Author's Note: Hello readers! Here's another chapter (and a full one this time) to A World Known. There's nothing much else to really say for now, but I just wanted to let you all know I hope you are enjoying this story and its take on a OC/Self-Insert!

Chapter 2

Lost in Paradise

Loud, ear piercing music. Sexualized Asari dancers. The dozens of men overly indulging themselves in alcoholic beverages. It all fit perfectly in the image of a gentlemen's club. The added petty criminals and mercenaries that roamed the grounds, however, were definitely what distinguished Chora's Den from all of the others on the Citadel. The scum of the space station all gathered together in a single place, throwing their lives away at the end of a bottle. On any other day and in any other place, I would have been disgusted to have surrounded myself with such grimy individuals. But today was not any other day. And this was not any other place. At that moment, I was like every other person in the large circular room: drowning my sorrows away with drink. And know what? It was working fantastically. I never would have even imagined finding myself in such a position just a few days before, but in the meantime I didn't give a single crap about that. Being twenty-one, I was damn well sure going to take advantage of being old enough to drink the night away. And so, as I took another shot of an interesting Asari alcohol that tasted strangely similar to vodka, I allowed the worries of the night before to be washed aside and replaced with a warm buzz. God, I'm going to get fucking wasted. I don't even care if it's still early in the afternoon. You can thank last night for that.

To say my previous night's slumber was unpleasant was a ridiculously massive understatement. I did not even have real dreams or nightmares. What came to me during my sleep were memories. Of my friends, of my family... of my life back in the reality which I came from. That may have sounded like a good thing to have, but when I woke up yearning for the people I loved only to remember I was all alone in a different world, depression was pretty damn close to breaking me. After a very hot shower and a cheap breakfast left behind by Greg, who had already gone to open his pawn shop, I figured there was nothing better to do for the time being than find a sleazy bar to help forget my troubles. At least temporarily. The fact I now owned a well-crafted fake ID certainly had no small part in helping me make that decision.

I pulled out the small identification card from my pocket and examined it for what must have been the twentieth time since receiving it earlier in the morning. According to the details printed on it, I was no longer Jason Roberts, born 1995 in New York City, USA. Instead, I was now officially Jason Price, a registered Systems Alliance citizen born 2171 in Vancouver, UNAS. Yeah, I'm a freakin' Canadian now, eh? It was not a lie to say it hurt me to see my past practically erased and replaced, but it helped a little to know I was, by this universe's standards, the same age as Tali and Jack if my memory served me right. Not information that was really important or valuable per se, but my corny sense of humor and tiny excuse for an ego did not mind the knowledge. Have to take what I can get, right? Technically speaking though, the ID in my hand was not actually a fake. Every real Citadel ID card ever made was apparently accompanied by a built-in microchip that could be scanned for validation, whether that be by an officer's or a bartender's authorized omnitool. Just like all of the others, my card was also equipped with this microchip and it was with great thanks to Greg and a good 'friend' he had in C-Sec. After having made a transfer of "necessary funding", the old man's unnamed contact whipped up the card overnight and had it delivered early in the morning. At the end of the day, however, it was nothing more than a very convincing forgery. The card would have been able to fool any C-Sec officer who scanned it on the streets without difficulty, but under a real investigation and background check it was doomed to fail me. Regardless of that fact, it was well-worth the thousand credits spent if it meant I could safely go into a bar without being hassled.

With a sigh that was easily muted by the commotion surrounding me, I slipped the ID back into my pocket and turned to the second shot glass awaiting me on the bar counter. There was a brief moment of hesitation ‒ a small part of me knew I should stop now ‒ but eventually I took it in my hand and shot the dark blue drink down my throat. As it was my sixth one since sitting down five minutes ago, I had already grown a decent numbness to the burning sensation it would have otherwise given me. I guess this is how people become alcoholics, I thought to myself while my eyes drifted to the holographic television hanging overhead. Just as in the game, the center of the large room that was the public area of Chora's Den, where the bar counter had been built, was designed like a giant, circular picnic table. However, unlike the games, there were four holo-TVs on the walls of the wide pillar behind the counter and bartender in the middle. They were all placed 90 degrees apart from each other as to allow everyone in the area to have visual access to at least one.

