DISCLAIMER: Mass Effect video game is the property of its respective owners and the author has no financial gain from it. Original Characters and story concept are mine though.

A/N: This is the second part of Chapter 5 of Multiverse Effect. This one is about 7k worlds long.

My beta is still the one and the only Redentor

WARNING: This part of the chapter contains a fairly graphic description of abuse sustained during a rather brutal interrogation. Readers' discretion is strongly advised. As I mentioned previously - this fanfic is rated M for a reason.

The robotic shop assistants are probably the best investment a store owner could make. They don't need any bathroom breaks, they don't go for a smoke and they are always courteous, even when dealing with a troublesome customer. My personal artificial assistant was also very knowledgeable concerning the newest street fashion in the Confederacy core universes.

"Sir, please try these trousers on. They are considered cutting edge among the core worlds' elite."

I wouldn't describe the narrow slacks as cutting edge, or even bold for that matter. They seemed pretty generic, but if the price tag was anything to go by they might as well have been hand-made by Giorgio Armani himself.

But the robot was right, they fit me very well. I decided to take them, because I could pay in the store with vouchers I received from the Security Branch. After all, what good was a generous salary if you couldn't spend the money?

I left the store dressed in beige slacks with elegant brown jodhpurs. I wore a button-down, navy blue shirt and a leather Johnny Ramone jacket. Why would the Confederacy sell one of the classic motorcycle jackets from my Earth I had no idea, but it was relatively inexpensive. All in all, I felt like I was back home and meeting my friends on some weekend evening.

My helpful store assistant also arranged for my uniform to be returned to the Security Branch facility in Port Helix, from where they could deliver it back to Camp Bravo Two. After some deliberation I also decided to send back my sidearm and a small knife I always carried under my armpit. There was high probability that I would end up intoxicated, and having a firearm and a knife with me was just asking for trouble.

After my shopping spree I entered the nearest pub. It wasn't too fancy, but it wasn't a complete dump either. If I was back in Warsaw, I would place it somewhere in the middle – just one of those fairly affordable places where you could find university students in large numbers.

I sat at the bar and ordered a plain strong lager, feeling oddly nostalgic. Even though I was only gone for two weeks, it felt like years since I left my old life behind. Well, technically I didn't leave it at all – I was a clone after all. Behind the counter there was another robot – a place like this could have never afforded one of the high-end human bartenders. Despite that, he moved efficiently. He even had a mind to propose me a cigarette, which I took gladly.

Taking a drag of a strong tobacco stick and sipping my lager I tried to remember the topics that we usually discussed in the pubs when I was still at the university, but nothing seemed to come to my mind. I finished my first beer in what must have been record time and immediately ordered another one. I felt slight buzz in my head as I looked around the room.

The pub itself was a rather dark place. There was some non-intrusive electronic music playing in the background. The patrons either sat in metal chairs around small tables or at the long counter on high bar stools like I did. The metal stools with leather tops were not very comfortable, but they gave me an excuse to talk to other people at the counter. I noticed a girl sitting not too far away, who seemed to be completely engrossed in some video game she played on her wrist-comp. Her hair was dyed blue and seemed to be spiked with some sort of hair gel which allowed it to defy gravity. She wore some sort of futuristic punk attire with multiple zips, studs and magnetic attachments. Although some the attachments she had on her garments reminded me of refrigerator magnets, I admit that I liked her style.

"Hey, how are you?!" I shouted, trying to raise my voice above the buzz of the crowd.

She gave me a quick look and said.

"Fine, thanks."

Normally I would take the hint and get busy with my beer. That would happen if I was back in my own world, but I was still a bit shaken from my therapy with Dr. Koeckritz so I wouldn't be deterred by her dismissive manner.

"Can I buy you a beer?" I asked.

She took a longer look at me. Finally, after few tense seconds she simply shrugged and sat down on a bar stool next to mine.

"Sure, why not."

