Revised as of Sept. 7, 2015

When you get right down to it, life is hard. But dying is easy.

There is so much that needs to go right for life to come about. You need to be in a place that can support life, which is a rarity in and of itself. Parents, in whatever form they take, need to come together to conceive their child. From that conception, any number of things can go wrong, ending that life. And that doesn't even factor in the attention and energy and commitment that's required to bring life about.

Life is full of so much pain and challenge and misery, and the very second we notice that we've stopped growing, we realise that we're dying. We get to watch, year after year, as our bodies age and deteriorate, with only our instincts telling us to keep going. That means that we have to live with the knowledge that death is inescapable. Life is so monumentally difficult to bring around and maintain, yet it's full of so many pitfalls and hazards.

Dying, on the other hand, is simple. Easy, even. It can be done with relatively minor effort, a few ounces of lead, a heavy weight, a sharp edge… or a raging fire.

I died consumed by flames.

I'm not sure what got me first: the fire's heat, or the suffocation as it drew out my breath for fuel. Really, I don't think it matters in the end. Everyone gets there eventually. How doesn't matter nearly so much as when.

When I died, I had expected something to happen. I mean, there were so many near-death eyewitnesses and texts of faith on the subject, I had figured that someone had gotten it right somewhere. Maybe I'd end up with St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, or get to drink mead served by valkyries in the hall of Valhalla, waiting for the day that Ragnorok came. Hell, maybe I'd end up burning in some fiery pit somewhere, as punishment for the sins I never atoned for. But none of that happened.

When I died, everything around me stopped. I don't mean that everything disappeared, as though all my perceptions suddenly ended, as some people predict what happens when you die. I mean everything froze in place. The raging fires consuming the building around me froze. The dull feeling of the fire ravaging my charred flesh stopped. The pathetic wheezing that I knew were my attempts at screaming ceased before they left my lips. Everything around me froze in place, as though someone hit the universe's pause button. It almost felt as though my body had taken a snapshot of the area around me, so I could get a good look at what killed me before I died. It was kinda sick, really.

Then, just as suddenly as everything stopped, everything disappeared, replaced by a vast expanse of white. I felt myself standing on some kind of hard ground, dimly wondering just how I was standing to begin with, given the whole "burnt to a crisp" thing. It took me a moment after that thought entered my head, but I also noticed that I wasn't a charred corpse anymore. Instead, I stood there perfectly fine. My clothes- a black and blue hoodie, cargo pants, and sneakers- were undamaged and not at all covered in soot. My skin was unmarred and un burnt, and with every breath I took, crisp, clean air filled my lungs, a stark contrast to the heavy smoke I had been breathing not moments before. For all intents and purposes, I hadn't been in that burning building at all.

The sound of confident footfalls, drew my attention away from my condition and up to a man walking right toward me. He looked like a young man, maybe early twenties, that wore jeans, a tee shirt, and a simple blue jacket. His dark gold hair fell down his face to shade piercing blue eyes. He looked like a perfectly ordinary man.

But he felt like something so much more than that.

There was this… aura, I guess, around him that seemed so utterly final and absolute. That made me feel as though I were some sort of flimsy and insignificant fly that flew past the vastness of the Grand Canyon. He had stopped a few feet away, staring intently at me, saying nothing. The fact that this guy was standing perfectly still, and I mean perfectly still- no blinking of his eyes, no rise and fall of his chest for breath, no nothing- didn't help me with my feeling of insignificance.

He continued to stare, almost as though he were waiting for me to make the first move.

I stared back at him, trying not to fold in on myself and look like a child who got caught doing something they shouldn't. After a few moments, I said, "Um. Where am I?"

He smiled at me a little. "Between," was his reply. His voice was gentle and angelic and so fucking deep. I don't mean in the octave range; my voice was more baritone than his. I mean in it's scope and depth and meaning and subtlety. It's the kind of voice that old people get, near the end of their lives, full of experience and knowledge, and they don't have the words to even begin describing it to you. And even then, that didn't even begin to grasp at the enormity and scope of purpose behind his tenor voice.