Currently, all of the TVs were displaying the same Galactic News Broadcasting Corporation, or GNBC, newscast being performed by a Human man who appeared to be in his mid-to-late forties. "... settled out of court with a Krogan group that charged the corporation with fraud. They paid Binary Helix for research to cure the Genophage, and then sued for their money back when nothing came of the research." Surprisingly, that actually caught my attention. Not the story itself, but the fact I remembered hearing it at some point the last time I played Mass Effect 1.

Quite suddenly, I had been switched from getting happily drunk to becoming increasingly confused. With the current day's date in mind, the timing for this story was way off. This was something that shouldn't have occurred until after the attack on Eden Prime, so why was it instead happening now? Then I gave a hard, albeit slight woozy, thought on the matter. And what crossed my mind would later be seen as the first turning point of my life in this reality. If there's even one thing different in this world, what's to say anything else...

"In other breaking news," the newscaster said as he abruptly cut off my thoughts. "The Systems Alliance and Turian Hierarchy happily finished negotiations over a military trade deal today, when the two reached an agreement in the form of a proposed naval collaboration project. To pave the way for a broader friendship between the once bitter enemies, a new ship will be co-constructed by a mixed team of Turian and Human engineers. Further information on the project has yet to be revealed, but a spokesperson for the Alliance Navy stated the ship is scheduled for completion by the next galactic standard year."

That's definitely the Normandy. I looked back down from the TV to see the last two shot glasses on the counter still full, begging for me to indulge. They were to be my seventh and eighth ones and, for a split second, I almost reached out to take them. But I didn't. My hand fell back to my lap and I stared onward, not at the glasses, but beyond as my mind wandered within my own head. In this world that had become my reality, there were now only two paths I could take. The first would lead me to a downward spiral where nothing but the end of a drink would await me every morning and night. I could have stayed here and continued to pity my worthless self while steadily falling into a depression I likely would have never been able to crawl out of. Or... I could have manned-the-fuck-up, got my shit together, and went to do something useful with my life and time spent here. Having played the entire Mass Effect Trilogy two or three times, I could have gone and taken advantage of being able to practically predict the future. Get up you jackass, a part my better half mentally yelled. You know exactly what you need to do, so get off your ass and stop being a fucking loser.

"Need some help finishing that?" The sudden, unexpected question snapped me out of my reverie. It was spoken by a very feminine voice from close behind and I turned in my bar stool to see an Asari looking straight at me from a couple feet away. She must have seen my questioning expression, because she asked again. "Need some help finishing your drinks?" Her speech was slow and seductive as her attractive face, decorated with exotic white patterns around her crimson red eyes, and soft blue lips inched closer with every word. "You look like you're having some trouble."

It took me a few seconds to register what was going on before I finally lowered my head to look over the Asari's body. She was wearing the same, very revealing skin-tight jumpsuit as the dancers. Realizing she was one of them, I lifted my gaze to meet with her own. "I guess you can say that. Why do you ask?"

"You bought eight glasses of one of the most expensive drinks here," she said while simultaneously extending her arm past me to rest her hand on the counter. In doing so, her blue breasts, which were barely covered by her clothing, were placed just inches away from me. "Since I noticed you're new here, I was wondering if you needed a little motivation to finish up."

Now I was just a normal guy. One who, if I were to be brutally honest, had some very pent up desires and unfulfilled needs due to an extended amount of time alone, even back in my 'real world'. And just like any other average joe, I tended to get excited with a stupid big smile when a nice pair of tits was shoved in my face. Emphasis on the nice. They were big, round, must have been around the 34C size, and just looked so soft and... I roughly shook my head, breaking myself out of the train of thought caused by the hypnotic view. Down boy! This ain't the time! "What kind of motivation are we talkin' about here?" Wrong question, you horny dumbass!