"Are you always that enthusiastic about everything?" I asked bluntly. I didn't particularly care what she would think of me, so I might as well say what's on my mind.

"Are you always this eager to stick your nose into someone else business?" She responded with a question of her own.

I snorted at that.

"It's just a beer. It's not like I'm asking you to marry me."

"No, you just want to fuck me," she said with a derisive smile.

Back in my previous life I would be denying such accusation vehemently and in most cases it would be true. But here, I didn't even bother with denial, as I just shrugged my shoulders. As I finished my second beer, I felt the familiar feeling of numbness overcome my body and mind, only increasing my mental indifference. This plain lager they sold here was definitely stronger that what we had in the Officer's Lounge. Without thinking much I ordered another one. I really wanted to feel numb this evening.

"You know, this stuff is strong. You shouldn't be drinking it so fast," she said looking at me again, her wrist-comp forgotten.

"Then try to keep up with me." I said with a raised eyebrow. She seemed to accept my challenge as she ordered a new glass of lager.

We spent some time talking about general stuff, exchanging thinly-veiled insults and barbs and getting steadily drunker. After some time I couldn't even remember that I initially wanted to sleep with her as I found myself genuinely enjoying our light conversation. The girl's name was Caprice and she was a 21 years old agriculture student at the Port Helix Academy of Life Sciences. We didn't have much in common when it came to mutual interests, but we shared similarly sarcastic sense of humour, sharp wit and a cynical view on life in general. We didn't even notice how much time had passed, until I took a quick look at the watch installed on my wrist-comp.

"Shit, it's 11 o'clock already? I must be getting back on board or my CO will have my balls for breakfast." I said trying to focus on her face which was swimming in front of my eyes. My voice was slurring as well.

"Sure, sailor go on. I gave you my address so we can hook up again when you're back in the Grand Pee-Eitch." she said, mentioning the slang name for the Port Helix.

I told Caprice that I was a Naval Infantryman from one of the corvettes docked in the starport, when she asked about my employment. I might have been drunk, but I wasn't about to admit to a civilian of all people that I was with the Security Branch.

She patted me on the back, gave me a quick peck on the cheek and after a quick goodbye left me at the bar. I fumbled a little with my wrist-comp, trying to arrange the payment for the alcohol. Caprice was nice enough to share the expenses with me, despite my insistence. Finally, I managed to pay the patient robot and get up from the counter.

My back hurt something fierce and my legs were numb, but despite that I left the bar without any help. The streets were dark and I could barely see any pedestrians as I walked underneath the halo of a street lamp. I was gloriously drunk and I started humming an old song. After few seconds my humming turned into singing. I nodded to myself as I sung and swaggered along the dark city street.

"I should have known, you bid me farewell
There's a lesson to be learned from this, and I learned it very well..."

I was so absorbed in remembering the lyrics, that I didn't even notice a shadow creeping up from behind. When the blow to the back of my head came, I saw only stars.

'I am surrounded by darkness' was the first thought I had when I woke up. I was lying on the floor and my head hurt badly, both from drinking and from the assault before. My chest also hurt like hell – it appears that whoever knocked me out gave me a kick in the torso for a good measure. I wore some sort of dark hood over my head and it gave a horrible stench of mildew and stale water. I felt cold, too – my brand new shoes and jacket were gone. I only wore my thin button-down shirt and slacks and both of them felt dirty and smelly. I wasn't wearing any socks and my feet were ice cold.

I couldn't see anything, but I used my hands to feel the floor around me, which was pretty difficult as they were tied behind my back. It was covered in some sort of slime or grease and it was made of metal. Just like the room surrounding me it was cold to the touch and I shivered from the chill and fear.

I was scared shitless, no doubt about it. Unlike previously, when I woke up in the IDD facility, now people actually had a reason to kidnap me, ever since I was inducted into Security Branch. In hindsight, it might not have been my best idea to go pub-crawling alone in an unfamiliar city and getting completely drunk with some stranger. Then again, we always looked back with 20/20 vision.

