"KNOW THIS, AS YOU DIE IN VAIN: YOUR TIME WILL COME. YOUR SPECIES WILL FALL."
"Maybe, you're right. Maybe we can't win this.
But we'll fight you regardless.
Just like we did SOVEREIGN. Just like I am doing now.
However insignificant we might be.
We will fight. We will sacrifice. And we will find a way. That's what humans do."
- Staff Commander Shepard, NORMANDY SR-2, Arrival DLC
Chapter 20 - The Citadel: Post Mortem
On an invisible signal, the entire Presidium fell silent. At least, as far as I was able to see it. Which wasn't much. The camera angles were awful.
Enough of that.
The crew of Alliance warship NORMANDY, all of them, stood at attention. With them stood six members of Shepard's squad, and the Commander herself. Noticeably, slightly offcentered. Probably unwilling to draw all attention to herself.
The seven Alliance flags on display behind them did… dull the image, though. Which was a good thing, at least in my books. The dead deserved recognition, probably more so than the living.
Especially, since they had only been the first ones to go. A sobering thought - but the naked and pure truth nonetheless.
But when Councillor Tevos and Admiral Hackett started awarding the medals on behalf of Alliance and Council, respectively… I just had to grin and felt a small bit of pride rise in my chest. It didn't matter how this small motion set my entire left side on fire. They had all earned it, in their own respective ways.
And I had been there, too. And I had done my part.
And yet, the voice of cynicism groused from its corner of my mind, it has barely started.
In a rare moment of inner strength, I silenced those thoughts.
I couldn't care less. For just a brief few seconds - or minutes? - I was simply… happy.
As per usual, however, those brief moments of respite vanished in the blink of an eye.
The image on TV switched to that of an Asari journalist, who praised the crew's and the Alliance's efforts from even above the treetops - judging by the subtitles, anyway. Only very little professionalism remained. No surprise there. If I was informed correctly, she'd been at the Presidium when Saren struck.
But when the camera panned out to reveal Rear Admiral Mikhailovich and a turian general, and the three started to discuss the consequences that needed to be drawn from this attack on the heart of civilization, as they called it, I carefully - and with no small amount of wincing - grabbed my omnitool from the nightstand and switched off. I hadn't bothered turning the volume on in the first place.
As …. Well, good as that moment had been, hearing all that public praise for the Saviours of the Citadel just felt… I don't know. Wrong. In a sense, I was glad that I had a good excuse to not
Lowering myself back onto the hospital bed, I closed my eyes and relaxed. As far as that was an option.
Chapter one of the saga of Shepard and her immortals had found its conclusion. And despite everything, the outcome had been… good. Plain and simply, good.
It did not come without its… let's say, drawbacks.
I had woken from the medically induced coma, roughly five days after the Battle of the Citadel. And I am not going to lie… the first two days were horrible.
Strangely enough, the fact that my left arm was utterly destroyed, for lack of a better phrase, was not the problem.
The realization that I had suffered amnesia, was.
Entire days, weeks even, were gone from my memory.
Even today, I still feel uneasy about not remembering everything. But to remember how, forced to lay still with all those bandaged imprisoning me, I struggled desperately to piece together what was missing… this still makes my guts wrench.
Fortunately however, the personnel of Huerta Memorial was every bit as competent as their reputation said. Even overtaxed with all the other medical emergencies, they still found time to treat me in the very best way possible. Although it brought me pain and annoyance how none of them seemed willing to answer any of my questions.
Had we succeeded?
Had my friends made it out alive?
How bad exactly were my injuries?
In retrospect, I cannot put any blame on the staff. The situation was… difficult, for all of us.
Ten thousand dead; likely many of them had been colleagues, friends, loved ones.
Another hundred thousand injured, equally in need of treatment as I was.
Still, being left in the dark caused me no small amount of anxiety and, frankly, painful moments.
I could go into more details if I wanted to. I do not want to.
It was not until the third day that things started to brighten up. By that time, I was a bit ticked off.
In the morning, I received a visit from the doctor in charge of my treatment. Dr. Lyesia Veya, an asari matron, appeared and took a blood sample.
"Feel free to sting me all you want, Doctor." I said, as humorously as my drugged brain allowed. Naturally, I was receiving a constant stream of painkillers.
"But if you don't mind - I'd like some answers. And I want them now, please. Don't spare me, just let me know what the hell is going on."
The way she looked at me revealed deep tiredness, but somehow she seemed happy to give some clear answers. And so, she took a seat and talked to me for ten whole minutes. Probably ten more minutes than she was allowed to.
We had made it. Saren's assault had been stopped, just in time. The Alliance 5th Fleet had saved the DESTINY ASCENSION. Shepard and our guys had taken Saren down.
And Joker, and the NORMANDY had claimed the kill on SOVEREIGN.
The end of the world had been staved off… for now.
The information I got did not sound like much - but trust me, it was all I needed at that moment.
Dr. Veya had no information on my teammates, but promised to tell them about my condition and, seeing that I was fit enough to see them, would allow visits. Not without protests, but seeing as how I was more than willing to cooperate with the medical staff - a rare sight amongst career badasses, as it looked like - arrangements could be made.
It's entirely possible that I had been brought in, still wearing my Alliance 'Red Crystal' mark, the one reserved for first aid responders. Therefore, it's possible that her judgement was still a bit clouded. Maybe she thought that I was more capable of 'taking the full truth' than your average human marine. I don't know. I don't care, frankly - it served me well.
All she did know was that Ashley was okay. She had been treated in Huerta as well, but had been saved from the worst of combat. No medical instrument had given out during the operation, no Geth had come far enough to be an honest threat. As you can imagine, that put a relieved smile on my phase.
It was on the fourth day that I noticed some of my memories coming back. I received a cocktail of different chemicals to help. Part of it was based on Drell neurochemicals, if I remember correctly.
While I did start to hallucinate slightly - I never smoked weed, but in my clear moments, I felt like that the experience would be rather similar - I was equally relaxed by the feel of regaining control.
As you have undoubtedly guessed however… not all of the memories did come back. To this day, some of them are fuzzy or forever lost to me. I can compensate using my diary or other recorded material, but… it's just not the same. Other issues followed, but I am certain that you, dear readers, are quite fed up by my ramblings about my own conditions. This is, after all, supposed to be a report about my perspective on our struggles as a whole.
There is one thing that I would like to stay on record, however.
I should add that I was, in essence, running on bare instinct for most of the time. Which is something I don't like recalling nowadays, but helped keep my brain from dwelling too much on other things.