A smile fit for a succubus spread across the Asari's face. "Well you don't seem to care about spending some credits, so maybe..." She gently put her hand on my lower thigh and slowly slid it down to my knee, sending a small shiver shooting up my spine. "...we can get ourselves a booth and I can show you something special."

She's a stripper, man! Besides, you know you're gonna need the money you waste on her for something more important later. As I continued to stare into her alluring, lust-filled eyes, a large battle waged inside my mind. Would it have really hurt anyone for me to relax a bit and have a little fun? I'm probably going to regret this. With a sigh, I reluctantly brushed her hand off my leg. "Lady, if you had come just a minute earlier, you can bet your pretty ass I would have followed you to the back in a heartbeat."

Her smile dropped like a brick when her hand was pushed to the side. She took a couple steps back and now looked confusingly at me with crossed arms. "What happened in the last minute that changed your mind?"

I stood up from the bar stool and shrugged my shoulders. "I kicked myself in the ass and... well... realized I have better things to do than waste my life away at a club. It doesn't have anything to do with you," I quickly reassured when I noticed her frown. "You're definitely someone I'd like to spend some time with alone. Trust me!" A small chuckle escaped me before my serious expression returned. "But to tell you the truth... it just wouldn't be good for me right now."

For several long, overly dramatic seconds, the unamused Asari continued to shoot a piercing glare. However, after having apparently finished processing my words, she abruptly giggled with a shake of her head and a cute little smile. "You're strange."

I nervously rubbed the back of my neck in response. "Well, uh... okay."

Seeing my confusion, her smile changed to a softer, almost sympathetic one. "I mean you're different from the other men. Most of them are Humans or Turians who come walking in looking for some fun, if you know what I'm saying." She cupped the bottom of her breasts in her hands and jiggled them a couple times to accentuate her hidden meaning. "You're the first one with full pockets to ever decline my offer."

I cocked a curious eyebrow. "How long have you worked here?"

"Almost forty standard years," she admitted after a short moment in thought.

"Wow," I said with wide eyes and an impressed half-smile. "That is strange." My smile then turned into a sly smirk. "That why you're still talkin' to me?

"Don't get the wrong idea," she snorted. "Any of the other girls would have ditched you without a second thought."

I noticed she did not deny the implication of my question. "But?"

She rolled her eyes as the smile on her face grew a bit bigger. "It's nice to see something different for a change."

My following laugh was probably more than a little influenced by my drunkenness, which was getting stronger as time passed. I wasn't laughing at her reasoning, but more the wild truth of the fact I was considered 'something different.' If only she knew. Ignoring the puzzled gaze of the Asari, I turned to pick up the two remaining shot glasses on the counter and then motioned to give her one of them. "Take it."

Her smile suddenly dropped and her eyes slightly widened in a barely seen uneasiness. "I can't drink while I'm working."

"Aw, c'mon," I pleaded. "It's just one shot. And I already paid for it anyways, so what's the harm?"

She stared into my eyes for a moment before looking down at the glass, slowly and noticeably warming up to the idea the longer she thought about it. After what felt like much more than a just a few seconds, she hesitantly took the drink from my hand with a nervous smile. "What are we toasting to?"

I raised my glass up in the air above my head and spoke a little louder than was likely appropriate. "To being different!"

That elicited a warm giggle from the Asari, who then lifted her drink in the same fashion as me with a much happier smile. "I can drink to that."

"Damn straight!" At that, we clinked our glasses together and then simultaneously drank the alcoholic beverages in a single go. She was clearly the much more experienced drinker, having downed it without any sign she minded the taste. I, on the other hand, still cringed lightly at the bitterness of it. "I think this's stronger than vodka."

She placed the now empty shot glass back on the counter and looked at me questioningly. "Vodka?"

"Yeah," I answered while putting my own down as well. "It's a really old Earth drink that tastes a lot like what we just had. It's usually made from distilled grains, so it's pretty easy and cheap to make ‒ probably why you don't serve it here."

