~ A different perspective of my main story, told by our most favorit homicidal sociopath ~
Update notes Aug 21: muahahaha! new live for this zombie as well. Enjoy!
*.*.*.*.*.*.*
My name is Jack.
'Course that isn't the name I was born with, but it's all the name you will ever get from me. And damn right, I don't give a flying fuck about your opinion, so don't get any ideas. But maybe... maybe you'd rather prefer to call me 'Subject Zero,' like those bastards who created me. To them I wasn't a child, maybe not even a human. Less than an animal, I was their job, their experiment, their subject; my continued existence justified merely through my body's ability to suffer and survive another dose, another probing, another mind-fuck.
I vaguely remember that there had been others like me, kids ripped away from their families to be thrown into Hell. Sometimes I can see them in my dreams, though their faces remained blurred. Hear their screams. I had killed a lot of them in The Pit… No, it doesn't matter. They hated me. Had attacked me. They all had it coming. Hadn't they?
More drugs. Abuse. Violence. Isolation. Deceit. In their boundless ignorance, those Cerberus assholes believed they could control me by breaking first my body and then my fucking mind.
Guess what? They were wrong. So terribly wrong.
But you already know what happened eventually. You have seen the ruins of the Teltin facility, haven't you? You have walked the dim corridors; you have seen the old blood stains marring the floors. Maybe you have still been able to smell death. Was the rotten corpse of that doctor still pinned against the wall in the main hall; there over the one-way mirror of my cell? Amazing what one enraged biotic is capable of, especially if untainted by any concepts of morality or mercy.
So this is my fucking warning to everybody still hiding out there:
Beware.
Beware the demons you call.
They might come hunting for your blood.
Too bad you can't see me now, or you would see my smile. There's not much left that makes me smile, but recalling how I lifted the Doctor up with the powers they unleashed in me and then drove that metal table-leg through his squirming body... Oh and the screams. The chaos. The terror...
The memory still sends a warm shiver down my spine, a soothing balm encompassing every piece of me and numbing my soul. Sounds weird? Fuck me, you have no idea. I haven't even started. And then there is killing... yes; killing makes feel even warmer. It's better than chocolate, better than a Red trip, better than sex. Hell, it's better than having chocolate while high on Red Sand and screwing some well-hung dude.
The point of this rant? I survived.
And I also survived the pirates that picked up my shuttle shortly after leaving Pragia; I endured while my body recovered from being spent beyond its limits; bid my time during more violence and rape. Poor bastards. How could they have known that there was nothing left that could be done to me? By the time we reached Omega, they were all dead.
Funny. Now that I think about it I can recall another quote, scribbled with a red magic marker on the wall of some dirty restroom on Omega: "Life's a journey". How ironic. Shithouse poetry; the only place to find truth these days.
And so my journey begun. To what end? I don't know. Things have happened. Things, I wouldn't have believed possible. And as certainly as I evolved from the scared bloodstained girl that stumbled out of Teltin, I changed again.
Beware.
Because it's me who is coming for you.
*.*.*.*.*.*.*
~A ship, a shotgun and you~
May 2185, Blue Suns Prison ship Purgatory. Six months after attacking the Cerberus training facility
Cryo.
See, cryo is a marvelous thing.
If I concentrate hard enough I can hear my heart beating, once, perhaps twice as the minute passes by. Another beat. The minutes melt into hours. Days. At some point I always lose count. Not as if it mattered much. My mind's floating, my body hibernating. No sounds. No feelings. No pain. I am drifting and there's something peaceful within this perfect timelessness. I'm not exactly dreaming, but it feels close. Maybe this is what death is like.
Sometimes my thoughts flutter, though. I'm responding to the drugs they had injected to force my body into hibernation. Sometimes people cannot handle the shit they give you to slow down the metabolism. And when you got defrosted eventually, you come out as vegetables. Some just die off, the lucky bastards. As a biotic your chances are slightly better, yet the dose that is coursing through my veins would have killed all but the most powerful adept. They are afraid, and rightfully so.
Because I, I am no ordinary biotic.
But you will see that for yourself eventually.
Kuril finally realized it was too dangerous to keep me in my cell only to be dragged out for their entertainment. I think I had killed another two or three guards before they managed to drug me into unconsciousness. Heh, I hope it felt like nailing a goddamn corpse. The warden shoved me in the freezer then and so I'm once again biding my time.