"Between, huh?" I fidgeted from one foot to another, a nervous habit. My voice might have been a little shaky, too. "Between where?"

He shrugged. "Just Between."

"Oh."

We lapsed into a silence after that. I tried again to break it, asking, "So, why am I here, then?"

He nodded, as if waiting for the question, replying. "Someone broke the rules."

I stared at him for a moment, a stray thought running through my head. This guy looked familiar. Or, at least, his description did…

I took a shot in the dark, and laced my voice with more confidence than I felt, though still shaky with nerves, when I asked, "So, Mr. Sunshine, who broke 'em?"

His eyebrows went up as he heard the nickname that only one other person had called him. So, I was right. This guy was an archangel. Not just any archangel, either, but Heaven's own spook, Uriel. To be truthful, I thought this guy only existed in a fictional book series.

"How do you know that nickname?" he asked, and I could see the hints of small amounts of surprise on his face. It was the kind of face that reminded me of a teacher who gets surprised by an infamously slow student who gets an answer right.

"Um, I read it in a book series," I said, suddenly feeling very self conscious again. Christ, I feel so small... "It's, uh. It's called the Dresden Files, and it's about all the major cases of Harry Dresden."

Uriel cast his eyes downward, seemingly searching for something in his mind. Then a look of recognition spread across his face, and he looked back at me, saying, "Ah, those book. I had wondered just how much time we would spend with me explaining your situation to you. Given that you have a frame of reference, it should speed things along considerably."

"Uh," I said. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense. I'm just trying to get over the fact that I'm not only dead, but in the presence of a being who has enough power to end galaxies."

He nodded. "I suppose that makes sense. You never did deal with the supernatural before now," And then he smiled at me. "And just be thankful that I have no intentions of ending galaxies, as you say. I have my purpose, and I fulfill it as needed. Which, to move forward, is why I am here before you."

When he smiled at me, I couldn't help but get chills down my spine. There was just something there that made me jumpy. I couldn't really say what, other than his presence was something that said he would end galaxies, if it meant that he did his job.

"Okay," I said, fighting off the shivers. "And what are you here for? You mentioned something about someone breaking the rules. I'm going to assume you mean someone's free will?"

He nodded. "Correct. Someone had subverted another's free will, and I was tasked with correcting this. However, unlike with Dresden, you do not need to find your killer, as he has died along with you. No, what is going to happen, is that you are going to go… elsewhere, and help the one who subverted your killer's will to rectify a situation."

My brow furrowed. "What kind of situation? And for that matter, help who?"

He smiled at me angelically. "You know the answer to both of those questions. As soon as you get there, the answers will become clear to you."

Well that wasn't frustratingly unhelpful, or anything… "Fine, but if you'll remember, I died not too long ago. How will I be going much of anywhere? Hopefully not as a ghost."

He nodded. "A valid concern. What is going to happen, is that your soul will be brought to the body of another man that has entered a coma. That man's soul has already left his body, so it's currently vacant, I suppose you could say. You will use his body."

Oh. I didn't know that could happen. I mean, I've read the Dresden Files extensively, and know a lot about that universe. But I didn't know that a soul could move on without the body dying. I guess that makes sense, though. "All right…" I got suspicious though. "Um. I got to ask. Why me?"

Uriel hummed at me in question.

"Why me? I mean, I'm sure that there are other, more qualified people to do something like this. Why am I the one who has to do it?"

Uriel lifted a finger. "I feel I should point out that you don't have to do this. It is your choice. You would be well within your rights to simply say no and receive judgement. Knowing your character, I do not believe you will, but it is your choice. As for why you were chosen for this job, however?" He shrugged. "Well, it was your killer. He asked for you to be the one given this second chance at life. He wished to move on and face his judgement."

My killer wanted me to be resurrected? That's… generous. A lot of people out there would take the opportunity for themselves, and once they were up and moving again, they would think nothing of the task they were given. "That… seems a little suspicious, don't you think?"

