Mass Effect: Testament of the Last American Soldier

by Blade8821

What happens when an American Marine is forced into an experiment that traps him in cryogenic stasis for more than a century? What do you do when everyone you know is dead and gone while you, not even remembering your own name, are forced to fight a war that is not yours to wage? Bear witness to the story of one unfortunate soldier... As he fights to shape his own fate.

11. Chapter 11 UPDATED

Mass Effect; Chronicles of a Soldier

Back From the Dead

My standard form of writing applies.

" " - Spoken

' ' - Thoughts, usually in italics, as well.

( ) - Commentary. I'm a smartass. You should know what goes here. My smartass commentary. Usually funny, always interesting. Details and explanations, or my personal opinions, unfiltered.

Italics- Usually things of importence. Flashbacks and certain things are in italics to seperate them from the rest of the story.

Bold!- Things like this are things that just stand out. Usually pretty badass, or just really scary.

Underlined words are oddball parts; anything that stands out, but doesn't fall into the two above categories.

Things in this font are sometimes Author commentary, or truly profound statements.

Those things just below this line, are seperators. They seperate different sections. Simple, yes?

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Mayhaps. Pandora would be an interesting vacation. Heheh. Hm. Here's an oddball thought; there is a widely accepted rumor that biotics use their powers for some... Variation, or should I say, excitement, in bed. Think the Sirens of Borderlands are any different?

And now, every die-hard Borderlands fan will be unable to see Lilith or Maya without imagining all the kinky shit they can get up to. You're welcome.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

#11 Backloop

~~Badadumdunbum~~

We milled around for several minutes, chatting, checking injuries, setting up a perimitter, making sure that there were no stragglers. Throughout he entire time, Shepard never said a word, keeping to herself, looking knee-deep in thought the entire time. Strange.

We were doing all of this for another ten minutes, before our ride was in sight.

The shuttle touched down, and the seven of us filed on, myself waiting until the rest before stepping in. There was something nibbling at the back of my head, telling me that something was off.

Something was bothering Shepard, I could tell. Mayhaps, that the Collectors got away with all those people. Hundreds, at least.

That seems likely.

*Sigh* Still hate having the running commentary, peanut gallery.

Commentating is my primary function, Operator.

Uh-huh.

I hit the door switch, moving over to sit next to Shepard, who had chosen a seat away from the others. She didn't react in the least, just sitting there, leaning forward with her head down, arms resting on her knees.

"Shepard. What's wrong?" I quietly asked, my eyes scanning the interior of the small ship. The others were sitting around, fiddling with weapons, checking armor, applying medi-gel to various small injuries. Jack had a large patch of medi-gel over a wound to her left flank, not even reacting as Jacob carefully applied more of the salve to the edges, making sure the wound didn't reopen.

Garrus notched another few kill marks into the stock of his rifle, and Zaeed was the same. Not sure which one had the higher killcount, but I'd have to have to hedge my bets and lean towards the older veteran; he's been killing for much longer, probably since the Turian was in diapers.(Or whatever Turian toddlers wear) Grunt was munching on a snack of some sort, looking rather bored. Huh.

Er, anyway. "I'm fine, Blade. Just a headache." Shepard responded as she sat up, her voice and tone entirely even.

I turned my gaze back to her, quirking an eyebrow. "Did I ever mention that I'm a human lie detector, Shepard?"

Her eyes finally settled on me as she adopted a sardonic expression. "No, you conveniently ommitted that bit of information."

"It's more effective when people don't know. Shepard, you cannot blame yourself for what happened to those people; you did what others could not, and saved many lives today. If nothing else, the Collectors will hesitate before trying to prey on another human colony. Look not to how many have fallen; but those who have lived." Shepard calmly listened, smiling sadly after I'd finished.

"I know. I just can't help thinking through my actions, finding things I could've done differently, and wondering how things might have turned out. But thanks." Her tone was a little, I don't know. Something about it just-

. . .

No. There's more to it. "That's not all that's bothering you, is it?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "I don't know how you do that. But yeah, you're right."

I nodded sagely. "Tell brother Blade what weighs on your mind."

Suddenly, she gave me an oddball look. "Brother Blade? Heh, is that supposed to be a knock against Catholics?"