Her gaze shifted down to the ground as she drifted away in her thoughts. There was only a brief silence between us before her eyes widened in what appeared to be realization. "I remember now. There was another Human here about three weeks ago ‒ said the same thing." She abruptly grimaced at the memory. "He had too many drinks and started accusing Tiso..." She motioned her head at the Turian bartender currently standing behind the counter. "... of putting food coloring in vodka and selling it as alien liquor."

"Must've been Russian," I joked with a chuckle. When she again peered at me with a confused expression, I simply shook my head and dismissed it with a wave of the hand. "Don't worry about it."

She shrugged in disinterest before turning her head to look over her shoulder. After a moment of scanning over the surrounding ongoings of Chora's Den, she returned to meet my gaze with a soft smile. "It's been nice talking to you, but I need to get back to work now."

"Right, I've probably been takin' up too much of your time," I admitted apologetically with a half-smile of my own. "Wouldn't wanna get you in trouble, now."

"Yes, I'd like to keep my job." She lightly giggled and placed her hand on my left forearm. "But really, you're a sweetheart. Don't be afraid to come back if you ever start getting a little bored." Her left eye shot an affectionate wink before she suddenly leaned forward and planted a small kiss on my cheek. "That's for the drink."

The unexpected sensation of her luscious blue lips pressing against my skin had an almost paralyzing effect on both my mind and body. It most definitely was not something I had foreseen happening and the act, once my brain registered it, instantly and effortlessly caused my cheeks to glow a bright red. "Um..."

Noticing me blush, she lightly laughed a final time and then turned around to walk away, likely to serve another paying customer. She looked back over her shoulders after only a few steps and wiggled her fingers as she waved goodbye. "The name's Aleena! Ask for me next time you're here, okay?"

I returned the farewell with a wave of my own and a wide, stupid grin. "Uh, sure thing!" For the next several seconds before she disappeared within the crowd, I continued to stare at her in a sort of trance, simply in awe of what had just transpired. Everything that had been clawing at my sanity for the past twenty-four hours seemed to have vanished from my mind, like a heavy weight had been lifted off my shoulders. No longer was I thinking about whether I would ever see my family again or not. Nor was I wondering if I would survive the ugly and war-torn future to come. At that very moment, I was only thinking about a certain Asari named Aleena I had just met. And wondering when I would see her next. Sure, there was a very small voice in the back of my head trying to tell me her name sounded strangely familiar, but for the time-being I was too mesmerized to give it any attention. Oh, how I should have listened to that tiny voice.

—

"Are you crazy, or just plain stupid?" It had only been a little over twenty minutes since I left Chora's Den and Greg was already glaring at me with a deathly thousand-yard stare from behind the pawn shop counter. It was as if I had said the most bizarre, absolutely psychotic thing in the entire galaxy. I mean, I did just ask him if he knew any decent arms dealers, but it wasn't that crazy of a question. "Getting you a fake ID is one thing, and letting you stay at my place for the night was out of the kindness of my heart. But connecting you with black market dealers?"

"I really need the weapons," I declared like a beggar. "Please."

"What the hell do you need weapons for?" With a slightly confused expression on his face, he pointed an accusing finger at my right hip. "You have a damn pistol right there."

In a sudden fear of it being visible from under my new sky blue hoody, I inadvertently reached both hands for the sidearm holster currently carrying my M1911. "How do you...?"

"I'm not an idiot, kid," he interrupted with a disappointed shake of his head. "I've seen enough hidden weapons in my days to know when someone's trying to hide a gun under their clothes."

There was a short moment of defeated silence before I spoke again. "Was it that obvious?"

He gave an amused snort. "Hell no, I just have a damn good eye."

A loud sigh of relief escaped my lips. "Either way, it isn't an option." I sure as hell can't tell him it's a two hundred and fifty-year-old antique, either.

"Whatever, kid. It's honestly none of my business." Greg then leaned forward over the counter and whispered just loud enough for me to hear. "But you aren't going on a murderous rampage, are you?"

That forced me to take an incredulous step backwards. "What? No, of course not! Why would you even think that?!"

"I only met you yesterday," he admitted with a shrug. "How am I supposed to know what goes on in your head?"

