From the Journal of Javik, Last of the Protheans in a Synthesized world
Mar 19, 2021 21:21:01 GMT
andy_3_913, GruntKitterhand, and 6 more like this
Post by mordokai on Mar 19, 2021 21:21:01 GMT
Or, "Why Synthesis is a horrible ending."
I take no credit for this. It is something I found a long, long... long time ago and found again today, during my drunk bender and figured would amuse many people around here. And seeing this forum(and maybe even the game itself) is pretty much dead at this point, some life here would be good to see. Feel free to comment, even if it's only the LOL.
If you feel it is deserved, that is.
********
Day 1
Today, a shambling mutated insectoid mockery of my race shambled up to me and asked me in a distorted voice to explain how to have sex with another of its kind. This morning when I attempted to take a shit, I found myself unable to remove my pants, as they have fused to my ass. Attempts to remove them were more painful than you can imagine, and I am force to let the turds force their way down my pants legs. Also the turds have circuits.
I cannot stop screaming.
Day 36
The Geth will not stop asking me such inane philisophical questions as "What if when I power down for repairs, when I return from stasis, I am no longer myself?" and "What if the spectrum of electromagnetic radiation my optics processes produces a different output for me than it does for you? What appears to be magenta to me may appear to be green to you."
I have noticed that Joker has been spending more time with them, and his eyes are often bloodshot. I am concerned that our pilot may not be meeting his sleep requirements.
Also, someone keeps stealing the supply of Prothe-os I kept in my stasis pod. When I found out who is responsible I will murder them.
Day 47
This morning, I awoke to discover that I can hear all of Joker's thoughts. All of them, including the ones he has while rutting with his synthetic toy.
All of my attempts to kill myself have been unsuccessful. Last night I attempted to electrocute myself with a hair dryer in my bath, but the hair dryer turned itself off in self defense. The day before I attempted to strap high explosives to myself and hurl my body into the void, but the bombs began arguing existentialist philosophy with the airlock mechanism. Also, I can now apparently breathe in space.
Shepard. I hate you, Shepard.
Day 53
Today, I met a husk with a piece of paper with the number "27" scrawled on it, taped to its head. Even though our beers screamed and begged not to be consumed, we drank for several hours at the bar, trying to ignore the bar itself yelling at the beer to shut the fuck up and the glasses from which we drank the beer complaining that my lips are too slimy.
The husk told me a tale of woe, how it spends every day remembering what it was to be human and how it can no longer feel or love, but is doomed to suffer eternal remembrance of what it was once, its sorrows spiced by the joy it feels from everyone else through the hive mind. Apparently, I can have sex with husks.
My latest suicide attempt has ended in failure. I convinced the Normandy's waste processing systems to crush my skull, only to wake up a few hours later with a splitting headache. According to the door to the women's lavatory, I "reverted to my last save point".
I do not remember entering the women's lavatory. I had previously assumed the doors cannot actually open.
Day 71
Today, a Geth Prime approached me and asked for instruction on the use of the confused, mangled mass of psuedo-genitalia and wires grafted to its crotch. As this is the ninth time this has happened, I am beginning to suspect that this is some sort of a joke among the Consensus.
I am not amused.
Day 234
The plague known as "synthesis" teaches us new horrors each day. Every time we think the peak of our suffering has been reached, we find that new and more terrifying fates await us. I woke up this morning and my left foot is now a blender. The human woman Williams gouged her eyes out this morning, but would not stop screaming that she can still see. We have chained her to the bulkhead for her own safety. If I had a shred of my honor left, I would hijack the ship and crash it into a moon, but I no longer believe that death is any release.
Last night, a coffee maker in the galley attempted to mate with me.
Day 312
Today I have been informed that I am a "racist" because I dared to observe that all Reapers look the same.
They do all look the same.
Today, a shambling mutated insectoid mockery of my race shambled up to me and asked me in a distorted voice to explain how to have sex with another of its kind. This morning when I attempted to take a shit, I found myself unable to remove my pants, as they have fused to my ass. Attempts to remove them were more painful than you can imagine, and I am force to let the turds force their way down my pants legs. Also the turds have circuits.
I cannot stop screaming.
Day 36
The Geth will not stop asking me such inane philisophical questions as "What if when I power down for repairs, when I return from stasis, I am no longer myself?" and "What if the spectrum of electromagnetic radiation my optics processes produces a different output for me than it does for you? What appears to be magenta to me may appear to be green to you."
I have noticed that Joker has been spending more time with them, and his eyes are often bloodshot. I am concerned that our pilot may not be meeting his sleep requirements.
Also, someone keeps stealing the supply of Prothe-os I kept in my stasis pod. When I found out who is responsible I will murder them.
Day 47
This morning, I awoke to discover that I can hear all of Joker's thoughts. All of them, including the ones he has while rutting with his synthetic toy.
All of my attempts to kill myself have been unsuccessful. Last night I attempted to electrocute myself with a hair dryer in my bath, but the hair dryer turned itself off in self defense. The day before I attempted to strap high explosives to myself and hurl my body into the void, but the bombs began arguing existentialist philosophy with the airlock mechanism. Also, I can now apparently breathe in space.
Shepard. I hate you, Shepard.
Day 53
Today, I met a husk with a piece of paper with the number "27" scrawled on it, taped to its head. Even though our beers screamed and begged not to be consumed, we drank for several hours at the bar, trying to ignore the bar itself yelling at the beer to shut the fuck up and the glasses from which we drank the beer complaining that my lips are too slimy.
The husk told me a tale of woe, how it spends every day remembering what it was to be human and how it can no longer feel or love, but is doomed to suffer eternal remembrance of what it was once, its sorrows spiced by the joy it feels from everyone else through the hive mind. Apparently, I can have sex with husks.
My latest suicide attempt has ended in failure. I convinced the Normandy's waste processing systems to crush my skull, only to wake up a few hours later with a splitting headache. According to the door to the women's lavatory, I "reverted to my last save point".
I do not remember entering the women's lavatory. I had previously assumed the doors cannot actually open.
Day 71
Today, a Geth Prime approached me and asked for instruction on the use of the confused, mangled mass of psuedo-genitalia and wires grafted to its crotch. As this is the ninth time this has happened, I am beginning to suspect that this is some sort of a joke among the Consensus.
I am not amused.
Day 234
The plague known as "synthesis" teaches us new horrors each day. Every time we think the peak of our suffering has been reached, we find that new and more terrifying fates await us. I woke up this morning and my left foot is now a blender. The human woman Williams gouged her eyes out this morning, but would not stop screaming that she can still see. We have chained her to the bulkhead for her own safety. If I had a shred of my honor left, I would hijack the ship and crash it into a moon, but I no longer believe that death is any release.
Last night, a coffee maker in the galley attempted to mate with me.
Day 312
Today I have been informed that I am a "racist" because I dared to observe that all Reapers look the same.
They do all look the same.
