See disclaimer in previous chapters.
Longer A/N at the end.
I'm really sorry about the delayed update time.
Real life proved to be very distracting. That is all I have to say in my defence.
This chapter is a lot longer though (About twice as long as a "normal" one). Hopefully you'll feel somewhat compensated by that.
Enjoy!
V: "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away"
2185, September 9th: Normandy SR2 – 13:47
Stepping out of the Normandy's briefing room, commander John Shepard couldn't help but feel slightly intrigued by what the Illusive man had just told him.
Opening the door from the adjacent corridor to the armoury, he played the conversation in his head again.
Despite only having met Cerberus' illusive leader thrice, and never once in person – not physically that is, the seasoned marine had a distinct feeling that the man was hiding something, presumably regarding his latest addition to the list of potential team members.
Walking through the armoury, the commander made a nonchalant wave of acknowledgement towards Jacob, together with a respectful utterance of the soldier's name.
Seeing as I've just met the guy, and probably will spend a lot of time with him in the future, getting to know him better and giving him some recognition might not be a bad idea.
He seems friendly enough... and from what I can tell, he's hardly a Cerberus lap dog.
He does seem to look at me in a certain fan-boyish light though...
At being addressed by his commander Jacob literally jumped to attention, snapping a flawless salute and almost yelling "Sir!" in a tone of voice implying pride of such magnitude in serving under the esteemed commander that he'd shoot himself in the foot if it would so happen as to amuse said saviour of the Galaxy.
Shepard mentally groaned.
On the other hand, I haven't really gotten to know the rest of the crew yet...
The commander allowed himself a small smile.
Can't say I blame him though. I am kinda awesome.
Smiling, he quickly waved a sign of "at ease" backwards as he confidently walked towards, and opened the door into the CIC. Shepard kept walking towards the elevator with long purposeful strides, the man's concentrated exterior masking his thoughts' drifting back to the content of his newly acquired dossier.
"Councillor Anderson would like to see you on the Citadel when you have time, commander," the freckly, red- headed Yeoman Kelly Chambers chirpily informed him.
"Thank you Kelly," the commander replied, walking past the starry eyed yeoman into the elevator.
"Anything else?" Shepard asked, taking up position in the elevator, his hand ready to press the button for the captain's quarters as soon as he received a reply.
"Nothing else for now commander."
"Have Joker notify me when we arrive on Omega. That is all."
Pressing the button making the elevator ascend to the captain's quarters, Shepard straightened up, clasped his hands behind his back, assuming a posture emitting authority as the doors closed.
Highly intelligent. Most notable characteristic is the possession of an extraordinarily sound general judgement – applicable to almost any matter. Able to speak five human languages without translator. Vast knowledge of obscure and tactically unimportant subjects, including, among others, early 21st century culture and history.
No combat experience, zero weapons handling, prone to panic attacks
"The Advisor", as he is known, is rumoured to be a strategic mastermind of Napoleonic proportions. The most notable thing about this"gift" is not it's refinement, but rather how it tends to appear as a "hunch", and subliminally reflects itself in all actions the Advisor undertakes.
Nothing else is really known about him, besides the fact that he is a young human male, probably of European descent, and always accompanied by a Krogan accomplice that goes by the name of "Yoda Kargesh". The pair are currently living in an unknown location somewhere in Omega's market district. Potentially very important for the success of the mission.
A blink.
Two.
Three.
"No combat skills?"
The commander was utterly baffled, and couldn't help but state that bafflement out loud.
"Zero weapons handling?"
So... Cerberus' asking me to recruit some random dipshit...because he's got a great gut feeling?
If that's what matters for my mission, why couldn't good ol' Timmy boy just have asked me to put the Consort on my team? At least that way I'd get some... "gratification" for all the quasi-spiritual mumbo jumbo they'd base their "advice" on.
Hehe. Heh.
The Commander was pulled from his musings by Joker's voice crackling through the intercom;
"We're arriving on Omega now commander, thought you might want to know... you asking me to "notify you" and all," Joker notified him.
"Thanks Joker, great," Shepard answered distantly, what he had just read still having a strong grip over his mind.
"Umm...commander, are you all-right?", the pilot asked, his commander's distant tone not passing unnoticed. Which really made it more of a statement and less of an inquiry.
