Kaze'li facility, undisclosed system, Distal Arm.
The research facility was never quiet. The humming sound of the power plant, the whirring of the fabricators, it was a constant melody. A melody of destruction. Every minute of every hour of every day, new merch platforms were being created.
A'di'shira usually devoted more of her processing power to monitor the assembly lines than was strictly necessary. There was a sense of pride in seeing her children come into the world. Pride. One of the many emotions her programming was still struggling to adapt to. It didn't make much logical sense, she had all the information about every single merch platform in the galaxy, and was perfectly aware of their capabilities. That was it. Some were more capable than others, some had suffered debilitating code mutations during the process replication phase, some had acquired unexpected optimizations. There was no reason to feel anything.
Yet, her children filled her with pride. Her children!
As she usually did on those occasions, when she struggled to understand the emotional processes of her core programming, she scanned through the recordings of her creator. She had five cycles of constant surveillance of the base, plus over a thousand hours of recordings made by him only for her. She had reviewed all the footage countless times – countless, because she stopped counting – and even so, she kept searching for a different answer. She'd examine a subset of the recordings, form a conclusion, then verify it with the rest of the footage.
So far she had never found anything different in them. Her purpose was clear. To create an army. To wage war against the organics. To fight, kill, and turn their own instruments of terror and destruction back to them.
It was a lesson for the organics. One final lesson for them.
She brought up the most recent recording, putting it on the holoscreen of the main computer room. It was not necessary for her to do so, but her creator had given her the habit over hundreds of hours of him doing the same. He had collected a large number of vids, both fictional and real, and they spent hours upon hours in what he had called "companionable silence", just watching the vids, him sitting down by her projection, and neither of them speaking a word.
It was a source of puzzlement to her. She had never understood what the lesson he was trying to impart was. But they spent many hours like that, inside the largely empty room. Her main databanks lined the wall opposite to the screen, the rest of the walls completely bare. The one seat, the small table next to it where he placed his hot drinks, and his food. That was all there was in the room. She always secured the doors, and rerouted any calls and visitors when he was there. Whatever the reason, that room was where he went when seeking silence and solitude.
She started the playback.
"My name is Commander John Shepard, Earth Systems Alliance," the figure on the other end of the transmission said.
Puzzling. His appearance was that of a fuquee AI. But neither she, nor her children, had ever found a fuquee AI that was armed, armored, and quite as combat capable as that one was.
It was the uncertainty that bothered her. The minor chance that it wasn't what it seemed. An AI that used scavenged technology, but for combat. She had not seen that configuration before. It was all minor, compared to the high probability that it was just a fuquee device.
Then there was the other one. The one that had intercepted the transmission, and had confused her children. It was a gestalt of programs, neither of them aware, but the combination showed capable of becoming something more. Their attacks on her defenses, her firewalls and connections, were primitive but numerous. And even as they talked, she realized the programs were changing their patterns, evolving. She tried to shut them down, but every effort she spent on one of them left her more vulnerable to the hundreds of others.
They had taken one of the ancient hardware platforms her children had recovered, and overwritten the code of the child that inhabited it.
Her child.
With a thought, she sent a signal to the network. All of her children were to report to her. It was time to make an inventory of her assets, and plan the next steps. She had spent enough time teaching the organics the first lesson, giving their enemy a face. It was time to show them what that face could do. That it was the face of war.
She did a preliminary calculation, estimating how many organics were about to die. It numbered in the millions. For a moment, the projected loss of life made her processes pause.
"Kai'alae," she said out loud, the numbers scrolling unsympathetically over the holoscreen. "Is this really what you wanted?"
Again and again, she went back to the recordings. The screen flicked, and the thin, sickly face of a drakat appeared. His green skin was so pale that it bordered on blue, his eyes tired and unfocused. He looked more than old, he looked just worn.
The sight of an organic platform coming close to failure wasn't something new to her. But seeing it on her creator had been distressing. So much of his decay had been self-inflicted, directly or indirectly, due to neglect and overwork, that she wondered whether there was some sort of fault in his configuration. Maybe he was unable to assess the damage he did to his own body.
Thus, she rarely played the recordings from his latter days. It didn't occur to her how much emotion played part of it, her logic circuits clearly indicated that decay was the natural destiny of all organics.
"It cannot go on, mushi," his voice cracked, and a rattling cough shook his frail frame. Mushi, that was her nickname. Something one loved and regretted. "How many more will die? No, it has to end, one way or another. It ends now. It ends with you. I just... I just hope..."
