Mass Effect - Fragments

Chapter 2 - Reality Check

It’d been three days, going by the ship’s clock, since Shepard had awoken. He’d been provided with a terminal and an omni tool to use between his rehab. Hackett hadn’t been wrong: his personal terminal had pinged as soon as it had activated, signalling a very short message, a little over two days ago..

More lives than a Prothean, it would seem Shepard.

Thank the goddess you’re alive. We are on our way back.

L

P.S. I am going to murder you with my brain when I see you again.

Shepard chuckled. Well, that was something to look forwards to. He minimised the message and began sifting through the news feeds, what few were able to transmit. It painted a grim picture, but not without hope. The fall of the Reapers hadn’t transitioned into straight up infighting - the peace held. Though there were some interesting changes afoot:

The Salarians were threatening to withdraw from the Council, protesting at the overt Turian and Krogan alliance as well as the blatant abuse of power by the Asari Republics. Primarch Victus and Wrex were making good on promises it seemed, having managed to control the clans even whilst stranded in the Sol system, as well as direct disparate and stranded forces across the Galaxy. The Asari had been temporarily suspended from galactic politics, although there were still aid efforts funneling into Thessia, whilst an interim “Reconstruction Council” had been formed, based out of Arcturus station - Volus, Elcor, Quarian, Krogan and Geth had joined the Turians, Asari, Humans and even some Salarians in mapping out the way ahead.

Hope, but tinged with loss. Casualties weren’t even being estimated - the numbers simply too high. The husks that were being recovered were being buried en-masse, as identification was near impossible. Everyone had lost someone. And yet, here he was. Alive.

It almost didn’t feel fair - the universe out of balance. Not neat enough. He’d tried to raise the Migrant Fleet (Which probably wasn’t the right term for it now, he supposed) but to no avail - the comm buoys were still not quite functioning reliably. The only way the others had managed to communicate to their homeworlds was via the entanglement communication devices and the Alliance didn’t have one encoded for Rannoch - not since the Quarians had left. The extranet was still reliant on the buoys and the Mass Relay transmitters.

His mother had returned to the bridge, but she was making a point of dropping in every few hours, almost as if to make sure he wasn’t an illusion. She had restored her composure somewhat, but he himself had broken down a bit as she’d embraced him. The relief, the sheer weight lifting away.

But now he had his life back - no overshadowing threat, no galactic conflict. According to the medics he wouldn’t be fit for active duty for quite a while, possibly never: his left leg had been nearly crushed and his bones, despite being reinforced had fractured along multiple lines. Even after eleven months of constant nano-therapy and treatment, he would have a limp. His implants wouldn’t help much either, several having been fried. Miranda had stated that some might be replaceable, but since the majority had been installed “during reconstruction” last time, it wasn’t feasible to have a full service, as it were.

Hackett had swung by again, with the topic of future work coming up - at this stage, even the Admiral wasn’t certain, with politics still playing on his mind. Shepard could tell that the old man was conflicted: wanting the best for “The Galaxy saviour”, but also recognising the deep political pain that Shepard could become as an unknown. The question had been shelved until his recovery was complete.

Shepard looked up as the door hissed open, revealing a rather tired looking Miranda. She managed a wan smile at him and, to his surprise, slumped down into a chair beside the bed.