In my head, I'm laughing again.
Dead. They are all so fucking dead. They just haven't realized it yet.
.~'*'~.
20th September 2185. Still on that bloody prison ship.
The toes on my left foot still feel fuzzy and I really really hope they haven't died off during cryo. A self-amputation ranks about as high on my wish-list as talking to Cerberus without smearing their brains all over the closest hard surface.
Oh, just look who I'm talking to. Not one, but three of those Cerberus idiots. Not my day. Not at all.
They actually expect me to board their ship.
Over my cold dead ass.
However, a bit of curious surreality remains. They came to bargain with Kuril about me. But not to drag me back into another lab; oh no. They need me for a job. Credits and all. What the bloody hell? Do they expect me to pay taxes next?
Yeah, if anything they had found out pretty soon how much worth the Warden's word held; namely zip. Still a shame. I would have enjoyed loading that sonovabitch on the next ride to the afterlife myself.
Cerberus.
My hands curl into white-knuckled fists on their own.
I can tell you there is nothing, absolutely nothing in this fucking universe I would rather see than all of them obliterated so thoroughly, not even one strand of their DNA remains.
"Stay the fuck away from me," I say to them, wanting only to grab a shuttle and get the hell out of Purgatory. I would have freed myself eventually. I owe them nothing.
"Would watch my tongue, if I were you."
My head whips around. Blah blah. As if the snooty cunt in the whit bodysuit isn't enough, I now also get lectured by someone who looks like a cheesy hobby gangsta. And the other? A commander? Of what exactly? The girl scouts' cookie platoon? Are they shitting me?
I sneer at them with a truckload of contempt.
But this Commander keeps staring at me. And then her mask slips. Surprise, surprise. Suddenly I look into old, hard eyes. Danger, so easily to miss with that doll's face. That's what I love about my scars and tats. No misunderstandings. They tell all those idiots out there exactly who they try to screw with.
So I just glare back for the sake of it and then I realize the blonde woman wonders if any of this is worth the trouble. If I am worth the trouble. I can see it, the reckoning, so clear in her cold green eyes. Bam, bullet to my head. Problem solved. Nothing to lose good sleep about. Hmm. Interesting. No the Cerberus rank and file I used to know. They rarely kill. At least, not until they are perfectly certain to have sucked even the last iota of usefulness from you.
And then Goldielocks is presenting me the bait. Two words. I feel my mouth go dry. My heart beats faster. Inevitably I think of that fairytale. You know, the one about that witch sitting all day long in her fucking candy house. "Do come in, no harm shall happen to you."
Yeah; no harm, my ass.
Aw, screw this. I go for it; hook, line and sinker. Can't let a chance like this pass.
Two words:
Database Access.
The evil witch is going to choke on me.
.~'*'~.
21th September 2185. Cerberus frigate "Normandy".
So her name is Shepard. Commander Shepard, the Spectre. Uh-huh.
Can't say I heard about her. But then I've never given a damn about Citadel politics. Or any politics. All those pathetic sissies hiding behind their money and offices. Just thinking about it makes me sick. I mean, shouldn't they at least try to keep the shit from hitting the fan?
Anyway, I'm watching her closely. The mask is back and she's making a big show of dicking around importantly. I won't be fooled by her face again. I know what I've seen. Besides, when I look her up on the extranet it says she died two years ago. Is she dodging taxes, or what?
Fuck it. As if I need any more reasons to stay sharp. This is a ship full of weird weirdos and Shepard is all but their little queen.
For one, the strangest sight isn't the outgrown krogan flashing his junk in a tank, or that trigger-happy amphibian on steroids in the lab. Or that freakish AI, everybody calls EDI. It also isn't the cold-eyed turian with the damaged face who seems – of all things – pretty intent on getting into the panties of our Commander Buttercup.
No, it is that old merc.
Ex-Blue Suns. Butted heads with the wrong end of a shotgun and survived, curiously with most of its wits still intact.
Jessie, huh? It takes me a while to realize he isn't complaining 'bout some hoe who had kicked his scarred ass out of her bed, but the prehistoric rifle he is dragging around. But yeah, guess this is just what old men do. Ranting all day long. Still kinda funny. He actually made me laugh with his shotgun story.
He keeps calling me princess, though. Guess I have to kill him after all.
Too bad. I think I'm about to like him.