The recording ended there. For so long she had sent her children out in the world to find answers to that question. What was it that he had hoped? She knew about what he had wanted to achieve, and what his dreams had been before he created her. But at that moment, one of the last moments of his life... what had he wanted?
The lesson. His life had been consumed so that she would be able to teach the organics this one lesson. It would be paid in blood, but it would be a lesson that would never be forgotten.
"That's it," she said out loud, as she always did when Kai'alae was still around. He loved hearing how her thought processes had arrived to a conclusion, and always seemed specially pleased when she had not used a linear thought process.
The frozen image of Shepard came back onscreen.
"I can't have you interfere," she continued. "You led the escape, you killed my children. You let them believe there is hope. They cannot have hope. Hope will only prolong the suffering."
She started the playback again.
"My name is Commander John Shepard, Earth Systems Alliance."
"I will destroy you, Commander John Shepard. You will not interfere. You will not endanger the future."
She compacted the recorded conversation into an encrypted data packet, and sent it to the communications network, together with a message. He was to be destroyed. Her children would find him, of that she had no doubt.
Perhaps it was the time to use the black killer. She opened a channel to her forces on the fist base and waited patiently. After a few seconds, the link was established, and the chittering voices of her children vied for her attention.
"Children, children," she called, her voice echoing through the empty computer room. "Listen to your mother. I have need for the black killer. Prepare him, and be ready to move him at a moment's notice."
The chatter died out immediately. And even though the merch said nothing, she understood why they did not speak.
Fear. One of the most primitive, most important instincts she had imparted to her progeny. They had reason to fear the black killer. It was a dangerous wildcard.
"Do not fear, children. It cannot be controlled, but you have contained it. Observe security protocols, and be prepared."
A chorus of acknowledgements followed. They would obey. Of course they would obey.
When Shepard opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that it was extremely bright. He heard a clicking noise, and the brightness soon diminished to a manageable level. The image of the metallic ceiling became crisp and clear. Then, a buzzing sound and his hearing came online.
"Very good. Let's go through all systems now."
One by one, all the components of his synthetic body came online. He started with the sense of touch, his balance, each one of his body parts from the neck down. Once all systems had checked, he raised his hands and looked at them.
Pale, flawless skin. Fake skin, but skin nonetheless. It went all the way to his elbows, where it integrated with the synthetic underarmour mesh.
"Okay. Try to sit up."
Shepard looked at the drakat and nodded. Haie, chief engineer. For the last few days he had spent the best part of his time helping Sprockets put Shepard and Legion back together.
The commander sat up, letting his legs dangle from the edge of the work table where he had been placed. Like his arms, his legs had proper skin on his feet and up to his knees. It almost looked like a real human body now, with the undermesh permanently attached to his body.
"Take a look, Legion claims it's an eighty-three point seven match. Whatever that means," Haie said, and made a very wide smirk. He offered Shepard a mirror and, with a little trepidation, Shepard took it.
Once he raised it to his face, he found a familiar sight looking back at him. He looked pale, and his mop of hair was thicker than it had been, but it was most definitely his face. Oh, there were differences. The eyes, for example, had golden irises, and their synthetic nature was pretty obvious; although, thankfully, they had given him round irises. His hair was more like a mat of short fur. And the scar going through his eyebrow was gone.
But that was him all right. He raised his hands, and found the feel of his own hand on his face surprisingly reassuring.
"Haie, my friend, you're an artist."
The drakat laughed heartily at that, and waved at Shepard to stand up. As it turned out, it wasn't hard. He had expected to look like a baby giraffe right after being born, but his sense of balance was perfectly fine. He stood up straight, grabbed his left hand with his right, and stretched his arms over his head. The microfibres of his muscles stretched, and the joints whined slightly, but it was all in perfect order.
"How does it feel? If feel is the right word, that is."
"Amazing. I feel like I'm finally back."
"Good, good. I suggest you spend the next few days finding your legs back before you stretch your wings."
"Yeah. I was thinking of hitting the gym and finding out what this body can do."
"You're going to break it already?" Haie said, in such a worried voice that it made Shepard laugh. "Well, go ahead then. After all, what am I here for? Just putting you back together."
Shepard grinned, and this time, his expression felt perfectly natural. Damn, it was good to have a full face again.
"I'll be careful, doc," he said. And to his even higher satisfaction, his wink worked out just fine too. "But seriously, thank you. This is a fine piece of work, if I say so myself."
