A/N: Greetings! I have long read Mass Effect fics but this is the first one I've written. Definitely not the first story I've written though ;)

Some thing to note:
* This story takes place at the beginning of ME3.

* This story will be somewhat AU. It will go on assuming that Shepard died in the second game, but his crew survived. This story will be about what might have happened if he had a twin brother, Jared, to 'replace' him and finish the reapers.

* It will follow the sequence of events that happens in ME3, but will not be a 'retelling' as some fics turn out to be (except the next chapter a little bit, apologies).

* This story will eventually be M!Shepard/Kaidan. In other words, this will be a slash fiction. If this bothers you, best bail out now.

* Obviously, all rights to anything Mass Effect do not belong to me and I am not profiting monetarily from this story in the slightest.

Excellent. Without further ado, the first chapter. Reviews are always welcome and encouraged, even the constructive ones :)

2186 CE

Jared Shepard was having a rough night.

It seemed like every fucking batarian on the citadel was in Dark Star right now and it also seemed that someone had tipped them off to the fact that the 'new bartender' was somehow involved with the mess that happened on Torfan. Perfect.

He was cleaning the inside of a glass with a cloth when one of the ballsier batarians made his way to the bar.

"Get me a drink human," the alien soldier barked.

"You'll have to ask nicer than that," Shepard drawled, not raising his eyes from the glass he was cleaning, but perfectly aware of everything going on in his peripherals. "I sure as hell hope you don't think that pretty face of yours is going to make me get it."

"I didn't ask for your opinion jackass." The batarian's eyes all managed to narrow at once as he stared Shepard down. "Get me a fucking drink!"

"I guess the word please isn't in your vocabulary. Too bad for you." Shepard shrugged and turned away from the batarian, using the glass behind the bar to watch the alien behind him.

Just as expected the batarian grabbed Shepard's shoulder and slammed him down on the bar face first. He turned his head just in time to avoid breaking his nose and clasped his hand around one of the bar rail liquors under the counter. His fingers tightened around the neck of the bottle and he waited.

A few other batarians had come over now, laughing at the display. The turian bartender who had been working beside Shepard had somehow managed to make himself scarce. Convenient, Shepard thought with some annoyance. He'd always known that bastard was not a big fan of humans.

The batarians were jeering now, thinking they had Shepard at a disadvantage. It was stupid of them to underestimate him. He supposed they thought he was useless unarmed. They would live to regret that. But not for much longer...

"Didn't think we'd recognize you 'Butcher of Torfan'? Thought you could hide out here in this little hole on the Citadel and no one would know any different? My father was among those soldiers you murdered. The ones that surrendered. Every batarian here knew someone on that moon. Someone you slaughtered." At this, he ground Shepard's face harder into the bar. "You're a disgrace to the military. Call yourself a soldier-"

"Haven't for awhile now," Shepard piped in, voice muffled by the surface of the bar he was currently squished against.

"Even among humans you are a rat," one of the other Batarians growled over the other brute's shoulder. "Even they don't want anything to do with you."

Shepard managed as much of a shrug as he could from where he was held. This wasn't his first encounter with enraged batarians and he suspected that it would not be the last. "I got the job done. I always do."

And if his choices were a little morally... gray? So be it. He could live with that. It seemed it was the others that couldn't deal.

"Son of a bitch! We're going to enjoy killing you. Slowly. And painfully," the first Batarian announced, lowering his face so that it was close to Shepard's. He could smell whatever the alien had been drinking before he'd come over here on his breath. Certainly didn't smell like a bed of roses, that was for damn sure.

"Get him up. Let's get out of here before C-Sec comes sticking their noses where they don't belong," the other batarian told him, looking over his shoulder anxiously. The bar had mostly cleared out at the first sign of trouble. Shepard suspected that C-Sec had already been notified and were indeed on the way. He'd have to finish this up quickly.

"Final words Shepard?" The batarian's grip on his neck loosened ever so marginally but it was enough. And Shepard knew a window of opportunity when he saw one.

"Yeah," Shepard replied evenly, "You talk too much." He smashed the bottle on the underside of the counter and jammed it into the batarian's face. He aimed to get as many eyes as possible and managed to secure the bottle in the right side of the batarian's face. The batarian yowled in pain as the bottle stuck out, Shepard could see his silhouette and knew he'd lodged it in there good.

