Preface:

I apologize in advance. Again.

CHAPTER 4

Shepard Is Not Crash

I bet you're wondering, dear reader, how our heroes got to this point - the Reapers have taken over planet Earth and the rest of the Milky Way, and are about to finish the annihilation of every sentient race in the galaxy. It's pretty complicated, but the simple answer is that our heroes suck balls.

Shepard tried to tell the council, like, twenty goddamned times that the greatest threat to the galaxy was coming, but the Council didn't care because they're long-lived assholes who go home and shove random household objects up their asses while listening to Enya in 7.1 surround sound and making duck noises on a conference call with every extremely wealthy business executive in the galaxy doing the same thing (this is Shepard's speculation at least). But really, who can say where the road goes? To anyone besides Shepard and his friends (who were afraid of saying no to him because of the implication), the idea of a machine race that wipes out sentient life every 50,000 years is fucking Alex Jones-level tinfoil hat bullshit.

But then Sovereign attacked the Citadel that one time, and Shepard saved the Council and a bunch of other motherfuckers from certain doom by blowing up Sovereign himself (maybe Joker helped, but shut the fuck up Shepard's the hero). So the Council was going to believe the Reapers thing now, right? Wrong, because Shepard kind of fucked up by not giving them sufficient evidence for the Reapers existing besides a bunch of broken parts that make people into zombies, which could easily be explained as "Geth devices". Then after Shepard died on the way to the grocery store, he comes back with a white nationalist terrorist organization and demands the Council take him super serial this time, which had exactly the opposite effect (because Shepard was now working as a zombie lobbyist for a pro-human group under control of evil Space Elon Musk man). Then he goes and destroys the Collectors, which nobody thinks exists, and now they really don't exist, so he can't prove to anyone that they ever existed in the first place.

So, yeah, our hero had made some pretty bad decisions in the past few years. So what? He's still kickin, and he's still fisting assholes all over outer space. The Reaper thing is whatever, once he's done with them he can get that timeshare he wanted on the Moon, settle down, adopt a few pigs, and buy a couple kids to fetch him the newspaper and do his laundry. Our hero Shepurd just wants to live a quiet life. But all that changed once he met two very special guys…

Shepard snapped out of his stupor once he realized his toast was done. He fetched the nutella out of his colon and gave himself a hearty spread of the soft, brown delicacy, and then had himself a nice breakfast. He sat down on his bed, which was currently being occupied by a tied-up Diana Allers, who was only beginning to understand what "report to the ship as soon as possible" actually meant. She was butt-ass nude, of course, and not exactly happy with her current situation.

"Commander, wha… what am I doing here?" Diana Allers came to and shook her head, trying her restraints. "What did you do to me?"

"Yes."

"Yes what? Why am I naked and tied to this bed? I thought I was in my quarters in the cargo hold-"

"I don't really think he gets us, man."

"You… you're insa-" Before Miss Allers could finish, Shepard dramatically raised both nutella'd slices of toast in the air, cried "DAIICHI NO BAKUDAN", and brought them down in a graceful motion, slapping them on both sides of his victim's face. They stuck there, coating her face in the brown, messy colloid that she could only hope was actually made from chocolate and hazelnut. "Gotcha!" Shepard exclaimed, quickly hopping into his Alliance onesie and running out the door to the elevator.

Even Commander Shepard knows that breakfast is the most important meal of the day.

I know what you're thinking, reader: "this story is weird, but that last Shepard sexual harassment occasion went too far!" Relax, compadre! Shepard would never violate a woman in any way you would expect. You see, our hero Shepard doesn't need coitus to experience pleasure. He doesn't even require anything remotely sexual. In fact, Miss Allers was stripped naked simply because Shepard didn't want to get nutella on her clothes. Miss Allers was violated in many different ways (if you can call a party with the Lollipop Guild a violation of ethics), but none of them will scar her for life - unless, of course, she has a deadly allergy to chocolate and/or hazelnut. Let us get on with the story, shall we?

Upon arriving in the CIC (which Sharpied believes stands for "Cucks In Charge" but actually stands for "Combat Information Center"), Shepard screamed "GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!" only to find no one in the room. This may have been because he wasn't in the CIC, but the women's bathroom on the floor below.

"Shepard," said EDI over the intercom, "the men's restroom is on the port side of the ship."

"OH NO!" Shepard exclaimed, suddenly adopting a heavy Japanese accent. He bowed very low, and then scrambled back onto the elevator. He contemplated his strange outburst for a second before he got distracted thinking about how great waffles would go with antiperspirant for his next chess-date with Samantha Traynor, whom he hadn't yet realized was a lesbian. He had already thought of some great double entendres to drop during their chess match, like "I'll be your white knight" and "hey, can I stick that bishop in your ass". You know, nerd shit.