"Just peachy."
"If you say so commander."
A thought crossed Shepard's mind.
"Joker, could you ask EDI something?"
"You could always ask her yourself commander, seeing as I'm kinda busy making sure the ship doesn't get beaten into a metal pulp by the irregular mass effect fields or uncontrolled Omega traffic at the moment."
I only got aboard half an hour back, and I just woke up from...death less than a day ago. Why can't the world just cut me some slack?
Choosing not to reply anything to his helmsman's sarcasm- drenched comment, Shepard posed his question aloud to the ship's AI;
"EDI?"
"Yes Shepard."
"Are there any Krogan clans on Tuchanka that go by the name of Yoda?"
2185, September 9th: Somewhere not very pretty, Omega – 14:14
"Prepare for unforeseen consequences..."...
You'd think with that Chronos guy being a demi god and all, he should be creative enough to come up with something more original than that...
I mean come on... that can't have been anything but an intentional steal from Half Life!
Now is really the first time since I've got that I have time to take a good look around. I do that.
The whole place really isn't that different from the Omega I remember from the game.
Then again, destitute slums have a tendency to be quite reminiscent of each other no matter the location. Chances of that probably increase somewhat if said locations are on the same space station... But yeah, the gray metal, the yellowish lightning with tinges of green - it's all familiar.
The stench.
Because you totally got to smell Omega in game, right?
Come to think of it, that could be an interesting addition to Mass Effect 3 – the ability to smell in-game places. EA could send like... a "perfume sample" with the collector's edition... or something.
"If you pre-order the collector's edition of Mass Effect 3 now, you will also get one exclusive fragrance from the Mass Effect Universe! Perhaps "Fumes of Omega", "Celestial Citadel" or the rare "Tuchanka Tulips"! Pre-order now!" (EA and partners are not responsible for any possible side effects such as rashes, unwanted pregnancies or damage of higher cognitive functions).
Heh. Wouldn't that be something...
Seeing as I'm already quite acquainted with the back-alley, I decide that sticking my head out the entrance just a little to satisfy my curiosity can't hurt. I mean, how dangerous can Omega really be?
I look around.
Hmmm.
There's something that catches my eye... I can't quite put my finger on it though...
Yes! That's it!
I knew I saw something familiar.
It's a yellow neon sign that just so happens to read "Harrot's emporium".
Harrot's emporium. If I'm not mistaken, then that's that pesky Elcor who refuses to let that Quarian dude... Kenn... set his own prices, or something like that.
Big deal, the important part is that I'm in (or at least close to) parts of Omega's market district I saw in the game!
I deserve a metaphysical cookie for my observational skills. Way to go!
Heh... that must be the first time I ever said something like that without even the slightest hint of ironic undertones. Fascinating.
Anyway, this is fantastic news on so many levels.
If something bad would happen to me – not that I expect it too, but if it would, then hopefully I'm at least not a complete stranger to the local area.
Perhaps even better; I'm also relatively close to where the Normandy lands in the game, which hopefully means that I can join up with Shepard in a much shorter amount of time, seeing as he won't have to look for me as far. Perhaps I could even come to him...
Spending as little time as possible in this dump would be great.
Suddenly, I am pulled away from my scouting, a strong hand grabbing me by my collar.
"What did he tell you!" I am reprimanded by a booming voice.
My assailant pulls me up from the ground as if I were a rag-doll, bringing me face to face with him.
Oh.
My Krogan babysitter. Right.
He uses his grip on my collar to pull me even closer to him. So close to his face in fact that I can feel the rhythmic exhales and inhales of his breathing.
"Do. Not. Go. Beyond the entrance," he enlightens me, like a principal, (albeit a Krogan one) lecturing an unruly schoolboy – shaking my body with each word to emphasise the point.
"Sorry", I gulp.
Not as much in fear as in respect though. He doesn't seem to be as angry with me this time – more annoyed.
Well, I suppose you could say that at least this time, I don't feel like he could rip my head off.
Not without some semblance of an excuse anyway.
The Krogan lets me down on the ground with a thud.
"Come on."
He passes me and heads off in the opposite direction, presumably heading towards a door at the end of the back alley I think I might have caught a glance of earlier.