After all the garbage of the last few months lost its horrors. And, be assured… It was a nice break, and a relief at the same time. I mean, after all, for the first time in literally half a year - I had nothing to worry about. And I cannot know for certain… but I am almost certain that my mind would have collapsed under the weight of my own thoughts, if things had gone on just a bit longer.
My mind and body needed - demanded - rest. Despite all the other things happening around me… I did rest. And I cannot overestimate how much that helped me.
Well… it also significantly lessened the blow of learning what exactly had happened to me. No footage was available, so I had to be told… but after insisting, multiple times, that having full understanding would be more beneficial to me than being left in the dark, Dr. Veya relented.
I liked her. She made sure that I received the best treatment, but without putting me into cotton and being overly protective of me. All the while, somehow staying professional and compassionate.
It was still quite… uncomfortable.
Though I was essentially drugged for the majority of it. That may have played a part.
My left arm was, for the lack of a better word, destroyed. Not injured. Not heavily injured.
Destroyed.
In the time I came from, this sort of injury might've warranted an amputation.
They said that it had been, according to their reports, caught between the claws of a Geth prime. I had, apparently, tried to stop one from overrunning my position by using my omniblade. I don't know how a Prime could have climbed up into the Embassy, but I'm sure those crafty bastards would've found a way. I had been so exhausted that the Prime, recognizing the threat, had no problems grabbing and stopping me with literally machine-like precision.
And squeezed.
I remembered, barely. That had been the seconds after Crow had been shot. And I decided to sacrifice myself to make sure one of us could get out. Not deliberately making the call to die. But to soak up as much damage as I could, all to get their attention.
Stupid.
Naturally, the shock of my bones being shattered to pieces and my muscles being torn asunder had been significant. Combine that with a point-blank rifle burst to the stomach and significant medicine and drug consumption throughout the entire day...
My heart had been unable to take anymore.
I went into cardiac arrest, dropped, and fell.
I was clinically dead.
There is no nice way to phrase it.
And all the drugs and the medicine to dim my brain could not significantly lessen the immense discomfort that realization caused to me.
Nobody knew who saved me. Someone took out the Prime, someone rushed to my aid, someone found the time to rip my chest armor off me, someone gave my body the meds it needed. Someone eventually gave me a blood infusion, too.
Someone removed my mask, using the emergency seals. Eighty seconds had passed. They needed five tries. A hundred and twenty seconds. What remained of my armor kept my body warm enough. Then, finally, the defibrillation worked.
I dodged the Reaper's Scythe by only a few seconds.
Everything that happened after that appears relatively… tame, in comparison. My arm could be saved… kind of. The operations had to be postponed until I was stabilized. Which, even in a 22nd century hospital with the best equipment available - technology that had something miraculous like medigel being an accepted standard, mind you! - took two days. By the point they had gotten to it, things got ugly.
And, frankly, I'd like to ignore how they pulled the rounds of my stomach and stitched me up there.
… I hate remembering the entire affair. Naturally. But in a sense, it's also a… well, good thing?
Once you died once, there is little that can shock you anymore.
Or maybe, I am just weird.
That's entirely not outside the realm of possibilities, either.
The best thing to happen, happened on day 5.
That was when my squad found me.
Garrus was the first one to enter. His eyes caught mine as I lay there. I just knew he breathed a sigh of relief. A gesture on the other side of the door, and Liara, Tali, Kaidan… and even Wrex entered.
Good guys, I thought, happy at the way they all smiled at me. A warm smile, overflowing with appreciation. Yes, even Wrex. Noone left behind.
"Soo…", Garrus drawled, flaring his mandibles. He was the first one at my side, carefully placing my good hand in his talon. I swear he was overjoyed to see me. But, of course, that bloody bird of prey didn't show it outwardly. "Here you've been. Thought you could just sit it out, huh?"
My smile widened. I knew his words were spoken in jest. I looked at all of them. They all looked relieved, in their own way. I saw Liara's fresh scar at her cheek, Tali's bandages to help seal her suit. And as much as Kaidan tried to conceal it, I also saw his bullet wounds.
And finally, Ashley. Damn, did she look banged up in her hospital fatigues, supported ever-so-subtly by Kaidan… she smiled the brightest of all, I think.
I didn't like how weak my voice sounded still, but I had to give him the answer he wanted. They all wanted it. It just felt right.
I had a reputation to uphold, after all.
"Have you found my rifle? We need to compare notches, Garrus. Bet I got more of 'em than you."
Two more days were spent in relative peace. Two more days of recovery, of blissful ignorance. Well, as blissful as they could possibly be in a hospital. The room I was in - a single room - was remarkably unremarkable, bog-standard. No windows to the outside, but some screens that pretended to be windows - showing a serene picture of the Presidium Lake that certainly couldn't be accurate anymore. As I understood it, I was actually below the Presidium's surface. The screens trying to pretend that everything was alright outside were unnerving - but not more.
The real world called me back in far too soon. The hospital staff reduced the amount of painkillers pumped into my veins. And, not long after I started feeling exactly just how much I had overtaxed my body, my mind woke up as well.
Naturally, my mind being the uncooperative bastard that it was, immediately started asking questions. And I needed the answers.
Of course, the medical staff was unsure if allowing me to see more… well, guests would be beneficial to my well-being. I think that my squadmates were very… persuasive. Somehow, I convinced them to allow me extranet access and, subsequently, access to Alliance HQ's footage. I think the fact that Shepard was a literal hero - and a SPECTRE - may have influenced their decision. Maybe they thought that I had to be cut from a different cloth to keep up with someone like her.
Or maybe, I am overthinking things. Shush, Raven.
Somehow, my omnitool had survived the ordeal it had been put through. The records survived, badly damaged. Enough could be restored to paint the picture I have described in chapters prior.
The picture was grim. And yet, left me strangely… unimpressed.
Later that day, Crow was granted a visit. Not that I was surprised.
As soon as Crow stepped in, I felt dread. Of course, I was happy to see him on his feet. Given everything that happened. He was in rather casual clothing - but all of them fit perfectly into the Mass Effect universe. His arms were bandaged, his face had a scratch or two, his neck had the obvious signs of medigel on them. But nothing critical.
I dreaded the conversation that was about to happen. Still, I couldn't help but grin as he stood before me, looked me up and down - then broke into a rare, full smile.
"We did it, huh." He said. But his eyes sparkled.
"Yep. We did." I grinned even more broadly. "Good to see you."
I didn't feel good during either of those parts.
We talked for some time. I had to tell him the full story of how we had made it back to the Citadel. In return, I got the run-down on how he made it to the Embassy.
According to him, it wasn't all that spectacular.
