11
Chapter Four: Post Traumatic
(…)
The music of crickets, carried in a light breeze, was amplified by the narrow corridors of the alley that Commander Shepard stood in. The rear entrance to the pharmacy was laid unsecured before her. She placed a single hoof upon it and was content to apply enough force to open it just a smidge over a hair's width. When the well oiled hinges made not a sound she was reassured to push a little more, and a bit more still, until the gap was adequate enough to allow Commander Shepard to take a tentative peek inside.
The interior of the building was obscured by the night, impossible to make out exact details. There was little help forthcoming from the pitiful amounts of moonlight that managed to slip past the storefront windows. A moment of alarm sparked her nerves at the sight. Experience had shown that even in the most innocuous of places there were indeed things that went bump in the night. Demons waiting in the dark corners of the cosmos, in between stars, planning and waiting. Only the dead survived such travels unless one was wise enough and packed enough heavy firepower.
It didn't help that the last time she'd run afoul of such a place it had been choked by the bodies of hundreds, if not thousands, of dead humans awaiting processing into a new Reaper dreadnaught. Shepard shook her head, to clear it of such dark reflections. It was no use dwelling on it as there was none of that madness here. As silver linings went this was incredibly significant and a most welcomed change. She had hoped to retire after the Reaper war anyway. Just she was never imagining that things would take a turn for the bizarre and the...adorable.
The Commander was privately chuckling to herself at such a strange notion. She was about to administer more pressure against the door when...
Suddenly there was a sensation of a hammer striking against her chest. The whole of her ribcage felt gripped by a vice, crushing under an invisible force. Her lifeforce was beating rapidly in her veins, ready to punch its way out. She stumbled, placing a hoof on her chest while her breathing was accelerating, becoming fast and shallow. The former human fell away from the door and violently slammed herself against the wall, sliding down to rest in a crouched bipedal position. Finding cover from the invisible enemy that had struck her down.
'Not again, not here.' It was hard to think. Scattered thoughts followed by waves of panic slamming against her mental walls. It had started with nightmares, the ones that plagued her dreams after the Reaper occupation of Earth was followed by the slaughter of million of people. None more terrible than that little boy, no more than nine year old. He had died right in front of her, it was her fault that his blood stained her hands upon the countless other souls she'd failed to save.
'They were all my responsibility. I should've been ready, should've prepared more.' The sound of grinding enamel was heard from a grimaced scowl that danced across her face. A cold sweat mingled with the frigid air and chilled her to the bone; breathing was getting harder and faster.
'If only that damned Council had listened to me!' Then the shaking started as every muscle in her body trembled, almost painfully so. Her body would not respond to her will, every thought was stuck on trying to remain calm as her very physical form was rejecting her. It was shortly after the nightmares that the trembling had started. Mildly at first and nothing she couldn't handle. Nothing she was incapable of keeping hidden from the crew.
The biotic energy flowing through her implants was starting to spiral out of control, like water circling a drain. She couldn't keep it contained, it was growing more and more unstable and she, unable to exercise her will, started to bleed biotic power causing her to glow a faint color of purple. It had never gotten this bad before until that one time in the desert.
It had occurred when she'd first awoken, right after discharging the energy of the Crucible. She had been gasping and writhing in pain, in this new body. Saying that she reacted poorly to losing her very humanity was like saying the speed of light was really slow. She had fallen into despair, cried out in anger, suffering as much then as she was now. The same pressure and loss of balance, all control over her power evaporating and it had ended in the release of a massively powerful biotic blast. A circle of devastation was all around her, she had cooked the nearby plants and animals, vaporizing them into chunks of blackened carbon.
The tragedy was that the animals had seen her distress and had approached her. Whether out of curiosity or concern she would never know. For their reward was a shallow open grave, a thin crater of destruction etched into the ground forever.
Steeling herself, as her fighting instincts took over, Shepard forced herself to breathe in deep and measured rhythms. Trying to convince herself that this was a world apart from her own, and untainted by the Reapers poisonous influence. The enemy was defeated and was no longer capable of harming anyone, anywhere, ever again. Yet, the eruption of fear within her refused to withdraw easily. If she lost there was no telling how much damage a biotic release would do. She reached to her sides and back trying to find a weapon, any weapon. Something, anything familiar that spoke safety and reassurance, but there was nothing for her.
