[She's pacing. This is normal - those who have spoken with Shepard on the network before will know that she is rarely still when she speaks. But she's pacing with wider steps than usual, in the dank little room with the leaking roof and gray walls. The video feed moves quickly and jerkily, showing her face, then a sharp tilt, then her pacing feet. Then the tablet goes clattering down, and at an awkward angle, the network is treated to the view of Shepard punching the wall so hard her knuckles make a sharp cracking complaint.]
Damnit!
[She cradles her bruised hand with her good one, shaking her head, once, twice, three violent times.]
I haven't lost it yet, [she says in a tight, tense voice down at the tablet.] But it's happening. I'm seeing things that - [she abruptly stops, and presses the heels of her palms against her eyes.]
I know they didn't beat us - not yet. They're just playing with my head. Just... remind me, would you? That I'm not home. That it isn't over.
4 | Action!
[The second death is easier.
Shepard knows as soon as she comes to her senses, once she's calmed from the initial shock that makes her snap up on the morgue bed and scream silently at the burst of pain behind her eyes. She puts her head in her hands and breathes. You wouldn't think having died once would give you useful life experience, but there she is. Gone, back. Again.
The thing is, it makes sense. She hadn't expected to stay dead. They can take her down, but she's no longer afraid of staying down. She hisses at the headache as she eases herself off the bed and to her feet, but it's also a sound of rage, of cold defiance. Bastards made a mistake. She does not go gently.
Her feet crumple from under her.
The collapse s more shocking than painful. Only when she hits the floor, and lies in a dazed heap, does she register that her legs won't obey her. She feels them - pins and needles, goosebumps, one hip now badly bruised - but the order to move stops somewhere above her knees. She pushes herself up and finds herself seated on the cold floor, too stunned for any feeling but confusion. She can't walk like this. She can't even crawl properly. That didn't happen last time.
There's the strangest feeling of delayed-reaction panic now, like she knows that she's about to snap and has time to assess the panic and avert it. Combat kind of feeling. Shepard raises her head. There's a shadow moving just past the doorway of the morgue, stark against the pale white lighting and walls outside. All right. Not alone. Not alone is everything.]
Shepard | Mass Effect
[She's pacing. This is normal - those who have spoken with Shepard on the network before will know that she is rarely still when she speaks. But she's pacing with wider steps than usual, in the dank little room with the leaking roof and gray walls. The video feed moves quickly and jerkily, showing her face, then a sharp tilt, then her pacing feet. Then the tablet goes clattering down, and at an awkward angle, the network is treated to the view of Shepard punching the wall so hard her knuckles make a sharp cracking complaint.]
Damnit!
[She cradles her bruised hand with her good one, shaking her head, once, twice, three violent times.]
I haven't lost it yet, [she says in a tight, tense voice down at the tablet.] But it's happening. I'm seeing things that - [she abruptly stops, and presses the heels of her palms against her eyes.]
I know they didn't beat us - not yet. They're just playing with my head. Just... remind me, would you? That I'm not home. That it isn't over.
4 | Action!
[The second death is easier.
Shepard knows as soon as she comes to her senses, once she's calmed from the initial shock that makes her snap up on the morgue bed and scream silently at the burst of pain behind her eyes. She puts her head in her hands and breathes. You wouldn't think having died once would give you useful life experience, but there she is. Gone, back. Again.
The thing is, it makes sense. She hadn't expected to stay dead. They can take her down, but she's no longer afraid of staying down. She hisses at the headache as she eases herself off the bed and to her feet, but it's also a sound of rage, of cold defiance. Bastards made a mistake. She does not go gently.
Her feet crumple from under her.
The collapse s more shocking than painful. Only when she hits the floor, and lies in a dazed heap, does she register that her legs won't obey her. She feels them - pins and needles, goosebumps, one hip now badly bruised - but the order to move stops somewhere above her knees. She pushes herself up and finds herself seated on the cold floor, too stunned for any feeling but confusion. She can't walk like this. She can't even crawl properly. That didn't happen last time.
There's the strangest feeling of delayed-reaction panic now, like she knows that she's about to snap and has time to assess the panic and avert it. Combat kind of feeling. Shepard raises her head. There's a shadow moving just past the doorway of the morgue, stark against the pale white lighting and walls outside. All right. Not alone. Not alone is everything.]
Hey! I need help in here!