Upon actually arriving at the CIC, Shepard was too lost in thought to know what was happening around him, so when Mr. Pressly approached him with new intel on their days-long approach to the Citadel, he didn't respond, but kept muttering things to himself like "those panties aren't dirty enough" and "I need more junk in the box where junk goes", which was the indication to Prestly that he was to walk away slowly, lest he get a dick to the forehead. Presly and the other noobs on the bridge understood this important protocol and complied, raising their voices slightly as they grew further and further away from our hero to convince his ears that they were not moving away. The accuracy of their logarithmic crescendo caused Shebird to smile, which was the indication to the crew to begin applauding.

You may now be wondering, reader, why these strange protocols exist on the Normandy SR2. That is good. Keep wondering.

Our Glorious Hero Shepard checked his super-important Galactic Readiness meter, not because he cared about what it told him, but because some of his war assets were flashing "NEW" and he wanted them to go away. What may perhaps be the strangest quirk about our hero Commander Shepard is that he has some mild OCD when it comes to such matters.

Gazing longingly at his [unfortunately very] interactive galaxy map, Commander Cheddar zoomed in so he could see all his new friends: Luke, his new boy-toy; Liara, his old girl-toy; Tali, some robot chick with a mask; Picard, a boring old dude; Legion, his robot butler; and-

Wait, where's Chewie? Chewie was perhaps his best draft pick of the season: an all-star running back out of Kashyyyk State who had already familiarized himself with domestic abuse. If Shepard was going to win the big game, he needed his big hairy animal man. So what has become of that troublesome compatriot of his?

"Hello, what have we here?"

Han Solo's mouth was agape. Leia, who he was currently fingerbanging, also had her mouth wide open, although that could have been because of the fingerbanging, but Han didn't know for certain. Standing in front of him, however, where he expected his friend Chewie to be, was not his friend Chewie, but a well-dressed black man with a creepy mustache. He was currently staring down his pants at what Han could only assume was a much smaller penis than his old friend Chewie's. Han looked at his new friend's expression and smiled. Chewus had always wanted a smaller penis.

"What are you doing here?" the new character seemed to be less incredulous and more pleasantly surprised.

"Uh… this is my… uh… ship, I guess," said Han nervously.

"What have you done to my ship?" asked Chewbacca's new form, suddenly serious.

"I… uh… this is my ship-"

"This deal's gettin' worse all the time…"

Han removed his soggy fingers from Leia's coochie (trench finger is a serious malady). She yelped "EEK", froze, and skittered out of the room, but not before their new mustachioed friend gave her a hearty slap on the backside. Everyone had a chuckle about that one. Despite the circumstances, these men could always enjoy a good round of patronizing and sexist hullabaloo.

Having now seemingly broken the ice, the two new best friends went back to the main hold to play some space chess and smoke some dope, kindly replicated by their new friend Mister Picard. Chewie had always been a fucking narc and wouldn't let Han do hard drugs on the Falcon, but this new guy was something different. After 4 lines of coke, 12 shots of patrón, and a lot of burned and bent spoons, Han was playing like a chess GOD. Sure his hands were a bit shaky and his pupils a bit dilated, but they weren't playing fucking Jenga here.

Anyway, after assfucking Han at space chess, New Chewie hooked up to the SpaceNet on his rickety-ass computer. He looked on Space Omegle for some space dicks and space pussies, but all he saw was some disheveled naked homeless dude in a dirty spaceship shooting up heroin. Then, he realized he wasn't even on the SpaceNet; he was plugged into the Falcon's LAN and was just looking at a webcam stream of Han sitting next to him. Our new friend chuckled like a chinchilla trying to attract a mate. What a hoot.

New Chewie started to pour some more patrón, but his hands were so shaky that he got it everywhere. Hand howled with laughter. "You pour worser than Han do," he said quite strangely, as though he were on a lot of pretty awful illegal drugs (hint: he was). He started lighting up, and while he was preparing his crystal methamphetamine, he thought very deeply about what he had just said: Han do. Han doo. Han doe… man doe… LAN doe… deer… venison… jerky… jerking off… penis… suck… wait, he thought. He was getting sidetracked. LAN doe… Lando… LANDO! "You be Lando!" He proudly and drunkenly exclaimed.

Lando smiled. "I like the sound of that." Then they both promptly had seizures and passed out, presumably comatose from all the meth, cocaine, heroin, and hard liquor they had ingested in just about 5 minutes. Business as usual.