intentional that way so as his own development stays within realistic limits. He's going to get hurt because he's a sloppy and untrained fighter, which is an aspect usually glossed over in these stories: the protagonist's mortality.

To give you an update on how this story is doing, you guys helped push the views past 1,000 just yesterday. That's pretty impressive for being only three chapters in at the time, so a big thank you to everyone reading this story. Also, keep the reviews coming! I look forward to feedback like that the most.

One more thing, to get an idea of what the audience is looking for, please tell me what it is about Sam's character that you really like. Conversely, if there is anything that could be improved with his character (except telling him to lighten up - he's glum for a reason!) feel free to give out a recommendation.

I look forward to seeing where this leads.