"I wasn't sure when to pick up the stuff you left for me," he said, "Too early would've been suspicious and ticked off my employer. I thought I'd have enough time to gear up when the geth would actually arrive."
He snorted.
"There was no public alarm until the moment they started breaching the Citadel. By the time I had reached the lockers, they had already started engaging C-SEC. I got dressed up, got the guns and left. The second I stepped out, I came under fire."
His eyes darkened. I could feel that certain level of exhaustion. Naturally, I didn't pry any more.
"Long story short, I found my way to the Alliance Embassy. It was the closest strongpoint I could reach. Seemed like the best option. And, yeah… that's where you showed up, a few hours later."
No word about how taxing it must've been to go through the almost literal hell the Presidium had turned into. I remained quiet. I could respect that.
I wanted to know what had happened, to help him out by sharing my own experiences... But found myself too exhausted by my own issues to offer comfort. At least in a manner to actually do more harm than do.
'Every soldier has scars', I remember Anderson saying in the very first scene after you've selected your Shepard. If memory serves, one with the 'Sole Survivor' background.
That was a fight both of us would have to win on our own.
As much as I hated myself for it. That being said, I found myself quite… unimpressed, once again.
Not that it stopped the thoughts in my head.
We chatted a bit more, but frankly, it was such pointless chatter that I won't waste your time to tell you about it.
All you need to know that, the longer we talked, the more I noticed how he was acting.
If my guess was right, then that one wasn't about his experiences on the Citadel during the Geth onslaught. I was proven right.
Finally, when we both ran out of empty phrases to fill up our conversation, he paused.
"So…" He drawled, looking me dead in the eye with a level of intensity that I hated to see there.
"What will happen now…?"
Words cannot express how much I dreaded what was about to happen.
And yet, I couldn't flee.
There simply was no point to it.
Not that I didn't try.
"Tell me." I replied, avoiding his gaze to stare at the ceiling.
If my noncommittal answer surprised him, I couldn't see it. I think it did, however.
"Hit you that hard, hm?," he said after a pause of ten seconds. "Remember what we discussed a while ago about what our next options were? Normally, that would be a rhetoric question, but…"
"I actually don't," I replied as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances. "Remind me, please."
He sighed. "You remember very well. I can tell by your voice. Trying to dodge the subject won't help anyone, though. And as sorry as I am that you have to face this question, the time's come."
He seated himself on my bed, with enough distance to not appear pushy, but close enough to me that I couldn't really avoid him or his question any further.
"So, what will it be?", he drawled, an expression of deep tiredness on his face. It was like looking in a mirror.
"Shall she live… or must she die?"
This was the one question everything so far had slowly, but surely led up to.
Would we tell Shepard what fate had in store for her?
There were good reasons for either choice. I briefly braced myself for the exchange of arguments. I wondered briefly if there could be bugs around. Unlikely.
"If we tell her, we may not lose years of time.", I said, knowing full well what would come next.
"If we do that, we can no longer count on our knowledge to help in any way," Crow countered.
"If that's the case, then Shepard can compensate - relatively speaking - by not needing that much time to rebuild her reputation, to waste time and energy working with Cerberus - nor half a year in prison! We could change everything, throw the rulebook out and start fresh. Two, maybe three years are a lot of time for Shepard to get the word across, look for options - unite the galaxy and skip all the searching. We know where to look already!"
"If that is the case, then you will not meet any of the potential future allies and squadmates we know are out there. Your current ones cannot evolve to be as strong as they need to be. Then it's just on her. And she cannot do it alone. She will not make any major progress as an Alliance pawn - and without her death, she can never break free to do what's best for everyone."
Crow's tone grew a bit bitter. "We cannot do it on our own either - not where wwe stand at the moment and with the tow of us can evolve. We need them to unite everyone. And only then will we have a chance. You're talking about the lives that it may save. I'm thinking of those we will lose if we mess it up."
I clenched my teeth.
"I know, I know." He said in a calming, understanding manner. "This can't be easy. Shepard's your friend."
"If I don't tell her," I whispered, "I'm a fucking murderer."
Crow bent over, his face closer to me. Minus the battle marks, it was just as I remembered. Though a bit older, a bit more tired.
"If you do tell, then we may - inadvertently - murder everyone alive." He was quiet. "Let me put it like this: If we keep the deck together, we may be - and will be - able to stack it in our favour. After all, we know the majority of the cards - and the order in which they will be drawn. We will lose all that if we shuffle it. There is no guarantee that our cards will be any better - it's just as likely, if not more, that our cards will be worse."
He paused, but I didn't give him an answer. It was one of those rare occasions when I knew that what was told me was factually correct and logically sound - and yet, I still refused to believe it.
"I met her earlier, you know." He took a more normal posture and took a deep breath. "She paid me a visit, only briefly, when you were still unconscious. She's just as you described. And was obviously worried about you. She did ask me about what happened back at the embassies, and I told her."
He paused for a brief moment to pour himself a glass of water from a bottle on my nightstand. I briefly wondered what else they had spoken about - and if I would ever find it out.
"I can tell why you're respecting her that much. She cares," he said and emptied the glass in one swig. "But personal respect has to have no meaning when it comes to decisions like this one. We spoke about this at length. You remember."
Sadly, I did.
"We two are in the unique situation that we have a pretty good understanding about what has happened, is happening and will happen in the future. We can connect the dots nobody else sees and can be sure that our connections are, mostly, correct."
"Which means," I interrupted him, "that is our job to make sure that our knowledge is used as best as possible. Which is precisely why…"
"Yes - and no." Crow's gaze hardened. "It means that we need to use it as best as possible. And that means that it's our bloody duty to also make some of the hard calls when necessary. This is one of those situations. Telling Shepard would only shift the responsibility away from us, to her."
We remained silent for a moment.
"You said that not telling Shepard would make you a murderer. I don't agree.", he spoke again, a bit calmer and quieter. "Sometimes, a commanding officer must face the same dilemma. Shepard, normally, would have had to sacrifice either Kaidan - or Ashley."
"But in the end… seven others paid the price." I looked at my left arm - and suddenly, remembered Private Martinez, his legs ripped off, eyes void of life.
"If the one who survived can cause the survival of eight other soldiers, then by all logic, it was worth it." Crow tilted his head. "Our knowledge is a blessing in that we can save as many lives as possible. Our curse is that we have to make those kinds of calls. That's the burden we have to carry - and that I, for one, will carry. So, while I agree with you, to an extent - it would be selfish to put our survival, our emotions higher than the survival of the many."
"Is that still you," I said, neutrally, making sure not to sound condescending or accusing, "or The Illusive Man speaking?"
He stopped, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.
