DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN THE MASS EFFECT FRANCHISE OR COMMANDER SHEPARD.
If you haven't already known, I've decided to temporarily discontinue my two earlier stories, Renegade and Epilogue, due to a lot of things going on (the full notice is on my profile). But I'm definitely not going to forgo writing. Just like I'm not going to give up on living. Same principle.
Anyway, To Be A Hero is a collection of one-shots that show fragmented images of Commander Shepard's entire life, switching from the POVs of his squadmates and allies to the big man himself. You'll be able to string all the pieces together before you finally see the grand image. Yes, this is based on the same John Alan Shepard from Epilogue, just with a few changes in his story.
I'm DEFINITELY going to finish this one, mark my words, even if it kills me. I'm going to make this the best !#$ing piece of fanfiction I ever wrote in my entire worthless life. But excuse me if the intro is a bit short.
And, fair warning to everyone opposed to the M!Shep/Miranda pairing, yes, To Be A Hero heavily ships M!Shep/Miranda. You have been warned.
So, without further ado, let the story, BEGIN!
TO BE A HERO
Turning Point
He felt ... old.
Perhaps that single word wasn't enough for a clear definition; he felt tired, broken, frustrated, and ... weak.
Yes, that was it. The perfect definition - weak.
Weakness, as far as Shepard could see it, could be defined as many things. But, to be used in his current condition, weakness was defined everything from the physical weakness of his injured left leg, to which he now owes his new career as an N7 instructor and lecturer after resigning from the Spectres and the noticeable limp with which he now walks with, to his not-exactly new-found emotional weakness.
In spite of himself, he gave a small, amused, albeit exasperated, scoff.
If only they could see me now, Shepard thought to himself as the memories of his old squadmates came flooding back for a brief moment.
Surely, the great Commander Shepard wouldn't have his career forgone simply because of a simple injury (at this, Shepard wondered if many people actually knew what had happened to his left leg). Surely, the oh-so-great Commander Shepard (or ex-Commander Shepard, that is), especially with his stoic face and bold, commanding voice, would never feel weakness. Surely, the immortal (and, sadly enough, there were those who could actually think of Shepard as immortal, but, then again, he did cheat death once, albeit not easily) Commander Shepard would never feel old. And even after so many years, they still believed this. They took this knowledge to their grave.
He felt his fists clench in anger. Damn them. Damn them all.
Then the rage died as quickly as it came. He sighed, standing up and walking over to the bathroom.
Turning on the tap, he splashed a bit of water onto his face, enjoying the feel of the cold water dripping down his face. He blinked, mouth pressed in a thin line. Lifted his head and faced the mirror.
The countenance that stared back was pale, wrinkled, and with a sallow complexion, its eyes a dull shade of blue, the remains of its short gray and white hair was messily strewn over its scalp. It looked ... defeated. Shoulders sagging, slumped posture, arms no longer as well-built and defined as they used to be ...
This was not the Commander John Alan Shepard.
This was ... someone else.
Another sigh was released.
"No," Shepard mumbled sadly. "Merely a shadow. A shadow of who I once was."
Despite how much he wanted to deny it, Shepard was right. The past twenty years had been equally tough and rewarding on him. "But mostly tough," Shepard snorted.
After his last mission two years ago that had involved an attack by two Thresher Maws simultaneously, the Thresher Maw acid had seared through his shields and armor and had almost entirely dissolved his lower left leg. Just why that had happened, well, Shepard knew that it was simply because he was getting too old, too careless. And while his lifespan had been cybernetically and genetically modified to be a third longer than that of an average human's, it didn't perfect his soldier's mindset, it didn't prevent his tactical thinking from getting flawed. It didn't prevent Garrus and Miranda from dragging his screaming, writhing form onto the drop-shuttle and into the med-bay.
"Didn't prevent a very idiotic, constant usage of our very limited medi-gel reserves that we brought with us," Shepard muttered.
He could've done better. Even now, he could've done better. But it was too late. His leg was too weak to do sprinting, and a good shot could snap it entirely.
Thus began his life as an N7 instructor and lecturer, for whom else better to help train the guardians of the future than the one who had ensured that this future could happen?
What had went wrong with his life?
"Nothing, nothing," Shepard said softly. "Just what went wrong with you?"
In that particular case, perhaps he could say ... not everything, but certainly a lot of things.
Death. Pain. Loss. Trauma. Incompetence. Failure. Weakness.
Was he going insane? Was his mind slowly being driven mad by these and so many other things in his life?
Had this part of him hid itself, burrowed itself so deep into his soul that Shepard himself didn't know it existed?
Perhaps. Perhaps driven down by fear, or by denial, or by itself, or ...
The initial years of his new life after the Reapers hadn't been so bad; in fact, quite the opposite. Just like his childhood. Shepard smiled a little at the thought. Then he closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened ... before everything went wrong.
A/N - Rather short for my intro standards, but I like it anyway. Will probably submit chapter two by tomorrow late night or so. And Commander Shepard is telling you to click that little green button down there. ;)