I own nothing from an established franchise, please don't sue me, I'm not making any money out of this, don't kill me. Longer A/N at the end of the story.

Great, let's begin.

II: Never say Yoda

9th September 2185: Somewhere I shouldn't be - 12:21 PM

Ouch.

So this is what a hangover feels like.

Not that you'd know Alex…

To say that my head hurts would be like calling Hitler's mustach distinguished.

More bad analogies – at least then there's no doubting the fact I'm truly awake.

Now to get down to business. Time for my brain to do the usual, subconsious task of identifying my environment.

Eh?

How very subconsious of me.

Since you've apparently already failed at the whole subconsious thing, continuing along the same lines won't hurt… ergo… Why the hell is my pillow so hard?

I wouldn't have happened to have turned klingon over the night would I?

At least there are some facts speaking for that deduction, considering that it feels as if I'd have bunked in metal.

Who knows, perhaps I got wasted and ate lots of raw meat, just… staying on the whole big brutish, Klingon out of character track... Heh…

Me, eating raw meat?

Stop the presses, Alexander **** is officially feasting on something besides subways and croissants! Sensational news!

Haha?

Not really, no.

"Just stop thinking about meat you dumbass, something is seriously off!" A small voice in my head reminds me, not too kindly.

Yeah. That's right. Something is seriously off. My pillow feels like lead.

Which has only…happened once before, when this friend of mine –

I mentally bitchslap myself.

In the words of master Obi Wan; Focus on the present young padawan!

On second thought he never said that, did he?

Yoda almost certainly did though…

Yup, Yoda must have at some point…

Or was it Qui Gon…

"You know about Yoda, human?"

Aaaaaaargh!

It's as if all the forces of the universe have grabbed me from underneath, pulling me towards the sky, putting a hand on my windpipe – making the insides of my throat sear in burning pain at the lack of oxygen.

"Open your eyes, you scum!"

O schnap.

I have a really bad feeling about this.

Quite fittingly my eyes snap open – whether at his command or my own thought I don't know though.

I knew it.

I thought I'd never say this – but I wish that I would have been wrong. Just this once… please?

As most of the time lately though, fate seems to go against my wishes.

Brilliant.

It's all coming back to me now, walking home from Norra Real, seeing that Turian…

Arriving at a Fridhemsplan that turned out to not to be fridhemsplan at all. Seems like some fundamental answers to a couple of fundamental questions are in order. To begin with – where the hell am I?

My mind is in such a state of chock that I seem to have momentarily forgotten that someone's hands are around my neck.

Judging by the firmness of the grip, I have a vague feeling I might have upset the someone in question.

"Who told you about Yoda?", a booming voice asks me.

My feet are lifted off the ground. The grip around my throat tightens. If my throat had been on fire before, it is now a raging inferno.

Then, through the shrowd of panic that has fallen upon my senses, the fact that the strong scary being suspending me above ground, holding me by my throat just asked me a question dawns on me.

I start to claw away at the person's hands, but the massive size of it's fingers makes it as fruitless as a single raindrop trying to erode a cliff on some cliffy...shore...somewhere.

Being the natural tough guy who never bulges under torture that I am, my first, spontaneous reaction at the failure of my clawing is that I must tell this man everything he wants to know.

Then panic dawns on me. I start to see how the person in question might somehow not appreciate me describing "Yoda" as a kind little green dwarf.

Nonetheless, I can't breath – and since both the herculean man...thing... whatever... holding me and I seem to need myself alive, I remark (being the divine master of creativity I am); "'Aiiiiir".

Hopefully that should give me a couple of seconds to come up with something, some way to stall him further. Or distract him while I do some awesome ninja move I couldn't perform in my wildest dreams and knock my dear assailant out.

I start to panic. Why isn't the pressure on my windpipe diminishing?

Oh yeah. My fellow acquaintance probably doesn't speak Swedish.

I try to say "Air", but it comes out as something more like... "aaiiiiiieagh". Still, it seems to have the desired effect as he lets go off me.

I quickly pull myself together and assess the situation.
Forced by the realization that efficient use of time is essential, my observational skills jump into action, adrenaline flooding my mind.
I take a gasp for air.