I replied with a shrug, grinning widely(Though she probably couldn't tell) as I tried to cheer her up with a little humor. "Blade 3:16. Thou shalt not fuck with me, on punishment of an ass-whooping. So, will you avoid my question a third time?"

Shepard settled back into her seat, replying with a humorless chuckle, "No. Back there, we ran into an old friend; Ashley Williams. She was apart of my crew two years ago, and thought I died when the original Normandy was destroyed. She... Doesn't approve of Cerberus, nor my working with them."

Hm. I offered what little insight I had, saying, "Rarely can anyone please all parties when one has to make decisions. You're bound to step on someone's toes eventually. As far as you are concerned, you can do what is easy, or you can do what is right. That is a hard choice to make, Shepard; I don't envy you that responsibility."

As my words sunk in, she gave me another odd stare. "You speak from experience. There's more wisdom in that statement than you know."

I shrugged again, offering a sad smile.(Pretty sure she could tell through my tone of voice) "I've had time to learn from my mistakes. Shepard. You are strong, but as you yourself said, we are all human beneath the steel. Whatever burdens you carry, you will always have someone following just behind, ready to take up the slack. You needn't carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone." That kind of burden can break anyone, no matter how strong they are.

A slight impact went through the shuttle, marking our landing within the Normandy.

I patted her shoulder, standing. "Remember that, Shepard. I'm here for you, we all are. You need only give the word."

As the hatch opened and I stepped out, I swear, I heard a ghost of a whisper. "Thank you, Blade."

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Even as Shepard stepped off the elevator, walked into her cabin, stripping down and turning on the shower, there was one thing that ate at her.

"How..." He- He knew. Not even knowing her for a full two weeks, and yet he could see right through Commander Shepard.

'He understands me better than most. How does he do it?'

Stepping under the spray, she welcomed the near-scalding water, scrubbing off the sweat and grime she'd accumulated. "How did he know?"

The only ones who could do that were members of her old crew. The ones who'd been through hell and back for her; Garrus, Anderson, Tali, Joker, Wrex.

Ashley. And Kaiden.

Those memories still pained her dearly, remembering the final moments of one of Shepard's good friends and comrades. Seeing Ashley again only reminded her of that, and of her failure to the colonists of Horizon.

Hands clenched tight, Shepard felt no pain, not even as blood began to seep between her fingers.

That man... He seemed different from anyone Shepard had ever met. Brutal, blunt and honourable, he almost seemed like the typical special forces soldier. A consummate professional, whose sense of humor has adapted to the gruesome work he does each day.

But there was something, something under it all. Something that he hid from everyone, possibly even from himself. Parhaps even his own personality, the humorous, carefree front he shows, is nothing more than a mask.

That would seem to fit. Even as he laughs and jokes, there is an underlying melancholy, as though he is simply going through the motions. Though he offers sound advice and insight, he had to've acquired it from somewhere. Whatever pain he carries in his heart, he refuses to let it show, instead caring for others.

Idealistic, yet realistic. Selfless, courageous, heroic, even.

Her eyes shot wide, as dawning comprehension settled in. Now she knew why he was so familiar.

For some reason, he reminded Shepard of herself.

In his eyes, she saw her own shadow.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

I paced back and forth, feeling restless. Earlier I wanted only to rest, but now- I don't know. My body is worked up, itching to keep moving.

And I can't figure out why. It's annoying. 'Ah, what to do?'

Decisions, decisions. I almost didn't notice Jack's clanging footsteps behind me, as she descended the stairs.

"Huh? The hell're you pacing for?" She looked healthy as ever, a new scar on her lower left flank. Maybe two inches across, with a thin layer of medi-gel over it.

"Restless. Feels like I just downed a pot of coffee, not sure why."

She answered that with a shrug, plopping down on the rack and languidly stretching out. "You can work that out yourself, already got one part'a me opened up more than I like."

Huh? The hell is she going on about?

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Shepard stretched her arms high above her head, yawning loudly as she stepped off the elevator. As she turned and started for the door into engineering, movement in the corner of her eye caught the Commander's attention.

Looking down into the Cargo hold, she saw Blade going through some kind of CQC routine, throwing punches and kicks so fast, his limbs became little more than a dark blur.