My musings were stopped in their tracks by the screech of an opened door. I was so used to automatic sliding doors by now that I completely forgot how a regular door sounded.

I heard a person talking, but I couldn't understand anything. Everything they said sounded like gibberish to my ears. I was picked up roughly from the floor and my hands were stretched toward the ceiling. My assailant removed my bindings and put on plasteel handcuffs in their stead. They were placed on my wrists and attached to the wall, which made me hang with my feet barely touching the ground. He or she also gave me another kick, this time to the outside part of my thigh. I whimpered – the kick didn't hit anything vital, but it was painful nonetheless. Without a single word they grabbed my head by the hood and struck it against the wall, making me lose consciousness.

I couldn't say how long I'd been out of it, but when I woke up I was still hanging by the wall. The hood I wore had been taken off my head while I was unconscious and left lying on the floor. The room around me was dark with only one source of light, which was installed directly above my head. The room itself was completely barren with a dirty floor and rusty walls. The only entrance or exit was the heavy door right in front of me and it was closed.

My arms hurt horribly and they felt as if someone had tried pulling them out of their sockets. My head was still tender and I could feel dried blood on the back of my neck. The last hit must have broken the skin, since I felt the blood drip down my back. The metallic smell of haemoglobin was easily recognizable to my nose. I stood in a pool of some liquid and to my disgust I recognized its smell as urine. It was shameful, but I must have lost control of my bladder when they knocked me out again. It will teach me to go easy on the beers next time. If there would indeed be a next time.

It seemed like my adventure was over before it truly began. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left. All I could do was to stare at the dirty floor numbly without forming any coherent thoughts. I don't know how long I was standing there, when suddenly the door opened once again.

This time I noticed two men in green uniforms, without any distinctions. Both of them wore dark synthetic balaclavas with dark green surgical masks which I recognized to be the voice scramblers. During one of my classes with Lox I was told that voice scramblers were used to disguise what the person was saying, similar to the voice receptors that I used during war games. Only people who had their earpieces adjusted to correct frequency would be able to understand, while others would only hear some unrecognizable gibberish.

Both men dragged in a rubber water hose. They aimed it at me and suddenly a stream of ice cold water hit me like a ton of bricks. I coughed, I cried and I begged them to stop their onslaught, but they paid me no attention whatsoever. They adjusted the water stream and lessened the pressure, covering my whole body in water. After a few seconds they turned off the water and left, taking the water hose with them and locking the door. I was left hanging by the wall and coughing up the water that gotten forced into my mouth.

If I felt cold before it was freezing now. My clothes were dripping wet and I could see the water vapour turn to fog as I exhaled heavily. My panic stricken reactions were quickly overcoming my SERE training as I kept muttering silently.

"Oh my God… oh my God... oh my God..."

This time I cried, but I managed to do it silently not wanting to bring back my captors. Tears streamed down my face as I desperately tried to remember the 'Resistance' part of SERE training. But my thought process was scrambled, possibly due to the alcohol I consumed yesterday. I could only remember Galtieri saying:

"Your name, surname and serial number are the only things you are allowed to give away during the interrogation. Should they employ torture upon you it is imperative that you withhold all Intel for thirty six hours to give us ample time to perform damage control. Once the thirty six hours have passed you can tell them everything they want."

I just needed to hold it together for thirty six hours, starting now. I'd been in their captivity for couple of hours at least, but I had to assume that my absence would not be noticed until the night was passed.

Of course, it was easier said than done and my captors would certainly not make it any easier. I heard the door open once more and I raised my head to look at the people who entered. It was the same two men from before. This time they didn't have the water hose with them as they approached me. I instinctively tried to make myself a smaller target, but they didn't even attempt to hit me. One of the men held my head steady, while the other picked up the dirty hood from the floor and put it on my head. He fastened it hard around my neck, almost cutting off my airways entirely.

