To the surprise of absolutely no one, this had absolutely fucking nothing to do with testing out the Normandy and absolutely everything to do with some super-secret ancient technology from some long-dead race.
Apparently, the Protheans thought it would be a great idea to store all their ancient bacon on Eden Prime. I failed to see why they needed me to go and dig it up, but whatever— they were pretty much handing me a free promotion if I went out and fondled it in a way that Nihlus found satisfactory.
Okay, so it’s less of a promotion for me and more a political move to give the Alliance more power. See how many fucks I give? SPOILER ALERT: NONE.
Besides, Spectres can pretty much do whatever the fuck they want as long as they get the job done and some irresponsible part of me quivers with excitement at the mere thought.
Unfortunately, before we can even begin to discuss my pay-raise, shit goes belly-up and quick.
“Does this mean I’m not getting promoted?”
So I got to the debriefing room, expecting to see Captain Anderson, and instead I ran into Nihlus.
Now, Nihlus had been stalking me for a few days now. I literally could not whip out my schlong to take a piss without him evaluating the size of the droplets, so I wasn’t overly surprised to find that he had apparently devoured Captain Anderson in order to take his place.
“Shepard, I want to talk about your… performance.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t start asking me about how I handled my gun. Instead, he started asking me questions about Eden Prime, because apparently he hadn’t read the goddamn brochure.
A lot of people don’t know this, but turians fucking terrify the living daylights out of me. They’re like 8 feet tall, got beady little eyes and big-ass teeth. Plus they’re covered in scales and their voices do this weird warping echo thing when they talk. It’s just gross. Krogans I can handle, but a turian starts making threats and I pee a little.
Luckily for my fresh, clean pants, Captain Anderson decided to mosey on in to the room and give me the debrief.
Just before leaving on what was supposedly a shakedown run, I chatted it up with Corporal L. Jenkins and Doctor Chakwas. It essentially went something like this:
Jenkins: I CAN’T WAIT TO GET MY SHIT BLOWN IN
Chakwas: THAT’S DANGEROUS
Me: Chill out bitches I got this.
Jenkins: I WANNA PROVE MYSELF BY GETTING MY SHIT BLOWN IN
Me: I FUCKING SAID CHILL OUT
Jenkins: oh okay
Which, really, is how every conversation I’ve ever had with Jenkins has gone. Which is precisely why he’s a corporal, but the most dangerous thing I’ve ever had him do was fetch my coffee past a “wet floor” sign.
After talking with them, I decided I should probably go see the captain. I grabbed a donut and headed into the debriefing room with all haste.
I’m Commander Dudebro J. Shepard, and I’m assigned to the SSV Normandy.
I know biotics and tech moves and I am a 100% complete and utter badass. Everyone knows this, even people I’ve never met before.
No, my bright yellow suit is not standard issue. Don’t ask me questions.