A series of short stories based on the various endings of Mass Effect 3.
Big Goddamn Heroes
Commander Shepard has created unending peace in the galaxy, but is peace really what we want? Mass Effect fanfiction based on the Control ending of Mass Effe...
Sou was the last of the protheans. She was sure of it. There were a handful of others who looked like her, organic creatures who still spoke the dead language of protho, and who could read memories laced throughout the material universe, but as far as she was concerned – she was the last of the protheans.
Sou made her way through the streets of London. She avoided large groups, especially work teams milling about reconstruction sites. No sense in arousing the curiosity of a helpful reaper. Finally she found a lone salarian making his way down the street. He would do.
"Hail, friend!" said Sou. "I need assistance."
She had to hold the salarian's arm to keep him from continuing on. She stared into his green glowing eyes. She had never gotten used to those eyes; two years after being thawed out, they still struck her as an abomination. What was going through the salarian's mind as he stared through her? Was he in an important business conference with others halfway across the galaxy? Was he reading a critique of some pre-war piece of artwork? Was he analyzing a list of chores written out by the collective intelligence of all living things (or whatever passed for a ruler in this peaceful new world)?
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The salarian finally acknowledged her presence. "Ah! You are a prothean, are you not, my friend?"
"I am," said Sou.
"You have not joined the greater galactic community. You are still alone."
"Yes, that's true," said Sou. She swallowed the bile rising in her gorge. "I as hoping for your assistance in this matter."
"I would be glad to assist you, friend!" said the salarian. "I was just on my way to a local pub. Have you eaten?"
"I have. I am fine."
"Is there anything I can do to-"
"No, no, I'm fine. I only need help with... I am ready for synthesis."
The salarian's mouth turned up at the corners. A smile, or something close to one. "This is good news, my friend! Come, I will escort you to the Citadel. Others can assist you with your synthesis."
Sou did not thank him. He did not offer his name, and nothing more was said between them as they made their way through the city-wide construction zone. Sou was glad to follow from behind because it helped remove from her mind the image of his people licking their own eyeballs. Squatting savages crouching in the swamp, gathering bugs and mushrooms to help their mothers grow fat – that was how she remembered the salarians. It did not seem they had changed very much in the past fifty thousand years.
Sou's mind drifted, and she remembered when she'd been woken from her cryogenic unit. She was disoriented and terrified, unable to reconcile her memory of the garden world of Eredheim with the cold, arid, bright wasteland that greeted her. Nobody had a clear idea how long the cryogenic chambers would last, but the assumption was that she and the others would be woken up after a few thousand years. Long enough for the reapers to return to dark space, long enough to begin again. Instead, she'd gone to sleep after it was clear that the empire had fallen, then woke during the end of yet another cycle that saw the reapers triumphant. Her coworkers and her friends were dead. Only bones rested in their cryo-coffins.
