A Blast from the Past – A Mass Effect Fanfic.

-What happens when a unique individual from the Past joins the team? What secrets does his mind and body hold? Takes place at the start of Mass Effect 2. Some Slight AU. Pairings undecided for Shepard as well as my OC. Feel free to PM suggestions on pairings. Rated T for now for Violence, minor gore, adult situations and language. Rating may go up if needed. Possible Lemons in future.

~Disclaimer- I don't own anything from Mass Effect, only my OC's.

-Key-

"Thoughts"

"Speech."

Part 1- Prologue

~August 2007- Iraq~

Jason Bjornsen was many things; Soldier, son, big brother, part time college student, lover of a good book, aspiring martial artist... bleeding out on the side the road in a trash ridden, dusty, third world country. The last definitely not on his plan of things to do when he woke up in his hooch that morning. And it all started so normal...well normal for him.

-Flashback~12 hours prior-

Jason rolled blearily from his bed, glaring at the floor, where his nemesis of a good dream lay, defeated and broken. Silenced from it's blaring assault on his ears, it's beady red eyes slowly losing their shine as the numbers slowly fading to nothing.

"Ya know... it's a good thing we get combat pay...or you wouldn't be able to afford replacing all those alarm clocks ya destroy man."

Jason glared tiredly at his roommate and fellow Team Leader in his squad. Sargent Jose Gonzalez, as he rolled over on top of his blankets, his collection of tattoos showing readily. Gonzalez was from New York, of Puerto Rican decent, Jose was a goody guy...and a better NCO.

He threw on a t-shirt and flip flops, grabbing his hygiene bag as he exited his hooch into the blaring desert sun. Shading his eyes he walked away from his trailer that was his home away from home, headed for the shower trailer to conduct his daily ritual of "shit, shower and shave" as the Military liked to say. He nodded and made the appropriate throat noise to converse with a fellow soldier. Lathering his face with shaving he cream he paused briefly before starting to shave as he thought on himself and how he got to where he was that day.

He came from a long familial line of soldiers and peace officers, the males(and some females as well) of his family seemed to lean towards the...protective type. He smiled inwardly as he thought of his family. His father was a retired Army veteran who decided he wasn't done protecting others and went into Law enforcement. His mother a horse trainer. His 2 younger siblings, Anna and Warren. Growing up on a farm just outside a medium sized town in Colorado.

Washing the leftover cream off his face he stared in the mirror, he was reminded again of how much he looked like his father...and uncle...and his great-grandfather Sven Bjornsen. His steel-blue eyes glanced over himself, his short cropped, dark blonde hair. His 6'3", 215 lb frame which seemed naturally to gain, lean, ropy muscle with little effort. His Army training having burned off what little body fat he had left from a life of farm work, sports and martial arts.

He had been in the Army for a little over three years now, having earned his stripes weeks after setting foot in Iraq 10 months ago. His unit, the 501st Military Police Company aka The "Wolfpack". Had started off running route security, route recon, snatch and grabs of high value targets. His Company has distinguished itself as a "go to" unit by their superiors. Enough so that his platoon, 3rd Platoon, The "Death Dealers", was asked to run PSD (Personal Security Detail) missions for Generals and high ranking government officials. As of late, his squad had been assigned to provide security for Major General Harold "Harry" Hawthorne, the man in charge of all Special Operations in the Middle East as well as training the Iraqi Special Forces.

Finishing putting on his uniform as he grabbed his kit, he made his way to his M1151 Humvee. He grinned before stopping to watch his gunner, PFC Jensen, nursed a sore thumb, cursing at his mounted "ma deuce" .50 cal machine gun.

"Ya let it bite ya again huh Jensen?"

All he got for his oh, so witty remark was the universal body gesture for displeasure with another. His grin turned into a full fledged smile as he heard a snort and speaking in the deepest southern accent he had ever had the displeasure of hearing coming from the driver's seat of the Humvee.

"God Almighty Jensen, ya ever gonna learn to work that piece?"