The other batarians were quick to react but they still seemed to think he would be easily handled. One smashed Shepard in the side of the face with the butt of his rifle, he took the hit so that the batarian wouldn't notice his hand sneaking to the batarian's belt to grab his side arm. Pistol in hand, he shot said batarian in the head before quickly turning and dispatching the other two stupid enough to stick around. The others had long since departed. The only one still breathing was the snivelling mass of the first batarian to attack him, crawling pitifully on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Shepard kicked him unceremoniously in the side so that the batarian was now on his back. The batarian held his hand out in a gesture of surrender, muttering apologies under his breath in between whimpers.

But they were far past that.

"Apology denied," Shepard deadpanned. A shot fired and the batarian fell back against the dance floor, a fresh pool of blood adding to the other crimson puddles around him until the floor around the bar was more blood than floor. "Say hi to your father for me."

Shepard sighed as he looked around at the mess. It was only his second day. He supposed he'd be looking for another job after this. Again. Killing patrons was probably frowned upon. It seemed these sort of 'incidents' followed him around. His record was going to be pretty lengthy soon. C-Sec would be here soon to add to it. There was no point in trying to run away.

Sitting down at the bar, Shepard reached over and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He pulled off the lid and looked over at one of the dead batarians, slumped over the bar beside him. There was an untouched glass of whatever the batarians had been drinking before. Tilting the bottle of whiskey, Shepard clinked the glass together and held the bottle out in salute to the batarian.

"Cheers," he muttered, drinking deeply from the bottle.

The C-Sec interrogation rooms were getting nicer. Shepard couldn't help but notice. Look at this comfy chair he had and everything. They should be careful with that, didn't want the criminals thinking they would get a free vacation every time they performed another felony. He rested his hands behind his head, cuffed as they were, and relaxed. They were taking longer than usual to send someone in to harass him. He wondered what Bailey would say to him this time. Probably something along the lines of 'i'm getting real sick of your shit Jared!' That's how it usually started. And then there were threats to ship him off to Omega and ban him from the Citadel. And then came the grudgingly quiet appreciation for Shepard cleaning up the citadel in a way that C-Sec couldn't officially. This was usually followed by some sort of punishment, at least on record. Whether Shepard would do it or not would depend on how Bailey felt that day.

The door opened but Shepard didn't bother looking over, staring at the ceiling instead in his reclined position.

"So what'll it be this time Bailey? Community service? Some unofficial favours for the bureau?" Shepard asked with nonchalance, counting the beams in the roof for lack of anything better to do.

"I'm disappointed in you Commander." That voice was all too familiar and had Shepard sighing and removing his gaze from the ceiling. His arms remained poised behind his head in relaxation. He didn't have to show any respect to Anderson anymore. He was no longer a military man.

"It's just Shepard. Or Jared. My days of being called Commander are long past Anderson," Shepard replied evenly.

Councillor Anderson shook his head as he stood beside the interrogation chair. It was clear from the look on his face that he disapproved of the way Shepard was addressing him and his posture. Anderson was a soldier, through and through. Making fun of the chain of command was not tolerated. Shepard might have cared if he were still enlisted, as it stood the aggravated set of the other man's jaw just amused him.

"Your brother would be disappointed in you too. You could have been an exceptional marine. Like him. Now look at you..." Anderson's tone was more acerbic than usual when he addressed Shepard. "Wasted potential."

Shepard laughed at this, the bitterness in it apparent. "I tried. You frowned upon my methods. Looked down on how I got things done. But they always got done. I succeeded where others would have failed and what did I get? A dishonourable discharge." He straightened up in his chair now so he could look at Anderson evenly. The topic of his DD always got him in a bit of a mood. Today seemed to be no exception. "How is dear old John doing anyways? Haven't heard anything from him since he pulled a zombie Jesus and came back from the dead."

Anderson straightened up and looked slightly uncomfortable. That probably wasn't the best sign. He'd seen a similar expression on his face when he- When he...

"He's dead again isn't he?" Shepard said matter-of-factly, more a statement than a question. "For real this time."

The councillor didn't say anything for a moment and then nodded slowly. Shepard felt a wave of nausea come over him. Though they had been twins, they hadn't been close in a rather long time. At the end of the day though, John was still Jared's brother and probably the closest person to him. It didn't say much for Shepard's social skills, but he'd never had the same 'charisma' that John had seemed to have.

"Your brother might be lost to us," Anderson began, pacing a little in the small room, "but I have a plan."

Shepard looked up, intrigued.