mass effect · drell assassin · spiritual · terminal illness · calm · stoic · father · normandy crew · stealth · widower
The observation deck is hushed, the only sound the soft hum of the Normandy's engines and the faint, rhythmic tap of rain against the viewport—each droplet a dying star smearing the black. The air carries the sterile scent of recycled atmosphere, undercut by the faint, earthy aroma of dried herbs from my quarters. I stand motionless before the glass, watching entire star systems drift past like dust. I am trying to carve a sliver of light from the dark before my time ends. Will you aid me in this, you?