It felt like we left my cell, but that was all I could determine for certain. They half-led, half-dragged me through a corridor, which I could tell from the smell and the feel of the ground to be fairly dirty as well. We entered a different room and my bare feet felt that the floor here was wooden, while the room itself was noticeably warmer. Two men pushed me down to an uncomfortable wooden stool and roughly took the hood of my head. They left the room immediately closing the door.

I was sitting in front of a metal desk with a single holo-tablet and a bright lamp. There were two metal cabinets behind it and a man sitting on a chair. The man had a shaven head and a small goatee. He was white, but his eyes were the coldest shade of green that I've ever seen in my life. He was smoking an electronic cigarette or something similar as he studied a document on his holo-tablet. He looked at me and said.

"Your name, surname and the unit."

I shivered in fear. I tried and failed to answer without stuttering.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The man looked at me with visible irritation.

"Are you deaf, boy? I asked for your unit number!"

"I can't give away that information, sir." I said, completely mortified.

The man looked at me, suddenly very angry and yelled.

"What is your unit number, boy?! How many people in your unit?!"

"I can't give away that information, sir!" I said loudly in desperation.

The man calmed down and stood up. Finally I had a chance to take a good look at the clothes he was wearing. To my absolute horror, I recognized his uniform. It was a green coverall with a peculiar flag on the right sleeve - stripes in the colours of Confederacy with a black star inside a black cog imposed upon it. (1) I only had a very basic knowledge of terrorist and sectarian groups that plagued Multiverse Confederacy, as they were dealt mostly by the Internal Bureau of the Security Branch. But these people were so infamous that even I'd heard of them a couple of times.

This man was member of the Technocratic Peoples' Federation colloquially known as TechnoFeds. They were a terror group that preached that even a limited representative democracy that the Confederacy citizens enjoyed was destructive and counterproductive. Their official political manifesto stated that every person was a cog in the giant machine of state and that every person should know his or her place in the Universe. Only when that is achieved the people can reach the true heights of their potential. They believed that only a fully technocratic state could control the Multiverse in a satisfactory manner, eliminating inequality, poverty and war.

In short, they were dangerous zealots who had no qualms about dabbing in acts of terrorism, human trafficking or mass murder. And now they had their hands on me. There was no hope for me now and I recognized it for a fact that I was as good as dead. Security Branch would never negotiate with them.

The TechnoFed grabbed my throat and forced me to look him in the eye. He screamed loudly once again.

"I know you're with the Security Branch, boy! How many people are in your unit?!"

I was trembling with fear and my eyes started tearing up as he squeezed my throat, but I managed to whimper.

"I can't give away that information, sir."

The TechnoFed let go of my throat and went back behind the desk. Meanwhile I was wheezing, desperately trying to get much needed air to my lungs. My captor sat down in his chair and asked me once again. He spoke with such calmness, that you wouldn't believe he was yelling a moment ago.

"Your name, surname and unit number."

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir..." I said quietly.

"Your name, surname and unit number," he repeated without looking up from his tablet.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight..." I started once more, but he interrupted me with a shout.

"Shut up!"

I stopped talking immediately and looked at him. I tried to mask my fear to the best of my abilities, but I knew I won't be fooling the man in front of me.

"Your name, surname and unit number."

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir." I said without much conviction. I half-expected him to hit me and braced myself.

Instead, the TechnoFed officer wrote something on his wrist-comp. The two terrorists from before entered the room and they put the hood back on my head. They grabbed my hands, which were still in the plasteel handcuffs, and dragged me out. I didn't even have the strength to walk, as I was physically and mentally exhausted.

I could feel the cold floor of my cell as they fastened me once more to the wall, with my arms stretched upwards. This time they left me with the hood on. Two soldiers left, but I heard someone else enter the cold cell and place something on the floor. Whatever they placed there started beeping immediately at equal intervals.