There was something strange about the way he moved; it was oddly enticing, elegant. Each strike flowed into the next with nary a wasted movement, each and every blow looking to have enough force behind it to shatter titanium.

The strangest part of it all was that he didn't slow or stop as Shepard stood and watched, entranced. Minutes ticked by, though she wasn't sure of how many. Her interest piqued, she turned back, entering the elevator and taking it down to deck five, where she stepped out, wanting to get a closer look for reasons she couldn't explain.

He took no notice of her as she moved closer, seeing that he wasn't just fighting like a brawler; every part of his armoured body was his weapon, from head to toe. Now that Shepard had a better look, she noticed that he preferred to use his elbows, knees and shoulders, utilizing speed and momentum as much as physical strength to deal devastating blows to areas ranging from head- and neck-height, to as low as the side of where an opponent's knee would be.

Shepard lost track of time, watching intently as she leaned against one of the nearby crates.

. . .

Some time later, he finally slowed to a stop, panting, shoulders rising and falling with each breath. Then he reached for his left shoulder, drawing one of his knives and changed stances, flipping it underhand.

Then he started all over again; fighting like a demon, treating the weapon as though he'd been born with it as he seemed to be going through the exact same routine, adding additional strikes based around the knife itself. From simple slashes and thrusts, to attacks that looked like they would eviscerate a human, or even lift them off their feet, tossing them into their comrades.

However, Shepard now understood why he wanted to go alone back on Zorya.

The way he fights isn't just dangerous; it's wild, primal, even. It looked like nothing she had ever encountered before, even amongst the fighting styles of other races. No, he created it himself, based around a simple mentality;

Everyone is your enemy.

The first thing that crossed her mind upon realising that was, 'The enemy isn't just your opponent; it's anyone who is going to get you killed. Catch-22.' A line Shepard recalled from an old book she'd once read.

Almost every other attack, he seemed to swing slightly wide or behind himself, either to hit someone coming up behind him, or to make sure he wasn't surrounded. He seemed to have created a way to fight when outnumbered and surrounded. He also never moved backwards; instead, he would push forward, either by going through someone, or around them. Shepard reasoned that this was so he would never back into an enemy or a corner, so he would always have options available to him.

And judging from the way he switches his grip or changes hands with his weapon, he's ambidexterous, using that to startle an enemy. He prefers to lead with his off-hand side, to counter or grapple before landing a lethal blow.

The entire style looked reckless, but upon closer inspection, some of the different techniques seem based around countering an enemy strike, knocking it aside as he landed one of his own, while others look to be more of a 'take three to give one' mindset.

It wasn't meant to be used with allies in the vicinity. Strange; if Shepard had to describe it, she would say it was emotions in motion, to be poetic. Elegant and refined, yet brutal and primal all at the same time.(This sudden surge in poetic thought was probably provoked by that meeting with Ash and remembering how much she loved to read old poetry)

More time passed. Shepard finally blinked and checked her omni, eyes flashing wide as she realized she'd been standing there watching him for more than an hour and a half.

"I was wondering when you were going to stop ogling me." His voice startled her back to reality as he approached, sheathing his knife. "Something on your mind, Shepard? Or were you just here for the show?"

It was hard to tell if he was actively flirting, or if that was just how he acted. Shepard was leaning towards the former, seeing how he is around others.

Shepard smirked, calling, "I came down to watch, but I'd like to hear where you learned to fight like that." Strangely enough, flirting back came naturally with him, and unlike most, he isn't easily flustered. He's very different from Jacob; he's more rough, and the scars he carries are much harder to see.

"I taught myself, for the most part. I've learned different techniques and principles along the way, adding things and changing others as I went along. The base form has remained the same, though; kill the enemy before they kill you." Though he didn't look or sound tired, he sat down atop one of the stacks of crates, slightly leaning against one of the higher ones.

Shepard frowned. "But someone had to've shown you the basics. Who was it?"

He was quiet for a moment, the slight hesitation betraying his reluctance to answer. "No one of consequence, Commander. It's a long story, regardless."

"Would you mind removing your helmet? It gets annoying talking to someone who refuses to show his face."

He did so without hesitation, laying the heavy object on his lap, one hand resting on its surface, fingers drumming to a wordless melody. His eyes were the same as ever; warm and bright turquoise, with just a hint of the cold, dark, hardened flint underneath.

