Act I : XVI

Eden Prime Colony

Slade Jordan was standing in the doorway to his childhood home, confused and disoriented while trying to understand where he was. He was not certain it was his home; after all, the housing in a colony was prefabricated and standardized, so all homes looked exactly alike, right down to the furniture and upholstery. The only distinguishing feature Slade was able to identify was a small portrait hanging above a wall lamp that contained a family portrait: Slade around the age of six, standing with his parents. There was now no doubt, this was indeed Slade's childhood home, and he was on Eden Prime.

How the fuck did I get here? And how is this place still intact…something isn't right…

Slade took a step inside and winced with pain as he looked down at his side, which was oozing with deep, red blood. He held his hands against his wound and pressed hard, attempting to stop the bleeding. Slade slowly began to recollect his fight with Balak, and pushed aside his feeling of shameful defeat to focus on fixing himself.

I need to stop the bleeding. Damn it, I wish I knew proper first aid. Definitely asking Doctor Chakwas about that. Ugh, where is she when you need her?

Slade limped into the kitchen and threw open a drawer, which he remembered contained towels. He pulled a couple of them out and wrapped his bleeding wound, gritting his teeth in pain. Slade continued rummaging through the kitchen, searching for alcohol or something similar to clean his side, but was unsuccessful and decided water from the sink would suffice for now.

"Slade! You're home!" Slade jumped as he reached the sink and turned to look into the hallway, extending his omniblade. His mother was standing there, beaming at him while her beautiful, green eyes radiated with glee.

What. The. Fuck.

Slade did not lower his blade and kept his arm ready for anything. His mother was dead; therefore, the woman standing in front of him was either coincidentally identical to her in every way, or someone trying to catch him off guard. The woman stepped closer and now wore a very worried and frantic expression.

"Slade!" She exclaimed. "Oh my god, what happened?! You're bleeding! Hurry we need-

She began to move towards him and Slade thrust his arm out as a warning, causing her to stop and recoil slightly.

"Do not come any closer", Slade threatened. "You're not my mother. You can't be. So who are you?"

"Slade, sweetie, you're going crazy", she replied. "It must be the blood loss! Slade, quick, we need to get help!" She attempted to approach him again and Slade slammed his omniblade into the kitchen counter, sending sparks flying and causing the woman to take a few steps backwards.

"I said", Slade hissed. "Stay away from me. Who are you?!" She was frightened now and her eyes widened slightly more.

"Slade, don't you recognize me?" She whimpered. "I'm your mother!"

"My mother slit her own throat", Slade snarled. "She bled to death in this kitchen, and I spent a few nights soaked in her blood, before I burned this house down until it was nothing but ash. She's dead and gone; therefore, you can't be my mother. So, who the hell are you?" Before the woman could answer, Slade heard a cupboard close behind him and he snapped his attention around to the source of the noise. His father was standing behind him, running the coffee machine and waiting for his mug to fill with the fresh brew. Slade instantly became enraged at the sight of him and curled his hands into fists.

"She is your mother", he stated. "You should know, she's dead because of you." He began buttering a slice of toasted bread without looking up at Slade.

"NO", Slade roared. "SHE'S DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"

"Only a child passes blame onto another", he scolded. "Why try to blame me for your misfortune? You know it was your fault, so own up to it. There's no sense-

"She died because you left", Slade accused. "If you had stayed, she-

"And why did I leave, son?" He interrupted. Slade bit his tongue and suppressed his rage for a moment. Although he was furious and was on the verge of assaulting his father, he wanted to know the answer.

"I don't know", Slade growled. "Enlighten me."

"You DO know", he retorted. "You just do not wish to admit it, Slade. Again, you are acting like a child and would rather live in denial than accept the truth. You are an abomination, Slade. A result of random chance and bad luck. No child of mine should have been born a biotic. But you were, so I had no choice but to leave before you tarnished my reputation. Your mother chose to keep you and ultimately paid for that choice with her life. It WAS your fault, Slade. The sooner you admit that fact and accept it, the sooner you will stop behaving like a child." Slade bellowed in fury and drove his omniblade into his father's back with all his might.

