#cmdrmarioshepard

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Geth didn’t get bad intuitive feelings about things—the closest they got were logical deductions that made it apparent something was missing. But there was nothing to deduce about a ping on its omnitool, and it couldn’t have a “bad feeling about it” otherwise, therefore it no reason to brace itself.

Its processes seized up so suddenly at the name of the sender of this latest message that it nearly dropped offline then and there. In its surprise, it neglected to hide this from the network, so it immediately had over a dozen worried Geth pinging it for an explanation. It vaguely “heard” Dizzy say it was going to tell Jesi, but couldn’t gather its mind enough to insist it not, that they shouldn’t be so worried, it was fine.

Just fine.

It was several minutes before it gathered itself enough to actually look at the message. Its hands were shaking—it could feel the electrical shockwaves from those wires, trailing up its arms, muscles clenching, but distantly reminded itself that it was imagining things; its processes were conjuring phantom feelings inexplicably. It would have to report this malfunction to Buzz, but for now…

It clicked “read”.

For a moment, the words on the screen rearranged themselves into twisted memories—fucking idiot you were so professional don’t tell me you actually—but it squeezed its optic shut. When it reopened it, the words had straightened themselves out. It logged the dozen or so error reports screaming in the back of its mind and went about reading the message.

It didn’t know what to think. Frankly, it could barely process this. Ghala still mostly repressed what had happened with Mario, so a part of its mind played stupid—Why are you sorry? It’s not your fault, nothing happened between us!—but the other part…

Excuse me? *he didn't like what he said about his uniform, but decides to quickly drop it* At least no damage is done, sir...?

Ghala flinched at its name; it had grown unused to hearing it, as others only called it 'geth' or--in keeping with the reputation it had developed here at Purgatory--'toy'. It spun around, holding its hood up so it didn't blow it off, to see one Shepard, Commander, Mario. If it had the capacity for sufficient expression, it would have winced at the subtle 'confidential' marker on his file.

Instead, it only hesitated a moment before inclining its head respectfully. It processed his request, then clapped its hands together--the only expression of its excitement of which it was capable. "Acknowledged."