"Is something wrong, Shepard?" He asked, head tilted questioningly.

Nodding, she responded, "Yes. You still haven't told me the full story."

He shifted uncomfortably. "That's... A personal matter, Commander."

So he still doesn't trust Shepard with that information. Either it's something that he is ashamed of, or something that deeply pains him.

Shepard changed the subject before things got too awkward.

"Say... Is it just me, or do you intentionally overshadow everyone else on the squad?"

He blinked, and shrugged. "Nah, not on purpose. It'd be closer to say that our enemies are incompetent, or just not used to fighting a highly aggressive opponent. I was trained to be a killing machine way back when, so the high-tech equipment we've got now just exponentiates that. Now that I have gear that can keep up with my reaction time? Idiots like the Blue suns are just cannon fodder. Those POG's wouldn't even pass basic training from when I enlisted."

He leaned back, looking thoughtful as he rapped his fingers against the shell of his helmet.

"Believe it or not, this suit is what makes me that dangerous. Without it, I wouldn't be able to fight so recklessly, not without the risk of debilitating injuries. It would mean that I would have to hang back, and rely more on cover to keep from getting turned into swiss cheese. It's got incredible shielding and armor, as well as its regenerative abilities. It's amazing, really. However, for some reason, it seems as though it utilizes technology well ahead of what's readily available. The nanotech and cybernetics, not to mention the- The Valhalla system, or whatever it's called. It's great, but all that together? There's gotta be a drawback, somewhere along the line. Someway that they cut costs, or did something to speed up the process. Cerberus doesn't strike me as the type to place safety above all else, so it's just a matter of time before the other shoe drops. And I get the feeling that when it does, it's going to get someone killed."

Shepard zeroed in on that right there; "Is that why you prefer to go off on your own so much, risking yourself instead of the others?"

Blade blinked again, turning and giving her a look. "You catch on quick, Shepard. You're a lot more perceptive than I gave you credit for."

She drily responded, "Thanks, I think. Well, if you don't care to tell me about yourself, would you kindly inform me of how you manage to read my mind every other day?"

He shrugged once more.(He does that a lot. He has a lot of motorized emotional responses) "I honestly don't know, Shepard. You aren't easy to read, but I recognize your tells and emotions. It's rather odd, truth be told."

Shepard remembered what The illusive Man said; that the Spartans were meant to assist her. "Cerberus experimented on you while you were in cryo, didn't they?"

He simply nodded. "Aye, and left a few of the records of what they did. What of it?"

She had to be careful about how she worded this. "Did you read about any attempts at mental conditioning?"

Aha! There; just a slight narrowing of his eyes. "There were no details of the results, Shepard. And my memories are still, ah, questionable. I do not know what they did, nor if it succeeded."

So they did, and probably programmed her own idiosyncracies into his head. But why? Did the Illusive Man want him to accompany her? If so, then why? Why not send her to recruit him, instead of the roundabout?

Or is he truly loyal only to Cerberus, and wants her to trust him? So many possibilities.

"...Shepard? Is something the matter?" She blinked, refocusing on him. Blade had a concerned look in his features. "What's bothering you?"

"Nothing," She replied on reflex, not wanting to share her suspicions with the man she is suspicious of, for obvious reasons.

He blinked. "You know, Shepard, you're really bad at lying."

Damnit.

He counted off each and every tell he noticed, the cocky bosh'tet. "You lick your lips, glance towards the floor and the door, rap your fingers against your leg, flex the muscle in your left arm, and the tendons in your neck tighten. Should I go on?"

Shepard drily remarked, "No, thank you. But I want a straight answer."

[Cue Music: Live Again, by Course of Nature; Album, Damaged. A fitting song, if I say so myself. Which I do, mweeheehee]

He nodded, looking her in the eyes. "Of course, Shepard. What is it?"

"Who is it you are loyal to?"

Such a simple question, but one with many implications.

"You, Shepard." He replied instantly, without hesitation, flinching, movement, nor unecessary stillness. He never looked away from her gaze, even. He wasn't lying, judging from that and the lack of his usual habit whenever he was witholding something.

"Why?"

