Authors note: Basically it's a retelling of my own Shepard's journey through madness and ME1, possibly ME2 to be thrown in, an exploration of the character(s), and a time filler. It's been awhile since I've done this sort of thing, but boredom makes you do crazy things...At any rate, I'm planning on continuing this for a few chapters - depending on feedback - and yes, there will be femshep/Liara pairing in later chapters - just don't know how I'm gonna go about telling that part just yet. Also as stated, not 100% canon - don't like it, don't read it. Annnd lastly - there will be language, adult situations, possibly sex related scenes in later chapters to come, just threw on the M to be safe.
Finally: ALL CHARACTERS,LOCATIONS, Mass Effect universe, Etc used is property of Bioware - not me(aside from my Shepard). Don't think it needed to be said but just in case...ENJOY!

My Body is a Cage
Sort of a Prologue: Years 2179 - 2183

Choices, Choices...

"Whatever happened to simple..."
She smirked bitterly to herself, casually unbuttoning the golden orbs on the blue jacket of her Systems Alliance uniform, removing her hat and tucking the navy blue beret under her arm.

Why did complication always find its way into life's choices, her choices? Why did anyone care about these decisions, who would they ultimately affect if the wrong choice was made? How would you know if you made a right one, and whose it right for - Yourself? Someone else? A chosen Deity perhaps? Who's to say what is right or wrong but the very individual left making the reckless, or possibly even wise, choice that would send ripples out across the known galaxy. They should be easy, they should be efficient, they should be made based on the information and moral judgments at hand to affect a forever constant and unknown future...

So why were her's all of a sudden so god damned senseless?

She was labeled a heartless monster, a slayer of man, a ruthless menace, a cold soulless bitch by her subordinates and comrades. Her superiors congratulated her on her victory, their tones of false praise ringing hollow through her ears. They grudgingly padded her back with empty promises of promotion and slapped a laden medal on her chest for her tactics and success on the battlefield to get a job done by any means necessary. Was that such a surprise? She was trained to do it, ordered to do it, had to do it... why did she do it?

Instead, she was dishonorably discharged and left in a high security military prison station orbiting Mars for a couple years. It would have been more if not for her own service record as well as her own Mother's influence within the System's Alliance. War Criminals, deserters, genocidal maniacs, highly trained murderers, the mentally disturbed - all used as cheap laborers and miners for the planet below, all human. Their existence all but classified, as were any of their discoveries should anything of value beyond mineral resources be uncovered. Ever since the discovery of some Prothean relic all those years ago - the Alliance has been keeping a close eye on this entire planet.
Daily beatings, interrogations, metallic tasting food, constant death threats, exhaustion, frequent dehydration - this is the life they all deserved but was never advertised, of course...

The Butcher of Torfan. That's what she is now, that's who she is, the ghastly scar that ripped down from her right brow to her lower left cheek was a constant reminder...no, a symbol of that. But what did it matter, she did her duty, she made sure no god forsaken Batarian made it off that hell hole of a rock alive and/or without punishment. They reaped what they sowed. Humanity doesn't respond kindly to those seeking to enslave or control them. Humanity would not be bullied by such pathetic and contemptible scum. Both sides paid a price for the monstrosities that occurred there, both paid the price with blood and succumbed to eternal damnation, however, in the end only one limped away from that particular conflict relatively intact - Humanity. Batarian's would think twice before crossing the human race again, or so she thought. All that loss of life, and they still capture humans outside council space for their slave trades, building their society and culture using the backs, blood, sweat, and tears of other species - an almost parasitic nature at best. The council does nothing about these incidents using only words against an unintelligent race of mongrels that only comprehends deadly force. The Batarian's bleated and screamed bloody murder that such accusations, investigations, and judgments were an insult against their tradition's and cultural rights and as such they cannot be touched, nothing could be done - Fucking politics, god damned idiots, cowards - every last one of them.

And now here she was, four years later, a "free" woman serving in the Alliance Military once more. Freedom had a price, however, and in this case came in the form of a contract - to serve indefinitely, her starting assignment: an executive officer aboard some experimental frigate called the SSV Normandy under the command of her former N7 instructor, David Anderson. Recruited as a favor, no doubt, some gold trimmed strings got pulled and once again she was the receiver of special treatment to keep her out of a hell hole, thanks to her Mother, Anderson, or an old friend of the family - Admiral Hackett - she'd probably never know which. Why couldn't anyone just let her be? To suffer and wallow in the memories and punishments of supposed past mistakes she had made, it's what she truly deserved - the Alliance knew it, the entire planet Earth knew it, and hell - even she was starting to believe it. And yet here she stood...dressed in blue, without protest or complaint.

She snorted contemptuously, lighting a cigarette, tilting her head as loose strands of short greasy chestnut brown hair fell away from her eyes to avoid the heat of the flame. Inhaling deeply, she felt the poisonous toxins of nicotine permeate her lungs and flush through her system, calming her nerves and causing her to instinctively exhale as she relaxed up against a cold steel colored wall. Lazily opening her eyelids, she gazed morosely upon the passing crowds of various humans that meandered through the halls of the massive Arcturus Station. Her almost golden hazel eyes darkly scanning each and every individual alike with equal bouts of disdain and distrust, the two prominent emotions engaging in a constant battle for dominance - with no real victor in the end...

Choices were made and nothing changed. Were her choices right? Or merely appropriate given the circumstances?

She shrugged it off.
What did it matter anymore? Why should she even care...?

Only death remained, floating upon the ripples, anger swiftly arising - capping the impending waves of guilt and suffering amongst torrent rapids of a thousand hatreds that inevitably flowed freely into the black seas of space and time.

Life, if you want to call it that, carries on...

"Shepard! Let's get moving. We have our mission. And put out that cigarette!"
Anderson ordered, briskly marching past his newly appointed XO.

"Damn things will kill you."
He muttered in passing.

"Yes, Sir."
Shepard smirked, flicking her cigarette discretely to the floor, adjusting the beret back onto her head, and followed in hastened pursuit of her superior officer.