WARNING for extreme violence and disturbing imagery.

This story is very far from the norm for me. I wrote this as a springboard for the Mass Effect fic I will eventually get around to writing. It's a set up for the background of my female Shepard to give a deeper insight into her past, and to better understand why she does what she does. Her profile should become obvious as this story progresses. This is a very dark tale with intense situations so please read at your discretion. Of course, reviews are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Mass Effect or any people/places named therein, but I do claim partial ownership of Rayne "Rae" Shepard.

"This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

I could still remember the look of bloated satisfaction on his face when he'd said those words to me eight years ago. Right before he shattered my world and destroyed every scrap of innocence in this damned galaxy. Of course, he didn't recognize me as I stood over his huddled form and quoted the words back to him.

I was nothing like the smiling sixteen-year-old girl I once was, humming to herself as she wandered through the crops in her simple sundress and sandals. She was someone else from another life, another world that I viewed with detached sympathy as the ships began to descend on the colony, their shadows ominous against the brilliant blue sky. It didn't seem possible that so much horror could happen on such a beautiful day. I was such a fool.

Pirates and slavers were a reality in the Traverse, one that every colonist was strictly aware of from their first day of life it seemed. No one wanted to believe it could happen to them, or if it did, security would protect them. That's what they were there for, right?

I started running back toward the colony as the gunfire carried to me on the soft, warm breeze, ignoring the pain that grew in my side and my burning lungs. All I could think of was finding my parents, my brother, before it was too late. But it already was – they were everywhere.

At first I hid, helpless as I watched the slavers swarm the colony, looting and killing, beating and raping. They were pure evil in my eyes, far worse than I'd ever imagined. One man stood apart from the chaos, observing with a sick detachment and occasionally barking orders – their leader I assumed. They started dragging people to him, poking and inspecting them like cattle. My world froze as my parents were brought before him.

They dragged my mother by her hair, her knees broken and bloody as she was pulled through the rough dirt. She screamed and struggled, but they just laughed and kicked her to the ground. Behind her, my father broke free of the men holding him and lunged to defend my mother.

They shot him in the face. I can still see the the bloody spray that hung in the air for a moment, still hear my mother's screams. The slavers tried to beat her into silence, but she flew at them, scratching bloody furrows on one man's face before they shot her three times in the back and she slumped to the ground, silent.

And I didn't do anything. I hid. I cried. I let them die.

Then I saw my brother. He'd witnessed the whole thing as they held him, unable to resist, his eyes filled with the same disbelief I felt. Could this really be happening? Tears rolled silently down his face as they took him before their leader, but he met the foul man's eyes without flinching. Maybe he was simply in shock, but I'd never been more proud of him.

The leader asked my brother something I couldn't quite hear, and when he received no answer, the slaver punched my brother in the face, knocking him to the ground. My brother's eyes rolled back in his head and blood poured from his shattered nose.

My sanity collapsed. I think I was screaming as I charged toward the slave leader, but maybe it was just my mother's screams still echoing in my mind. They turned toward me as I flew at the leader, and I stumbled as something slammed into my thigh. A part of me realized I'd been shot, but the majority of me was rage, anguish, hate…and I would kill the ones to blame.

I think they laughed as I got closer, finding delight in the torment of a sixteen-year-old girl who'd just watched her parents die at the cruel hands of those murderers. I was so close. I could smell the sweat and filth of their bodies as I limped the last few yards, my eyes never leaving their leader.

I threw myself at him, too blinded and maddened to realize I couldn't actually harm him, and he caught me by the throat with one hand. As if I were an animal, he tilted his head and inspected me, his eyes traveling the length of my body slowly, ignoring me as I clawed at his armored wrist.

Then he smiled, and my agony became terror.

"You're a right pretty little thing, aren't you?" he sneered, licking his cracked lips. I saw the flash of metal and felt the knife against my collarbone. As naïve as I was, even I knew the look in his eyes and I struggled desperately, hoping that he would just kill me like he'd killed my parents. I would not be so lucky.

