Lance Shepard sat up in his room chatting on the extranet to his girlfriend. He and his family lived in a modest two story house just outside of Yves, a house that was pretty nice for farmers. His room was full of the typical teenage male decorations: large posters of bands, popular action vids, and bikini-clad women both humans and asari alike. Not to mention a small picture of his girlfriend on his desk. Lance was sixteen and an only child. He was a twin, but his brother didn't live beyond his first week, he was born with a cancerous brain tumor, a rare affliction for newborns. It wasn't until a few years later that the connection between element zero exposure and cancerous growths in children was officially discovered. Satine and Jean; however, made the connection when Lance was three years old and pulled a toy ship across the room. His parents immediately took him to the hospital, worried that they would lose another son to cancer, but their fears were for naught. Lance was a perfectly healthy boy, he just had element zero nodules embedded in his nervous system. A direct result of the freighter crash three years earlier. There had been no casualties beyond the freighter crew in the accident, at least not immediately. Lance's twin was the first one, six months later.

Lance was unlike anything anyone in the colony had ever seen, but the reception was not as positive as his parents had hoped for. A few doctors were fascinated, but the vast majority considered Lance Shepard to be an abomination. Lance was the first human with biotic tendencies on Mindoir, though he wasn't the only one. Three other kids developed biotic abilities at varying ages. Though each set of parents loved their children, all of which were embarrassed by their abilities primarily because of the accidents that ensued, except for Lance's. Something as simple as grocery shopping was potentially hazardous. A human has no control over his nervous system, something a biotic must train to do, much less a child, therefore he could throw a field out at any given moment. Lance had done so several times, once even hitting a woman in the head with a can of beans. The biotic fields put out by children weren't enough to cause much damage, but they were enough to be a nuisance.

"Want 2 see a vid 2nite?" Lance's girlfriend typed out to him. He just loved the eloquent way she communicated on the extranet.

"If you want to, sure..." Before he pressed Enter he was cut off by his mother calling out to him from downstairs.

"Lance, peux-tu faire la vaisselle et la lessive ce soir, s'il te plait?" He hated how his mom said "please" after asking him to do chores. It made him feel guilty if he ignored her.

"Alice wants to see a vid later on." He yelled down to her.

"Oh...je les ferai, alors." She responded, sounding a little disappointed. Lance hated letting his mother down.

"Alright alright! I'll tell her tomorrow night."

"Merci, cheri!" She sounded gleeful again, which made Lance happy, even though doing dishes and laundry was not how he planned on spending his night.

Lance backspaced what he tapped out before and typed "I would, but my mom wants me to do chores tonight. How about tomorrow?"

"Uggg, I guess so. g2g" she replied back. Lance could hear her tone, she was none too happy. He closed out of his chat and shut his terminal down. He meandered around in his room, unsure of what to do next. He decided to head downstairs and see if he could get a start on some of his chores.

"Tu devrais aider ton père avec les tomates." His mother told him. She didn't need to say please face to face, she had a way of looking at him that made it impossible to refuse. Everyone on Mindoir was at least bilingual. Those who didn't speak French quickly learned it upon arrival. Lance himself didn't often speak it, but he found that when he became angry or overly serious that his mind automatically switched to French, but those times were few and far between. His father was like him in that respect, but his mother almost exclusively spoke French. She was the stark opposite of them, on the rare occasion that she was angered she would switch to English. When Lance or his father heard Satine speak English they knew they had better listen, for their sakes. Lance was always calm and lighthearted, both traits came straight from both parents. He made his way outside to help his father with the crops.

"Hey dad." He simply said as he began to help him pick off ripe tomatoes from the vines. The Shepards had a relatively large plot of land, most of which was used for growing tomatoes. There was something about their plot of land, but no other family in Yves could raise tomatoes quite like the Shepards. They grew several varieties, including: Ribbed tomatoes, round tomatoes, cocktail tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, and plum tomatoes, to name a few. Every permutation of tomato was different in its acidity and texture, but one thing about them remained constant, they were always plump and huge, not too hard and not too soft. They were the juiciest, reddest, and without a doubt the most fresh tasting tomatoes on the planet. In fact, the Shepard family made most of their income by selling their tomatoes all across the colony and even exporting them back to Earth and beyond. People were always willing to pay a little more than they should for a quality Shepard tomato. They were delicious enough to eat right off the vine, but when cooked and featured in a dish such as his mother's famous 'tomates facies à la tomate,' essentially tomatoes stuffed with tomatoes, they were to die for. She always cooked Lance a tomato tart for his birthday, which he always devoured in one sitting. The Shepards had made quite a name for themselves on Mindoir. But no matter how good the tomatoes were, picking them was no less boring than picking a rotten tomato. Actually that was untrue, at least Lance could chuck a rotten one at the nearby shed, if only to see it bust.

