My beloved Krogan,
Forgive me for waiting so long to write. I should have written this a decade ago. You deserved an explanation for my behavior back when I first binge-played the Mass Effect trilogy. I once intended to be the Paragon leader you could count on; instead I became the Renegade who let you down.
When I launched that Shepard playthrough, I understood the weight of choice. Mass Effect is an RPG where every decision matters: reputations form, alliances shift, and difficult moral calls determine lives. I failed on all those fronts — and most painfully, I failed to keep you safe. I am responsible for the deaths of three brave Krogan, and I owe each of you an apology.
Image: EAFirst, there was Wrex — glorious, blunt, and ferocious in the best possible ways. We ran wild across the Citadel together; you were a thunderbolt to my temper, and we matched each other blow for blow. I remember your loyalty and your fury with equal clarity.
Then the argument. The details blur now because I was distracted; that is my failing — I do not always listen, and the original Mass Effect is unforgiving of inattentive commanders. A cascade of poor dialogue choices and a single tragic moment ended with me firing the shot that should have never been fired. Wrex deserved better than that fate, and I should have been the one in the dirt.
Next came Grunt, a creature I wanted to shield from my earlier mistakes. He was young, volatile, and everything I wanted to protect. Yet in Mass Effect 2 I marched him into an operation with stakes so high that some of us clearly would not return. I still wonder if a different assignment or a different choice might have spared him. Watching him fall under enemy fire haunts me.
And Wreav — or was it Wreav? Forgive my muddled memory. I know Wreav is tied to Wrex somehow, and I regret harming the family regardless. If you were on my squad or not, if you lived or died, the guilt around that chapter is real. I may be fuzzy on the particulars, but I am certain I did not honor our bond.
Image: EAIf only I could rewind time and make different calls. In games it’s easy to restart from a save, but I refused that comfort for myself. I wanted permanence: each choice to carry weight and consequence. That stubbornness means I live with the outcomes I authored — the noble and the terrible alike.
Years later, that insistence is also what makes Mass Effect meaningful to me. The story I experienced was uniquely mine, even when it included shameful mistakes. My Krogan massacre is part of my Shepard’s history, and there is no alternate playthrough to absolve me. Real life, like the best RPGs, is shaped by accidents and missteps. We can’t truly undo the past; we can only learn from it and try to lead better.
So there will be no resurrection for Wrex. Grunt rests quietly. Wreav — if I have that name wrong, forgive me — either survives somewhere or suffers the consequences of my choices; whatever the truth, my remorse remains. Rest, my rugged warriors. I hope we meet again beyond the stars, perhaps while I ride some improbable steed from another game I ruined — yes, the Giant Horse from Breath of the Wild and the many horses from Red Dead Redemption 2, all of which met an undeserved end at my hands. How did I become such a harbinger of doom for virtual animals?
With love,
Giovanni
Source: Polygon