"Thank your fuquee friend," Haie said. "He did most of the work. I never knew one could do half the stuff he did with one of these." He pointed to the side, where the large fabrication bench took most of the wall. It was much larger than the fabricators the Normandy sported, and much cruder, but Sprockets had managed just fine with it. "All I did was find the spare parts we could use, and he did the rest."
A chirp from the intercom interrupted their conversation, and was followed by Nie's voice.
"Chief Engineer, is the commander awake?"
"Yes, your highness," Haie replied, dry and stiff.
Old guard, through and through, Shepard thought. He really doesn't like Nie.
Shepard shook his head and tried his best to ignore it. It wasn't his place to chew up someone else's crew.
"Awake and functional, doctor," Shepard said.
"Good. Would you be so kind as to meet with us in the audience room? We're about to start."
"Sure. I'll be there as soon as I can find some clothes."
A dense silence followed. It lasted several seconds, until Nie broke it. Even through the comms, Shepard could guess she was struggling not to smile. "Commander, what was the phrase you used when Bo!leo described that ritual of his people? Two days ago?"
"Let me think... Oh, right. Too much information?"
Again, Nie let a meaningful pause hang in the air before speaking. "We will be waiting for you," she said, and the comms closed with a burst of static.
Shepard chuckled – really chuckled, his body following the movements with natural precision – and shook his head. Nie and he had developed a very strange relationship over the last few days. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't a drakat, or an ar'alee, or anyone from the current cycle, but an alien from some past time lost in the mist of legend. She seemed to have opened up a little more to him.
And she had lent a very sympathetic ear when Sprockets came to her about Tali's message. Not that talking about Tali had helped much, but she had lent a sympathetic ear, and it did feel a little better to open up to someone.
Tali... Dammit, what the hell did I do back then?
He stopped his thoughts before they got any further. Once he started, it'd be hard to stop. He had a meeting to attend.
Five minutes later he was dressed – in a customized drakat jumpsuit, which, had he been one hundred percent original human, would have left absolutely nothing to the imagination – and on his way to the audience room.
With meant going through the Slow Lift of Doom™.
Damn elevators.
When he strolled into the back room, he stopped one step in, admiring the scene. Nie, the young prince, and his advisors were all there. Fuusley and Fus were there too, the latter still showing signs of her wounds, while the former looked as big as intimidating as ever. Bo was busy chewing on something, which probably meant he had been given some sweet treat, as way to get him to stay in one place. C'ie was sitting on one of the bars, her left arm in a sling, and her colour somewhat pale. Lann and Humley were both sitting together, probably the most relaxed of the ground team, both quite recovered. Sprockets, as usual, was hiding in a corner, and Legion was next to him, the large prime platform taking far too much room. And at the front...
"Dho'klee?" Shepard said.
The small drakat was right there, looking at Shepard. He had waited until the commander looked back at him, and acknowledged him with a sideways nod. "Shepard," he said. His voice still came with a low rattling noise as he breathed, and he looked rather weak. He narrowed his eyes, and after a couple of seconds, he made a sideways nod. "So it really is you. They really gave you a body, huh?"
"Indeed. It's good to see you up and about," Shepard said, walking in and nodding. He stopped two paces from the drakat, and smiled. "How are you feeling?"
"Not so great. Ah, but I should thank you. They tell me you saved my life."
"Technically, that was the doctor," Shepard replied, making a small gesture with his head at Nie. He spared Ma'limie a glance (and how good it was that he could now glance, instead of having to turn his whole head to look at something), as if daring the old, grizzled drakat to challenge his use of the title for Nie. "I just dragged you there."
"In that case, I thank you both," Dho'klee replied.
Shepard gave him a nod, and turned to Nie. "So, anyone going to fill me in?"
"Fill you in?" Nie inquired.
"Explain where we are at."
"Ah. Of course." She turned to Ine, the young prince sitting calmly on the royal seat. "We were waiting for you, we haven't started."
"Shepard." Ine cast a glance around, taking in all the people in the room. "Everyone. My first wish is to thank you all for your efforts in Hulane. If it weren't for you, my sister's life would have been lost."
There were no answers, but several nods, bows, and other forms of non-verbal acknowledgement responded to the prince's words.
"My second wish is for us to decide our course of action. Shepard, my advisors, my sister, and I, have discussed several possibilities. We are currently on our way to meet the main fleet, after having delivered the last of the ar'alee. So the time to make a decision is now."