"Hey there, L!" His dad was happy he came to help. "Did your mom ask you to come out?"

"Yeah, she gave me the look."

His father laughed, knowing all to well his wife's non-verbal persuasive powers.

"Well regardless, I'm glad you came out. When was the last time you and I picked tomatoes together?" His father asked, a sarcastic curiosity coloured his voice. Knowing all too well his father's personality, Lance put a hand under his chin and thought hard.

"Man...it's been forever, I'd say no less than 36 hours ago." He replied with a smile. Mindoir had a slightly slower rotation than Earth.

"We can't ever let that happen again" his father retorted, sarcastically "we need more father-son time. If only to make your mother miss us. I don't know if you've noticed, but whenever we're gone for a time that's when she cooks the best meals!"

Lance laughed and kept on picking. He loved his parents, it was uncommon for them to ever not get along.

"How's the lovely Alice doing today?" Unlike most parents, Lance's actually took an interest in his life. He could hear it in their voices.

"Dim as ever." Lance said cheerfully. It was no secret that Alice was not exactly bright, at least when directly compared to Lance, who was a straight A student. The wit and sarcasm that all the Shepards were seemingly graced with always flew over Alice's head. Something that both amused and baffled all three of them. She was beautiful though and Lance found her denseness endearing. They had been together for several years, but they had always been close. Alice was one of the three biotics on Mindoir, the final one, Sal, was Lance's best friend, though he and Alice didn't always get along. Sal was like Lance in terms of humour, sarcastic and witty; however, he didn't find Alice's obtuse mind charming like Lance did. She annoyed him to no end. Sal and Alice did share one thing in common, though. Both of them hated and were ashamed of their biotic abilities. Lance's incident with the can of beans and the lady's head was small time compared to some of the things Alice and Sal had accidentally done in their childhoods. Lance embraced his abilities and even tried to train himself to develop a slight conscious control over his nervous system. It hadn't really worked the way he wanted it to, though. He sometimes thought that he had a conscious control over giving himself nose bleeds, the primary side affect of his homemade training sessions. Sometimes though, on rare occasions could he deliberately move an object. All the countless pints of blood lost became worth it for those small moments. His parents were aware of his desire to hone his biotics and they didn't mind it, but they made sure he was cautious after the door accident. It was 29:00 one night and Lance was having trouble sleeping, primarily because he told himself he wouldn't settle down for bed until he was able to toss a dart into the dartboard on the door with his biotics. He had been at it for four hours and the trashcan next to him was full of bloody tissues. He was even getting dizzy from all the blood loss, but he was determined. After another hour, he finally became so fed up that he shoved his hand out to the dart and thrust it as hard as he could at the door, which then flew off of its hinges and into the hallway, shattering on impact. His parents were not too happy about that. Lance had to feign shame when he was around Sal or Alice, though. They wouldn't approve, not that he cared but he did it for his parent's sake, who too feigned shame at their son's gift. "Gift" was what they called it, but Satine and Jean were close with Sal and Alice's parents who preferred the term "curse." That was another reason Lance loved his parents, they were supportive.

Lance continued the conversation. "She levitated a pencil on some kids desk the other day at school, when the kid screamed she looked over, then realized she was glowing. She ran out of the classroom bawling. No one saw her the rest of the day. I thought it was pretty cool, that can of beans was the last thing I threw without even looking at...or so I'm told."

"You were so far away from that can it wasn't even funny...well it was actually, but not at the time. Looking back on it though..." His father paused for a moment searching for his next words "...classic."

"Oh yeah?" Lance remarked with a challenging tone "Watch this!"

"Famous last words" his dad quickly snapped back.