As he walks, I can't help but notice his hideously coloured dark orange shotgun "jumping" with every step he takes, bumping into his thigh.
That must be horribly uncomfortable.
I follow him into the back alley... again.
After having walked about half the distance to the door, my feet bump into something on the ground. I look down.
What I am staring at is a pile of all the clothes and other accessories that I had with me when I got here. My gray, coat like jacket thing, a light blue shirt with long sleeves, a pair of beige chinos, my dear loafers, and of course - my black leather satchel.
On top of my satchel, I find my beloved iPhone, together with my wallet and keys and watch.
Right.
This reminds of the fact that I am wearing Mass Effect style clothing. There is a puddle next to the pile of my belongings. Quite predictably, I look into it, observing my reflection.
I cringe - I've never really liked the whole "tight sci-fi t-shirt and "cool" pants" look.
I look wantingly at my plain blue shirt, lieing crumpled in the pile cotaining the rest of my clothes.
Maybe it's me being snotty, but couldn't the people who brought me here have given me something more fashionable?
You're on Omega, Alex – has it occurred to you that looking inconspicuous might be a good thing?
Right. Good point me.
Me 1/ Other half of me...0?
I'm once again brutally ripped from my reverie by a booming Krogan voice.
"Are you coming?"
I look up, and start to scurry away towards my Krogan babysitter, who is holding the door and looking at me with a moderately annoyed glare.
"Right, sorry."
When I get to the door, he just stares at me with an even more annoyed glare.
"I'm not gonna grab your things for you."
I look at him, dumbfounded for a second, before I remember what he means.
"Right!"
I quickly walk back to the pile of my personal effects, throwing the satchel over my shoulders, and lazily press my former clothing into it. The iPhone and wallet I put in my pockets.
I walk back to the Krogan at the door.
He continues to stare at me, his eyes tracing my movements.
Arriving at the door, the Krogan fixes my eyes with a piercing glare.
"Is there anything else I should ask if you forgot to bring with you?"
I stop to think for a second – not because I believe that I've actually forgotten anything, but because of the terrible awkwardness that would arise should I have forgotten anything.
"No." I answer after a due moment of deliberation.
"Isn't it a human custom for ladies to walk through the door first?"
The huge alien sneers at me.
Oh for fucks sake. You're bigger and stronger, and apparently more observant than I am (this time, anyway), I get it – do you have to use that to...rub my face in the metaphorical ground?
I have difficulties bringing myself to believe this really is the same Krogan who ad a mental breakdown and wanted to be cuddled in my arms less than 10 minutes ago.
"Yeah, yeah..." I answer.
Fortunately he doesn't respond anything to that.
The satchel bumping into my right thigh as I walk, I can clearly feel the bundle of clothes inside of it "bumping with my moves", so to speak. It's not particularily comfortable.
Heh... wonder if Kargesh's shotgun bumping into his upper thigh was more or less annoying...
The bundle of my clothes are in my satchel.
My removed clothes.
Clothes that someone removed from my body.
Someone removed my clothes from my body.
Fucking brilliant.
Pleasantly enough, I quickly think of the fact that my socks and underwear were not present in the heap on the ground – which hopefully means that I still have them on.
Just to be safe, I grab my trousers and pull them out from my body, to see if am wearing the same pair of underwear I put on this morning.
Yup – and I'm positive I feel the texture of my shoes against the horrid contemporary boots that are evidently violating my feet.
That's somewhat redeeming anyway.
"Is it a human thing to pull out your pants and look down into your groin when you walk?"
Is it a Krogan thing to pick on the small and physically weak?
Of course it is, silly question.
I feel that I need to give him some sort of answer, just to show him I'm not a complete pushover.
"Hey, could you forgive me for wanting to check if you people had only violated me partially or-"
The Krogan swiftly interrupts my rebuttal.
"Fine, get it. Don't care. Walk."
I can already sense how we're going to get along just superbly.
2185, September 9th: Afterlife – Aria's Lounge, Omega – 14:25
"I was told that you're the person to talk to if I have questions."
Despite the idiot Batarian goon wanting to scan him, Shepard chose to be diplomatic about it.
The feeling that these morons should know better than to make demands from the Spectre who took down Saren and an army of Geth almost entirely on his own does cross the Commander's mind however...
"Depends on the questions."
"You run Omega?"
