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ME2: Sealed Memories// file index
$title: Sealed Memories
$game: Mass Effect 2
$chars: fem!Shep, Kasumi, EDI
// thanks for letting us play in your universe, Bioware!
Samantha Shepard has a tendency to see things in terms of black and white. Being the sole survivor of a horrific attack and then being rescued by Alliance marines can do that to you. She's not much for nuance--you're either on her side or you're not, a good person or not, an ally or an obstacle. Allies she will fight to the last breath to protect. Obstacles...well, what happens to obstacles depends on how much they get in her way.
Over the last week or so, this worldview has failed her. She's been brought back from the dead by a terrorist organization, who then hand over to her a top-flight spaceship and tell her she's free to do with it as she pleases. They know she hates their guts, they don't care, and they'd like to help her save the galaxy. The Illusive Man is harder to
Sherp: Space is like soooooooo big
Sherp Uses Tricorder
With its characteristic hum and sparkle, the transporter beam deposited the King Arthur's away team on the surface of Theta Epsilon IV. Glancing around and seeing nothing threatening, the team spread out and the Captain flipped open his tricorder.
"The nearest artifact is this way, just over that hill. Delta formation; stay sharp, team."
The team set out on foot at a moderate pace, the Captain clearly enjoying the fresh summer air and the near--grass underfoot, but then he noticed a troubled look on the face of their orange-skinned Science officer. "Something on your mind, Abrams?"
"It's not that I mind being reduced to my component atoms and beamed through the atmosphere in a billion pieces--I've gotten used to that. What I find disturbing is when the Transporter Chief puts us down more than half a klick from our destination. He kno
A Bloody, Stupid Miracle The day we’d cured the human condition was the day I put a bullet through my head and didn’t die. It was also the day I realized how scared I actually was of death, and after hours of muscle ache from holding that gauze against my open skull, after the wound closed and everything went back to normal, I had myself a good old-fashioned brainstorm. How ironic.
But when summer came, everything had fallen to shit. The air scorched my skin and parched my tongue every time I took a breath. The sun glared down on a rapidly-collapsing world, full of the undying bastard children of cruelty and misfortune. What was one to do when their cells regenerated faster than they decomposed?
My feet hit the pavement, now littered with jagged bits of glass to snap at my toes, thoroughly baked by the blazing ball of bitter disdain high overhead. Today was worse than yesterday. Though I’d often wondered the purpose of it anymore, I
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