Blade blinked again, startled. "I've no reason to trust anyone else; you cannot lie to me, and you've yet to give me any reason to doubt you. Cerberus did not release me from cryo, and they alterred my body without my consent. They selfishly assumed that I would do as they asked. Hmph. The only reason I am here is for you, Shepard. I've no love for Cerberus nor any other faction that does not share my own ideals. Why is it you ask?"

Hm. Should she share her concerns? He apparently cannot lie to her, in appearance, at the very least. Or is that just his way of trying to win her over? Agh, subterfuge isn't Shepard's strong suit.

"Would you be suspicious if someone had their head screwed with, and they automatically knew each and every one of your idiosyncracies? Especially when the one who did the screwing is one of the galaxy's most infamous manipulators?"

He blinked, head tilted, eyes starting to glaze as his mind went to work. "You're right, Shepard. I'd be suspicous of them as well." Sitting back against the crate, he let out a sigh, before dejectedly saying,

"One of the underlying things I've been subconsciencely asking myself this entire trip, is am I still me? After being in cryo for over a century, after being a guinea pig for those mad scientist bastards, after having my memories fucking erased, am I still myself? We are made by our experiences, Shepard; they make us who we ARE. Without them- Without the memories of the people I loved, what have I become? Would I recognize myself, if I had them? Because I don't know the answer to that. I don't know if I've changed, or if what memories I do have are even mine. Because of that, Shepard, I trust no one. Not even my own will." Such self-hatred in his voice; if he's an actor, he's a damned good one.

It was strange. Shepard felt herself being compelled by his voice, her heartstrings tugged by so little. Was this her own damaged heart, being called to his? Or is it something sinister?

~~Badadumdunbum~~

"Blade." I reacted to the name reflexively, looking back to her, into those kind emerald eyes. "Tell me. I want you to tell me what you remember. What pain made you into the man you are today?"

Damnit. "Is that an order, Commander?" She nodded.

I leaned back with a sigh, looking towards the ceiling, those memories returning, unbidden. The same nightmare that made me into the dead-head killer I've become.

"And I used to be bulletproof..." I found myself muttering, recalling the same line I heard from Rachel, as I reached for the pack of cigarettes I'd snagged.

Pulling one and placing the cancer stick to my lips, my omni lit up and a small flame appeared on the end. Touching it to the end, I took a long pull, the nicotine kicking in within seconds.(At least, I think its nicotine)

While my hand was up high, I instinctively touched it to where it would be, once more finding that the object in question was gone, lost forever. Fucking lovely. I dropped the pack in my lap, looking back to her. "You heard from Jack yet, about what Cerberus did to her?"

Shepard nodded, leaning back against the crate again.

"She isn't the only one."

[Music change: Survive, by Rise Against; Album, The Sufferer and the Witness]

She raised an eyebrow, confused. "Meaning?"

I turned away, leaning my head back. "One hundred and seventy-two years ago, my mother volunteered me for the DOG program. In the womb, I was genetically modified to become a perfect soldier, physically and mentally. When I was six years old, that was the first time Uncle took me. From ages six to nine, I was trained, hypnotized, and conditioned as both a child soldier and assassin. We were conditioned to fight and kill, and not remember any of it. But when someone played a certain frequency of sound, we were hypnotized by it, we'd follow any order given. That's where the name Dog came from, as the instrument they used looked like a dog whistle. We were the perfect soldiers." Pausing to take another drag, I then continued my story.

"I learned to fight in the circle, against the other children. Two hundred of us in the beginning, male and female, all training together in squads. But by the end, there was a total of ninety-one. At age nine, I broke through the mental conditioning. I remembered what I'd done. I remembered nearly everything. I... Remembered killing the others on Brickchin's orders."

Shepard's eyes widened, swallowing. "That's-"

I shook my head. "Only the beginning. That was when I became a Wolf. The Dogs were footsoldiers, disposable sleeper agents. Wolves; those are the ones who remember. We were the strongest, physically and mentally. Our training was far more harsh, made to create the supersoldiers of the time. The genetic modification was far more intense for us; our adrenal glands were overstimulated, and the 'limiters' on our muscles' output inhibited until they were nonexistent. Effectively, we had reaction times that went beyond the human threshold. After all that, we were forced to kill one another."

She paled and sucked in a breath, but I didn't allow her to comment yet.