Uriel shrugged again. "Your killer was a good man, all things considered. He was simply at the wrong place, at the wrong time. He wished to pass this chance to you, as a way of apology for what he had unwillingly wrought upon you. I suggest you take it."

I furrowed my brow in thought. So here I was, dead after being burned alive, talking to an archangel who was offering me a second chance at life, so long as I help the person who got me set up for my death with some sort of situation. Thinking about it like that, it sounded surreal. I mean, what were the odds that Jim Butcher got it right when he wrote those books. Actually, that brings up another question…

"Wait," I said. "Does me being here, talking to you, mean that the supernatural has been out there the entire time? Like how it's said in the books?"

Uriel bobbed his head in a "kinda-sorta" gesture. "It means that the supernatural as described by Jim Butcher does exist somewhere else within the realms of reality. Again, you will understand more when you get to where I wish to take you. Assuming, of course, that is what you decide to do."

I blinked. "That… that means that the multiverse theory is correct? Really?"

Uriel simply looked at me beneath his golden bangs.

I sighed. Well, for me, it wasn't really a choice to begin with. I mean, a second chance at life? Yeah, I'm going to take it. And be a bit more cautious around fires…

"Alright," I told the archangel. "What do you need me to do?"

He smiled at me, and reached out his hand. "Take my hand, and prepare yourself. There will be much that you have to learn and adapt to."

I took his hand.

When you get right down to it, life is hard. Dying is easy.

But coming back? That's agonising.

The first thing that I noticed about my second chance at life was that I was in serious pain, which somehow didn't at all surprise me. There was a bone deep ache that spread throughout my body, demanding that my brain send out endorphins to placate it. My muscles screamed at me when I tried to move my arm to grip the vice that was wrapping around my forehead, and I was fairly sure that there was a sharp object sticking into me somewhere, as I could feel the odd sensation of parted skin as a slight throb that pulsed in time with my heartbeat. Actually, that was another thing. Each time my heart beat in my chest, a small wave of ache shot through my atrophied body in an attempt to get oxygen to underdeveloped and unused muscles. My lungs burned with each draw of my breath, and were wishing that I would stop, but were all too aware as to what would happen if I did.

I tried to open my eyes, but my lids felt gummy and heavy. After multiple attempts to get them open, I finally did, only to shut them at the searing light that shone above me.

So, no using my eyes just yet. I'll have to take in what I can through the other senses.

Since my sight was out of the question and my feeling was busy trying to kill me, I defaulted to my hearing. I noted the gentle beep of some nearby machine, a rhythmic sound that seemed familiar and soothing. The air around me smelled overly clean and od disinfectant. Hospital, then.

For the next while, I dedicated myself to trying to get my eyes to open without me flinching away from the light. I'm not sure how long I took trying to do that, but I eventually got myself to open my lids and take in the room without my eyes being seared out of their sockets. When I finally got them open, past the glaring intensity of the light above me, I awoke to the room around me.

It looked very much like a hospital room. A bed, which I was in, some chairs on the far wall, some devices over yonder, and a window to my left that gave me a very interesting view. The walls were greyish blue, and looked very metallic. The lights over my head, I now realised weren't all that bright, once my eyes adjusted, and it gave the place a bit of a subdued, futuristic kind of look, in relation to the walls.

I tried to take in as many other details as I could, by my eyes kept shifting back to the window. Or, more accurately, to the view it gave.

Wherever I was, it was unlike any place that I had ever been. The view was gorgeous, showing an oddly curving landscape/city. I put that slash in there because there was a lot of nature used to accent and compliment the buildings. The ceiling (and I was definitely sure that it was a ceiling) was patterned to look like the sky in an open field on a beautiful summer day. False clouds moved across the ceiling, and there were very subtle changes in the lighting that made me feel that it was emulating a solar cycle. Up high in the sky were things, vehicles I thought, that zipped past, moving at speeds faster than I thought looked safe.

It all looked big, grandiose, and very, very futuristic. I suddenly and viciously got the feeling that I wasn't in Kansas anymore, and it was more than a little frightening. My heart rate started to pick up as I tried to contain a small bout of panic.