I initially opened my mouth to retort, but quickly found myself at the loss of a good counter. Eventually, I instead closed my eyes with a suppressed sigh. "Okay, good point. But no," I hastily added once my eyes were open again. "I am not going to go around shooting random people, old man. Now can you tell me where to find a goddamn weapon dealer already?!"

He lifted his open palms in a surrendering gesture. "Alright, alright. Just calm down before your head explodes." Before speaking again, he lowered his arms and activated his standard orange-colored omnitool. "I'm sending you information on a Turian that goes by the name of Blackjack. He's not the friendliest sort, but he'll get you gear if you have the money."

I raised my left arm to chest height and, with a specific motion of my fingers and wrist, turned on my own omnitool. Unlike Greg's, it instead glowed a light blue due to being a helplessly cheap and outdated model. I couldn't help but cringe slightly when attempting to select the messenger app ‒ my index finger phased through the holographic interface of the colloidal device and poked my arm. Still need to get used to that. "Where do I find him?"

"Take a Fast Transit taxi to Arm Five's factory district and follow the instructions I sent you." No more than a second later after he closed his omnitool did my own report the successful transfer with the electronic ping of its notification alarm. "Just don't do anything stupid and you'll be fine."

I hastily skimmed over my inbox before deactivating my omnitool, planning to carefully read the details of the message while riding the taxi service to Arm Five. "Right..." His last remark certainly attracted my attention, but I decided to ignore it instead of pursue my curiosity. "So why's his nickname Blackjack? Isn't that a little too Human for a Turian?"

"No idea, but don't ask him."

"Why," I asked, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

"Like I said, he isn't exactly a friendly kind of guy. Not like Turians to usually be, but he doesn't classify as an asshole because he's rude in conversations." Greg leaned forward over the counter again, only this time the expression on his face was frighteningly serious as his piercing gaze met mine. "I'd do well to remember that if I were you, kid."

—

As most Mass Effect players from the 'real world' knew, the Citadel consisted of the central ring and five arms, called the Presidium and Wards respectively. What all of them did not likely know, however, was that each arm was numbered and classified based on its economic focus. For example, Arm One was the heart of the station's cultural landscape, being home to attractions like Silver Sun Strip and the wealthiest entrepreneurs in Council Space. One would find casinos, theme parks, and companies dedicated to social practices such as fashion and clothing design. Arm Five, on the other hand, was focused entirely on industrial manufacturing. It was where the largest and most productive factories were established. Minerals, ores, and other artificial materials imported from around the galaxy were transported there to be forged and crafted into anything a person could think of, ranging from everyday household items to military-grade weaponry and ships. Each arm of the Citadel had a large residential zone accompanying their economic districts, with the exception of Arm One which its entirety served as a single metropolis similar in nature to Las Vegas. These zones were comparable to small cities and were where the average citizens of the station ‒ those who worked at the factories and offices ‒ lived.

Unlike the ridiculous and unrealistic portrayal in the Mass Effect games, traversing a densely populated, forty-six-kilometer-long space station was not an effortless task. It certainly did not take only about five minutes to get from point A to point B. The Citadel was a massive megacity all on its own and it showed when one encountered the horrifyingly normal problems expected from such. Crowded streets, traffic jams ‒ yes, there were predesignated 'roadways' for aircars ‒ horrible public transportation ‒ even if it was automated ‒ etcetera, etcetera. So with that in mind, I needed a few distractions to keep me busy during the hour-long trip.