"I didn't choose to be born like this", Slade spat, as his father gasped for breath while he coughed out blood. "I didn't choose to be an abomination. I never wanted this. This was the life I was given, not the life I would have chosen." Slade pulled his blade out and stabbed it into his father again, causing his body to spasm in pain. "You chose to leave us. I didn't choose to be a biotic."

"True", Slade's father coughed through a bloody mouth. "You've made your first step, Slade. You've admitted you ARE an abomination. You may not have wanted to be a biotic, but you ARE. Your next step is-

Slade wrenched his blade out again, but aimed higher and impaled his father through his heart. He did not make a single sound, but his body spasmed in pain once more.

"Shut up", Slade commanded. "Shut up and die."

"I can't die, Slade", he groaned. "Not until you enlighten yourself. You must admit your mother's death was your fault. You've always played the part of a victim, Slade. Always. For your entire life, you've identified yourself as a victim. Ask yourself: why? Why have you always been a victim? It's not difficult to guess. You cannot accept blame. You always pass the blame onto someone else, in this case you blame ME for your mother's death. You blame the universe and random chance for your biotics. Is anything ever YOUR fault? No. Because you're a victim and blame will never be placed on you. You WANT to be a victim. You ENJOY being a victim. It's because you can justify shifting the blame onto someone else." Slade hated himself for listening to his father, but he began to question whether the dying man was correct.

Is he right? No…I AM a victim. The entire colony hated me. They HATED me. They abused me. They made me want to die. I wished they would just kill me. How could I NOT be a victim? Everyone in that fucking colony is the reason I'm depressed and broken. I AM A VICTIM! I have to be…There's no way I WANT to be a victim…I just AM a victim.

Slade's father began to laugh in a bloodcurdling, inhuman way.

"Ah", he cackled. "See? You're doing it again. You're blaming the colony for your mental illness. It's never your fault, is it? Slade, ask yourself another question. What did you do about your situation?" Slade bit his tongue and stopped himself from blurting out an impulsive answer.

How did he know what I was-

He began laughing in his demonic, inhuman way once more.

"Nothing, Slade", he hissed. "You did NOTHING. You never asked for help. You never tried to make things better for yourself. You never took it on yourself to improve your own situation. Hell, you never even fought back or defended yourself from the abuse, and we both know you could have easily scared everyone into submission with your biotics. You did NOTHING. You always expected something to happen for you. You expected the problem to fix itself. You just sat there, took the abuse willingly, and did NOTHING. Like I said, you always play the victim. It allows you to justify doing NOTHING. When are you going to take charge of yourself, Slade? When is something going to be YOUR fault? When are you going to stop being a victim?! WHEN WILL YOU DO SOMETHING FOR YOURSELF?!" Slade's father wrenched Slade's arm out of the way and kicked him in his wounded side, causing him to crumple to the ground in agony.

"WHAT NOW, SLADE?!" He roared. "WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO SAVE YOU?!" Slade looked over to his mother for help with tears clouding his vision, but instantly recoiled in shock when he saw her. She was lying on the floor next to him, her throat carved open and pouring thick, red blood onto the kitchen tiles. Her beautiful, elegant green eyes had become a dull jade colour, and her skin suffered from a bluish tinge.

No…no, no, no…

Slade's father laughed again in his deep, rumbling, demonic voice.

"NOBODY IS HERE TO HELP YOU, SLADE", he bellowed. "ARE YOU STILL A VICTIM?! DO SOMETHING!"

Slade clutched his side in agony, curled into a ball, and began crying uncontrollably. Every breath he drew stabbed into his chest with pain and caused him to feel even more hopeless. His throat had gone dry and it became harder and harder to breathe, his lungs spent more time exhaling in agonizing sobs than inhaling. His father's demonic laughter became louder and louder, while Slade began bawling louder and louder in an attempt to drown the laughter out.

"This is why I left, Slade." His father growled. "You were never good enough to make me want to stay. Continue to play the victim, son. Soon enough, you will learn that doing nothing will just cause you to gradually become worse. Only when you stop being a victim, will you finally improve. DO SOMETHING, Slade. Problems will not solve themselves." Slade's father pulled out a pistol and primed it, charging the thermal sink on the M-77 Paladin he was holding. Slade longingly took one final look at his mother's corpse, trying to see her face through his tears.

I'm sorry, mom.

Slade heard a gunshot, and his vision faded into black.