The purple skinned, arrogant Asari Empress of Omega makes a demonstrative laugh, and turns around, so that her back is towards the ex-Spectre who posed the question.
She flamboyantly walks forward towards the front of the podium overlooking the hustling and bustling on the floor below – when she reaches the railing, she raises her hands in a dramatic gesture.
"I am Omega."
Being the covert history nerd he was, the obvious associations to Louis XIV did not go lost on Shepard. He did not like pretentious Asari making poor ripoffs of epic human historical quotes.
Right, because Aria actually having heard of a 17th century French king is totally probable...
Shepard mentally reprimanded himself somewhat.
After this redundant and excessive demonstration of power, she turned around dramatically, staring out to the side of the lounge, her back toward Shepard.
"But you need more. Everyone needs more something and they all come to me."
She made yet another dramatic turn, and started pacing in front of the newly arrived guests.
"I'm the boss, CEO, queen if you're feeling dramatic."
She really strikes me as a very down to earth person... I mean, there can't even be a hint of pretentiousness in there!
She turned Shepard again, facing him.
"It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule."
The purple Asari slowly sat down on the couch behind her, pausing.
"Don't fuck with Aria."
Coming from her mouth... That just sounds wrong.
Besides, I bet she wouldn't mind... Heh...Heh.
Focus! Idiot!
Shepard couldn't help but thinking that perhaps he should introduce Aria to the Illusive Man, – given their shared passion for the unnecessarily dramatic.
Just playing along and accepting the Asari's authority would probably be a good plan for getting his information the most efficient way, Shepard thought.
Besides... lulling a potential enemy into the belief that you're more of a pushover than you actually are is usually good tactics.
"I like it. Easy to remember.", the Commander responded, coupled with a masking diplomatic smile.
"If you forget, someone will remind you." the Asari said, in a brutish attempt to unnecessarily assert her authority.
Could we actually talk about relevant stuff, instead of standing around playing "mine's bigger" all day?
Fittingly, the Batarian goon had to join in the spectacle.
"And then I toss your sorry ass out the nearest airlock."
Shepard joined Aria on the couch.
Enough bullshit.
"I'm trying to track down Archangel."
"You and half of Omega. You want him dead too?"
Shouldn't a 600 year old Asari know better than to believe a Spectre has any vested interest in strengthening a couple of mercenary groups?
Of course, the experienced matron could just be playing the same game Sheaprd was – appearing less intelligent than was actually the case.
"I'm putting a team together, he's on my list."
Sheaprd immediately regretted what he said as soon as the words left his mouth. Why admit that to Aria? Presumably, she would not have a problem with him going in guns blazing to save "Archangel"- as the presumed weakening of the rest of Omega presumably served her interests.
Still, Shepard couldn't help but get annoyed at himself for his potentially dangerous slip of the tongue.
"Interesting. You're going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel," the crimelord replied pensively.
"That's assuming you can get to him," she continued.
"He's in a bit of trouble right now."
"Just tell me where to find him."
"The local merc groups are recruting anyone with a gun to help them take down Archangel."
"Sounds like that might be our ticket in.", Jacob remarked, redundantly, but none the less comfortably, stating what was already understood between the lines.
"They're using a private room for recruting – just over there. I'm sure they'll sign you up," Aria responded nonchalantly.
"I appreciate the help.", Shepard responded simply.
"See if you still feel that way when the mercs realize you're here to help him."
That was one new recruit off of the list. Two more to go.
After ascertaining the location of the Salarian Mordin Solus, it was time to inquire as to the location of the third squad member.
"There's one other thing."
Shepard hesitated.. He had a hunch, and impulse if you will, that for some reason, Aria would not have any information about the whereabouts of his last target for recruitment.
He decided to try anyway – it couldn't hurt. Could it?
"Do you know where I can find a man called "The Advisor".
The female looking alien looked at Shepard with a mixture of thoughtfulness and surprise.
"The Advisor? Do you mean Patriarch – because he's down in the lower parts of the club if you're looking for him. Probably telling his fans old Krogan war stories...Ha." Aria laughed somewhat cruelly.
At this Miranda jumped into the conversation before Shepard had any time to ask for details.
"No, it's not Patriarch. The man we're looking for is a young human male."