The first thing I notice is the drastic change in my location compared to when I passed out. The last thing I remember is distinctly being on a metal walkway, having a panoramic view of some unfamiliar cityscape around me, with buildings floating in midair. Now I appear to be stuck at the end of a dirty backalley, all I can see being dark, shabby looking walls in every direction. From what I can tell the architecture is lacking in aesthetic value, and the place is just overall shabby and dilapitated. There's garbage, albeit futuristic garbage in futuristic looking garbage dispensers on the ground all around me – in other words, I'm in a slum.

In the Mass Effect universe.

I quickly force myself to postpone the inevitable whirlwind of emotions that will follow this realization and focus on the present – to make sure that my oppurtunity to stick around and wallow in selfpity later won't permanently dissapear.

I keep pretending to be gasping for air, despite being fully recovered, so as to give me more time.

I move lay eyes on my attacker - he is a krogan – that would explain the deathgrip. With a dark green skintone and a big scary looking scar running horizontally across his face. I also notice he happens to carry a nasty looking dark orange shotgun, hetched to what looks like some sort of utility belt.

To summarize all relevant information; he punches lightyears above my weightclass.

Despite the very... "krogan looking" krogan standing directly infront of me, I can't help but wonder how I got here. Not exactly how I got to the mass effect universe in itself, I don't have time for that right now. What is more immediately relevant to my current...predicament however is why I for some reason seem to have woken up in a backalley, instead of on a walkway, where I...should be.

The fact that I consider, even as a fleeting figure of speech, a metal walkway in the wrong universe to be "where I should be" is probably moderately disturbing from more than one point of view.

Anyway, the important part here is that somehow my body must have been moved when I was out.
What other possible explanation could there be?

Is the dear cuddling Krogan standing close to me responsible? Perhaps he moved my body to mug me when I would wake up... but then again, why would he do that – why not simply mug me while I was asleep? A possible explanation could be that he's a sadistic fuck who feels that toying with the existance of a small, misplaced human from another universe would make his day.

Just keep staying positive now.

Hmm, or he isn't responsible... I look down and see all my clothes lying in a neat pile beside me.

That's peculiar.. but... how...?

Apparently I'm fully dressed - Mass Effect style.

Somehow I doubt this being the work of the krogan trying to punish me for "knowing about Yoda".

I'm brought out of my mental ramblings by the sound of fingers cracking in a very "I'm about to brutalize every square millimetre of your body" way .

"Speak, human. Now."

Oh bollocks. The Krogan wants an answer. What the hell am I supposed to say? The Yoda he's thinking about is probably some big, nasty Krogan warlord person with a penchant for something...really scary! I am more screwed than a woman in Berlin, early may 1945.

Relevance is a beautiful thing.

"I said now!" His pair of fists smack together with a loud crack, and his loud form starts to menacingly move towards me.

I've gotta say something, so I might as well tell him the "truth".

"Look, I'm really, really sorry, but I've got a feeling we're not thinking about the same person." I stutter, and make an audible gulp.

The lumbering, giant toad looking alien takes one step towards me.

"Is that so? Because I only know one Yoda. " This man should be on trial for crimes against culture!

"And noone messes with Yoda." Ouch. I repeat again; I am infinately, royally fucked.

I'm desperate, and in a state of panic. I can't fight. I can't seem to be able to reason my way out of this. I can't do anything! In sheer desperation, I just blurt it all out;

"Look, the Yoda I know isn't even real, okay! I just bloody got here! For some reason I pass out on a walkway god knows where, then I find myself waking up next to this charming garbage dumpster, mumbling the name of a fictional character in my sleep." I take a step towards the Krogan, a look of desperation set upon my face. I gulp, hard, the realization that I have just stepped up to a Krogan hitting me in the face.

He narrows his eyes.

Gulp divided by zero.

"LookI'mrealysorrybutIreallydidn't mean anything,ok?", I say, with speed probably rivaling that of the fastest mass effect drives in this new, fucked up universe.

"The Yoda I know of is just a kind old green hobbit alien preaching about peace and harmony sitting in a cave on freaking Dagobah!" The Krogan looks stunned at this, clearly not expecting what I was saying.

"And you want to know what the best part is? The best part is that he isn't even real!" I say that with an almost maniacal sound in my voice. I don't want to die. Not over Yoda!

