October 31st

The confusion appeared to be temporary. The memory blackout was not.

I was on my cot, back to the wall, knees pulled up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. I hadn't slept or eaten since I arrived at the apartment complex with no recollection of how I got there besides the gun in my hand and the blood on my clothes. My thoughts had been so disorganized that I hadn't even recognized Taren at first. He had, much to my surprise, tried to calm me down and get me to talk. Some part of me was still wary, but he had ample opportunity to take advantage of my condition and all he had done was bring me to my room and leave me alone when I requested it.

I couldn't remember how I had gotten from there to here, but I definitely remembered what had happened. The salarian's body falling to the ground had been playing out in my head over and over, chasing away any chance of sleep and leaving me in a constant loop of terror and regret. Time became skewed the longer I went without sleep, and what seemed like only a few moments could have been hours. All I could think about was that body being riddled with holes, and then falling.

A person, a sentient being, was dead because of me.

I had killed someone. The fact that I hadn't pulled the trigger myself was irrelevant. The fact that I had been essentially on adrenalin-induced autopilot was irrelevant. Someone had stopped existing because I had decided that my continued existence was more important than theirs. This was an utter contradiction of all my morals and beliefs.

He'd probably done horrible things.

He might not have either, I'll never know.

Some part, some internal piece of my mind or soul felt hollow, like someone had taken a spoon to it and carved it out.

All the harm he would have done won't happen now.

He'll never have a chance to do any good, either.

I had removed my omni-tool and threw it to the other side of the room. I didn't see where it landed but I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't want to use it ever again. The pistol was resting next to me on the cot. I hadn't decided what to do with it yet.

It was him or me.

It should have been me.

I carefully picked up the gun and held it in my hand, feeling the weight of the cold metal. My door made a pinging noise. I ignored it.

My existence here is an anomaly. If I hadn't been here, he would still be alive.

That logic is flawed. If something similar had happened in my natural universe, it still would have been caused by me. There is no true difference between this happening here or there.

The door pinged again.

So, what, is it acceptable that he is dead while I am not?

Acceptable? No. Forgivable? Maybe. It was him or me.

And what gives me the right to live while he doesn't?

I sat quietly for a while, weighing the pistol in my hands. The pinging got louder. The barrel of the gun started to drift towards my head.

My door opened suddenly, revealing Lera and Taren. She must have gotten him to open the door for her. I didn't look at them. Both went stock still, seemingly surprised to see the state of me, but Lera shook it off and walked up to me to take the gun out of my hands.

"That's not yours. Give it back." My voice was hoarse.

Lera attached it to her hip. "I'm holding on to it, so you don't do anything stupid. Taren told me what happened." Taren said nothing. He was still standing by the door, perfectly still.

Figures. "Whether or not I choose to be stupid is my choice, not yours. Give it back."

Lera shook her head. "No. I understand you're rattled, but this is ridiculous-"

She wasn't getting it. "Lera, this wasn't some accident or near-death experience. I killed someone."

"You did what you had to, the same as anyone else!" I drew up my legs to my chest and hid my face behind my knees, trying to block her out. "People kill other people every day for the dumbest things, credits, drugs, jealousy, you name it! You killed to keep yourself alive. I think that makes it okay."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," I muttered, muffled.

She seemed offended by that. "…I know, with certainty, that I would kill for the Migrant Fleet. For my people."

"Yes, for other people. But just to save your own skin?"

"Probably."

I sighed. "I need some time to deal with this on my own."

"But you don't have to do it on your own. I'm here, I can help. Don't push me away!" Lera sounded honestly upset. I was sorry I worried her, but I needed her to go away.

I looked up at her. "This is something I have to do alone." Lera rocked back at the coldness of my voice. I softened my tone. "Just give me back my gun and leave."

She was silent for a while, but when she spoke next it was with determination. "If you want to be alone, fine. But I'm not giving this back until you come out of this room and find me." She left the room and went up the stairs.

Taren watched her leave before looking back at me, his expression uncertain. He opened his mouth as if to say something but he thought better of it and left, closing my door as he went. I was alone again.

It was him or me.

And what gave me the right to live?

What gives anyone the 'right' to live? People die of natural or accidental causes all the time, didn't they have a 'right' to live? It was an instinctual reaction, nothing more. I wanted to live, he was trying to kill me.

A life should be worth more than instinct. It shouldn't be so easy to rationalize killing someone.

But it is. It's messed up, but there it is.

I don't agree with that.

I don't have to. I just have to live with it.

I don't know if I can.

I can try.

I didn't know how long it had been since Lera left, but it felt like time had passed. I carefully uncurled myself and got up from the cot. Feeling around on the floor, I found my omni-tool. I hesitated putting it on, but reminded myself that it was just an inanimate object, a useful tool. I reattached it to my wrist. Slowly, I stood up from the floor and went to the door.

Why am I doing this? Why am I even trying?

Because I don't know what else to do.

I opened the door.

November 7th

Five gunshots rang out in short succession. Four of them were off by nearly half a foot, but one hit the target. I was getting better.

Sleep was growing more and more elusive for me, so my newfound extra time was spent working on my programming or my aim. The latter was slowly improving; the former seemed to have hit a plateau. It might have been the exhaustion, but it was harder to concentrate on numbers and abstracts lately. The rhythmic firing of my gun made more sense than dozens of intertwining if-then statements.

Taren was worried about me. I didn't know how I knew, but the way he looked at me when I left my room every day said he wasn't sure if I would be coming back. He didn't speak to me unless I approached him first and when he did it was in a very careful tone, like he was afraid of startling me. Lera stopped by regularly, but she was insistent on 'helping' me. When she tried to get me to talk, which was often, I would ignore her or tell her it was none of her business. She wouldn't stop, she kept pushing me and I would get more and more frustrated with how she didn't understand.

That was another thing I noticed. I was getting frustrated easier, like my temper's fuse had a few inches cut off. Every little racist remark from people on the street, every skeptical look Lera gave me when I told her I was fine, it just made my blood boil. I would try to hide in my room and calm down, but when everything was quiet I could still hear the sound of bullets ripping through flesh and I had to turn on some loud music or go out and lose myself in the crowd for a bit. I actually went out to a club for the first time in my life. I didn't drink, but the dancing and loudness helped drown out everything else.

And I just… existed.

I hadn't seen or heard from the Eclipse. I was very glad for that. They were probably still pissed at me, especially after what happened-

bullets impacting shields then flesh then green everywhere and the body fell

-I pressed a hand to my head. Stop it, stop thinking about it.

I had been avoiding going around the edges of the district and sticking to busy streets and areas where the Blue Suns were more active. I hoped that would be enough.

I grabbed my pistol again with both hands and fired. Seven shots. Two hits.

Something that could pass for a smile stretched my lips.

[Edited 3/1/2017]