"I am not indoctrinated. And I am not a human supremacist slash fascist slash racist, if that's what you're asking." His tone had gotten icy.
I had overdone it, and I knew it. "I'm sorry."
The silence that followed was most uncomfortable.
"I get it," he said. The ice in his voice got melted by the heated way he spoke. "Those are the hard choices. But that's just what I am saying. I'm not saying that we should shed our humanity, our empathy, to save lives. I cannot speak for you. But I, for one, want to save as many lives as possible - and for that reason, by my conclusions, Shepard needs to die. If I am feeling guilty for it the rest of my life, then I will have to live with it - and I will work as hard as I can to make sure that this call was the right one, at the cost of myself if I have to. Whatever it takes to stop the Reapers, to stop as much bloodshed as I can."
He nodded at me. "Ultimately, it's your call. I can decide to keep quiet all I want - you are the one Shepard speaks to, the one she trusts. You have heard what I have to say. Now, it's your choice."
I nodded, quietly, numbly.
I had nothing to say either. In essence, I agreed with him.
Every conclusion, every thought, every bit of logical thinking inside me agreed with him. We had spoken about that entire affair at length, and now, that the time was near, it was indeed time to make the right choice.
If only I'd no emotions and all of my memories had been erased...
Crow rose from my bedside, ready to leave me to my thoughts. He had done what he could, I couldn't blame him from doing his part. We had agreed to meet later, once I had been discharged from hospital. He had his own matters to arrange, and he knew the basics of what I had in mind.
"Before I go…" He still looked at me as my train of thoughts got rudely interrupted. "I have something else for you to think about."
I was confused and must have looked the part. What could be important enough, after that dire topic?
"I assume you didn't have the clarity yet to think about it, but there's something odd about that last mission," Crow said slowly, likely to make sure that I could follow. "The Geth arrived on the Citadel on the 12th, our calendar. Counting the days since you left… you've reached Virmire on the 10th. You needed two days to get there, remember? And you cannot have been stuck in combat for two days. You lost a day somewhere."
"The Conduit."
I suddenly realized it. A whole wall seemed to be torn down in my mind to reveal something that should've been incredibly obvious.
Crow nodded gravely.
"The Conduit was a prothean experiment. An experiment to recreate the Relays that, as we know, the Reapers created first. They break the laws of physics as you and I know them and are impossible to replicate, even for the Asari and the other species that exist right now. So, would it be unlikely to assume that something went wrong? That the Conduit does not work fully as intended? If so, and if we keep in mind that both of us arrived here on the Citadel…"
"... then the Conduit transported us here." I whispered.
He looked unsettled as well - but had a bit more time to prepare.
"If we assume that to be correct… then what on Earth did we do back home to trigger it? How are those two... things connected?"
I knew no reply to that.
For the third time that day.
Even without her armor, even without the magnetic boots clicking on the floor, it was not difficult to recognize the Commander when she approached.
Okay, I may have received prior warning… but that's beside the point.
Shepard looked exhausted, but content. That was my first impression as she entered.
"Ah, Commander Shepard." I said as I turned my head and grinned at her. "I was wondering if you'd show up. No," I corrected myself, wincing as subconsciously tried to gesture with my bad arm, "when you'd show up. Good to see you."
She smiled. Relieved. "Good to see you too, Raven."
As she came closer, I noticed that her whole movement was a bit stiff. Her midriff had been bandaged, apparently, and her face was a bit scratched. Aside from that, she looked… good.
She pulled a chair from one of the walls and sat down next to me. "Pardon me for being so late… it looks like everyone wants a piece of me, these days. Council and AllCom are hosting one 'emergency meeting' after the other. Apparently, I'm the 'Lead Geth Expert' now," she snorted.
"I can guess the answer… but is the Council still not acknowledging that we've got a problem called Reapers?" As she groaned quietly, I chuckled and added: "At the very least, now everyone knows that we got a serious problem at all. No denying that one anymore."
I used my right to gesture at her sleeves, still grinning. "Also, another stripe? Congratulations, Staff Commander."
Now, she grinned brilliantly. "To you as well, Corporal."
From a pocket of her uniform, she pulled my new Alliance Navy ID card. There were now two golden chevrons, pointing up.
"You've got the same deal as me, though: The jobs stay the same, but with an increase in pay. I'd say that's a win-win."
I laughed, but winced again when I tried to move too much. "Sounds fair. Though, you'll have to do without me for a while, by the look of things."
Her grin dimmed considerably. "How are you?" That wasn't small-talk, that was an officer wanting an actual, honest answer. "I knew you'd been injured and have kept tabs on your recovery, but how bad is it?"
"Not as bad as it could have been. I'm alive, Shep," I said in what I hoped was a reassuring voice. "It looks like I will make a full recovery in time."
She nodded, but bit her lower lip. I knew she expected me to give her the rundown, no matter how detailed the medical reports she'd received were. And so, I gave what had happened my own spin. It will contain repetitions, but I think it's important this time.
"To keep it brief: Some scratches, some bruises, some of the bullet wounds from earlier got torn open. Also, a Prime apparently thought my left arm was some chewing toy," I joked with gallow's humor.
She gazed at me again. A medical x-ray couldn't have pierced me any better. I felt compelled to continue - the power of 'paragon', which had to be maxed out at this point.
"I'll spare you the details. Basically: It shredded my arm like some plastic bottle and ruined muscles and bone alike. They've spent quite some time picking chunks of my armor and bones out of the whole mess." I tried to keep up the jovial tone, but that grew increasingly difficult. "Unfortunately, by the time they had stabilized me enough to worry about that, some of my muscles had already died. Literally. That being said, they've stopped the rest from getting infectious and it all getting even worse, and if I understood it correctly, then they'll get me a surgery later this week to fix it up properly. If I try to move, the shoulder hurts like a bitch, but that's it."
I snorted in true annoyance and false fearlessness. "They should've probably chopped it off and sewed on a new one. Might have been a cleaner process."
A lopsided grin sneaked onto her lips. "If only." In a decidedly neutral manner, she asked: "And your memories…? Do you know how big the damage is?"
I sighed heavily. "Don't ask me to put a percentage on it. It's been getting better lately, but those chems are not without their side effects, I'll tell you that much. Never took any drugs, but that's what smoking weed must feel like." I looked her in the eyes. "I think I remember most of the important things, up until… well, Virmire."
I suddenly noticed that I didn't have any overly emotional reactions to those memories. The painkillers and other chemicals did their job, apparently.
"After that… I am starting to remember a bit more, but it's all still a bit fuzzy. Most will come back over time. Some may never return. Or so I was told. It's not too important, though - my brain isn't scrambled, I haven't gone insane, so nothing to worry about."
