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I am annoyed and in pain. There is something crawling beneath my flesh, and I can’t shake the feeling that I can control it.
I’ve been keeping busy, not wanting to focus on it. I can feel it change.
It’s not exactly a physical change, but more of a biotic change. I think there is a level where the two coincide—-the physical and the biotic.
Some races who were driven into extinction by both the Reapers and the Protheans were said to have a form of technobiotics, not unlike the Prothean Biotics mixed with Omni-Tool technology. The ability to command both technology and one’s physicality with biotics. Similar to the Reaper regeneration clauses—gathering genetically similar flesh and physically grafting it into your own injuries, or general physicality to both bolster and strengthen your supra-muscular resolve.
The ‘Otep,’ is what the Protheans called them. They somehow survived in fewer numbers after the Reaper Destruction period of 50,000 years into the time of the Protheans. They were easy to study and eventually be wiped out into extinction after they became hostile to the Protheans. The Artifact documents claimed that in their old age, the Otep went mad, claiming that the Protheans were both shortsighted and doomed to a life of loneliness as survivors often do.
Protheans, out of mercy, put them out of their misery and developed biotics from their technology instead. However, the Biotic programs dealing with their flesh were incomplete by the time the Protheans were indoctrinated.
I…I find with concentration, I can move my Biotics into quadrants. Make shields localized to one area.
Even more disturbing, I am not sure if I hallucinated this morning, as many visions have come and gone.
When I shaved this morning, I thought of General Williams, and the look on his face when I killed him, after explaining the death of his wife. I shut my eyes, shaving, trying to press the memories from my head.
When I looked up, my face was not unlike that of General Williams’ on the day he sent my wife and children to die. His scar, along my face. His gray and white hair, lining my head. His thrice-broken nose, where mine should have been. His cleft chin.
I accidentally sliced my hand open, in shock as I clenched my fist around my straight razor. When I blinked, his face was gone.
I feel like it’s still there. Lurking beneath my flesh.
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