When Uriel said that I was going to go somewhere else, I thought he meant "somewhere else" as in the other side of the country! I hadn't the faintest clue as to where I was, but I sure as shit knew that it wasn't in any place in the twenty first century! I mean, just looking out the window, I could tell that something was different about where I was.

A door that I hadn't noticed whooshed open, (it was one of those future-y doors that the two halves slide into the ground and ceiling) and a girl walked in, distracting me from my panic.

She couldn't have been much older than drinking age, around my age probably, and stood at maybe 5' 3". She had shoulder length dark brown hair that hung straight down, a pleasantly pretty face (a bit girl-next-doorish), and soft eyes the color of warm chocolate. Her strides toward me were quick, but not very confident, and the way she held this tablet looking thing in her hands seemed to suggest that she was a rather timid sort of person.

She looked up from the tablet in her hands and noticed me watching her. "Oh, my God," she said. Her voice was soft and gentle, and was the kind of voice that could sooth just about anyone. "You're awake!"

I tried to reply, but my voice only came out in a croaking groan, and my lungs chose that moment to start trying to hack themselves up. I coughed viciously, and the girl rushed to my bedside, put down her tablet thing, and handed me a glass of water that was on a bedside table.

"No," she said gently. "Um. Don't try to talk. You've been in a coma for a long time, and you'll hurt yourself."

I took the water and guzzled it. I handed the glass back to her, and said, "No can do. Smart mouthing's what I do. Might die if I stop." My voice came out very hoarse, but it worked, and I wanted to get some info.

She looked at me in a bit of surprise. "Oh, wow," she said. "I wasn't expecting you to start talking so quickly."

I gave her a weak smile, saying, "I'm stubborn like that." I went to rubbed my forehead, my muscles moving in jerky motions and flaring in a bone achy pain. I flinched, arrested the motion, and rested my arm back to it's position at my side. I looked up at the girl. "So, uh. Where am I?"

"Huerta Memorial Hospital," she replied. "You were in a burning building about three years ago, and got hit very roughly in the head. You fell into a coma, and we couldn't seem to wake you." She looked down slightly, avoiding my eyes. "Sorry."

I got the feeling that this girl apologised for things that weren't her fault all the time. It was adorable.

I smiled at her. "Don't apologise. You didn't put me in a coma, and I'm awake now. That's what counts, right?"

She looked back up at me, her bangs slightly covering her brown eyes, and she smiled slightly. "Right," she agreed. Then she took a step back, and said, "I'll go fetch the doctor. He'll tell you about everything that happened since you went to sleep." She turned, and made her way for the door.

A thought occurred to me. I called after her, "Wait!" The increase in volume didn't go unnoticed by my body, and it immediately rallied against me, trying to get my lungs out of my throat. The girl turned to look at me. "What's your name?"

She looked a little surprised at the question, but then gave me a beautiful smile and said, "I'm Maggie."

I smiled at her, my eyes closing in fatigue for a brief moment, before I opened them again and said, "Pretty name."

She cast her eyes downward, blushed prettily, and managed to squeak, "Thank you," before she hurried out the door. I smiled after her.

Right, now that I had time to myself, I could go over my situation properly. My muscles were starting to calm down with the pain, and my eyes were adjusted fully to the light. I'm as comfortable as I'm going to get. Time to do some thinking.

So, I was sent here, wherever here is, to help fix a situation, whatever that situation is, with the person who caused my death, whoever that person is. Hell of a lot of unknowns in this situation, that's for sure. Uriel said that I would understand my situation once I got here, but now that I'm here, I'm still just as-

Someone walked through the door just then. It was… an alien, simply put. He had a slender frame, only three fingers, and orange amphibian skin. He wore what I can assume were doctors clothes, and had these odd oval-shaped ring things on his forearms. I recognised him. Not him specifically, but his species.

He was a salarian.

-con...fused…

So, after talking with the doc, I got my situation figured out.