A bit on the dramatic side, but I was still satisfied with how I had gotten it all across.
Shepard merely… looked at me. It was a strangely muted gaze, impossible for me to decipher. I dare to call myself a decent observer, if I put my mind into it - but there was just too much in it.
Only much, much later, I thought that I understood. She realized that moment that I was no rookie anymore, had been forced to grow up. And some more observations, maybe some comparisons to other soldiers that used to be under her command. Perhaps some musings about my combat-fitness in the future, some psychological analysis. None of it with a cool and rational mind either, rather with a significant amount of melancholy. A feeling many older - I should say, more experienced - soldiers share. Younger me had no chance to understand any of it.
"Sounds better than I had hoped, to be honest." she replied and smiled at me encouragingly. "Don't rush yourself, Raven. Take all the time that you need. I'd rather wait half a year to get you back at a hundred percent than two months and eighty. Okay?"
"It's not like the doctors would leave me any other choice, frankly."
She grinned like a fox. "That might have been me. And Dr. Chakwas, too. I'm supposed to relay that if you even thought about leaving your bed until she'd personally discharge you, she'll make sure to tie you down real good. And not in a way you'd like either."
I laughed loudly. It hurt. It didn't matter.
Shepard and I then spoke about what had happened in the meantime. My fellow squad members and Crow had done so already, but she rounded out the picture and added things that had happened since.
To be honest, I don't think I need to recap it here, or at least not much of it. Generally speaking, the biggest consequences were following along the lines of a typical Mass Effect 1, Paragon-Shepard ending - including the endorsement of Anderson as Human councillor. She told me of the chase after Saren from her perspective - and yes, she had managed to talk him down.
"I still wish I could've done more." The Commander said, her eyes staring in the distance for a second.
"I don't think you would've succeeded, Shep." I replied. "I'm amazed that you managed to break SOVEREIGN's hold over him at all. For all we know, he had to die. If I remember correctly what Anders- sorry, Captain Anderson said, then - indoctrinated, or not - we're better off without him."
She nodded slowly. "Maybe you're right, Raven. Still…"
She trailed off, then seemed to pull herself together and continued. Personally, I had gotten over the blind hatred I had felt towards Saren, but not over my dislike towards his entire persona.
He had been an idiot, a blind fool - but in the end, he also had been among the first victims. He had only been a tool, and whatever atrocities he had committed before they turned him, he'd paid for it dearly anyway.
In the grander scheme of things… Saren simply didn't matter.
She also told me that we had lost an entire day in the Conduit due to science… or, rather, lack thereof. Which didn't perturb her much, she only found it regrettable and curious. I didn't dare to say much on that topic.
But it did raise a question: Had SOVEREIGN attacked the Citadel, because it, too, had assumed that Saren had been lost? That a direct attack had been needed, Saren's infiltration failed? Nothing overly concerning for the moment - but something to keep in mind for later. Or maybe, those were just pointless musings.
Finally, I was relieved to hear that my injured teammates of 905 had survived and were on their way to recovery. They had been transferred back to Vancouver, where the Alliance had its primary medical centers only hours before the attack. I mentally gave them my blessings and hoped for their speedy recovery. It was unlikely that I would meet any of them again in this life.
All in all… it was a pleasant chat.
That made the sound of her omnitool beeping only more harsh in my ears. She sighed, looked it up, and looked pretty fed up with everything.
"Duty." She made it sound like a curse - which wasn't that far from the truth, after all. "What does a woman have to do to get some goddamn shore leave?"
At first, I thought about replying in a rather sarcastic way. Getting your arse handed to you, like yours truly?
Then I realized what I had almost said out loud. And remembered the dreadful decision I had to make.
I hid the small panic attack behind a broad grin and remained silent.
The Commander typed in a short reply, gave my bed an annoyed stare, then directed her gaze back at me again.
"It was good to see you, Raven - and to talk to you. It usually is. But to be honest… I'm not sure when I'll have the next chance. We're leaving the Citadel in six days. AllCom has assigned the NORMANDY to hunt down some Geth, disrupt their patrols, that kind of business. We'll probably be out for a month or so. And as I told you, the powers that be seem to be intent on using up any bit of my free time. At this rate, that Geth hunt will be my vacation…"
"The pleasure's all mine, Shep. Don't worry about me, I'll be here when you guys return. Not that I have much choice at the moment… But we aren't done just yet. And I'll stick around if you need me."
Keeping a friendly-neutral face was not easy. Fortunately, Shepard nodded and rose, suddenly stopping mid-movement.
"Oh, before I forget…"
No way she forgot, I thought. Figure of speech. Though, my curiosity was piqued.
From one of her uniform's many pouches, Shepard pulled a small medallion. And handed it to me with a… tentative? But a smile, regardless.
"Captain Wolcott asked me to hand you this. She said that 908, the Embassy security squad, sends their regards - and their respect. She specifically told me not to forget that last part."
I gingerly took the medallion. It was the Alliance insignia, Earth held between two clasps. It looked golden, polished and precious. On the globe, 905 was inscribed in small, but decorative letters. It all looked a bit improvise - and not, at the same time. I could tell that this thing had been created using an omnitool.
Unsure of what to think, I flipped it around and found a small inscription.
"First one's in, last one's out"
I looked up, speechless, but… touched. A genuine sign of respect - coming from fellow fighters. I still wasn't too sure about what to make of it, but gazed up to thank Shepard.
Shepard looked down on me, smiling and nodding.
"Get well soon, Raven. When we're back, I expect my '5 o'clock man' to be where he belongs, alright?"
The way she sounded should've made me feel relief. Naturally, it didn't.
She turned and went to leave.
I had to.
"Shepard…!"
She turned and faced me.
"Yep?"
So… careless.
It was as if I had activated my combat drugs. Everything seemed so slow.
I could see every small movement.
Whatever.
It only lasted a few seconds.
It.
An inner struggle, a conflict resurfaced that had been decided long ago.
Takes.
But in one last struggle, one last act of defiance of the part of me that was left untainted, unscarred - I offered her a chance.
"We've delayed the Reapers - we haven't stopped them." I heard from far away. The words came out of my mouth somewhat automatically, but still with conviction. The advantage of having rolled that question around in my head that often.
I looked her deeply into these brilliant green eyes.
"You've been the one who stopped them. You've led us, you're the one carrying the Cipher, you're the one that made the big decisions that brought Saren and SOVEREIGN down. But SOVEREIGN can't be the only failsafe they've left. Otherwise, their Cycle would be extremely vulnerable. Too vulnerable."
I leaned up in my bed, as best I could. The next time I met her gaze, I tried to put as much conviction into my voice as I could.