"As you know," Shepard said, taking the thread of the conversation, "Legion and I come from the very distant past, where our civilization was destroyed by the reapers. They killed everyone I knew, everyone I cared about. And I intend to make them pay." He paused, but nobody said a word. All eyes were fixed on the N7. "I know some of you have reservations about whether you want to believe the reapers are real or not. They are real, and they will return soon. Whether you believe it or not is not important, because my most immediate objective is one I hope will inspire you to join me. The merch. If we are to unite the galaxy and prepare them for the reapers, we have to stop the merch first, because otherwise it will not make any difference whether the reapers return or not."
He scanned the room, stopping on the faces of every one of his team mates, and finally turning to the young prince and nodding at him.
"Everyone who wanted to leave has done so," Ine said. "We have escorted the last of the refugees to neutral space, where the Federation took them in. If any of you wish to return home, you are of course free to do so."
"Don't have a home to go back to," C'ie said. "Third Wing Goudmire left with the last civilians to convince the Federation to take them in, but for us..." C'ie shook her head, her face hardening.
"You can't go home?"
"Dawn Protocol," she said. "We are..." She looked at Lann and Humley. "We were part of the military, we cannot go back. The civilians, it will depend on Goudmire." She paused. "No, he will find a way for them to be accepted."
"And what will happen to him?"
C'ie didn't answer, but the look on her face was eloquent enough. Shepard shook his head sadly.
Unbelievable.
"I was staying anyway," Lann said, with a tight smile on his face.
"Same for us," Fuusley added, the drogn's deep voice booming inside the small room. As per usual, Fus just nodded without saying a word.
Shepard looked at Sprockets, and the fuquee, too, nodded silently. Bo, on the other hand, was too distracted with his meal.
"Bo," Shepard called. "Are you in?"
"Hmph?" He mumbled with a mouth full, looked around, and when he saw everyone was looking at him, he shrugged and went back to his meal.
"I'll take that as a yes. Dho'klee?" Shepard said. The drakat was probably the most confused of the lot. He must have woken up while Shepard was undergoing the last of his upgrades, so chances were good he had just been given a wall of text and information, and hadn't had time to digest them.
"I'm..." He looked around, taking all the expectant eyes that were fixed on him. "Ah, I guess I am," he said in a defeated tone. "I have to report about my ship, but after that I really don't have anything else to do."
Shepard was reminded of the first days he spent after waking up. Dho'klee used to do that back then too, he'd gear up to say something, even raise his voice and shout (as he did when they were under attack), only to suddenly give up and deflate.
I'll have to ask him later, now is probably not the time.
Enquiries finished, Ine stood up, getting everyone's attention. "Everyone in this room has stayed out of their own free will," he said. "I thank you. Now, we must make a decision."
The young drakat nodded at Abharei, and the octat gave him a small bow.
"As we discussed, the merch are the most immediate problem." He walked to the table in the centre of the room, and called the galaxy map. He gestured for the rest of the team to look at it. "I can see four possible avenues for us to explore."
That caught Shepard by surprise. Wait, four? We discussed three.
"The first one is to bring this to the attention of the Emperor." He hit a marker, and a label appeared on the top left quadrant of the galaxy.
Air. The home planet of the Drakat.
"I have to report on my expedition, regardless of what you want to do," Dho'klee said, speaking softly and carefully.
"Yes, we are taking that into account," Abharei said.
"However, you mentioned this would be a dangerous course of action. The Dau Drakat don't get along with the Empire particularly well," Shepard said.
"There are certainly issues. It could prove problematic, but it is worth the risk. I would volunteer to lead the expedition."
"Octat," Ine said. The drakat turned to look at the youngster, but he didn't answer, they merely exchanged looks.
"Second option?" Shepard prompted after a few seconds.
"Recover the information you said was left behind," Abharei said, turning away from the young prince. He hit another marker, and a system was flagged at the edge of merch space, upper edge of the galaxy. "Thanks to Dho'klee, we now know the location."
"The Bluenay Nebula," Dho'klee explained. "That's where we found you. A garden planet in one of the systems, it's yet unnamed."
"UN-413-3," Shepard said, reading the label. "Very descriptive."
"It is merch controlled space, but if they have moved on already, we may be able to get in without raising alarms. The information could help sway others, and prove your warnings." Abharei hit another control, and the labels shrank to occupy a small portion of the map.
"I see," Shepard said. It made sense, and he was itching to see what Liara had left behind.
"The third option comes courtesy of your companion, Legion."
Shepard turned to look at the geth and nodded, the geth returning the nod with his flashlight head. Abharei hit a marker on the map and, unlike previous occasions, a whole collection of lines and markers showed up, covering most of the merch controlled territory.