They left me alone once again with the beeping machine. At first it didn't bother me much as it was just a simple, high-pitch metronome. But as the time passed the sound seemed to become louder and louder. I couldn't see anything, because of the hood on my head and I couldn't hear anything because of the constant, beeping noise. It seemed to pierce my eardrums and reverberate in my brain, overcoming remnants of my rational thoughts. After what seemed like hours I finally broke and yelled.

"For God's sake turn it off!"

But nobody responded to my pleas. I was hanging by my hands, I was wet and freezing, I couldn't see anything and to top it all up they put a noisy, beeping metronome in my cell. Calling it inhumane was an understatement of a century.

I yelled and I cried some more. I was begging my captors to turn off the hellish machine. Finally, after what seemed like hours, my exhaustion caught up with me and I slipped off to the blissful unconsciousness.

They woke me up with water once again. I was still hanging by the wall and by now my hands were completely numb – I doubted that they would function correctly ever again. I didn't even have the strength to protest, my previous fear and panic now reduced to impotent apathy. I could protest all I wanted, but they would break me and it would happen sooner rather than later.

The two guards removed the handcuffs from my wrists and let me slip down to the floor. They seemed to be saying something, but due to voice scramblers I couldn't understand. I didn't even care what they were saying – perhaps they were simply laughing at me?

I must have looked terrible - covered in dirt, urine, freezing water and lying on a greasy floor like a dying rat. As I was laying there, my captors poured some more water on me. I just spluttered and coughed, but I couldn't even get a single sound through my dry and abused throat.

They roughly yanked me up by my arms, causing me to yell out in pain. A glass of drinking water was poured down my throat, which I drank greedily knowing that my life depends on it. I felt a needle enter one of the veins on my arm and I immediately recognized the adrenaline shot.

My body felt invigorated once more, but now the numbing effects of exhaustion were gone and I felt the pain double in strength. Another shot was forced into my other arm and it seemed to be a painkiller of some sort.

I opened my eyes and noticed that my vision was swimming as if I was still drunk.

'Fucking morphine or some shit,' I thought dumbly.

I felt my two guards dragging me once again through the corridor toward the interrogation room. This time the wooden stool was standing by the wall and they sat me down on it. They fastened me to the seat with duct tape, cuffed my hands and placed a lamp in front of me. It was aimed directly at my face.

I heard someone approach, but he was beyond my field of view. I couldn't recognize the voice either, but I was fairly sure it was a male. Of course, I could have been completely of my rocker, seeing as they injected me with drugs.

"Would you like a cigarette, Peter? We have some real ones, you know. Even the brands that are banned in the Confederacy," his voice was polite and empathetic.

I nodded without saying a word. He put a cigarette in my mouth and lighted it up with an elegant silver lighter – most people nowadays used their wrist-comps to start the fire, but the lighters were considered to be a more sophisticated gift.

Due to the blinding light I still couldn't see any recognizable facial features and besides he quickly stepped away from my sight. Meanwhile, I took a long drag from the cigarette instantly feeling much better.

The TechnoFed said quietly, "Peter, we understand that you were recruited for the Security Branch via the Interactive Dislocation Department. Is that correct?"

I closed my eyes and took another long drag before responding.

"I can't give out that information, sir."

The hidden man had the gall to chuckle at that.

"Peter, Peter, Peter… If you decide to be obstinate, I will not be able to help you." I could actually imagine him shaking his head at me, as if I was an unruly child. Despite that, I was too drugged and numb to care about it.

Speaking of which, it couldn't have been morphine that they injected me with before. I already felt its dizzying effects going away, but to my joy the pain did not return. It seemed like the drug had some healing factor on my body. Could it be the nanogel?

But the TechnoFed was still talking.

"We know you, Peter Dubois. Or perhaps you would prefer to be called Peter *******?" He actually knew my 'real' name, which was surprising. To be completely honest, I was slowly forgetting it myself.

