Chapter 1

A/N: I couldn't get the idea out of my head, so here we go. Starts off pre-Movie. This is going to be mostly drabbles exploring Shepard in the Pacific Rim universe. Rating will change. You can either envision Shepard as he looks by default except with ginger hair, or you can wander over to my profile where I've got a link for more info on him.

December 19, 2025

It feels like he's swimming in darkness, with all sound muffled and mute and frozen. Is this what it's like to be held in stasis? He doesn't like it – he shouldn't be like this. This isn't right. The Crucible… The Reapers… The last thing he remembers is being engulfed in a bright light and then… nothing, as if everything he is and was suddenly got swept away. He lashes out at the dark, trying to wake up or move or do anything. He shouldn't be like this.

He draws in a large breath, gasping for air as his eyes flutter open and stares ahead. He can feel his body, stiff as a rock on a padded bed, but… he can't see. His eyes are open, and yet all that lies before him is black, as though someone were holding a veil in front of him, and he can just barely tell there's a light shining down on him. "I don't understand." His throat feels like it's been through a grinder and it hurts to speak. Just what exactly happened to him?

He hears a door open, and someone enters.

"Who's there?" He manages to croak out. He's greeted only with silence, and it unsettled him. Instinctively, he tries to bring his hand up to his chest defensively only to stop halfway with a sharp tug on his wrist. He tries again and something digs into his skin, clanking loudly as if it were straining against a bar. Great. He's handcuffed to a bed, but… metal handcuffs? What kind of backwater place still used metal cuffs?

A voice outside – multiple voices, he realizes – draw his attention, getting louder and closer. Shit. Shit. What did he get himself into? The last time something like this happened, he'd been running with his gang back on Earth. He tenses at the memory and focuses on the footsteps approaching. The voices quiet down once they step into the room. He doesn't need his eyes to tell the air's tense. He can almost feel it. He all but snarls at where he guesses the figures are standing, "Someone care to explain why I'm cuffed?"

"Safety precautions." A man announces. His voice carries authority, and it's enough to make him calm down a bit. It almost reminds him of one of his COs. The familiar cling of dog tags make him perk up slightly, tilting his head toward the sound. "Commander John Shepard?"

"That's the short version." He shifts uncomfortably, the fabric on his chest feeling almost foreign to him. "Commander Johnathan Ross Shepard, at your service. Though I prefer Ross." He jangles the cuff on his hand before staring at where he last heard the voice "I'd rather not be cuffed and blind."

That earned him a few murmurs from the others in the room. He can't tell how many there are, but he can feel their eyes on him. The previous man speaks up, "We were hoping you could explain your condition." There's an emphasis on the last word.

Ross shuts his eyes before sighing. Right. Not many people knew that he'd actually died two years back. Even fewer knew that he was technically half-cybernetic. Probably gave the hospital crew a scare to find out the savior of the galaxy wasn't entirely human anymore. Even he forgot sometimes. He opens his eyes before tilting his head slightly and shrugging his shoulders (an action he quickly regrets since it only makes him ache more), "Cybernetic implants. Look – could you just take these off?"

There's a long stretch of silence while he keeps his hand up expectantly. Eventually he hears the jangle of keys and the satisfyingly archaic click of the lock releasing. Ross can't help but grin once his hand is free. "Much obliged." He rubs at the tender spot on his wrist before springing his omni-tool to life. He's run diagnostics on his implants so often, being practically blind barely makes a difference – it's almost muscle memory. After a few seconds of tinkering, he can feel his eyes stirring awake and recalibrating. Slowly, his vision starts to come back to him.

Just in time to see the scared faces aiming their guns right at him.

"Whoa!" He cries out, and fuck if it didn't hurt to raise his voice. His hands shoot up in surrender, "Let's all calm down."

"What was that?" Ross' eyes wander back to the familiar voice. There stood a relatively tall man, broad shouldered and dark skinned, donning what looked like navy blues only… older? It's not like any Alliance uniform he's seen before. If anything, it looks more like it belongs in a museum. He can't deny the impressive number of badges and stars attached though. He had rank. His posture was stiff as he stared Ross down.

"What was what?" He finds himself asking, more than slightly confused. "My omni-tool? Are you asking me what my omni-tool is?" That can't be right. Even the most remote countries on Earth have omni-tools, and they're still a few decades behind on technology. Unless… His eyes wander over to the handguns aimed at him and… holy shit. No. No fucking way. "What year is it?" He asks, voice barely above a whisper.

"2025."

2025. 20-fucking-25. He can't help but pale and laugh when he hears that. Now he knows what it was like for Javik to wake up and find himself in a completely different time. It takes a while for him to process the information. It wasn't enough that he went back in time nearly two centuries, but this Earth, this… reality, seems to follow a different timeline than the one he knew. There're no Reapers, no Turians, no Citadel. Nothing. Just Earth and colossal monsters pouring out of an interdimensional portal in the middle of the Pacific Ocean called Kaijus.

He'd been hoping to retire once the war with the Reapers was done. Maybe help out with the reconstruction efforts, but he was done with that life. Anderson…Fuck. He'd meant to live a life for Anderson. Settle down, find a nice guy, and maybe raise some kids… anything that didn't involve him charging in guns blazing. He rubs at his eyes before letting out a shaky breath. Wrap up one war only to get dragged into another… What a life he has, but if this is where he's going to be stuck… He'd rather Earth stay standing, even if it's not the Earth he grew up on.

Eventually it was just him and the man who'd later introduced himself as Stacker Pentecost and his second in the room once they deemed fit that he wasn't a threat to anyone. Hell, he was too stiff to even try getting up just yet. He'd been in a coma for nearly two months, apparently. Washed up on a shore, barely breathing. Turns out his body almost gave out a few times from trying to pick up the slack of his now-defunct implants. A quick scan with his omni-tool revealed that most of his implants were fried rather than disabled or malfunctioning. The fact that he's even alive only serves as testament of his willpower. He didn't save the damn galaxy just to die.

Ross runs a hand through the ginger locks on his head before nodding with determination after Pentecost gave him a sitrep, "You need candidates to pilot these 'Jaegers'? Sign me up." Pentecost's second – a small, Japanese woman with blue streaks in her hair – looks about ready to protest. "Look," He can't help but sigh, "I'm a soldier. Been a soldier almost half my life. I don't really understand why I'm here or how I got here, but I'm not going to sit around on my ass while others fight a war."

Pentecost watches him for a long while before he relents with a faint nod. "I'll consider it."

It's not much, but he'll take what he can get. They leave him to the silence of the small room, fluorescent light flickering overhead. It's a lot take in, all of this. He's not really sure he can if he's being honest with himself, but if he keeps himself busy - well… maybe at least then he could at least get comfortable. He can become an asset to the PPDC, solidify his role in this new world and do something useful. Anything to try and ignore the gnawing void growing in his chest.