"A pity you're too old to be broken." I felt the razor-sharp blade being drawn down my chest, slicing the dress open. Try as I might, I couldn't stop myself from crying out as the knife bit deep into my flesh several times. By the time he stopped the knife at thigh level, I could feel my rapidly cooling blood trickling down my skin. The same warm breeze I'd felt play across my face all morning now pulled my ruined clothes open, revealing my body to the leering slavers.

There were hands all over me then, and I tried to fight them, but there were so many. My arms and legs were pinned to the ground, their demented faces swimming over me as they mocked and laughed. Creatures of evil delighting in my torment, and their leader at the forefront.

His body was over me then, stifling and heavy, his rancid breath hot against my face. "Don't worry, girl," he growled like the monster that he was, "this is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

I sobbed, screamed, twisted as he pushed himself inside me, but I wasn't strong enough. Pain flared white hot through my body, along with a shame that would never die. I felt the icy press of steel against my cheek and I knew he was cutting me, destroying me from the inside and out at the same time.

My will to fight crumbled. I was worthless. I failed them all, I failed myself, and after another moment of struggle, I went limp, sobbing like the weakling that I was as he used me. All I wanted was to die.

Just as I'd accepted my fate, the world spun on its side. I was suddenly free of the slaver's weight and the grips on my hands and legs loosened. Blinking through the haze of my tears, I saw my violator sprawled out in the dirt, blood oozing from a blunt wound at his temple. I watched my brother as he yanked the pistol from the slave leader's belt and opened fire on the men holding me.

"Run, Rae!" he was screaming as he ran backward, shooting wildly at the slavers. Everything seemed so slow for a moment, as if the world had turned to mud, and his eyes locked with mine. "Get out of here NOW!"

I was free. I could move. The pain made even breathing hard to bear, but panic had taken over, and my brother's voice drove me to my unsteady feet. I fled the colony as fast as my broken body would allow. I told myself not to look back. But I did.

He was holding my brother by the throat. I could see his grip tightening even from that distance. I swallowed a wail of anguish as I watched the monster strangle the life out of my twelve-year-old brother.

Mindoir had been my home my entire life, and I knew it better than I knew myself. I hid from them as they searched for me. I could hear them walking around outside, cursing as they failed to find me. I knew I was safe in that cave – not even our parents had been able to find it.

For two days I lay on the cold stone floor, my tattered dress covered with blood and filth. I could smell him on me, and it made me vomit to think of it. Every time I closed my eyes I would see my parents blank, lifeless eyes staring at me. Accusing me. Blaming me. I tried to stay awake, but by the second day I was seeing them, seeing my brother, even when my eyes were open.

By the third day, I was so weak I could hardly move. My thigh throbbed with every heartbeat where the gunshot wound had begun to fester. Through the knotted brambles that stood sentry over my sanctuary I could see the rising sun and I decided I wanted to die with the sun on my face.

Somehow I managed to drag myself outside, and that's where they found me. I tried to fight at first, though it was clear I couldn't actually do anything besides harm myself, not knowing who they were. I felt the pinch of a syringe in my arm, then there was floating peacefulness. I hoped I was finally dead.

I woke up a week later in a "rehabilitation center," which is a nice way of saying "insane asylum." They gave me therapy, medication, a place to sleep and eat. I suppose I can't really complain. In the end, in spite of it all, I was released, a "whole and healthy woman in all respects." I even passed the psych evaluation to enter the Alliance Fleet, so maybe there's something to be said for modern mental science.

Only once had my past threatened to disrupt my military career. During hand-to-hand combat training, I was told to spar with a male counterpart. I refused the order, and tried to explain to my superior that I would gladly spar with any female officer, but that I tended to have a negative reaction to male contact.