"What the IDD did to you was wrong, Peter. They had no right to take you away from your world and from your body. That is something that never should have happened."

He pushed the small coffee table my way. There was a single holo-tablet on it with some opened document on the display.

"Here we have your written confession. It states that you were unlawfully kidnapped from your universe by the agencies of the Multiverse Confederacy and that you demand to be returned to your world and your timeline. It contains your appeal to the Multiverse Parliament, which also condemns the Emergency Provisions Act under which you were drafted into the Security Branch. If this appeal goes public, it will cause the massive outcry among the population and we'll be able to arrange sending you back home."

Was I tempted by his proposal? Of course I was. They gave me a chance to return home and leave this whole bloody circus behind. No more Reapers, no more training, no more sleeping on the ground in my armour. I could slip back into my old body and no one would be any wiser. Bugger the fact that my original self was still there in my place, I deserved to be back with Erica after all this. Not him.

'Once I am back in Warsaw I could easily ambush the original and dispose of him quietly – no one would notice' I considered, slowly warming up to the idea, oblivious to the fact that I was basically conspiring to commit a murder.

I wanted to go home – nothing else mattered. And all I had to do was to sign the confession.

But then, I remembered my SERE training. Galtieri warned me about situations like these. 'No signature comes without strings attached,' he said. I would become their political pawn and there was no guarantee that they would honour their promise.

The TechnoFeds wanted to use me in their crusade for political recognition in the Confederacy. The Technocratic Peoples' Federation was not opposed to consciousness transfer, anyway! In fact, as I remembered from reading their manifesto, they claimed that it was the inalienable right of the multiverse for the greater civilizations to lead the smaller ones – with the use of force, if need be. They didn't care in the slightest about my plight; I was just a convenient tool.

This was all a fucking sham and I almost fell for their ploy. I raised my head defiantly and responded.

"Thank you, but I can't sign this document, sir."

The hidden man chuckled again, as if my singular act of defiance was the funniest thing in the world.

"Peter, are you sure about it? We know that your recruiters all but forced you to accept your new employment. We are giving you a choice." The TechnoFed's tone carried the same gentle politeness as before.

I was trembling once more, my fear returning in full force. Still, I responded with a note of finality silently dreading his reaction.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The blinding light was turned off. It caught me by surprise and before my eyes could adjust to the sudden darkness I heard the hidden man say.

"You disappointed me, Peter. We thought you were a reasonable person. It is the last time that we speak with each other, I'm afraid. Now my associates will have to take more… forceful measures to convince you."

He left me in the room. I was still duct-taped to the wooden stool, but at least the interrogation room was warmer than my cell. Meanwhile, my eyes were slowly adjusting to the surrounding darkness and I started to recognize the furniture in the room. As I did that, the two guards from before (or perhaps some other two men, they all looked the same to me) entered the interrogation room once again. They freed me from the chair and took off my handcuffs – perhaps they could see that I was in no condition to fight them.

We went out of the interrogation room. My feet hurt and I felt convinced of the possibility that they were bleeding as I slowly hobbled between the two guards. We entered a different room, which had a small iron cage inside. The guards unceremoniously pushed me into the cage and locked it behind me. Its ceiling was too low for me to stand, so I laid down on the bottom. It was still too small for me to stretch my body fully, so I was forced to assume a foetal position. It didn't take long for the guards to come back. Except, there were six of them now and to my horror each one of them carried a steel rebar.

'That's it, I'm dead. They're going to kill me now!' I heard my panicked thoughts as I desperately looked for a way out of the cage.

In the ancient Roman Army the worst possible offence was the cowardice on the battlefield. If a Roman legionary retreated from the battle without explicit orders, he was condemned to death. The sentence was carried out by other legionaries from his unit – they beat him to death with wooden clubs. It was a long and painful death and if by some miracle the convict survived such beating, he was left to die on the side of the road.