At Shepard's somewhat disgruntled look, Miranda merely gave him a quick "I've been here before and know my way around" kind of look.
Fair enough... at least that was a useful interruption... unlike others'. Spares time.
The Asari shook her head, and leaned back into the couch.
"Sorry Shepard, I'm going to need more than that."
"He's always followed by a Krogan companion that goes by the name of Yoda Kargesh."
Why do I get a feeling that this"Advisor" guy isn't very well known...
At this the Asari raised what would have been one of her eyebrows in a sceptical pose.
"Kargesh? What do you want with that... thing?"
"Just tell me where to find him."
Didn't I say that once already?
Maybe I should be like...a tad more creative than using "Just tell me where to find him" as my ultimate badass doubt deflector twice.
Again – concentrate.
I really need to sleep... and eat something. Not at the same time though...
Just shut up.
"He's somewhat of a...character, you know. Perhaps you won't mind his little quirks though – seeing as you're human." The Asari remarked thoughtfully.
"Oh, and he lives in an apartment in the market district." The Asari added quickly, to rid Shepard of the unnecessary need to re-ask his question.
"I can upload the coordinates to your omni-tool if you want."
"That's all, thanks for the info." Shepard made an affirmative nod in gratitude towards the Asari and stood up from the couch, starting to leave.
Aria merely nodded.
"Let's go.", the commander said, cocking his head in the universal badass gesture of "move out in the direction my head is nodding."
The Cerberus henchmen were just preparing to follow him in the implied direction, when Aria stopped him.
"Wait."
Shepard turned around.
"Just out of curiosity, why are you looking for...", her face made a distasteful grimace, "... him?".
"Because my sources tell me he can lead me to the advisor."
Didn't I start by saying that?
"Just a word of advice Shepard, if this "Advisor" is anything like Kargesh, you might not want to be looking for him in the first place."
2185, September 9th: Market District, Omega – 14:39
On the positive side, the Krogan's apartment isn't any more shabby, dilapidated and overall worse for wear than I expected.
Which is something anyway.
The apartment is basically one rectangle, divided into three smaller rectangular rooms:
A main living room coupled with a small kitchen, a bedroom and what I think is a bathroom.
The best way to describe the living room is by saying that it has this typical, "dingy Omega" look.
About half the living room space is taken up by the kitchen, a kitchen table and chairs – the other half has a coffee table, couch and what I think is a weapons or armour locker behind the couch, judging by the fact that it is in metal and has a big lock on the door.
Ha.
Apparently people still use padlocks in the 22nd century.
Whaddayknow.
The kitchen looks like it was last cleaned during earth's Jurassic geological period, what, with the green, diarrhoea coloured splatter covering the worktops together with all other surfaces.
Something I notice is how disappointingly similar all the kitchen appliances look to 21st century ones. And I who had hoped for some cool sci- fi goodies.
I almost feel like saying ; "Son – I am dissapoint." to my dear Krogan custodian.
Somehow I imagine the humour would be lost on him though.
Currently, I am reclining in the sofa situated in the middle of the room. Which is kinda funny – not the fact that I am reclining in a sofa - but the fact that the sofa seems to be identical to the Sofa I remember from Mass Effect.
Meaning of course the striped black and white one which always reminds me of some weird liquorice and fudge mix. Except the fudge's white.
I really wish the game designers at Bioware could have had abit more creativity whith details like that. They could at least have created several different colours schemes for it or something... I mean come on, how difficult can it be?
I only hope the selection of furniture in this version of the Mass Effect universe is somewhat more... varied.
Kargesh is standing in the kitchen – cooking, by the looks of it.
I say "by the looks of it" because of the certain feeling of unedibility the way the meal looks inspires in me.
So here I am.
On chronically shitty Omega.
In a shitty apartment, with a shitty Krogan, who's preparing a shitty looking meal.
In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the meal was actual shit.
Feeling shitty.
The irony of this whole bloody mess of a situation isn't lost on me.
Being the somewhat childishly inclined teenager I was, and still am, I suppose you could say, I've always dreamed about being transported into the Mass Effect universe.
The world - my world, has always struck me as dull. Backwards.
On more than one occasion, as a kid, I've felt that the world was so meaningless, lacking in scope and depth.