Lance faintly glowed blue, he had at least taught himself to do that. He tried to tell his parents how he did it when he learned. He had described it like flexing your back, only without moving the muscles. It was impossible to explain, granted the process did leave him inexplicably tired, but it was worth it. He locked onto a tomato, making a mental note of where it was in correlation to his hands. He then looked at his dad then brought his right arm across his chest over his left shoulder, quickly whipped it down making a fist, then throwing the imaginary tomato as hard as he could up into the air. For a brief moment he thought he had launched it when he heard his father clap...but he soon realized it was a slow sarcastic clap. Lance looked down at the tomato and saw that he had only managed to make it fall off the vine. He picked it up and noticed it had a small slit that was slowly oozing juice. His father noticed it too.

"Why would you do that?" he exclaimed in a less than amused voice. Lance actually winced at his tone, unused to hearing it. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds.

"Now you have buy that, we can't sell a used tomato!" Lance let out a laugh, a laugh admittedly born more of relief than humour, though the way his dad said it was quite funny. In retaliation, Lance tossed the tomato and his dad's head, hitting him dead on causing the already cracked tomato to burst a little on his face.

Without even moving Jean said "You know, I'd be pissed if this thing wasn't so damned delicious. We do good work, kid." He smiled and Lance laughed at the seeds falling off of his nose. Jean wiped his face off and then got serious.

"Come on, we've got to take a shipment to Yves before sundown. Someone's got to pay for your mom's hairdos, might as well be the market."

With that, the two went hard to work picking the best tomatoes the vines had to offer, eventually packing up for the short trip to town.

When they returned home, Satine had prepared fresh Ratatouille for them. It was Jean's favourite meal and he gratefully kissed his wife upon smelling the fantastic, fresh aroma. They all three grabbed a plate and sat down to eat, it really did look delicious. All the vegetables were grilled to perfection and topped with a tomato sauce that seduced the nostrils. Most people would go their entire lives without tasting something as good. Lance's mom truly was a master chef. Both of them looked over at Jean who was making over-exaggerated sounds of pleasure with each bite. They got funnier and more over the top as he came closer to finishing his first plate. Satine sat there and giggled. Lance didn't mind watching his parents flirt, he was glad they were so happy together. Satine turned to her son and said

"Je t'ai vu jeter cette tomate comme une poupée aujourd'hui." very sarcastically. His dad let out a loud "Ha!" Lance played along and sat up straight, puffed out his chest, raised his eyebrows a few times and ignited his nervous system, sending electricity across his body giving his skin a soft blue radiance.

"Ah, très impressionnante!" She beamed, clapping enthusiastically. His father got up and grabbed a second plate, but just before he sat down, there was an explosion off in the distance. All of their heads shot up, the lighthearted, joking looks that inhabited all of their faces just seconds before had been replaced by unequivocal terror. The concussion from the explosion shook the house, knocking their glasses to the floor. Shortly after, there was another, then another just a few seconds after that. If there was any doubt after the first one, it was long gone now; Mindoir was under attack. Jean darted upstairs to grab his pistol. None of them had any training, they only owned it to deal with rodents, it was more a tool for them than than an actual weapon. Satine burst into frantic tears, Lance grabbed his mother and held her as tight as he could. He was terrified, but he knew he had to stay strong for her. Jean leapt down the stairs and rejoined his family, his aim concentrated on the door. His hands were shaking furiously. Several minutes passed full of constant explosions off in the distance. They almost became a habitual sound until there was one outside of their home. It hit the shed and blew it to pieces. They could hear farming tools crash against the walls and into the windows, debris flew everywhere, including into the kitchen window. Satine screamed, her sobs becoming frantic. There were more explosions outside hitting the fields. Tomatoes splattered against the house and dirt peppered the roof.

