[ So lately, Shepard's been cleaning house. Cleaning up where she's living, cleaning up an area for her established plan of 'recreational area for smaller scaled citizens (i.e. a place to hit things) as well as trying to clear her mind. Cardboard lfoors lined the area she deemed her new sparring room, not AS soft as plush matting, but it would do. Her guns? Shiny and clean, even the tar buildup in the mouth of her heavy pistol has been scraped and polished clean.

But when her armory is cleaner than a first year cadet's, and the area is as prepped as you can get it without equipment, Shepard has nothing left but her mind. And a mind is a horrible place to be stuck in. She's anxious, restless, and the thought of having some of her crew here was endearing, comforting, at first. But now, it began to grate on her nerves; the fact that her own were stuck here with her, and the mission wasn't done.

Being planetside has finally, really taken it's toll on her. ]

There's only so much ammo I can waste before I really run out.

[ She's popped up on the feed, her hair now long enough to keep in a side ponytail. Per usual, she looks exasperated. The only thing close to keeping her looking similar to a pile of varren crap is the new necklace she seems to be sporting, above her dog tags; an illuminated crystal, with a cord wrapped around it to keep it secure. ]

Cardboard floors laid down where the recreational area might stay. Still have to talk to some friends in other places about a shooting range. If anyone would like to shoot some ideas at me for this thing, that'd be great. I'm drawing a blank.

...If anyone has any ideas on how to keep a planetside space marine from tearing her hair out? Those would be great too.

 [ Typically you didn't really see Shepard with her armor off, but she seems to be making an odd habit of appearing that way to the network. After all, the only point in wearing it was to protect; and there wasn't a whole lot of protecting going on. This time she's not tired or sarcastic, actually, she's sweaty and gross. What she had been doing really sums up her 'morning' routine, at least for a military chick like herself. Morning run, crunches, lunges, etc. The only issue she really carried was the lack of much of anything, and after having done nothing but complain on the network of what she doesn't have (a fan, a shooting range), Shepard instead comes to the network with much different intentions. ]

We need a recreation center or something.

[ Or something? ]

Living out in the boons is going to keep you on your toes, yeah, I get that. But for other things, more specialized---practicing, I guess. Shooting range, weightlifting, kickboxing. Minor human defense.

Who do I go to talk to about that? Or do I just pick a spot and start salvaging?

 So, it can't just be me.

[ Shepard's not visibly on screen, she's actually off screen, having set the communicator down for the time being, probably changing, or calibrating a scope. That's what it sounds like, metal on metal and metal on rock. ]

You know, noticing maybe a few of you have gone off the deep end?

Because really. When I thought of small organized civilization of organic robots, the first thing that came to mind wasn't murdering each other in public.

Or is this a Cybertronian custom I'm not catching onto?

[ Way to be sarcastic, Shepard. She sounds a little bitter, but that may or may not be something entirely different. Insensitive? Yeah, you betcha. She's not sure whether or not it's the incredible apathy for still being on this foreign planet another day/being grounded, or that it was because wow we have nothing to do but kill each other great job. ]

Either way, I'm having a target practice session. Waste not, want not, and good practice isn't wasteful. Rusty aim is wasteful. Let me know if you want in.

 [ So the feed fizzles a bit, but much much less than the last time, before Shepard appears on screen, rather bereaved. She's in some sort of living quarters, having actually taken off the armor and life support, now only in her grays and undershirt. It wasn't like there was much else she had to choose from. Clearing some hair from her face, somewhat balancing the disheveled state she's in. ]

Wouldn't be anyone here with something....like a fan, or a watch. An old school watch, that ticks. 

I guess I'm used to having constant noise while I sleep, so the dead quiet's....well.

[ It's pretty obvious she hasn't slept soundly since she's arrived. ]

Any help would be great. I'll make it up to you.

 [ So waking up happened. It was absolutely disorienting, and let Shepard tell you, she's already had a few of those 'out-of-body' experiences. Spoiler alert; every single one of them sucked. Flashbacks of dying weren't pleasant either; it took some concentration and a few deep breaths to remind her that all that was long since past. Getting out of the temple was a side quest in itself, but she's finally out in the open, hoping the lack of concrete and stone and whatever else the literal monument was made out of wouldn't mess with her frequencies. 

