Disclaimer: I do not own mass effect, to my disgust. all props are bioware's, 'cept my original characters.
No Fear
Ly Shepard was always a little different.
Not in the traditional sense, she didn't wear dark clothes or alone on rooftops. What Shepard did, or rather didn't do, was stop.
Ever.
Growing up in the slums of Earth should have seen the girl dead or whoring to get by, but Shepard doesn't lie down easily, or at all.
Shepard spent the first five years of her life beaten and ignored an animal in its own filth, a source of constant brutality for her degenerate murderer of a father or her whore of a mother. These familial terms are only loosely applicable here.
By the age of four, 30% of her body was covered in scar tissue. Just over a year later, she was sold to Gar's House of Flesh.
Her first night there, a man entered her room.
Later, shivering from the cold and the pain and the sheer bloody minded fury…
Something snapped.
Her arms and eyes glowed in the thin moonbeam permitted through the greasy patina of filth on the window.
The man sleeping on the other side of the bed was the first to die.
No warning was issued, nor quarter given. She stabbed both hands through his throat and tore outwards. A fine mist of blood sprayed her young features.
As she stood over the body, a vicious cycle of rage and pain fanned the flames of this new power inside her. The pressure built inside her as her mind revisited all the beatings she had ever experienced, and from this a new consciousness took form inside her skull. It was hurt. It was not scared. It was angry.
Coldly, with a sort of detached satisfaction, this terrifying sentience looked down on the decapitated corpse, and smirked with the smugness of a general in victory. She turned her gaze to the door. She was not smiling anymore.
Later as the police arrived to the calls of a few of the better treated women of Gar's establishment, hardened officers felt rather queasy at the sight therein. A young patrolman who was first on the scene retched desperately in the gutter. Four clients and two of Gar's "Bigs" were torn apart in a visceral display in the main atrium, but the most disturbing sight was the owner himself. He was neatly bisected form head to groin hanging by his legs from the chandeliers.
Some of the more coherent girls later described a "glowing girl" furiously butchering the men with a rictus a hatred plastered on her face. Another had heard a new girl being brought in, addressed as "Ferin's brat". A quick search led them to the house of the mother and father.
There were no whole people in the house.
Ly crouched in the gutter, cold and sore, but content. She had tasted her power, and she had felt joy in the havoc she had wrought. Quietly, she stole through the streets in search of shelter, and finding a store with a glass frontage, formed a glowing blue blade from the end of her fist. Cutting a small hole in the left corner, she crawled through, nicking her shoulder on the sharp edge as she entered.
The next morning, the manager of the rather pricey fashion boutique Grahams on York, unlocked the door and strolled in to find a filthy, bloodied urchin passed out on a nest of fine Remin-fur coats imported from Sarave-5. The manager, a shy and retiring man, thought it best to back out of the shop a call the police on his omnitool. Ten minutes later they arrived.
As Ly opened her eyes a blue-shirted officer filled her vision. With a snarl she sprang up and blasted him off his feet with a ball of blue fire, sending him smashing into a case of high-end jewellery. Only the speedy reactions of his partner saved the man from a second hit as at the first sign of biotics, he drew his sidearm and sank three tranq charges into the small of her back. As they immediately began to take effect, the girl spun around and started shambling straight for the officer. As the officer swore and shot again, her movements slowed and eventually halted less than a metre from the officer. The man cuffed her quickly with a biotic neutralizer and ran over to check on his partner, who was stil groaning on the floor. "jesus" he exclaimed "it took me eight tranks to but the little bitch down" as he helped the other officer to his feet. The man wheezed "we'd better get her to the precinct before she wakes up Paulie, I ain't to fond of gettin' my fucking ass kicked again."
Captain Reem of New York precinct 97 was getting old, and had seen decades worth of street toughs and more than his fair share of killers, but even he had never seen anything like the young girl restrained in room three. As he stood in the hallway, looking through the glass, the lights dimmed as the technicians in the room with her attempted to reinforce the biotic dampeners on her bindings. The malevolence in her glare, coupled with the bursts of hear her biotics were generating was partly responsible for the sweat beading their brows.
The other part was a result of their imaginations of what would transpire should they fail.
Reem breathed a quiet sigh of relief as one of the technicians let out a loud "whoop" of triumph as an equivalence point between the maximum surge potential of the girl was reached. The others slumped in fatigue as Reem dismissed both them and the officer who had been drafted to aim an incapacitator at the base of her skull, targeting a major nerve cluster. The old man continued to watch with fascination as over the next hour as the 4 ft 3 inch, 40 kilo girl with rage etched on every feature continued to struggle and pound away at her restraints until eventually slipping into unconsciousness.
The first chapter of my first attempt at any sort of creative writing. This is not a one-shot, but it will cover some background on Shepard before Mass effect 1. Eventually Liara and Shepard. I will be following the general mass effect story arc when I get to it, but i reserve the right to change whatever I want.
I pulled inspiration from this from a lot of different places, stories, authors ect, so if anyone has any concerns, please message me and I will endeavor to address them.
This is my first outing, so praise and CONSTRUCTIVE critisimsm is most welcome. Trolls will be peeled and rolled into a barrel of salt and snakes.
Drake