The Sergeant reassigned me a partner – himself. I spent a week in the brig after I broke his arm, but no action was otherwise taken against me, and I was never asked to spar with a male soldier again.

My commanders were careful not to assign me to systems with heavy pirate activities, but despite this, my life was normal. I had friends, I laughed, I even dated a few times, but they never lasted long. Men are impatient creatures, and I was difficult to get close to. I took my career seriously, and as a Lieutenant Commander, I considered the military my life. It gave me the structure and security I needed to move on from my past.

Everything changed on Torfan. I thought they were sending us there because they finally trusted me to keep a level head against slavers. We knew our duty – Major Kyle had chosen us for our skill and training, and my soldiers were more than prepared for this intense raid. We were the elite, the best in our class, and we worked together with a precision that other units marveled at.

The problem was, I was dead wrong about why they sent my unit there, and in one instant, I destroyed us.

We were making progress through the compound. Corporal James had taken a bullet to the shoulder, but some medi-gel had patched him up and we'd taken no casualties. Gunfire broke out and we all took defensive positions, shooting cautiously and only when we had a clear shot. I darted my head out just enough to see around the doorway, and my world froze.

I saw him. The face that would forever be etched into my memory. The face that had murdered my family and destroyed my entire life. He was older, scarred and graying, but I would know him anywhere. And he was running toward the back of the room.

Escaping.

I lost all sense of the mission, all of my training dashed aside as I rushed after my tormentor, refusing to let him leave my sights. My unit followed, confused, but loyal and trusting in their commander.

I fought with a mindless abandon, like a woman possessed as I tracked my quarry through miles of tunnel. My parents' faces swam before my eyes, my brother's voice in my head, "Run, Rae!" I don't know why he kept running, but in the end he was cornered, shooting at me from behind a barricade of crates. I relished the terror in his eyes as I renewed my shields and rushed him, smashing the butt of my rifle into his face and disarming him.

"Don't worry," I smiled behind my helmet's facemask as I raised my rifle at him. "This is gonna hurt you a lot more than it hurts me."

"Commander Shepard?"

I startled and turned to face my unit, slowly coming back to reality. This was a raid, and I was the commander. Why were there only three people left? Where was the rest of my unit? And why were they staring at me as if they'd never seen me before…as if they were terrified of me?

"Go back and check for survivors," I ordered, hoping my voice carried enough authority to override whatever was going through their minds. "Kill anything that's not Alliance, then return to the surface. I'll join you shortly."

After the briefest hesitation, I heard a soft, "Yes, Commander."

I turned my full attention back to my prey, the huddling slaver with his back pressed against the wall. A part of me mused that he must be a damn good leader to have led these pirates for more than eight years. The other ninety percent of me was screaming for his blood.

I shoved the barrel of my gun against his right knee and fired a single shot, reveling in his howl of pain. "That's for my parents." I repeated the action on his left knee, "And this is for my brother." I watched in quiet, distracted fascination as crimson puddles formed under his feet.

I had dreamed of my revenge many times in the past, but fantasizing about something and doing them are very different things. An image of his face over me, the smell of his filthy body, the feel of the knife that had carved the deep scar on my cheek, and suddenly all my hesitation evaporated.

I thrust my assault riffle against the crotch of his tattered armor, feeling a thrill of satisfaction as he stared up at me in horror before I briefly held the trigger down. "And this is for me."

I doubt he could hear me over his own incoherent groans of agony as he curled up in the growing expanse of his own blood. I stood over him for a moment, then sat down on a nearby crate, my legs pulled up to my chest and my chin on my knees, as if I were watching a mildly interesting vid.

It took him nearly forty minutes to bleed to death. I watched the whole time. As he drew his last shuddering breath and then lay still, I stood and waited. Waited to feel the triumph, the relief, the joy of avenging my family and myself. But those feelings never came.

As I stood over his corpse in a pirate base filled with the bodies of my dead comrades, all I felt was used.