She's pleasantly surprised, her Omni-tool is already adjusted to the frequency change. Completely recalibrated to the Link. Her expression wavers between suspicion and being impressed, and a few screens later, she's in the system. Her voice crackles for a moment as the audio syncs to the video. Hey, it's a Shepard. Her tone is rather cynical, despite her situation. She might still be in some disbelief at what she's been previously told. ]

So I'm not the only refugee then? Who else exactly is here?

[ She'd tell you who she is if she knew whether or not titles applied here. Shep's rather hesitant, after all, you never know who could be watching. ]

So theoretically speaking, what would you do if you, say, ran someone over with a tank and killed them?

[There's a reason the video isn't on. Shep is trying to keep it cool, and she's no stranger to killing things on purpose. But accidentally running over a raccoon that can talk while joy-riding in the junk pile... Maybe she could just pretend he was one of those pyjacks.]

People come back to life here, right? So he'll pop back up. Er, theoretically of course.

[She was currently squatting over a squashed raccoon body debating what to do with it.]

[The camera turns on to Shepard sitting on the nose of the mako, reclined with one arm supporting her from behind and the other resting on her left knee which was bent and the foot propped against the mako, the other straight out in front of her. In her non-support hand was an old-fashioned canteen which she's obviously just been drinking from, but the contents are a mystery.]

Well, I'm not a reaper anymore. That's giant metal space squid for anyone not from my universe. Thank whatever.

[The canteen was given a small lift in a half-hearted cheers.]

So. What's there for a career soldier to do around here besides drink and dig through trash? I thought about joining the police force. Maybe exploring beyond the settled areas. Thoughts? I'm pretty handy too. Give me some omni-gel and I can fix pretty much anything. Without omni-gel... I still have some skills. Maybe I got too reliant on the stuff... Anyhow. I'm good with my hands.

[The video was obviously an accident, but maybe no one was paying any attention to it as something heavy fell and a loud fog horn-like noise resonated from the thing as it flailed, trying to get its bearings. The many tentacle arms reached about and soon found an anchor in the Mako and clutched it for dear life.

Of course, she was small, even downright tiny for a reaper, at only 50 feet in length. But she'd never been a reaper before, and never changed mass so suddenly, so her confusion was probably understandable.]

What the hell is going on?!

[Another deafening roar of the horn sound, but if anyone was paying attention to the video they might hear Commander Shepard's panicked and confused voice coming through.]

If anyone can hear me, don't shoot yet!

[And here she thought she'd managed to avoid the inexplicable "change into something else" fad that was going around.]

[Ok. Shepard's day wasn't going well. Day? Night? Whatever time it was. Waking up with a thing that looked like the human reaper wasn't the best way to start things. Shooting it in the face seemed like a good idea, though. Or... maybe not. Well, she was dead, so what was the issue? This place was obviously a hell specially cultivated for her. Planet made of metal? Metal humanoid things standing over her bed when she awoke? Yes. It would sound like hell if she believed in it, and if Ashley were here, Shepard might owe her an apology for not believing in that afterlife stuff.]

This is Commander Shepard of the Alliance. Can anyone read me?

[She'd already come in contact with Mordin and was currently trying to make it to his location without being seen by anyone else (stealth wasn't her thing and she sort of wished Kasumi were here right now.) It didn't surprise her that Mordin would be in hell, all things considered. Of course she had wished that all of her teammates would end up in a nicer place if there was one, but still no shocker. And of course his presence confirmed her suspicion that she was dead. Not that there was any question. The Catalyst had told her there was 0% chance of survival. But for the Geth and EDI... It was worth it, wasn't it? She'd never know.]

Location unknown. Hostiles all around. I'm undetected for the moment, but I could sure use a hand or a friendly face right about now.

[She'd keep the feed open in case anyone else responded, but she still had to find Mordin.]