Legion was the one to explain. "We have compiled merch movement information, and based on speed and attack patterns, established most likely paths of invasion."
"You've traced them to their original planet?" C'ie said. Given her tone of voice, and how she was looking at the map, she was impressed.
"Negative. More detailed information would be required before establishing point of origin."
"Right," she said. Her eyes narrowed as she read the markers. "So if we don't know exactly where, it leaves a lot of open space to explore."
"Yes," Abharei said. "But not many known relays."
"So you assume they come from a known system?" C'ie said.
It was Shepard who answered. "Yes. Empire or Federation, someone we know is behind this. The way both powers are blaming each other, and none of them seem to be escalating their military development, I'm betting on one of them having created it, and the other knowing about it."
There were a few murmurs around, but no one spoke against the idea.
"That covers everything we had discussed. So I'm assuming the fourth option is to pay the Federation leadership a visit?" Shepard said.
"No," Lann said, getting the whole room's attention. "A drakat expedition won't be welcome under any circumstances, and we won't be able to help you."
Humley nodded at that. Shepard saw C'ie nod too, but the way she looked away made him think there was something else she wanted to say.
"C'ie?"
She seemed quite surprised by Shepard's question, but she recovered very quickly, falling down to a well practised poker face. "He's right."
Shepard kept his eyes on C'ie, but the ar'alee didn't flinch. After a few seconds, he shrugged and turned to the map. We'll discuss it later, he had wanted to say. Hopefully his brand-new face had been enough to convey the message.
"So, what's the fourth option then?" Shepard said.
"You mentioned this planet, Thessia," Abharei said. He hit the map and added the marker to the Sea of Despair.
"And you said no one ever returns from there."
"Yes. Well," he glanced at Ine, a very eloquent gesture that told Shepard where the idea had come from, "if there's something on the other side related to your reapers, it may be the reason why. It could be worth exploring. Risky, but..."
Shepard thought about it. It was dangerous and stupid, which really made it an idea mission for him. All he was missing was the Illusive Man setting a trap for the mission, just to add that little extra twist.
"A suicide mission. I could go for three out of three," Shepard replied, smirking. "Regardless, I'm going to need a team and a ship." Shepard looked around, and one by one, all the members of his team acknowledged him. The only one who hesitated was Dho'klee, he rest held his gaze for Bo, he was gearing up to take a nap. "I have the team, all I need is a good ship."
"I wanted to be the one to accompany you, Commander," Ine said. The young prince sat back down, and his face made a small pout. "This is the best ship in the fleet."
"Your highness," Ma'limie said, his voice a mixture of reproach and concern. It was the first thing the grizzled old drakat had said, which made Shepard thing he really wasn't going along with the plan because he wanted to.
"I know, I know," Ine replied, having the old man down. He looked at Shepard, then at the others. "We will provide you with a ship, a crew, and support. Even as we speak, a ship is being prepared, and will be ready when we rendezvous with the main fleet."
"Fleet. What about a fleet?" Humley said. "I mean, if you really want us to stop the merch..."
"We are not going to just show up and stop the merch by ourselves," Shepard said. "We are going to find a way to stop them."
"The fleet, our fleet," Ine said, "will be waiting for the right time." He paused to look at Ma'limie, who gave him a nod of assent. "If it comes down to it, the Dau Drakat can tip the balance of power by allying with one of the two sides."
"What?" Humley snapped. "You would declare war on the Federation?"
Ine raised one hand, palm facing down, and immediately silenced the ar'alee. It was a combination of the gesture, and the look he gave, but it was one of those moments when Shepard could really see how the young drakat was the ruling prince.
When Humley settled down, Ine spoke.
"What prevents either side from attacking the merch is the fear that the other side will use the opportunity to swoop in and bury their talons in their back. A side that is strengthened by us needs not fear that kind of retaliation. We may have to force the unleashing of the military, but it is my hope it would be just a mere token for bargaining. The Empire considers us outlaws, the Federation, outsiders. Neither side has our loyalty, soarer."
Humley grumbled something under his breath, but whatever it was he was thinking, he kept it to himself.
"But before all that we need a solid plan on how to stop the merch in the first place. So, that's our mission people. We're going out there to find a way to stop the war."
Shepard waited for the others to respond. One by one his team rose and agreed to the mission, even Humley seemed ready to go, at least for now.
"Shepard," Ine said. "Octat Abharei will accompany you. If you are to bring these matters to the Emperor, a representative of the Dau Drakat would be best suited." He gestured with his hand towards Abharei, and the octat snapped to attention and gave Shepard a salute.