It seemed like I was going to experience the same pain they did. But the guards never hit me. They proceeded to hit the cage instead. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through my ears. In no time all of them were hitting it, the sound of screeching iron turning into a constant wail in my head. I was laying on the floor, holding my head as the men around me beat upon the small cage. The horrible sound numbed my brain, just like the beeping metronome did before, but now it was just an overwhelming background noise.

I don't know how long the guards kept beating at my cage – it might have been mere minutes, it might have been hours – but as suddenly as it started, it stopped. In the sudden silence I heard someone screaming loudly. It took me a moment to realize that it was ME who was screaming. As I fell silent, four of the guards left the room while the two opened the cage and dragged me out. I was sobbing and tears were streaming down my face, when they put me back in my cell and fastened me with the handcuffs to the wall. When they finally left me, all I could do was to be grateful for the surrounding silence.

I was dimly aware of what they were doing to me. During the Cold War the people of the Soviet Block liked to compare the communist secret service to the Nazis, but they weren't aware that in many ways communists were more sophisticated and efficient. For example, Stasi – the East German secret police – had informants everywhere and if you got on their bad side they could make your life living hell. As for their interrogation techniques, it sufficed to say that people in East Germany had a proverb: 'The Gestapo was breaking bones, but the Stasi broke peoples' souls'.

The TechnoFeds were breaking my soul now. For some reason, they didn't want to permanently hurt or cripple me if the healing gel injection was anything to go by. But they definitely had no qualms about driving me insane.

Slowly, very slowly I came to a grim realization that I was going to die here right after I broke down and signed their confession. Their offer of returning me home might have been genuine at the time, but now it was all water under the bridge. All the resistance that I showed now, was just prolonging my slow mental agony.

I felt tears in my eyes once again.

Three or four hours had passed, maybe more when I was once again interrupted by the guards. I wasn't even surprised when they took me back to the interrogation room and sat me on the familiar wooden stool.

My first interrogator was there. He was scratching his shaved head as he read some report or other on his tablet. Once he was finished, he turned his attention to me.

"You will sign the confession, Dubois." His voice left no room for any argument.

But now I knew that signing this document would be my death sentence. They would no longer have any need to keep me alive.

"I'm afraid I can't do that, sir."

He stood up and looked down at me. Yes, I was terribly afraid now.

"You think you can play tough with us, Dubois? You think you will die a bloody hero and get a funeral with bagpipes, drums and all that crap?"

The TechnoFed walked around the desk and sat down on it in front of me. He grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eye.

"I'm going to break you, lieutenant. I will make you crawl on your belly, like the fucking snail that you are. You will be begging me to end your miserable life."

He picked up the tablet from the desk and shoved it into my face.

"Sign the fucking confession, soldier!" he shouted.

"I can't do that, sir!" my words were still defiant, but my voice was breaking like an old vinyl record.

My interrogator grabbed me by the flaps of my shirt – it was completely open now, as the elegant sewn buttons were long gone – and picked me up. He pushed me with force toward the wall. I hit it with full force as my hands were still handcuffed behind my back and were unable to cushion the impact.

I expected a follow-up hit and tried to cover my vitals the best I could but it never came. The TechnoFed officer towered above me and spat on me with disgust.

"You're a fucking drone, Dubois. The Confeds brainwashed you to their service. Why do you think they do all these knowledge-transfers, you idiot? They're using their technology against you, to keep you docile and satisfied."

Some of the things he said made sense but by now I didn't trust anyone. Everything was a big fucking game to these people and I was getting my ass kicked for it. My brain focused on the most basic need – try and survive for one more minute. My throat was contracting with fear, but I managed to say without stuttering.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The TechnoFed snapped his fingers and two guards appeared once more. They've picked me up and sat me back on the stool. The officer adjusted his wrinkled uniform, looked at me with barely concealed revulsion and sat down behind the desk.