Then a forehoof shot its way to her neck and touched the necklace with her dog tags. The metal nametags jingled furiously under her trembling appendage. The cold touch was the moment when there was a fracture in her terror, a reprieve she took full advantage of and cracked open with sheer willpower. She was an Alliance soldier, an elite N7 rank, Captain of the Normandy. It was her duty to stay strong, to be a leader, and overcome every obstacle placed before her. Anderson was still out there waiting, depending on her. What would he think if he saw her now? She was better than this.
Somewhere, something had decided to take pity on her and the sudden emotional episode faded and Shepard fell back onto her haunches. All in all, the ordeal only lasted maybe half a minute, but felt like half a lifetime. Enough time to make her worry that she had drawn unwanted attention from a certain friend.
"...herd...Shepard!" The Commander snapped to the realization that Anderson had been calling her name repeatedly.
"I read you, Anderson." She answered, out of breath.
"Shepard, are you ok?" Anderson's voice was fill with a tone of alarm and concern clearly evident over an undertone of panic. The open comm channel having been active the entire time.
"Yeah," Shepard groaned, trying herself, "I'm alright. Just...bad memories." she wiped the sweat from her forehead.
"Commander, it sounded like you were under attack. There's more to it. What is going on?"
"It's nothing," she snapped, a deep breath, and then more calmly, "I'm ok, alright. Now is not the time to worry about it anyway." A few seconds of silence followed before the dark human spoke with reluctant resignation.
"Ok, Just be careful."
"I will." Shepard replied with more confidence than she felt.
Recovered, but was still quivering, the former human pushed the door further ajar, all the way open to expose the source of her unknown fear. Confidence growing, yet cursing the lack of a proper flashlight, she entered the pharmacy through a fully opened doorway. The room had become partially illuminated by a beam of moonlight that exposed Shepard's presence in a fashion that came across as both dramatic and mysterious. Leaving her front cast in shadow, yet highlighted the outline of her equine form in an otherworldly glow. Being a woman of action she took a quick reconnaissance of the room before jumping into a shadowed corner to hide.
She saw that the pharmacy interior was as big as it had looked from the outside and was cramped by all the various items of furniture and decor. At the front of the store, to the left, there were around seven chairs arranged into a makeshift waiting room. Nearby was an alcove where a flight of stairs led to the second floor. On the right were four, wood framed, spartan beds dressed with white sheets, pillows, and blankets. Each one also had an overhanging lamp, like the ones found in dentist chairs. The very same ones with the sickly yellow light that made it seem more like an interrogation than a friendly visit.
The beds and lamps were set against the wall and arranged in a straight line that lead up to the centerpiece of the room which was a L-shaped service counter built out of polished wood. It smelled slightly of disinfectant and was connected to a series of shelves and and glass cabinets that headed all the way from the counter around the remaining perimeter of the room and stopped just short of the, 'waiting room,' and alcove of stairs.
Limbs bent and belly hair tickled by her proximity to the floor, for maximum cover, Shepard was slowly and carefully crawling from her hiding place. The sound of her hooves clopping loudly on the wooden floor was unnerving, it could just as well have been thunderclaps. Walking, or rather sneaking, like this leant itself to very strange feeling that up until now she hadn't really given much consideration.
A train of thought which she rode to help keep her mind occupied and stave off another meltdown. Concerning how easily locomotion had come to her in this new quadrupedal body. Walking as a pony felt to be the human equivalent of crawling on her hands and knees, but crawling, as she was now, felt like she was shimmying on her elbows and knees. At least that is how her human mind translated it. A couple of theories, albeit brief, had taken their turns at attempting to explain this weird sensation as she pressed herself behind the L-shaped counter. All the drawers and sliding cabinets were easy to open by the handles shaped to fit inside a hoof.
The ideal theories Shepard considered had included DNA and gene-alteration coupled with extensive mental rewrite, or a mind-control chip, that was responsible. Such an idea suggested an external force was behind this. Possibly a scientific experiment of the sort Cerberus used to perform or it was a side effect of direct exposure to the dark energies of the Crucible. Perhaps her ability to adapt quickly was a side effect of having extensive cybernetic and biotic implants that augmented her natural abilities and allowed the manipulation of the mass effect fields, her biotics, around her body.