Alright, first things first. What's Shepard's backstory, and what does he or she look like? With my omnitool activated and wirelessly connected to the extranet, I typed in "Commander Shepard" on the browser's default search engine. Or at least tried to without getting annoyed every time my finger pushed too far through the hologram and pressed another letter. The results of the search soon popped up in the blink of an eye and I immediately selected the first link, bringing me to a GNBC news article covering Torfan. Okay, so Elizabeth Shepard's a woman. The gender doesn't matter to me, but… Mindoir Survivor... Butcher of Torfan... yeah, that's just screaming Paragon. Now as a person who was typically driven by a strong sense of morals, principles, and a stubborn need to protect others, what I read was not exactly reassuring. To be honest, I didn't even know if I wanted to be part of her crew anymore. Oh boy, I thought with a sigh and shake of my head. Sure can't say it won't be interesting... After continuing to read and skim through several more links, I also began to notice something essential was missing. Not a single news story or article showed an actual picture of the Commander. And when I filtered the search engine to only display images, nothing but photos of the aftermaths of Mindoir and Torfan were shown in the results. I thought it was strange at first, but then slowly realized it made sense. She is part of the most elite Spec Ops unit in the Alliance. Only makes sense they would keep the big details of her identity hidden, like how it is... or was with USSOCOM's JSOC.

I closed my eyes and released another sigh as my head leaned back over the faux leather aircar seat, which was surprisingly comfortable given the fact the taxi was a relatively cheap public transportation model. The soft cushioning felt like the most pleasant surface I had rested on in ages, quickly casting a deep drowsiness upon me. The alcoholic drinks from earlier may have also influenced it a bit, but that wasn't important. Maybe I don't need a distraction after all, were my final thoughts before I dozed off into a slumber.

An endless plane of rich green grass. A gentle breeze cool to the touch. The air fresh and sweet. A clear, light blue sky. The bright, life-giving sun shining upon the land. A world of pure harmony. Of peace and tranquility.

There was only one word to describe it: Beautiful. It brought a warm, euphoric sensation to my heart. I felt so alive. So strong. Yet so calm. So irenic.

How did I get here?

What did it matter? I was here. I was alive. I was at peace.

But I was not happy. Why was I not happy?

It mattered not. I was here. I was alive. I was at peace.

But it did matter. I should have been happy. Why was I at peace and not happy?

Happiness was not necessary. You were at peace.

Why did I say 'you'? Who was that? That was not me.

I was you. You were me. You were alive. You were at peace.

But I was not happy. I was not at peace. You were not me. Who were you?

I was you. I was the world. I was peace.

That could not be. I was me. You were not me. You were someone else!

WE WERE YOUR SALVATION.

The grass fields now turned an empty wasteland. The breeze now a loud, angry hurricane. The air now toxic and sour to breathe. The sky now a darkened gray. The sun now glowing a malevolent red. A world of total misery. Of chaos and death.

YOU LEFT US!

I did not leave!

YOU FORGOT US!

I did not forget!

YOU LIED TO US!

No! I did not lie! Leave me alone!

EMBRACE YOUR DESTINY.

I jumped up from my seat with a loud gasp and several drops of sweat pouring down the sides of my face. My eyes were wide in horror, the sense of shock and dread pumping adrenaline through my body. For a brief moment where the entire world around me seemed to remain at a standstill, my aching heart felt as if it was about to burst from my chest. To put it plainly, I was absolutely terrified. And with no real idea of what caused it. The only thing I knew for sure, after allowing my senses to fully comprehend my surroundings, was that I was back inside the automatic aircar taxi, still flying towards Arm Five. It took a bit longer for me to calm down and cease hyperventilating, but eventually I eased back into the seat cushion and took a few slower, more controlled breathes. What the living hell was that? A few extra exhales passed through my nose before I closed my eyes and wiped away the dripping sweat. That almost seemed like... My eyes suddenly widened in fear again as a dreadful thought crossed my mind. No! That's over thinking things! It's just a stupid nightmare. Nothing more.

I raised both of my hands to cover my face and hide behind my own belief, attempting to find truth in the shaky words of my thoughts. But... a small part of me knew. A part of me that would only grow bigger as the days, even years went by. It knew I was lying to myself. And that this was only the beginning.

CHAPTER END

Author's Note #2: So how was the second full chapter of A World Known? Did you like it? Did you hate it? Write a review and let me know; each one motivates me to write faster and better!

On a side note, for all of those who did not know what it meant, USSOCOM JSOC stands for: United States Special Operations Command Joint Special Operations Command. It is pronounced something like U-S So-Com J-Sock. Look it up for more details!