Identity (a Mass Effect fanfiction)

Survivor

The first sensation was pain. Actually, that was about the first thousand sensations. It took a long while to reach enough consciousness that Shepard could be aware that he was himself, and that he was feeling pain. Only when that happened could he start considering where the pain was.

That was no help. The pain was everywhere. So much of it that he retreated into the blackness of unconsciousness to get away from it.

When he came to again, his head had cleared somewhat—enough to notice that he could see nothing. Was he blind, or was he in darkness? He tried to move a hand, to wave his fingers in front of his face, but his hands refused to move. Trapped, it felt like.

He stopped and considered that, tensing and releasing his muscles experimentally. Yes, he was definitely trapped. Under what?

London, he thought at last, remembering. He was trapped under London. The Crucible had blasted; he had watched the Reapers falling from the sky, screaming toward Earth, as the beam struck them; and he had rejoiced, even in his weariness and his certainty that he was about to die. He remembered nothing after that.

"You did it again, Shepard," he said to himself. Or he thought he did, but he heard nothing. Had he not actually spoken, or was he deaf, as well as blind? He strained to hear anything else, but there was nothing. He could be lying in a tomb, for all he knew, or in some kind of hell, trapped here for all eternity, unable to die. Wouldn't that be a kick in the teeth?

It would. It would be so much of a kick that his consciousness deserted him again to avoid thinking about it.

When it returned, it was to the blissful relief of hearing something—scraping sounds, tapping and scrabbling, like ... rats. Great. Trapped under half of London and about to be eaten alive by rats. The exalted end of the storied career of Commander Aaron Shepard. From street rat to street rat, he thought, and squashed the temptation to giggle.

The scrapings were getting louder, though, as he lay here, as if they were coming closer. And now he could hear voices. There were people out there! He tried to speak, but nothing seemed to come from him. He realized that whatever lay across his back was making it hard to breathe as well as to speak, and decided to save his breath.

He strained to make out the sounds. What were they saying? Who were they? The Normandy—had they gotten away in time? Jack—was she safe, out there with her students? Wrex and Grunt were out there somewhere, too, although he couldn't imagine anything that could take out those two stubborn krogan.

One voice was higher than the others, louder, more adamant. Whoever it was, they were pissed. He smiled, thinking of Jack. She had told him not to get killed, because when it was all over she intended to get laid. He had heard the words she couldn't say beneath the demand, and said "I love you", for the first time he could remember saying those words. He might get the chance to say them again now, he thought, and with that in mind, drifted off again into the darkness.

It was a voice like Jack's that he heard some time later, bringing him back to himself. "Don't you fucking tell me to stand down! You stand down. You're not in charge of me."

"Ma'am, it's not safe."

"I'm not safe."

There was a pause, while slowly the realization seeped into Shepard's mind that it really was her voice. Jack was out there. She was alive, and he was alive, and she was out there, somewhere close by, looking for him. At least, he assumed she was looking for him. He hoped she'd find him. Lying here in the darkness was wearing on him. He wanted to see light, preferably on Jack's beautiful face.