While such thoughts tumbled and turned, she was rummaging through all manner of oddities stuffed inside the cabinets. Cleaning chemicals and disinfectants, nothing unusual about that except the containers had a much more 'modern' feel to them. Bright colors and star explosions boasting such feats as, 'Cleans all known surfaces,' 'Kills 79.9 plus 20 percent of all germs,' and the pièce de résistance, 'The best selling brand in all Equestria.'
'Equestria, huh?' Shepard wondered if that was the name of the state or of the nation. Given its bold declaration her gut said it was the latter, but she couldn't be certain. Another shelf saw her hit pay dirt and it was in the form of fresh bed sheets and blankets, rolled up and secured with string. She pulled two of each onto the floor next to her, claiming her prizes.
Perhaps the greatest trophy came in the form of a black medical bag, the kind doctor's used in the old days when they still made house calls. The bag was heavy and rattled with all sorts of instruments contained within. She eagerly removed it from storage and placed it on the floor before her. All she had to do was open it and check its contents.
Now, Shepard had accomplished many incredible feats of skill in her time. From tracking down serial killers, undercover operations, personally defeating three Reapers, and even surviving death twice. Yet the bag might as well have been a black hole of failure as all her attempts to do something as simple as opening the damned thing proved fruitless.
'Damn this wretched little bastard!' If Shepard wasn't so worried about her unstable biotics she swore she would have tossed the satchel into the air and obliterated it with a shockwave. There were no clasps, locks, or zippers; the top looked like it should simply fold open, but some mysterious force kept it closed.
Still trying to open the medical satchel Shepard had retreating back towards her inner deliberations. The simplest idea she found to explain her near instantaneous adaptation to movement, and ironically the superiority of hands over hooves, was when she'd been accepted into the Interplanetary Combatives Training program. Located at Vila Militar, in Rio de Janeiro, it was a school used to train officers for special forces deployment and survival. It's what the N stood for in her N7 rank and why the facility was sometimes referred to as the 'N-School' or 'the villa.'
All trainees were subjected to the harshest exercise and training regiments for twenty hours a day, seven days a week. Only the best survived to graduation, yet there was no shame placed in failure due to the unreasonable amounts of physical and mental hardships recruits were expected to endure. It was the best move of her career when Shepard had applied. Yet, during her tenure, she had always believed, but could never confirm, that her drill instructor, one Master Sgt. Hershel, was an unforgiving bigot towards biotic humans and anything having to do with them.
Especially Shepard, since she was always assigned the crappiest duties when she failed. Even when she surpassed an exercise above the rest of her class, Sgt. Hershel would chew her out for, 'rising above her station,' or for, 'acting superior because she was a biotic.' That's when Shepard received the worse punishments because the sergeant felt that she, 'needed to be put in her place.' Such things usually involved crawling through ducts to fix things like a clogged septic pipe, cleaning out animals that had made the maintenance tunnels their home, or minor electrical work that was clearly not part of the 'N' program and should've been designated under the Engineering corps' purview. By the time she was finally awarded the coveted N1 rank she had probably crawled the distance from New York city all the way to San Diego and back.
Click.
The sound rattled Shepard out of her thoughts as the black bag was opened. A faint purple glow encompassed both the satchel and her hooves. It wasn't the fact that she'd used her biotics to do it, no, the realization that the energy was required to do it was what had struck her as extraordinary. Were there pony biotics? It was certainly possible considering the universe was home to multiple species with members capable of it. Especially the Asari who were all naturally born with the gift.
The pony-human had emptied the contents of the medical bag onto the floor, sure to
make as little sound as possible. Inside were many familiar items; stethoscope, tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze bandages, surgical tape, otoscope, magnifying glass, and a flashlight. Then there was the unfamiliar and strange; horseshoes, nails, a hammer, pliers, a nail file (or was that hoof file?), and...
