Author's Note: I decided to finally write this crossover out, just so that I'd stop having random scenes of it pop up in my head.

The door to Litwak's Arcade was shoved open, a burst of cold air carrying snowflakes inside, causing more than one child to shiver at the controls of the arcade games. Two teenagers, each carrying a suitcase-sized case, stumbled in, shoving the door closed behind them and stomping snow off their shoes before practically leaping up the two short steps to the rest of the arcade.

"Are you sure he's cool with this?" the first teen asked, yanking off a knit cap and shoving it into a pocket of his heavy jacket.

"Yeah, Uncle Larry's weird, but he's pretty cool." The other teen waved his free hand around at the arcade. "I mean, this is practically his life, yanno? Mom complained that he almost skipped Thanksgiving to open the arcade."

"Crazy," the first one replied. "So where can we set up?"

They moved through the arcade towards the back, where a door marked Employees Only was just closing. "Hey there, John," Mr. Litwak greeted the second teen. "You sure about this? The place is awfully lonely overnight for just the two of you."

"It's Jason," he complained through a smile. "You always get my name wrong, Uncle Larry."

"No, I just think your mom should have named you after Gramps," Mr. Litwak said, sliding a key into the lock and pulling it back open. "Oh, your power cords have to run under the door, the outlet in there is on the fritz. Plug it into that power strip, behind Fix-It Felix."

The two teens quickly shed their jackets, already sweltering in the arcade, flinging them haphazardly over chairs while they set down the suitcases and popped them open, running the cords under the door and into the last two spots on an overdrawn surge protector capable of giving any fire inspector an instant coronary.

"So Mark, you beat Infamous yet?" Jason asked, starting up his own PS3 and kicking his feet up on a long-dead TRS-80.

"Almost. Gotta hunt down one last First Son bastard for the last side mission, which takes forever," he griped, "then I can kick Kessler's ass again and switch over to Infamous 2."

"Awesome. Mass Effect 3 came out yesterday, and this time Burt didn't sell off my pre-order, so soon as I finish Legion's loyalty mission, I raid the Collector base, and export the save." He paused to dig around in a pocket of his coat, pulling out a can of Mountain Dew. "Here's to a weekend of non-stop gaming, with no parents to ruin it with chores."

"Amen," Mark uttered, fist-bumping the can and pulling out a beef jerky stick from the voluminous pockets of his own winter coat. Seconds later, both of them were loading up their games, and engrossed in playing.

So engrossed were they, that half an hour later, when Mr. Litwak shoved open the door to the back room, they both jumped at the sudden squeeeaaaallll-KATHUMP of the door as it slammed shut. "Hey, John," he started.

"What is it, Uncle Larry?" Jason complained, skipping the rest of the cut scene as Joker unlocked the AI and rescued the ship from the Collectors.

"You're driving your mom's black Elantra, right?"

By this point, Mark had also stopped playing, having picked up the last hidden package in the ruined parking garage, leaving Cole to stand on screen looking bored. "Yeah, so?"

"Well, it's getting towed right now after someone skidded out and plowed into it," he uttered laconically. "Just figured you'd want to know."

In an instant, the two teens were out of the creaky chairs, yanking the door open and pulling on their jackets at a run, nearly knocking an unfortunate blond girl on her ass as they blew past her outside. Larry calmly slid his glasses off, polishing them on the hem of his shirt. "Huh, wonder what they're all worked up about," he said. "Oh well. One more hour until closing.

When the teens still hadn't arrived when he went to lock up the doors, Mr. Litwak simply shrugged. He turned off half the lights, set the alarm, slid the security gate closed, and walked two blocks home in a picturesque Seattle January snowstorm.

Simultaneously, the Normandy CIC

Commander Lyla Shepard stared out at the camera screen, fighting the urge to start bouncing impatiently. "How long is this little shit going to keep us waiting?" she muttered to herself. Then the lights in the room went out. "Oh for cripes sake," she muttered. "EDI, I'm going to my cabin, lemme know if there's any sign of life in the real world."

"Understood, Commander. Should I send any of the men to your quarters to keep you company?" The AI paused. "Or have you progressed to the women now?" The only response from Shepard was a raised middle finger, which EDI quite wisely decided not to respond to.

Inside the elevator, Lyla reached for the floor buttons, and paused with her finger half an inch above the number 1. When did we get a sixth deck? she pondered. And just what the hell is 'Game Central Station'? Her curiosity, always her most dangerous attribute, was piqued, and she posed both questions out loud to the AI.

"Commander, I do not have a sixth deck. My monitoring cameras in the elevator confirm a new button, yet my systems do not identify what it is or how it might be reached." Had the AI been as smart as she thought, EDI would have phrased the answer differently. Instead, Lyla heard the entire thing condensed as a simple "PUSH THE BUTTON."

So she did.

Two seconds later, the elevator opened onto what looked like a rapid transit station on the Citadel, save that this one had no windows. An open-topped set of cars, which resembled nothing so much as roller-coaster cars, sat on a single set of rails, which ran into a bizarre looking circular tunnel that curved away out of sight. "Alright, EDI, where am I now?"

"You are still in the elevator, Commander," the AI replied literally. "If you are referring to what is outside the elevator, my sensors indicate that you will be stepping out into formless, codeless void, yet the monitoring devices in the elevator clearly show some kind of transport station."

Shrugging, Shepard stepped out of the elevator, swapping her avatar over to the one carrying weapons and shield, readying her SMG and looking around. All in all, the room was … boring. "EDI, send me Garrus, Tali, and Mordin."

"Your quarters would be more comfortable, and Tali's immune system is not primed for so many different sources of allergic contamination." There was a pause, followed by Shepard calmly putting a bullet through the elevator wall. "That was a joke."