"Whatever, whoever their second failsafe is - they know that you've been the one who stopped their first one. You have a target on your back now. Be. Fucking. Careful. Out there."
She was silent for a moment. I cannot describe her facial expression.
"Thanks, Raven." she finally said. "You've got a point. I'll be as careful as I can be, under those circumstances." Her features softened. "That only makes it more important that I have everyone under my command ready when the Reapers make their next move. I'm counting on you, Raven."
I held her gaze and chose my next words carefully. "I will be ready when you're calling, Commander."
"Thank you." She smiled softly. "But don't rush yourself. You got plenty of time to heal up, and if you don't use it, I'll personally assist Chakwas in binding you to the cots in the medbay. See you later, Raven."
"Good Luck, Shepard. See you later."
With that, she was out the door.
I fell back on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
So, you've finally done it, huh? The voice in my head said, gleefully - sneering.
"I'm sorry…" I whispered.
A single, hot tear rolled down my cheeks.
I have become a murderer.
No. Part of me was quick to interrupt. The part that was still capable of cool logic and clear thinking - the part that had recovered during my stay and grew increasingly weary of my emotional reactions.
You've given her the choice.
"Is it a real choice…?"
Yes. She has it in her hands now, all the info she could need in her hands. Stop asking the pointless questions, soldier. Head in the game. Remember what 'Crow' said - he's right, and you know it.
Focus on the mission!
And that's what I did. In a sense, I had to be glad that I was excused from having to be present.
Sometimes, I wish I could turn back the wheel, see what would've happened if I had been just that tiny bit stronger. Or a tiny bit more foolish. Or smarter.
It's pointless to wonder about it. It was already pointless back then. It was not in my hands anymore. On one hand, I was glad about that - on the other hand, it felt like I had chickened out.
Iacta alea est, Julius Caesar once supposedly said. The die had been cast, the Rubicon crossed and the point of no return passed.
I was under the knife again three days later, as I said. They removed all the remaining necrotic tissue and replaced large parts of my bones with a titanium-alloy counterpart. True to the 22nd century, they also put in multiple strains of artificially-grown muscles, flesh and skin. Medigel and other machinery fastened the recovery process, and an additional few days later, I regained some motor function.
I had to undergo a lengthy training process to regain full strength and to fuse the artificial with what was left of my natural muscles and bones. Still, the implants I had gotten all the way back during my enlistment helped along, too, and all in all, I couldn't really be dissatisfied with the result. Especially with the older injuries posing a risk, too...
I should note that it was a relief in itself that I was given not just minimal, but the optimal treatment possible. I had expected supplies to be short with what damage the Citadel had sustained… but after the initial chaos, supply lines had been reestablished quickly.
You have to give it to the Council species and the Council: No matter how much they believed in the invulnerability of the Citadel and no matter how ancient and unused the emergency protocols had been - they were executed brilliantly. I have mentioned ten thousand dead before - but it should also be noted that of those, 7500 had been C-SEC agents, with 'only' 2500 initial civilian casualties.
That being said, not everyone could be saved and by the end, the total death count had risen to fifteen thousand. But as grim as those numbers may appear, and as grim as they are - especially if you consider that a lot of those casualties could have been avoided if anyone but Anderson had bothered to listen - given that less than a third of all killed people were civilians and given that of a hundred thousand initial injured, 'only' five percent had succumbed to their wounds, it was not as bad as it could have been. Remember that at the time, the Citadel housed ten, fifteen million people.
On the other hand, one should not forget that the Geth Heretics, SOVEREIGN and Saren - if you even wanted to count him - had a singular goal in mind and a limited timeframe to achieve it. Also, their attacks had been largely focused on the Presidium. If they had wanted to occupy the whole station or target the civilian population…
That calculation also excluded Alliance Navy casualties, since their logistics were counted separately and their casualties were as well. I, for example, was not counted among those numbers. One must not forget that.
Those are some of the things my mind, unoccupied by anything but waiting, was calculating. If it appears callous, I apologize, but the alternative would have been to fall back into empty brooding and going down the spiral of depressive thinking yet again. Sometimes, my mind rested, but not often enough.
It just made it all the clearer that this had been only the first strike, and while it had been largely deflected, it still hurt. In the future, I would probably have to do those calculations again - only with the numbers reaching millions or even billions.
This was not over, not by a long shot. And I had to be ready for it. As ready as I could be.
Therefore, I followed Doctor's orders to the letter, trained, rested, healed up, ate that horrendous hospital food designed for optimal nutrition at the cost of taste, texture and flavour - all with the singular goal in mind to return to action ASAP.
That much, I owed Shepard.
On the day the NORMANDY left, I received three more visitors.
The first ones came as a duo. That in itself was a bit of a surprise - then again, those two had a special kind of relationship. Like uncle and niece, almost.
I had been allowed to leave bed for the first time that day. And as shaky as I still was on my feet, and as uncomfortable as it was with my arm still heavily bandaged, it didn't stop me from giving Tali a big hug.
"I'm gonna miss you." I said and meant it. "Stay safe, Tali. Thank you for… well, everything."
She looked a bit awkward, but still returned the hug - gingerly, mindful of my injuries. "I should be the one saying that. Thanks for warning me about Fist, and for everything that came from it. It was… how do you humans say it? It was a hell of a ride."
I chuckled. And it has only started. "That it was." I didn't fail to notice how she had matured. The Migrant Fleet had sent out a young pilgrim - it would get a battle-hardened, genuine badass back. She was still Tali, mind you - but, in my humble opinion, better. "I think we'll see each other again, though. I don't think we've seen the last of the Reapers - and Shepard will want to have her best guys. That's Garrus and me. But someone will have to kick our butts when we mess up, of course."
She giggled. Wrex, ever the annoyed grandpa, grumbled.
I grinned broadly and did something neither one expected. I gave his arm a good, friendly slap. "So, back to sunny Tuchanka, Wrex?"
He may have been genuinely stunned for a second. Then he bellowed a hearty laugh that made the foundations of Huerta Memorial shake. "Ha! Growing a pair on the last meters, heh?"
He returned the slap. Fortunately, on my good arm. I still almost fell over wincing - but the grin stayed.
"You got that right, pyjak! I'm gonna need to bust some quads and headbutt some idiots. Need to remind them who I am."
I nodded. Wrex hadn't spoken much, but from what he had said and from what I knew, it was clear that he would return to his homeworld to take control of his clan and make his play to unite all clans. A bold plan - but if anyone could do it, then Wrex. In fact, I knew he would likely succeed.