Was that a duckbill speculum? Out of shock she had tried opening and closing it several times just to be sure, before feeling fully content to slide that particular piece far, far, far away from her. Sure the military required yearly physical examinations which naturally included scrutiny of such 'private places,' but at least scanner technology had progressed to the point that they didn't need to actually touch her.
The tweezers, scissors, three rolls of gauze, surgical tape, and flashlight were reintroduced to the black satchel. Satisfied with her catch, the fire maned pony was about to turn away when a gleam of moonlight off metal caught her attention. Right behind where the bag had been was a smooth metal flask; of the type popular for carrying shots of brandy or whiskey. Shepard reached out and took the object into her hooves.
Unscrewing the top she saw that the flask was filled to the brim with liquid and a quick sniff confirmed its contents. It smelled like really good whiskey, which was to say it hinted strongly of paint thinner. It felt like a flame had traveled up her nose and down her sinuses, burning all her nostril hairs away. She let loose a loud sneeze, which taunted her with a clamorous echo in the silent room. On impulse she felt tempted to sample the beverage, but resisted. This was hardly the time or place for such indulgences. It had a better use as an improvised antiseptic, for which it was invaluable. She placed the flask in the black bag.
Finished with the drawers, she turned to face the arrangement of cabinets filled with medicine jars full with either liquid, powder, crushed herb, or pill medications. Reading the various labels, she failed to recognize most of the names. She was not a pharmacist or a doctor by any wild stretch of the imagination. Though she did spot a bottle labeled, 'aspirin,' and another, laughably, marked 'snake oil.'
She angled to make a reach for the aspirin, but was interrupted when the jingle of keys followed by the rattling of a lock being undone reverberated like a distant alarm. Sure enough there was the faint click of a door being opened at the store front, followed by the heavy set clopping of an interloper's hooves upon the floor. Shepard dropped everything she was doing and sequestered herself in the corner of the L-shaped counter. Balancing herself on crouched hind legs.
"Augh, what a most miserable night." the newcomer said in an annoyed, yet suave tone of voice. Obviously a male pony judging from the deep vibrations of his speech. Shepard willed herself motionless and placed an arm over her mouth to muffle her breathing. Quickly coming to the realization that her only course of escape was either take the newcomer down without exposing herself or abort her mission and head back the way she came. A way which she left very much exposed.
'Of course!' Her self hatred was bouncing around her skull, aided by her other hoof pounding on her cranium.
'They don't have automatic doors here. How could I be so careless, damned idiot!' The moonlight which had once been a boon was now a curse as it highlighted the opened rear entrance. She'd taken too long and now she was cornered. She should've worried about opening that stupid bag only after gathering up everything she had found and had reached a place of safety. As if sensing her turmoil, the male began to make his way in her direction.
"Sweet merciful Celestia, did I forget to close the back door again." the stallion moaned followed by a sigh. officially
He meandered past the counter and was headed right for the back door. As he passed by, Shepard risked a sneak peek to see who he was. The white coat and black mane were both well groomed and slicked back with some kind of hair product, also hinting of a strong scent from some high brand of cologne. He was wearing a black vest and a similarly colored top hat, fitting the very description of a fallacious salesman. All he needed was a monocle to complete the set. Still, it was the horn jutting from his forehead that was the most unique quality of the male pony.
'A unicorn?' Shepard recognized the mythological creature for what it was; a relic of Earth's superstitious past and something that should not be able to exist. Yet, here it was, and it made a perfect fit within the twisted rules of this world. Unicorn, a fantastical creature in Earth legend with the body of a horse with a horn adorning its forehead, able to wield magic.
As fascinating as it was, to discover folk lore coming to life, Shepard remained steady in her spot. The stallion, she assumed to be Dr. Snake Oil, walked past her being none the wiser to the invader in his homestead.
"Oh...Oh my stars," Oil stuck his head out the rear door looking for something, "what is this energy I sense. A unicorn was here recently. I wonder...," What ever he had to say was viciously cut off as Shepard snuck up behind him. With the reflex of a king cobra, a forelimb was wrapped around his neck and pulled him back with crushing force. While a hoof clamped over his mouth.