"Get behind the couch!" His father yelled at him. If anyone was coming through that door they would be distracted by Jean and hopefully overlook the rest of the room. Lance obeyed without thinking. Satine then latched onto Jean, holding him with a grip tighter than anyone would have thought possible for such a petite woman. Jean knew no matter what he said, she wouldn't move from where she was. The shelling continued, all three of them flinching at each one, until it got too close. The next bomb hit their house, blowing the entire left side of it away. The blast threw all of them against the floor, glass and wood shrapnel lacerated the entire left side of Lance's body, blood poured from his head and arm and hundreds of wooden splinters stuck out of his shoulder and all down his torso, some as long as four inches. He pulled out the ones he could see, grimacing in pain as he did. Jean and Satine had suffered much the same, they were both struggling to pull themselves up from the ground, he could see the blood seeping from under their clothes, the stains growing rapidly as the seconds flew by. There was no point in hiding anymore, the entire wall behind Lance was gone. Thirty seconds had passed since half of their house had been obliterated, none of them had noticed that the shelling had stopped. They looked around, wondering if it was over, but just when hope of survival began to flicker the front door was violently kicked in and two batarians strode casually into their living room. Jean whipped his pistol up and fired two shots, the first one missed and hit the only portrait still hanging on the wall, the second shot hit one of the batarians in the right shoulder, he let out yelp of pain, but it was a non-fatal wound that only served to piss him off. Neither of the two aliens had noticed Lance in the corner of the room, instead, the batarians raised their assault rifles point blank at Satine and Jean and opened fire. It wasn't enough to just slaughter the colonists, the batarians were using modded incendiary rounds, they wanted to torture and mutilate their victims before they died. Satine was still holding onto her husband, but the rounds pierced his body and entered her, burning them from the inside out. The sight was unbearable, but Lance couldn't look away. Fire burst forth from his father's stomach, spreading outwards. He flailed in agony, unnatural tortured screams left his throat. Before his entire body melted he turned to look at his son. His eyes said only one thing

Survive.

Lance's body told him to run, told him to escape, told him to make use of the precious few seconds his parents had bought him, but he couldn't. His mother, holding nothing now but melted flesh and ash let out one final blood-curdled shriek before she fell lifeless to the ground, no longer able to feel the fire consuming her body.

"RUUUUUUN!"

That did it, Lance snapped out of his horrified stupor. He turned around and sprinted out the destroyed wall.

"Get him!" He heard one of the batarians yell.

Lance looked past his shoulder and saw one of them chasing after him. He pushed his himself harder, ignoring the pain, the final image of his mother emblazoned in his mind. Lance could run an entire kilometer before his muscles began to ache, he was counting on his endurance to save him. Mindoir was full of rolling hills though, a kilometer on the uneasy terrain felt like two on flat land. But he had to live, had to survive, he couldn't fail his parents. They could have run too, but they stayed to protect him, to distract the invaders. They sacrificed themselves so that he may live. He could not, would not let them die in vain. Lance looked back, the batarian was still behind him, fifteen meters he guessed, he had to go faster. Lance propelled his legs swifter than he ever had before, his quads screamed in response, he thought they would rip apart then and there, but he ignored his body and kept running. Grass whipped at his calves, he hadn't noticed that he was barefoot, his feet bleeding from all the glass. Every step was like landing on thousands of needles; it was unbearable, but Lance kept going. As he was sprinting over the hilly terrain he noticed towers of black smoke rising to the east. It was Yves; the entire town was gone, razed to the ground. He thought of Alice and Sal, both of whom lived in the town. He hoped they had survived, but deep down he knew they hadn't. There was not a single building left, no one could have lived through that attack. He couldn't think about them right now though, he would mourn later, running was the only thing that mattered now. Lance could feel himself slowing down, he willed himself to keep going but it was getting harder and harder, the pain was too much. Lance looked for distractions to keep his mind off of his battered body. They weren't hard to find. To the west he could see a few houses that were still intact. He wondered why they hadn't been destroyed, until he saw several batarians standing over a dozen kneeling humans. He was too far away to see exactly what was happening, but he knew those people would be slaves in a matter of hours. It killed him to see, but he kept going. It had been a little over a third of a kilometer. Lance glanced back again,

"Twenty metres." he said out loud. The batarian was getting tired, he told himself to keep it up, he was going to get through this, but just as the flicker of hope began to manifest itself it was once again stripped away. Lance reached the top of a hill when his foot found a hole in the ground. It twisted his ankle and caused him to fall face first into the soft Mindoir soil, but the inertia kept him going. Lance rolled violently down the hill. It was a solid ten meter distance from top to bottom, but it seemed like a hundred. Lance heard cracking and breaking, his ribs were snapping like twigs. When he reached the bottom of the hill he couldn't breathe, all the breath had been knocked out of him. He was on the verge of passing out from the pain. His ribs were now broken, his feet were completely raw, his head and sides were still bleeding, and shards of wood and glass were embedded deep his torso. He tried to get up and continue running, but he fell right back down.

"This is it." He thought. A feeling of calm rushed over him. He had done all he could to get away, he would accept this fate. He had failed his parents, but they would forgive him, or at least he hoped so. The batarian soon caught up to him, he was wheezing and holding his side, completely out of breath, but despite that a sick sadistic smile spread across his lips. Lance could see his teeth, they were yellow and brown, but each tooth had been filed to a razor sharp point. The batarians four eyes all widened simultaneously with excitement, he had his prey right where he wanted him, at the bottom of a hill where no one could see them.