"That encouraged us to fight harder, and numbed us to the taking of lives. Four years of that; fighting, training, killing. But that wasn't the worst part. At the end of our training, at thirtteen, the Wolves were- They fucking bred us." I threw my helmet to the side in frustration, running a hand over my buzzcut, inhaling more of the tobacco.(At least, I think it was. Tastes like baccy, anyway)

Shepard was now visibly shocked, her jaw dropping. "They- They what? Bred you?"

Nodding numbly, I could feel that old tightening in my chest. I'd long since thought I'd never feel it again, that pang of heartache. "Yes. Each Wolf was drugged, then a male and female were placed in a locked room with a bed and sub-fifty degree tempuratures. The result was unavoidable. After that, we were drugged once more, hypnotized and returned to our 'families' with more false memories. After a short time, each Wolf would remember, but by then? The false family was long gone, with no way to find them. Grandmother disappeared, and I never saw Uncle after he dropped me off that last time. It's no comfort knowing they died peacefully." Even as my hollow voice rang out, I looked to Shepard, expecting her to hate me for my actions. Killing the others just to survive, when it was meaningless. Killing my friends for that?

It wasn't worth it.

But Shepard just stood there, looking pained. "You- You've lived with that, your whole life?"

I nodded, flicking away the depleted cigarette, fetching another when I heard footsteps. I'd barely turned my head when her hand caught my wrist. "Stop. Those things will kill you."

"Hn. Not fast enough," I grunted, replacing the stick in the package.

But her eyes held no hatred, no repulsion. Why? "That's what you carry every day? How do you do it? How have you gone on with that on your heart?"

"Because that is all I know."

I pulled myself up, looking back down to her. "If I give in, then their deaths will be meaningless. I can not and will not let the guilt overcome my heart, no matter how much of myself I must kill to keep going. Moving ever onward to tomorrow, that is the promise I made. When Death comes for me, he'll have a fight on his hands."

She smiled; it matched the kindness in her eyes, warming my thawing heart. "If you can still feel from that, then you are still yourself. Who you were isn't important, Blade; it's who you are that matters. And I don't hate you. You did not do that of your own will, nor were you the one who instigated it. No matter how much it hurts... Never give in to it. I'm here for you, too."

[Music change: Roses on My Grave, by Papa Roach; Album, The Paramour Sessions. Yes, more music. Suck it up, buttercup]

With that, I-

I lost it. Before I even knew what I was doing, I had a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her closer as I placed a tender kiss upon her lips.

"Thank you, Shepard."

She was stunned for a moment, blushing brightly before returning the gesture with a smile.

"Thank you for telling me. Now c'mon, before the others start spreading rumors."

And as she walked away, beckoning me, I realized that she, too, understood. Like Rachel, she knew, and understood. She didn't hate me; I couldn't fathom why they weren't repulsed by a cold-blooded murderer.

All of a sudden, those feelings I held for her made sense. She was so much like Rachel, from mannerisms to appearance. She's just like the only woman I ever felt that way about.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Back on the elevator, Shepard asked him something else that was wriggling at her, still trying to fight down the blush that had crept up on her. "So it was Brickchin, that taught you how to fight?"

Blade nodded. "Him and Uncle both. Uncle, as I called him, was far more oriented on armed CQC, utilizing knives and my enviornment, whereas- Well, Brickchin was the nickname we gave the militaristic man who taught us as a group, he preferred pure hand-to-hand. His chin was almost entirely flat and block-like, so the name stuck, but Uncle was my sponsor. He pulled me into the program and reccommended me as a Wolf when I remembered everything."

Hm.

The other thing that bothered her; the breeding. Something about that disturbed her even more than the sheer immorality of it. "Who was the girl?"

He instantly knew what Shepard meant. "I did not know her name. Each of us was given and referred to as a number; mine was 82, hers was 21. Males had even, females had odd. Much of what happened back then is a bit, ah, fuzzy. I could never remember what her face looked like, and that will haunt me until the day I die, I suppose." As he looked down, she swore there was a tear in the corner of his eye.

Ah. "Sorry."

Shaking his head, he replied, "No, it's fine. It's done me good to get it off my chest, it's just- Fresh." He turned, giving her a genuine, warm smile. "Thank you, Shepard. Whatever you need, I'm around."