Snake Oil jerked and kicked with the ferocity of a tiger, trying desperately to break free of his assailant. A couple of blows connected, still the assassin remained resolute. The hoof over his mouth stopped him from turning his head to discover his aggressor's face. It was impossible to scream as as his windpipe was clamped under an iron vice. He groaned and sputtered trying to beg for mercy, the pressure on his throat made his head want to explode. With every passing second his vision was growing darker and darker as he struggled with the desperation of a pony facing their imminent death; images of his family danced across his failing eyesight.
The hat fell from atop his head, rolling away as Shepard dragged him into a dark corner to complete her sinful task.
Shepard had her arm around his neck, crushing his trachea. Had the stallion been human the Commander's unyielding grip would have been perfectly placed to squeeze out the flow of blood through the jugular veins, starving the brain of oxygen within seconds. She never relented, her grip was tightening with every passing moment. Whether by denying the brain or lungs, she was committed to the grim ending. Time slowed to the pace of molasses as the stallion's spirited resistance weakened. His spirited resistance slowing down as his body was gradually squeezed dry of life.
There was one final shudder before Snake Oil fell into unconsciousness as his body went limp. Moments afterward the former human carefully lowered Oil's body to the floor and released her death grip from him. Placing an ear against the doctor's chest, Shepard breath a sigh of relief when the stallion had continued to breath with a light heartbeat.
"Sorry about this. I don't envy the headache you'll have when you wake up. But rest well, and dream of big flanked mares." Shepard wished him well and was genuine in her apology.
Balancing the bed sheets and blankets upon her back, Shepard grabbed the black satchel in her mouth before she made a break for it. Running with all her might out of the pharmacy. Steering clear of the main road Shepard retraced her steps back the way she came and emerged clear of Appleloosa. She now had what she'd come for and it was time to report back to the Admiral.
She was considering a slight detour to collect her armor, but decided that it could wait until morning. Anderson needed her now.
(…)
"Its about time." Anderson sternly admonished the Commander upon her return. He waved his hand to indicate several pieces of peeled cactus placed atop a large rock.
"Your welcome." Shepard replied by tossing him the doctor's satchel from her mouth, before shaking off the sheets and blankets. The terseness of their company was growing more strained by the moment. Grabbing one of the de-thorned pieces of fruit Shepard proceeded to fill the hole in her stomach. The cactus was slightly sweet with a flowery kind of taste, yet felt kinda slimy, like okra.
"What happened, Commander?" He unbuckled the black armored vest he had been wearing, pulling it over his head. The action was stilted as he was still in pain and lightly shaking from heat loss due to prolonged exposure to the frigid night air.
"I was nearly spotted by the good doctor." The vanguard pony said in between bites. "There is no need to worry, Anderson. I just knocked him out and I'm certain he didn't get a clear look at me."
"Nothing is ever simple with you, is it?" The Admiral sighed. He removed the military jacket followed by his undershirt exposing his whole torso. Dark skinned and mostly hairless, yet quite muscular and toned despite a small paunch. His dog tags danced in the lunar light.
"Its a gift." There was no humor in Shepard's voice as she took stock of Anderson's chest. A myriad of scars, some young and some old, decorated him in a nonsensical pattern. A long healed gunshot wound was also displayed just under the collar bone on his heart's side. Shepard was curious as to how and where he'd received such a near fatal blow.
Her biggest distress was the crimson hole on Anderson's lower torso. The wound she had been forced to inflicted upon him with a Carnifex handgun, courtesy of the Illusive Man's attempt to control her. The single bullet hadn't simply punched a hole, it had left a shredded mess of human hamburger. The bullet had torn right through and the exit wound out Anderson's back was only slightly bigger than the entry. It had not begun to bleed again, thank someone for small favors, but how Anderson had lasted this long with such a grisly wound was a goddamn miracle. Not that either of them would tempt fate by complaining about it.
Anderson cut two square patches of gauze and lightly soaked them with the amber colored alcohol from the flask. Shepard, positioned behind the Admiral, accepted one of the moist wipes and started to gently clean the exit wound. Being the utmost attentive to cause him as little distress as was possible. Still, a grunt of displeasure rumbled from his throat from time to time. The pair was quick to clean the dried blood out and sterilize the wound; switching for fresh wipes as needed.