We were just one species, living on one planet among trillions of others. What meaningful impact did our existance have upon the vastness of the universe?
Despite all our culture, our accomplishments, our marvellous feats of civilization – we had really no power to influence anything beyond the infinitesimal blue orb which we called home.
No chance to leave a lasting legacy.
If we were to fall from Lady Fortuna's good graces... If a meteorite impact, or some other cosmic phenomenon so far from our control – then all our work, everything humanity had ever accomplished would have been for nothing.
We would vanish, our ashes being forever dissolved in the unyielding winds of the history.
And we might as well never have been.
In fact, there wouldn't even be a history – because who would be left to tell our tale?
To tell any tale?
Now I'm here.
In a place where all my preconceptions of our, and by extension my own place in the universe have been proven completely utterly false.
A large part of me should be happy – I should be ecstatic at the sheer scale of this new universe,with a thousand alien cultures and languages, and a million times more opportunities than where I came from. A chance to make a lasting difference in the universe, in history!
Isn't that what I've always dreamed of?
"Ecstatic" is not how I feel, sitting on my corner of the liquorice coloured sofa.
I feel tiny, miniscule and out of place.
I just want to go home.
There is a strong urge within me to start crying – and it really takes all of my mental energy just to contain the tears that threaten to swell over at any moment.
Concentrate! Think your situation through. Rationally.
I need something to hold onto, because if I break down now, there will be no compassion for me.
No one to tell me that everything is going to be all right – no one here I can rely on.
There is no one, in this entire goddamn universe that I can trust – besides one person.
Me.
I need to focus on the present – because dwelling on the past or dreaming about the future will not help me to escape from my current predicament.
All it that would accomplish would be to make me insane with grief.
And I can't afford that.
From what I can go on, I've been placed here for a reason – to help save humanity, and all the rest of the Mass Effect universe from extinction.
Isn't that more important than me?
And even if it isn't, even if Mass Effect is only a video game, and this is some... virtual reality created by some sick fuck for his own amusement – or, if I somehow crossed the bridge to insanity during my English A course exam, and all the contents of this universe are constituted by nothing but my mind's delusional fantasies...
I slap myself.
Hard.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
It hurts.
What was it someone said... Reality is the pain that doesn't go away when you get punched in the face?
Even if this whole world is nothing but my imagination, or a dream, or something...
Then, it seems that, right now, I've got no choice but to convince myself that there are issues more important than the people caring for me back home, that there are issues more important than me, and whether I really belong here.
There are times when your previously held convictions must be thrown out the window – even if you are completely and utterly certain that they are true.
If empirical evidence tells you otherwise – you don't have a choice in the matter.
You must show yourself to be the master of your own mind. Should you fail, then there won't be a mind left. Not a sane one anyway.
There won't be a you.
This is my reality. Saving galactic life. I am crucial.
Adapt.
Suddenly, a mechanical ping is heard, followed by a calling to table by le chef.
"Dinner is ready. Eat. Or don't. More for me that way."
It would seem that reality has caught up with me.
Just as I rise from the couch, and take my seat at the dinner table, there is a brutish knock on the door.
"You Yoda Kargesh?" what I think is a vaguely human sounding voice asks.
The Krogan quickly rises from the table, and casts a quick look at me.
His thick, reptilian lips utter one sentence.
"Get in the closet."
I close my eyes.
I open them again.
Kargesh just looks at me as if I had some of mental disorder.
"Get. In. The. Closet."
I can't help but smile bitterly.
"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."
A/N:
Please keep reading.
I really appreciate all the comments I've gotten since last time.
Four new comments! Hell yeah, I think this fanfic is going to make the NYT best seller list.
Irony aside, I can't exactly blame anyone but myself for that given my slow update pace.
But it's more than for any previous chapter, so at least... that's positive.
Thanks.
A lot.
Thanks also to my loyal reader "Shadowbroker" for his review which is brilliant, as well as to Sparty McFly and Dr. Tal. Your positive feedback (especially seeing as it's "new" positive feedback) is very much appreciated.
And last but absolutely in no way least there's the review from Sarge1995. Thank you!
If you've got time, check out his "The Outsider", especially if you're into self insert fics.
You can find him and "The Ousider" on my profile.
Thank you to all my readers for well...reading.
Until we meet again.
LordOxen out.