Garrus and Liara were going to accompany Shepard on the NORMANDY. Liara staying close to Shepard surprised absolutely no one. We all knew that those two had gotten closer and closer as time went by… and if my squadmates were to be believed, then they preferred to spend every minute of their spare time in each other's company.
Garrus however hadn't decided yet what he would do next, but would tag along for one more run at least. With his newfound reputation, he could easily go back to C-SEC - and with the manpower shortages that the organization had now, he'd be almost set for a leading position. A hard decision, no doubt.
But for Wrex and Tali, the chapter 'NORMANDY' was closed. Tali had to return to the Fleet, there was simply no way that she wouldn't. That was just the Quarian way. And Wrex… It may have been difficult to tell from the outside, but comparing him now to the grim krogan he had been back when he was sent to kill Fist was like comparing night to day. This Wrex more resembled the one I remembered from playing Mass Effect 2, with a few hints already of the man he would become in Mass Effect 3. That hard call to make on Virmire, gaining his family's armor back, the time spent fighting not for crime lords and for money, but for Shepard and a purpose… all that had left a mark. And the galaxy would end up being a better place because of it.
The old warrior suddenly looked a lot more serious though, grabbed my good arm and spoke with a low rumble.
"You remember what you promised me on Virmire, right?"
I had to think for a second. When I got it together, I answered with an equally serious and calm voice.
"I remember. And I stand by it - ya got something I can help you with to get rid of what those guys have done -" I nodded slightly towards a salarian medic on the other side of the unpolarized windows - "just give me a call."
"Good."
Then he surprised me - by giving me a hug himself. And he was quite careful as well.
"You're a good kid, Raven. Keep your head on."
"You're welcome." I grinned.
There were worse ways to say goodbye… temporarily.
The third person to visit me that day was no other than Systems Alliance Major Dr. med. Karin Chakwas. A pleasant surprise, though not entirely unexpected.
"I knew you'd be in very good hands." She smiled warmly in a manner only she could. "But I couldn't leave the Citadel without even checking in on you once." In a sense, I was her patient too, after all.
At first, she appeared to annoy Dr. Veya quite a bit with her insistence on checking my healing wounds herself. It wasn't too long though before I saw - and heard - the two medicine women chatting away to the point that my head started to send smoke signals.
Things seemed to go in the right direction for me, though. That much I could understand.
"You should probably use the time between your discharge from hospital and our return here to complete the written parts of the Alliance's advanced training," was Chakwas advice. "Perhaps you could even find the time to read some of the guidelines on small unit leadership."
To be made an NCO eventually? I didn't say anything, but dismissed that idea internally. Not my style. I have enough to worry about as is. As it turned out, Kaidan had been thinking out loud. The man was doing well, all things considered, and had sent me a promise of a drink 'at the earliest convenience'. Yep, that sounded quite like him.
I'm noting this for the sake of completion... but it should go without saying that, of course, I also received the chewed-up-spit-out treatment regarding my, to quote, 'brainless, foolish decision' to get back out in the first place. I endured that roasting without too much objections - but without too much guilt either.
"With everything on the line, it was the only good decision, Doc." I said firmly.
"That might be true." Dr. Chakwas replied, a bit sharply. "That doesn't change the fact that it was still quite stupid, and you should thank your lucky stars that you're still here."
Of course she was right. I didn't feel like I was in the wrong either. The benefits - others would say, naivety - of youth, I think.
Aside from those pleasantries, Chakwas spent around twenty minutes chatting with me - in a friendly manner, that is. She relayed Jokers' best wishes as well (with a suspicious sparkle in the corners of her eyes) and told me a bit about what was going on on the ship. To be frank, I forgot the majority of it soon after. None of it concerned me anymore. But she also mentioned the grim work she'd had as one of the first medical professionals on the Citadel. She had had a busy week behind her. That, too, was not surprising.
The doctor said her goodbyes not much later, now satisfied that my recovery was going the right direction. Dr. Veya had left long before.
I watched her leave, knew she would be among the last ones to enter the ship - and wished her the best of luck.
As I went to retire for the night, I suddenly noticed a small and rather inconspicuous package on my nightstand. At first, I was quite cautious - understandably so. But a quick omnitool scan left me rather speechless. I tore away the packaging - and had to laugh.
Neatly stored in what looked like a wooden box lined with what I suspected to be fake velvet were two small bottles, hip flask-size, and a greeting card.
Get Well Soon, hatchling! One side said. The other one, in more beautiful handwriting: I do not medically recommend drinking both at the same time. Enjoy, but do not get caught. If anyone asks, Jeff made me do it. Signed: J.'Joker' M. and K. C.
Sure enough, one bottle contained decent-ish vodka - the other one Serrice Ice.
My crew, I thought with a grin as I hid the whole box under my pillow, is amazing.
Training, healing, resting, recuperating. That's how you could sum up the weeks that followed.
Not exactly glorious work, but much needed to both regain my strength and shake off all the effects of being bedridden for weeks.
I can only repeat myself, but as much as I had known about the medical standards of this time, being trained as a combat medic - witnessing how my body recovered from near-fatal wounds - of two seperate incidents! - within a month was nothing short of amazing. The more I got to see, the more I understood how Humanity had managed to reach a point where a lifespan of 150 years was not an uncommon occurrence.
And how Project Lazarus was feasible at all.
Granted - it would take more time to be up to my old standards, and my left arm still needed plenty of therapy and exercise to become as functional as it had once been. The muscle-mass had to regrow, after all. But, just for reference's sake - when the cast was first taken off, I could barely move my fingers. A week later, I had enough grip pressure and feel to hold a cup. Another week later, and I could train with a kilogram, later multiple kilograms of weight. It was unlikely that my fingers would ever regain their full dexterity, too many nerves had been hit - but since I am primarily right handed anyway, that wasn't a major concern.
The two things that remained where occasional feelings of cold and, rarely, bouts of phantom pain. But with everything that had happened and considering that the Alliance seemed to have spent quite a bit of money on me - I never asked for, nor received a bill - I had no right to complain whatsoever.
Aside from that, I also started to do some research on a few topic that were important at the moment - like, everything written you could possibly need to pass the slightly more advanced classes that were mandatory for the promotion to corporal. For the first time in a long time though, I also had the luxury of reading something - just for the fun of it. I did have enough time, after all. Long walks around the Citadel seemed rather pointless at the moment.
That being said, I did write one very important letter - but didn't send it yet.
I had to wait for the right moment - a moment I dreaded at the same time.
The news broke when, just about five weeks after the Battle for the Citadel, I underwent some final tests to determine whether or not my arm had regained sufficient strength to be admitted to the refresher courses, eventually to be confirmed in my promotion.