The pain was so intense Anderson searched for an outlet to focus on and take his mind off the burning sensation. There was a soft touch on his back. It was not from the wet gauze Shepard used, but rather it was the feeling of her other hoof propped upon his back. It was hard to describe what it felt like, it was nothing like what he imagined a horse's appendage would feel like. In three words, Anderson would categorize it as, 'soft yet firm.' It felt warm and comforting, more so as it was coming from a trusted friend.
Afterwards, Anderson's wound was secured in gauze, the two of them trading off the roll as it was wrapped around him. They hoped it would hold and keep Anderson out of danger from contracting some alien disease. They would have felt a lot more optimistic about it if a significant amount of time hadn't already passed. By now there was no telling what the future would hold.
After the Admiral redressed the two of them had made a quick dash to a new location. They ran for several minutes before they had located a grove of rocks arranged in a semi-circle. Bunking down for the night, the two had wrapped themselves in the sheets and blankets, staying in close proximity to share body heat. Silence reigned between them, neither having anything of importance to say. Until Anderson lifted up the nearly empty flask.
"Commander."
"Admiral."
"Care for a drink?" he handed the flask off to Shepard. She, in turn, had silently nursed the flask for a few moments. Stirring the contents around before lifting it to her lips and took a shot.
The whisky was powerful, overwhelmingly strong to the point of hilarity. Surely anyone who was willing to voluntarily pour the liquid down their throat deserved to be laughed at and ridiculed. There was also a heavy taste of apples, which would've been nice to the palette if said apples were not being deep fried in the blazing inferno of a starship's reactor core. The offensive liquid burned going down and she felt as if she was snorting twin bursts of fire out of each nostril.
Somehow she managed to completely swallow the modest sample without spraying the adult liquid candy all over the place. The experience of her throat being cooked, however, reduced her into a involuntary fit of violent coughing and dry heaving. As her body convulsed she heard the unmistakable jingle of coins stuffed in a cloth bag. Realizing that she had forgotten to leave behind the sack of money for stealing the medical supplies and the bedrolls.
"Very smooooth..." she squeaked like a hamster.
"It must be really good stuff. By the way, Commander, I have to ask. How are you doing that?" Anderson pointed at her.
"Doing what?"
"Holding that flask with your...err," his voice trailed off. He was indicating her new appendages, but didn't know how to phrase the question without insulting her.
"Oh," she coughed, "that's easy. A small concentration of a biotic mass effect field around the perimeter of my hand allows me to grip it. I don't actually touch the flask, think of it more like a close proximity telekinesis that anything else. I've seen Asari do something similar to help them lift large objects off the ground."
It wasn't much in way of an explanation, still Shepard smiled in relief. She handed the flask back to Anderson who also took a shot of the volatile liquid. In a repeat performance he coughed and wheezed just as badly as she had. She placed a hoof on Anderson's shoulder in silent comfort. The Admiral returned her gesture by placing a cordial hand over hers.
It was an amicable gesture of trust. It was just the two of them now and they would always have each other's backs.
(…)
Author's Notes: Bit of a writing experiment for this chapter. Trying to intertwine internal narrative with external action. So that it feels like the story is progressing while learning bits of Shepard's background and thoughts. Will return to edit the chapter some more.
As peaceful a place as the world of MLP is, to Shepard it is an alien landscape and one that is both familiar and strange at the same time. In a way it perfectly mirrors the world she just came from. The biggest difference, is that Shepard just emerged from a galactic war that threatened to destroy all advanced civilizations and arrived in a world that is blissfully unaware of said war.
I guess this is my long winded explanation that, whether on Earth or in Equestria, I imagine Shepard would suffer from a very severe case of Post Traumatic Stress. Plus pile on all the problems of having a new body, separated from her friends, and losing military connections it's a wonder Shepard could continue to function.
Apart from that, I also did some rewrites of the first chapter to better reflect the Mass Effect 3 Extended Endings DLC as well as make it flow a bit better and clearer. You don't have to reread it since thing really important has been changed.
Oh, and I could use a cover picture for this story. So if any of you is will to contribute, or takes commissions over , then please contact me over fimfiction or my email: emcconnell81