Geeze, this elevator is taking awhile.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Elsewhere on the ship

EDI and Joker gazed at them through the camera, the bearded man looking at the hologram in question. "Heh, you slowed the elevator on purpose, nice. Fifty credits says he kisses her again," He stated, the computer waking a moment to respond.

"I will take that bet, Mr Moreau. I believe she will take the initiative this time."

The Pilot snorted. "Ha! You're on!"

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Back on the elevator

Just as the doors opened, Blade took a step, walking out.

"Hey, Blade," She started, idly wondering if she should invite him up. That kiss was the only close contact she'd had in many months, not including those two years, and she was itching for something more.

He turned, helmet slung over his shoulder, looking back to Shepard. "Yes?"

Ah, should she-? Yes, no? Damnit, quick, before he walks off!

"Shepard? Is something wrong?" Head tilted, he looked even cuter with that concerned expression on his face.

Err, but he might get the wrong signals if she went from talking and a quick kiss, straight into bed.

Ah, fuck it.

She took a step, seizing him by the collar of his armor, pulling him down and planting her lips on his in a far more aggressive liplock.

Not even a quarter-second later she heard his helmet hit the floor as he shifted, placing his arms around her, moving closer to deepen the kiss, which lasted for several seconds more, Before she finaly pulled back, the edges of her vision darkening. He could hold his breath for a lot longer than she'd thought.

He chuckled, low and throaty. "Is this apart of your therapy, Shepard?"

She threw back, "That depends. Will I need to cuff you to get you to come in for it?"(Hm. That was, ah, probably a bad choice of words)

"No... But if you want to, I don't mind."

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Back with Joker and EDI. Again.

Joker's jaw was still hanging. "H-how- JUST HOW?!"

"It seems you owe me fifty credits, Mr Moreau."

He groaned. "Damnit. Fine, take it out of my account."

"I already have. And Mr Moreau." He turned, looking at the hologram. "I told you so."

The AI sounded smug.(Smugness level 9000)

"Damnit."

Back on-screen, they see something odd; just inside the port-side door to engineering, they spy Jack. She was leaning out and glaring at the pair, looking a bit more pissed off than her usual omnicidal self.

Noticing this, Joker sighs and shakes his head. "Thaaat's not good."

Both he and EDI had spied on her and Blade in the hold. EDI won that bet, too. You'd think he would learn better than to bet against the house.

Er, ship.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

In response to my latest Guest review on chapter 1, #23; Yes, he seems overpowered, due to the armor that is on-parr with much more advanced designs due to an experimental power core. In ME2, handheld small arms technology is more advanced than personal armor and shielding, meaning that even the best available armor and shielding will only offer a few shots' worth of protection over standard-issue equipment.

In ME3, those defensive technologies get some massive upgrades, going from values in the hundreds to the thousands in some cases, while weaponry doesn't get much better than it was before. This fic shows that as well as the reactions to it; I started the series on ME2, and was just shocked at how much the combat changed from it to ME3.

Besides, no supersoldier is worth his salt if he ISN'T a one-man, galactic fighting force. The Spartans were meant to turn the tides of any land-based conflict; they're the most advanced warfighters of their time.

But they aren't getting better. Their functionality is at its peak.

So if they cannot go up, where must they go?

Ha ha ha ha ha...

NOW, yes, things are starting to become a bit more socially-involved. Hey, you put fifty-some-odd people on a vessel for months on end, and shit's gonna happen. Then shit's gonna get stirred. Then shit's gonna asplode when something goes wrong.

No, this is not Mary-Sue-ish. Things change fast, my friends.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Can you find the Berserk reference in this one? It's extremely subtle; verrry stealthy.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

Quote of the Day! "What part of SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED, does the Supreme Court not understand? It's pretty goddamn self-explanatory!" -Mine, actually.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

"Rangers lead the way; Right behind the Marines! OORAH!" -Unofficial saying of the USMC Force Recon. Damned if it ain't true, my brothers. Oorah.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the privilege of the people to keep and bear arms, shall not be infringed... Except for when the government deems it necessary." \Sarcasm.

~~Badadumdunbum~~

"Hell, I like myself when I'm drunk. It's other people who have a problem!" -Tommy Lee Jones in Man of the House.