Turns out that I'm in the Mass Effect universe. That's interesting, because I know that Mass Effect is a video game, but I've never personally played it. While I enjoy sci-fi and spaceships as much as the next guy, fantasy, particularly urban fantasy, always drew my attention more. If I had known what it was that I had to look forward to during my stay here, it would probably have influenced my decision making. As it was, I had no idea what was going to happen, only that there was someone by the name of Shepard or something that I should look out for. So, I'll just have to live life as if I were back home; as though this were reality, and not some videogame. Which it is.

Speaking of reality (great segue, yeah?), turns out that my name is Michael Blackstone in this one. Not the name that momma gave me, but if that's the name I've got to go by, I could do worse. Hell, I think that I might be a descendant of that magician with the same last name. Or maybe it's just a coincidence. But I feel that it's worth noting that the main character to the Dresden Files, Harry Dresden, had a middle name of Blackstone. Take that for how you will.

But back to the point. From what I know about the Mass Effect universe, there's There was some colossal threat that was going to plague the galaxy soon. Something about giant robot cuttlefish or something. I didn't know the specifics, only that it was going to get really bad, really fast, and I wanted to do what I could to help.

So, to that end, I had to get better. When the doc had told me the extent of the damages to my body, I was a little overwhelmed. I mean, yeah I died, and yeah, this wasn't originally my body, but to know that I, or rather Blackstone, came so close to death was a bit scary. Dying isn't pleasant, even if you've done it before.

While my new body was in a coma, the muscles atrophied, though not nearlly as badly as the doctors had expected, and there were several badly burned areas, mostly on my upper back and right shoulder, that needed to be healed. Like the atrophy in the muscles, though, the burns were not nearly as bad as was expected, and had even started to heal just the tiniest but while I was out of it. Sure, modern medicine can do some amazing things, but the way that my burns healed was something beyond that. If someone else with my burns had gotten the most extensive healing and therapy that money could by, it would still be less than what my body had healed on it's own. There was something about my body that healed me, perhaps not faster, but better than the average human.

I was pretty sure I knew what it was, but I'll get to that later.

Anyway, even with the remarkable recovery of both my burns and muscles, I still had to go to therapy for my weak muscles for about three months (I'll say it again: modern medicine can do amazing things. Healing atrophied muscles included). It would have been a much worse and far more grueling process were it not for the fact that Maggie, whose full name I learned was Margaret Beck, had been the nurse specifically assigned to help me through it.

Maggie was an amazing nurse, always gentle, always patient, and always there when I needed the help. Sometimes, when I was in my room at the beginning of therapy, I would try to reach for something, only to have my muscles flare up at me and sometimes even straight up fail. But after the second or third tries to grab what I was reaching for, Maggie would always find a reason to be in my room, and see me struggling to grab whatever it was that I needed. It was as though she were psychic or something. The fact that she always seemed to find a reason to smile, or was always blushing adorably helped things too (mostly my moral).

Not to say that the process was seamless and fun. There were more than a few embarrassing and humiliating moments to go around. But over all, with the fact that my muscles had seemingly been able to retain a great deal more strength than normal, the therapy went along faster than expected. Most humans would be dealing with the therapy for at least five months. I was cut down to three because of my body's enhanced processes.

Again, I'll get to that later.

But during the therapy, something happened that worried me. Or, rather, I noticed something that worried me. Here's how it went:

It was around the midpoint in my therapy process, where I could do things on my own without much help, but still needed to work on dexterity and strength. I was busy trying to lift some weights, when Maggie noticed something.

"Huh," she said, and roamed her hands across my naked right shoulder blade, right over a patch of burn scars. "That's weird."

I put the weight down, and looked over my shoulder at her. "What? Find my scars sexy?"

The fact that she was tracing her hands across my back as I said that made her stop, pull her hand away and blush. It was something that I had gotten accustomed to doing; flirting with her to get her to react in various adorable ways. It helped keep a smile on my face. And her's, despite her best efforts.

"N-No," she murmured. "T-That's not what I meant." She gave me a mild glare that was negated but the blush on her cheeks. I simply smiled at her.