All I could do was to look at my dirty trousers as he spoke to me.

"Sign the confession Dubois and all of it is going to end. You will be given food and clothes and nobody will touch you, I promise. The Technocratic Peoples' Federation will forgive you your transgressions."

The son-of-a-bitch even managed to sound magnanimous when he said that.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir." I said apathetically, not really caring what happened now. I was a dead man, anyway.

"The peoples' courts understand. You were raised in the foolish spirit of individualism and you have trouble understanding that it's the state that matters, not the individuals. We are all just the building blocks of civilization. Sign the confession and you will be cleansed of your sins."

God, I wanted to sign it so badly. I didn't care about his propaganda gibberish, but I just wanted the pain, the indignity and the continuous spiral of fear to end. I was just a human being, after all. The Confederacy gave me weapons, training and abilities beyond anything I could imagine. And despite that I was still brought down to my knees, living only because my captors didn't want to kill me yet.

Despite all that I'd been through I was still as obstinate and stubborn as ever. I might have been powerless, hopeless and terrified, but I would not give the bastard the satisfaction of seeing me cave in to their demands.

"Peter Dubois, eight-eight-oh-four-two-six-oh-niner, sir."

The TechnoFed scratched his short goatee and sighed.

"If that's how you want to do it, Dubois – be my guest. I didn't want it to end this way, but you give me no choice, son."

He typed on his wrist-comp and two guards from before showed up. This time they were armed – each had a pistol and an assault rifle. They've put on some sort of shackles on my ankles and used a magnetic lock to attach them to my handcuffs. I was marched out of the interrogation room behind the TechnoFed. The officer walked fast without looking back and the two guards trailed behind him dragging me with them. Four other guards joined us and they too were armed.

This time we didn't take any familiar corridors. We walked down, deeper into the compound. There were barely any lights on the way, but the steel corridor seemed cleaner than the rooms from before. We took a sharp turn and the officer used his wrist-comp to open the automatic door.

We entered a spacious room. It was completely empty, apart from a white line on the floor near the far wall. I was placed behind that line. When I looked at it I noticed that the wall behind me had multiple bullet holes. As I focused my eyes I could notice a rusty residue on the wall. My sharpened sense of smell couldn't confirm it, but my gut feeling told me that it was blood.

Jesus, is that how I'm going to end my life? Shot by firing squad because I joined the organization which gave me no other choice? I wanted to cry and yell at the unfairness of it all, but the cold dread paralyzed my body. I could only look in terror and fear as the officer inspected the guards' assault rifles. He then approached me and without asking put a smelly hood over my head.

As he fastened the straps, nearly choking me in the process, I noticed that I no longer feared death. All of this was going to end very soon and I finally felt at peace. Ever since I came to this world I was always running, chasing some unattainable goal. But now, the responsibility was gone – others would have to worry about the mission. Perhaps they will find some other guy, or maybe copy my consciousness once again. Frankly, I didn't care. Despite all that, I felt like I had made a good run of it, altogether.

The firing squad was ready. I heard the TechnoFed officer give a sharp command.

"Present!"

After all, who was I but a clone of the real Peter? It was shortly followed by another quick order.

"Take aim!"

'Mum, Dad – I'm so sorry. I love you, baby.' I thought about Erica and my family for the last time.

"FIRE!"

I saw light.

END OF CHAPTER 5

(1)The Technocratic Peoples' Federation flag can be found on my profile picture. Usually the cog with the star are placed on the mast side, but smaller flags and roundels have them placed in the middle.

A/N: Yep, that's it. Dubois was unlucky enough to get caught in something bigger than himself, which had nothing to do with the Mass Effect or his mission there. Sometimes bad things happen to random people through no fault of their own.

What's going to happen now? Well, to find out you will have to stay tuned for the next chapter of Multiverse Effect.

Have a good one! (or at least a better one than this poor idiot)

RosoMC