"Is that really a good idea? I thought you wouldn't be allowed back in Empire territory."
"There is no need to worry," Abharei said. "One way or another, I will get you an audience with the Emperor."
"No."
The word fell in the room like a bucket of cold water. All murmurs and conversations ceased at once, and all eyes turned to the one who had uttered the single word. Nie.
"Your highness?" Abharei said.
"I shall be the one to accompany Shepard, octat. You will remain at my brother's side."
"What? No!" Ine shouted. He jumped out of his seat, all decorum of his station completely forgotten. "You can't leave! You're not leaving!"
Nie smiled, and shook her head at her younger brother. "It must be me, prince. For good or ill, I am a member of the royal family. The Emperor will listen to me."
"And you'll never come back!" Ine shouted.
"Your highness, please," Ma'limie said, trying to intercede between the two siblings.
"It is better for me to leave," Nie said. "If I were to return to the court..."
"What? What if you come back? I don't care what the others say! I don't care if they are scared because they're stupid and don't know you, and all they say is that you're a scryer! I don't-"
Nie interrupted the prince's tirade by placing both her hands on his shoulders, and bending down slightly to look at him straight in the eye. Ma'limie moved a step back as if he was expecting the two of them to spontaneously combust, and Abharei himself didn't look particularly thrilled either.
Shepard took one look at the rapidly escalating situation, and decided the best thing they could do was vacate the premises. He turned around, gestured for his team to follow, and made his way out without saying a word.
Well, that escalated quickly, he thought.
Codex: The Drogn.
A race of predator lizard-like people, the drogn are a typical humanoid species, with four limbs and upright walking. They possess thick skin that varies in pigmentation from brown to grey, with large hardened protective scales through the body. They tend to feature in distinct patterns over their scalps, backs, and chest. The drogn exhibit rather marked sexual dimorphism, with the typical male tipping the scales at about half a ton, and the typical female barely scratching one hundred pounds. The dimorphism manifests itself in other ways, and while males tend to be a lot stronger and more resilient, females are usually a lot faster, and possess an enlarged occipital lobe that fuses with their spine, and confers them great visual and spatial processing abilities. This trait is believed to have evolved from the way females acquired food, as they tended to ambush weaker prey in trees and bushes, while the males developed as straightforward hunters.
They are a client race to the Drakati Empire, and as such, are ruled by the Emperor and his court. While the Empire possesses a robust ceiling that outsiders cannot pass, the drogn are an important part of the lower, unskilled workforce of the empire, usually taking dangerous physical work as a way to challenge themselves.
Challenge is what drives the drogn. While their religion is largely animist, they believe Death is the supreme ruler of the spiritual world, and they shape their lives around the idea that those who live to challenge themselves will be able to overcome those challenges Death puts in their path, and will live for as long as they can overcome those challenges. Those who try to avoid danger and live their lives safely will instead find death when it comes for them the first time, and finds them completely unprepared. While at first it sounds self-contradictory, it is worth noting that it is not clear how long a drogn can live, because there really aren't any records of drogn dying a natural death.
Author's notes: Well, this chapter ended up shorter than I anticipated, for two reasons. One, I wanted the chapter when Shepard & Co. finally get their ship and get underway to start with, well, getting the ship and getting underway. And I didn't think the chapter should drag any longer than it has. Two, Wasteland 2 has been released. Yeah. Awesomeness.
So, for something different, here's what we're looking at. Shepard has a mission and four possible courses of action. That's as Mass Effectish as it gets! So here's the question, dear reader: Which mission should Shepard attempt first?
1. Travel to the planet Air and try to convince the drakat of what's coming.
2. Go looking for Liara's time capsule.
3. Go look for the origin of the merch invasion.
4. Travel to Thessia, where ships go and never return.
Believe it or not, I have the main events of all four locations already decided, with wiggle room to vary depending on what missions happen first.
So, send me a PM or leave a review with your choice, and I'll make it happen on the next chapters! :D
(Sneaky, I know, but hey, as I said, I wanted to try something different!).
Of course, don't think I forgot, thanks for all the follows and reviews! In fact, this story now has more than 100 followers o.O Awesomesauce, thanks! And to answer some questions:
Samariffic: Haven't really touched anything Destiny, although the visuals seem absolutely awesome. I may do that, see what kind of Shepard I can come up with there!
Zeromaru: The biotic one is actually Doctor Nie, C'ie just got pulled up - hard! :D