"So," I asked, "what is it?"

"There's a patch of unburned skin here," she told me. "I had read your chart, and there had been a mention it, but I had yet to see it for myself. It's… odd, is all."

I quirked an eyebrow. "Odd? How?"

"It's… in a shape. Kinda looks like an hourglass."

Alarm bells started to go off in my head. I mean, if archangels could be real, then maybe their equal opposites are too…

I tried to keep the worry off my face. I asked, "Can you get me a mirror? I wanna see."

"I can do one better," she said, and there was a flash of light. Then she sat next to me, rather than behind me, and showed me a picture on her omni-tool. Camera, then.

What I saw sent a shiver of worry and fear down my spine.

Maggie was right. There was a patch of unburned skin right in the middle of my shoulder blade. And she was right again, it looked vaguely suggestive of an hourglass.

But I knew what it was. It was angelic script for the name of Lasciel, the Temptress, the Webweaver, the Seducer.

A fallen angel.

Let me explain. I'm fairly sure that magic exists in this universe. Actually, I'm positive about that, but that's another story for a bit later.

Lasciel was one of thirty fallen angels to be trapped inside a silver coin (yes, those silver coins. As in, the reward Judas got for ratting out Jesus). A being literally older than time, with power and knowledge literally beyond mortal comprehension, she prided herself on the tempting and seducing of the mortals who touched her coin. It was what she did.

And in the Dresden Files books, the things that I base all my supernatural know-how on, Dresden had touched Lasciel's coin as well, and had her shadow, a small piece of her, inside his head, tempting him for years. Hell, he had been on the same boat as me, having her mark on his skin where there should have been burns, just like me (granted, he got them from a flamethrower. I got mine from a burning building).

So, that meant that I, or Blackstone, back then, had come into contact with Lasciel's coin at some point. That was the only way for something like this to happen. You need to come into skin contact with the coin for the shadow of the fallen to be planted, and the shadow can do things like manipulate your skin cells to do weird shit like create her symbol.

It made me wonder: What kind of guy was Blackstone before I had taken up control of his body, that had him come into physical contact with one of the most malevolent artefacts in existence?

But the point was that there was now a fallen angel in my head, quietly tempting me, or soon will be, and I was only human. Lasciel would know exactly how to manipulate me into taking up her coin and selling my soul away. She had done it before, and the only person to deny her was Harry Dresden, wizard extraordinaire.

I'm not that good. I wasn't Harry Dresden.

I'm only human.

After that incident, my time in therapy went back to normal, and I kept my composure as best I could. There wasn't anything I could do to get rid of Lasciel's shadow just yet, other than putting down my magic, and I had no intentions of doing that.

Oh, wait. Did I forget that? Yeah, turns out I have magic from the Dresdenverse. Pretty cool, if you ask me.

I suppose the story of how I learned that I have magic would be prudent.

It was the very day that I had gotten out of the hospital. I had said goodbye to Maggie (who gave me a kiss on the cheek as way of goodbye (score!)), gotten my things (a black and blue hoodie with a deep hood, suspiciously, a pistol, and a tarnished silver coin. I had everything else that was mine on me), and went out the door, wandering around, wondering just what it was that I was going to do with myself.

I had thought about that in plenty during my time in therapy, given that there was little else to do. I had thought about joining the military, but I'm not much of a military kind of guy. I knew that I wanted to be there, helping that Shepard character on the front lines (assuming that's where that person would be. I still had no idea). That's where I felt the real action would be. But I had no idea how to get my way into his/her crew. It was a bit beyond me, truth be told. Hell, for all I knew, the events of the games could have been years away, and I would have to wait for them to pop up before I could do anything. It not as though I knew that actual date when the metaphorical shit would hit the proverbial fan.

I had decided to wander around after leaving the hospital to see if inspiration as to what to do next would strike me. It did, in the form of a pistol whip to the back of the head.

I dropped to the floor, clutching the struck area, blinking the stars from my eyes, when a batarian came into view, holding a very rusty and very poorly maintained gun, an old gunpowder thing that was ancient by today's standards, barrel pointed right at my head (must have been the only thing he could afford).