"No, it was a plan for later," Lyla muttered. "Tell Zaeed, Grunt, and Samara to come down here and stand guard over the elevator, too. I don't want anything sneaking past us to come on board."

"Understood, Commander." Lyla fidgeted, walking up and down the hundred or so feet of track, staring down the darkness of the tunnel, occasionally lit by brief bursts of blue light, too far away to be more than hints of light.

The elevator opened again to reveal the six crewmembers. "Zaeed, you're in charge. If anything hostile-looking comes through here, question it and kill it, in some order, before it gets on board."

"Does that include you?" the merc dead-panned, earning another annoyed glare from Lyla.

"You can't leave him in charge," Grunt protested. "I'm too young to die!"

Shepard blinked at the krogan. "What makes you think you're going to die?"

"Have you listened to his stories?"

"No." Zaeed glared at her while Garrus, Tali, and Mordin all tried to smother laughter.

"Every single story is about him being the only survivor of some gruesome mercenary mission! If you leave him in charge, I'm going to die!" The krogan youth glanced at Samara. "Her too, but at least she's old." Samara gave him a biotic slap from twenty feet away.

"Relax, Shepard, I've got this. Can I bring some goddamn cargo crates out here for cover?" Zaeed asked.

She shrugged. "Sure, why not. Make Jacob carry them, so he's good for something."

Motioning to the other three aliens, she boarded the front car, and when they had climbed in behind her, hit the single button on the panel. At least they keep it simple. It slid forward, then suddenly accelerated to what felt like about a million miles an hour for about half a second, coming to a sudden gut-wrenching stop in a matching station. Except instead of an elevator, this one had an arch that looked out onto what looked like a giant shopping mall.

Weapons ready, they moved out, stepping through the shimmering curtain onto the stretch of the new station. Bizarre forms were roaming around – a trio of zombies were shuffling past, moaning about something and gesticulating carefully to avoid losing pieces of themselves; two brightly-colored ghosts were blooping and bleeping with some orange thing that resembled a whoopee cushion with legs and eyes; an overweight Italian man in overalls was arguing with an anime girl wearing what looked like a frosting hat; and a tall armored space marine was making out with a man half her height.

"What the spirits is this place?" Garrus muttered.

"Welcome to the Game Station!" echoed a booming voice, and a shadow loomed over the four of them. Turning, they came face to … well, waist, with a giant red-haired slob of a man. His hands are the size of Tali's whole torso! Lyla thought desperately. "I didn't know we got any new arcade games in here. I'm Ralph." He grinned and extended one massive hand cheerfully.

"Holy fuck," she said, "it's a human bigger than Wrex." Her mouth opened and closed a few more times, then automatically, she extended and shook his hand, sort of, more like his hand engulfed her entire forearm and shook her worse than the SR-1 being shot down. "Commander Shepard."

A crowd of people was already gathering around. "What's your arcade game?" the blond space marine asked. She was, annoyingly, taller than Shepard, almost as tall as the gargantuan Ralph. "I'm from Hero's Duty."

"We, ah," Lyla swallowed heavily. "We're from Mass Effect. It's on the PS3." That drew blank looks. "Playstation? Home gaming console?" Still more blank looks, causing her to sigh.

"Our stay here likely temporary. Portable, carried console. Owners forced to depart hurriedly, left games running," Mordin supplied. "Nice to meet new sentients."

"Well, welcome to the neighborhood!" the space marine's short boyfriend chimed in, cheerful enough to make Lyla's teeth ache. "Do you know who those other new guys are?" He pointed to the next arch down, the last one at this end of the promenade, where three men were stepping out.

Similar time frame, Empire City

Cole was getting bored. Bouncing balls of electricity around like a hacky-sack was fun, sure, but he'd been doing this for an hour already. "C'mon, kid, get with the program," he muttered. "Lemme kick Kessler's ass and move on."

It didn't really come as a surprise when his phone beeped on with an incoming call. "Hello, ignorant brat," Kessler greeted him.

"What's up, old man," he responded. "Forget where you parked your walker?"

"I thought you would be interested to know," the terrorist conduit continued, ignoring the insult, "that the bridge to the mainland has a new addition to it. There's a tram station of some kind leaving Empire City."

Cole frowned at this, leaning against the cracked concrete post. "That's not in the script," he mused. "And lemme guess, if I don't show up, you're going to cruise on over and do all sorts of terrible things."

"I am getting bored waiting for our confrontation," was the reply.

"No shit, Sherlock, I'm bored, ergo you, aka old-me, am also bored." He leaped out of the parking garage, heading for the ruined bridge and the surprisingly still intact power cables. "Give me a few minutes to get there. And bring Zeke along."

"Even though he betrayed you?"

Cole snorted. "He didn't betray me, he sided with me. Against me. God damnit, I hate all this you're-really-me bullshit."

"Tell me about it," Kessler retorted before hanging up.

Five minutes later, they both stood on the bridge, helpfully opened by the cops when it was obvious that their gamer wasn't going to be returning anytime soon. Zeke pulled up in a borrowed cop car a minute later, and they stared at the open-topped cars, the track, and the tunnel that appeared to literally open into nothing. "It's like one of them Star Trek wormholes," Zeke said, scratching at one mutton-chop.

"Thanks, Elvis," Kessler said. "It's obvious, with the lights off, that our favorite controller-wielding idiot isn't going to be back here for quite a while." He waved a hand at the cars. "Shall we go find out what's going on?"

Cole stared at his older self through narrowed eyes. "What kind of mischief are you planning?"

"Moi?" the older man dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "Why Cole, I'm hurt by such an accusation. I mean, if you can't trust yourself, who can you trust?" All three of them snorted in almost unison.

"Damn, man, I think my sarcasm meter just exploded," Zeke said. "What are we waiting for? Let's check it out!"