The NORMANDY had been destroyed. Shepard was proclaimed KIA.
I listened to the broadcast without showing any signs of emotion. It was vague, but my memories filled the gaps. As much as my memories could fill it in at all.
The Collectors, or rather their Reaper masters had wasted no time to strike back. The race for Shepard's corpse was now on; but I knew that Liara would win. And then, Project Lazarus would deliver. It simply had to.
I politely retreated back to my room, closed the door, laid back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. I was due to being released - or, rather, moved from my hospital bed to the Alliance barracks - a few days later anyway. I wasn't entirely healed up, but I was healthy enough to be admitted back to regular quarters. It was much more convenient anyway, with the current training I was taking part in.
Surprisingly, and worryingly, my feelings were… indifferent, this time around.
The pieces moved on the board, that much I could see. But the fog of war grew ever thicker. And yet, I still saw clearly what I had to do now.
It was time for my next move. In fact, I had already started.
Even if it took two years to set up and complete.
Two days, I decided. In two days, I'll send my message. Let's hope this goes well.
My mind and eyes drifted to the equipment box that still lay in the corner of the room where the rest of my possessions were, already packed for easy transportation. A brand-new Armax Arsenal Predator-X light armor and matching Recon Hood, next to my freshly refurbished Mattock and a Judgement-X pistol - both of them unloaded, of course.
I gave you the promise that you could keep your rifle and your armor if you did good work, and I intend to uphold it, the note that had been attached to the delivery had said. These are yours now. I repaired your hood and your rifle myself - they will work. I know you'll put them to good use. See you when we return. Signed simply: Shepard.
That may take longer than you would've hoped for - and not under the circumstances either of us would wish for, Shep. I sighed. But those thoughts had no use in my mind, and so I banished them. Too often had they dominated me, but what had been done had been done. But one thing is for sure… I will put them to good use. That much I promise you.
One thing was wrong though, Shepard had made a small mistake. The armor's paint had been changed, from the factory-default green camouflage to the blue and grey/silver Alliance standard colours. And one pauldron showed two golden chevrons, pointing up.
In a few weeks, as I knew, I would have to change the paintjob - and I would start by scratching off the plastic rank sticker.
Corporal Raven would take his leave. He was no longer needed.
I thought so without any regret, however. I clenched my right hand to a fist and looked at the faded, yet still very much visible mark. A reminder of where the round had impacted that had almost caused me to lose a finger, all the way back on the ONTARIO.
Corporal Jess Raven of 905 may have been gone.
But I was just getting started.
My throat hurts, the night has faded, the horizon starts to grey.
"A good story, all in all.", she says.
"Nope." I say and smile. "Just the start of one. A chapter, if you will."
"I know, silly." I can't see them, but I know for a fact that her eyes are rolling. That only makes the smile wider.
We stand there, neither leaning on each other, but still very much enjoying each other's company. Only for a few brief minutes, though. Then we go, not really knowing where, but it seems like we're heading back to the party. Or what's left of it - if I am right about what must have happened in my absence.
She hands me a bottle, I can tell by the smell that it's whiskey & coke. Good thinking. I must be several rounds behind - and there's nothing worse than being several drinks short.
"So, when are you going to tell the rest? I love a good story."
I down the swill, then laugh quietly.
"As soon as I remember why I started telling in the first place."
She sighs. Still a lovely sound. "You're mean. But that's okay."
And with that, we're leaving that hill behind.
A/N: This year. 2020. If you want to know why I have been inactive for that long - that's just it. 2020.
A friend of mine has phrased it perfectly. "2020 was such a ridiculous year. If now, in the closing days, aliens would come visit us here on Earth, walk up to you and tell you: "Hey, I'm an alien!", you'd probably only reply with: "Yeah, sure mate, whatever." before grabbing the next bottle of gin."
The last time I released a chapter - feels like a decade ago, to be frank - people told me not to worry about feeling any pressure releasing fast, to write and release at my own leisure. So, that's what I've been doing.
Jokes aside, I am not fishing for sympathy. I know that I am not the only one who got screwed over majorly by this wreckfest of a year - but I wasn't spared by it either. What could've gone wrong, did go wrong. Anyone else feeling just so incredibly exhausted, now that this year is close to ending? To tell you the truth, this entire year, I did not have much mind to do any creative work at all. My Beta and people I know personally, who read this story, can attest to how difficult it was to work with me this year. For that, I can only apologize.
But I've been using the last week, two weeks, to spend some time away from the place where I usually live to clear up my mind and try to end 2020 on a high. Part of that 'high' is to actually, finally, get Mass Effect 1 done and over with. Maybe you find it hard to believe - but I am so incredibly done with ME1, having spent a not insignificant amount of time thinking about different parts and aspects of it to the point where I am simply fed up with it.
That doesn't mean, however, that I'm done and fed up with ME: Raven! Mass Effect 2 and 3 give me the opportunity to free up the narrative, to bring more of my own writing into it - and, quite frankly, give me a more interesting story and more interesting chars to work with. Given my exhaustion and frustration about ME1, this may surprise you - but I really cannot wait to get started on ME2!
That being said, with ME:Raven being my first ever fanfiction and fiction writing attempt ever, I have learned a lot that I simply couldn't apply so far. For example, while I knew which direction this story would go and what the major elements would be when I started, I too often allowed rather spontaneous ideas to influence me and to slow down everything. I think I stated before that it is not uncommon for me to write up multiple thousand words, just to delete them and start anew the next day.
Changing my approach to ME1 literally during the last chapters would likely have messed up the entire thing - or so I feel. But I have learned from my mistakes and have found out some more organized approaches that will, undoubtedly, help me to be more reliable and predictable in my writing schedule. This chapter, as it stands, is primarily the product of three days spent in a writing fever - but as I write these lines, I can feel the exhaustion in the back of my head, and I haven't even re-read everything yet.
I will be smarter with ME2, but not just with how I structure myself, but with how I structure the 'raw story', the sketch or outline. By making my entire approach to ME2 more structured from the get-go, it should help me to be more efficient with my time and therefore, hopefully, allow for a more steady and maybe just plain bigger writing output. Results pending.
Maybe I'll just write up a good reserve of chapters before I start publishing the first, so that I can keep the releases steady. That, too, would've been a smart thing to think about.
Eh, better late than never.
Anyway, enough of my ramblings. The more attentive among you may have noticed that there's still something missing - and I intend on rectifying that. In fact, as I write this, the Epilogue - and therefore, the last part of ME1! - will be out before Christmas.
Yes, only two days or less - and yes, that *is* a promise.
Stay safe, everyone. I will be back shortly.