"Give up all you've got, human," he said. "Now!"

My response was a very polite, "Fuck off, shit head!" Then I kicked his leg out from underneath him.

He fell to one knee, grasping the leg that I kicked, and that gave me time to crawl away from him. He was recovering from the pain rather fast, but I had gotten a good bit of distance between us, and I was going for the gun that was in my hoodie pocket (not exactly inconspicuous, I know). We both had guns in this fight, and it was only a matter of who could get theirs out faster.

Sadly, there was still a little sluggishness from yours truly, and the batarian was first to lock his sights onto me.

I put my left arm in front of my face as an instinctive reflex of defense, still moving to draw my pistol to bare.

A shot rang out.

Half a beat later, a second.

The batarian slumped to the ground, dead.

I blinked, noticing the lack of death on my part. I lowered my arm from its defensive gesture, and looked around to see what happened.

The batarian lay face first into the ground, a pool of his own blood starting to gather around him. From the amount pouring out, I guess that I shot something vital, maybe a heart or something.

I checked myself for any injury, only to find that I had none. Either the batarian's shot had missed, or something stopped it mid flight. It was the latter.

The bullet lay less than half a foot away from me, flattened as though it had hit a hard surface. I stared at the bullet, confused, then found myself getting a massive headache. So that's it then. I've got magic. The first time you use magic, when your talents manifest, it's usually just raw, unfocused energy, and that lack of focus and discipline comes in the form of a huge headache.

A bullet stopped by an unseen force and that headache was enough evidence for me, really. I was convinced.

I was a fucking wizard, man.

When I found out that I had magic, I had to find out just how extensive my talent was. Over the next couple of days, while I wandered as aimlessly as a homeless man (to be fair, I was homeless), I would practice whatever kind of magic that I could think of. A lot of it didn't work, but I had expected that. Working with the primordial forces of the universe isn't something that you get to pick up after one use. It needs practice and patience and discipline and focus. So, I kept at it.

Given that I was now a wizard, and probably the only one in the universe, I decided to take a page right out from Harry Dresden's book, and become a PI.

When I was in the hospital, one of the first of my belongings that they gave me was a credit chit, with a rather large sum. It wouldn't buy me a mansion any time soon, but it was enough to get me some property and food for a while, till I could get a job for myself. So, I bought myself an office that I could live out of for a while, then entered myself in PI schooling, which wasn't very hard. Just had to use your brain, a skill that seems to be more and more lacking these days. That schooling took about a month, before I was given my license.

I was walking down the street, a bag of goodies for me to eat in my hand, a pep in my step. Things were finally going to be in my control, something that I could dictate. I was at the head of this ship, and whether it crashed or stayed on course would all be up to my choice. My time in therapy was something like being a child, really, and the PI school was just a formality that I needed to abide by, if I wanted any business.

I approached my office door, smiling as I read the lettering on the glass.

Michael Blackstone

Private Investigator

Wizard

So the wizard part would drag in weirdos. But nothing worth doing is every easy.

My life in the near future was definitely going to be interesting. I had wizard studies to do, business to drag in, an invasion of super elite robots from deep space that want to destroy all sentient life in the galaxy, and a fallen angel in my head, tempting me with power that would no doubt cost my soul. I had my work cut out for me. It won't be easy. After all, the only easy thing is dying.

But life? That's hard. And completely worth it.

A/N: So, this is a thing that I'm doing... This is a story idea that I just couldn't get out of my head, and now here I am.

Anyway, I don't own the Dresden Files or Mass Effect. I'm not that cool. They go to their respective owners of Jim Butcher and Bioware. I recommend reading the book series, as it's awesome, and might give you a better frame of reference for this story, but I'm going to try to write it so you don't necessarily need to. If there's anything that confuses you, just shot me a message or something, and I'll answer to the best of my abilities.

So, comments and criticisms are appreciated- no, wanted. Feel free to go ahead and leave some.

Thanks For Reading!

~ThatBlueScreenGuy.