"In fact none of this is real either!" I say with the trademark voice proclaiming it's originator as the only mentally sane person in the universe. I bet that will work to my advantage.

"You even aren't supposed to be real either! HAHAHA!" I laugh – fully aware of how insane I must be sounding, but not really caring much.

Krogan faces aren't very expressive, but the look of complete, jaw dangling shock etched upon his visage is evidently cross species.

"I-" the Krogan is about to begin.

"Don't you dare "I" me!" I walk up to him, a colourful mixture of desperation, frustration, righteous fury and what must look like insanity spread all over my face. I bring my face up close to his, our foreheads nearly bumping together. A few gallons of my saliva probably spill out into the Krogan's mouth through my hyperventilating, but I'm beyond caring now.

"I have no idea where I am, I*m completely lost, all I did was utter a random name in my sleep? Cut me some slack!" I let out a breath. That felt good.

Sure, it probably gave me a certain death sentence - but apart from that, it felt pretty peachy to yell at a Krogan.

The massive alien in question just looks compeltely baffled.

Hell yeah! Alex/ 1, scary space toad/ 0! OOOOH! Whatcha gonna do about it, biotch!

As if he would have heard me, he suddenly charges towards me, catching me completely by surprise, and eliminating nay previous chances I might have had for escape.

Well, my life sucked.

Didn't even get to have a real girlfriend. Ever. Never got a real job. Never graduated. Never finished university. Hell, I didn't even have time start test driving! Well, I guess it was okay for as long as it lasted. Bye world.

The Krogan reaches me, and wraps his arms around me, bringing me into a bear hug.

So it's death by crushing then. Beats torture and burning at least.

What happens next however, is something I did not even stop to consider. It's something so shocking, it makes Pearl Harbour look about as unexpected as the extra marital affairs of Italian presidents.

The big, half a ton beast that crushes my body against it's chest is starting to weep.

"I'm sorry, I over reacted!"

No shit. I feel his tears all over me, but it's less like tears, and more reminicent of the Niagara falls rolling down over my shoulders.

Between his sobs he just manages to get out, barely coherently;

"It's just... I...really... really...love Yoda!"

After barely managing to finish that sentence, my newfound heartbroken Krogan friend starts to actually whine, and lets out a loud cry of agony, expressing boundless regret for his actions.

This is getting abit uncomfortable. Not that I want his previous mental dispostion back, but that doesn't mean he has to be bipolar? Does it?

What the hell should I do, pat his head or something? Can't hurt I suppose...

Here goes nothing... please don't go back to being a psycopath mercenary hellbent on killing me!

I put my hand on the Krogan's shoulder. Patting gently. I also note inwardly that the Krogan I'm acting teddy bear for must have forgotten all the other parts of my rant. The ones about me "just getting here", "he not being real" and all that.

"There there, it's okay. I get it, you over reacted. I forgive you." I keep patting his shoulder.

"Just, calm down a little would you?" I add, a slight amount of desperation subconsiously creeping into my tone of voice. Drowning in Krogan tears is, although perhaps preferable over a lot of other ways of ending my days, still not exactly top on my wishlist.

I manage to make him take a break with the whole sobbing business for a couple of seconds.

"I just...really... love Star Force." And that was that. Then he goes back to the frantic sobbing and shaking on my shoulder again. Brilliant.

And Star Force? What the hell?

Then it hits me. The sheer absurdity of the entire situation smacks me straight in the face.

The Krogan in question is talking about Star Wars.

And we're talking about the same Yoda.

A Krogan likes Yoda the Jedi Master so much he apparently considers defending his honour a matter of life and death.

If I would not be in the process of being crushed towards his enormous chest, I might have passed out on the ground in shock again.

Then completely unexpectadly, I can feel the force of the Krogans arms vanishing.

His sobs die down.

Suddenly, completely inexplicably - I am alone.

Then, before I have the time to make sense of what just happened to me, I hear a deep baritone flanging voice from behind.

"Quite the character, is he not?"

And we have a cliffhanger!

To begin with I really want to thank AidanPryde001 and the anynomous reviewer "ShadowBroker" for reviewing.

Who are... the only two reviewers I've got so far. Which is unfortunate.

Still, I really like the positve criticism from you two, made me want to continue writing this.

Please review, that'd be very much appreciated.

LordOxen out.