"You little bastard, you've only made this worse for yourself." The barbaric tone in which he spoke told Lance this would not be a quick death. He winced in response.

"The boss wanted as many survivors as possible, but I'll just say you 'accidentally' cut yourself to ribbons." The batarian laughed to himself as he brandished a ten inch curved, serrated dagger. Lance noticed a coarse dark brown crust was layered on top of the steel. His first thought went to rust, but he soon realized that it was dried blood. Human blood, from who knew how many victims. The batarian had probably never washed his blade; the dried blood serving as a memento.

"I'm going to enjoy this more than I did butchering your parents."

In that instant, Lance remembered what he had seen just minutes ago.

"Survive," his father's eyes had said to him. That was exactly what Lance was going to do. Rage filled his body, the endorphins fired up once again and all the pain left him. Lance jolted up, he knew there was one last thing he could do. He would see justice done, not just for his parents but for all the people of Yves. Lance flexed his spinal cord, igniting the element zero deep within his body. Where once he glowed a soft blue, now he was ablaze with a fierce cerulean hue. The field around his body crackled and popped, it was like a small lightning storm enveloping his figure. The adrenaline acted as a fuel for the eezo, Lance radiated with electricity. All he could see now was blue, but the batarian was still clear as day in his crimson armour. Lance's vision was heightened, he could see each bead of sweat running along the creases of the barbarian's skull, he saw his lips part in bewilderment, and finally he saw all four pupils contract in fear. Fear...that was all Lance needed to discern before he lashed out in a full biotic attack. With a cry, Lance took both hands and lifted them high over his head, the batarian flung upwards as if he was weightless. Lance suspended him there, twenty feet in the air, letting him thrash around helplessly, enjoying the terrified screams that rang from his mouth. Then, with more force than he knew he had, Lance slammed both hands down towards the ground. The batarian followed suit and hit the dirt with so much force that his body left a crater six inches deep. Lance was sure the batarian's bones were shattered, but he didn't let up, he immediately pounced on top of the defenseless savage and began lashing out on his face with brutal biotic punches. Each impact shook his arm with pleasurable electric vibrations, which only encouraged him to keep up the attack. Minutes passed, minutes of the batarian under him screaming and begging for mercy. His cries of help soon turned to shrill screeches, then to inaudible gurgles. Lance knew when his victim had ceased to live, but he didn't care. He was too full of rage, sadness, and pain to stop. Someone had to pay for what had been done to his family, it might as well be the one who murdered them. Lance's biotics formed what seemed a protective shell around his fist, he couldn't feel anything except the vibrations after each punch. It wasn't long after the yells stopped before Lance realized he was no longer punching the batarian, but the dirt below him. He no longer had a recognizable face, his flesh had been beaten into the soil and the skull had been pulverized into small bits. When Lance finally came to, he was horrified at what he had done. He knew when the batarian died, there was no need to keep attacking. His biotic field dissipated, all the pain that his body had been blocking broke through in one gut wrenching wave. Lance fell back onto the ground, unable to sit up. He felt his hand explode with pain, he wasn't even sure if it was still there. He held up his right arm and realized that his wrist was shattered, the skin on his knuckles was all but gone. Bare bone poked out from his wounds, covered in chartreuse batarian blood. Lance turned his hand around and he saw embedded in it were three of his razor sharp teeth. Lance didn't even have the energy to pull them out. His biotic show had left him physically drained, so much so that blinking was an effort. He was losing consciousness fast. Tears welled in his eyes, eventually pouring out, which was all he could do. His body wouldn't let him convulse and lurch as he cried. As much as he tried to yell and scream, he couldn't. He layed there unmoving, his mind racing. Images sped through his head. Alice, Sal, Satine, and Jean, all of them were gone. He had watched his parents burn to death. Nothing would ever erase that image from his memory, the only thing he could do was bury it, but it would be years before he would be able to do that. Lance felt himself calming down, the pain was subsiding, but he knew his body was finally going into shock and that he would soon pass out. He made a promise before he closed his eyes, a promise to himself, to his parents, and to his friends.

"I will never let this happen to anyone else. Ever." He said out loud. The last thing Lance saw before passing out was a squadron of Alliance fighters tearing down through the atmosphere; then, everything went dark.