Jason slipped on his IBA (Interceptor Body Armor) and watched his driver SPC O'Mally, tease the junior member of his three man team.

Thirty minutes later, they had moved out, picked up their principal and were enroute to an Iraqi Army Special Forces base, for General Hawthorne to inspect a new batch of IA(Iraqi Army) Spec Ops trainees. Their four vehicle convoy spread out, to minimize the threat of a single blast taking out more than one vehicle.

Everything was going as normal, no signs of tampering with the road, no indications of insurgent activity, when suddenly...they were alone...no one in sight. The hair on the back of Jason's neck stood on end. Just as he was about to key his mic, the radio burst to life.

"Dealer 2 Actual to all stations, be alert... increase speed to 65, out."

Jason instinctively checked and rechecked his M4, then reminded his team to keep their head on a swivel. As he turned around to scan his sector outside his seat in the front passenger seat, he did a double take as his eyes looked up to a rooftop. A male in a "man dress" as American personal liked to call them, stood holding a metal tube, pointed at the truck in front of him. His body tensed as he called out.

"RPG! RPG! 3 o'clock! Rooftop! 75 meters! JENSEN! Get him NOW!"

As he saw a puff and time seemed to slow down as the rocket screamed into the lead truck and he heard the sound of a .50 going off at close range, parts of the building flying everywhere as Jensen nailed the attacker.

"This is Dealer 2 Alpha... I've been hit...right side...front...my truck is dead... no serious injuries... over."

Just as Jason was about to key his mike to notify his Company TOC (tactical operations center), the world went...bright...loud... muddled...before going dark. An indeterminable time later...it...me...he?... Yes... he was...a he... name...what...what is that noise...is that a voice... He opened his eyes, struggling to gain focus in his eyes. Young man... talking...but no words seemed to be coming out of his mouth.

Suddenly everything seemed to click, the man, his driver, O'Mally.

"Sargent! We took an EFP! Vehicles dead!"

Jason grimaced as shook his head to clear it from the blast.

"O'Mally, were abandoning this vehicle, get all the SI's (Secure Items) out, Jensen, cover us with the crew served from there, but be prepared to dismount that thing when we bug out. I'm gonna link up with 2 Alpha. Hang tight."

Jason got out and sprinted in a crouch to the lead vehicle, coming up on passenger side he pounded on the front window before flinching slightly as the gunner of the truck let out a long burst from his 240 B 7.62 MM machine gun. The door opened and SGT Gonzalez leaned out and gave him an odd look.

"Christ Bjornsen...you okay?"

At the odd look he received he pointed to his own face. Jason brought his hand to his face, it came away red and wet.

"Ah...no wonder my head fucking hurts... Your radio still up?"

"Yeah, 2 Actual wants us to set a perimeter and hold 'till QRF show's up...sec... I'm bout to call them now."

Gonzalez pushed a button on his Harris radio before keying his mike.

"Sheriff net, Sheriff net, this Wolfpack 3-2 Alpha. Over."

"Wolfpack 3-2 Alpha this is Sheriff net, send your traffic over."

"Sheriff net, Wolfpack 3-2 Alpha, we have made contact, small arms, rpg's and IED's. Unknown number of combatants. Two casualties, light injuries. We have Warbird, I repeat, we have Warbird. Send QRF to coordinates as follows, Mike Bravo 3245 7833, I repeat MB 3245 7833, over."

"Wolfpack 3-2 Alpha, QRF and two AH-64's enroute yours, eta for QRF approximately 15 minutes. ETA on birds less than 4 minutes out, hold position. Over and out."

Jason nodded, help was on its way. As if on cue rounds began impacting all around the vehicle, he spun into a kneeling position, opening up on three round burst from his M4 at the charging insurgents, who had somehow gotten way to close to the stopped convey using an alley. His first burst taking an attacker high in the chest, he didn't even wait for the man to fall before moving to the next assailant, aiming lower to compensate for the muzzle rise from firing on burst, impacting in his pelvis. Then it all became a blur of deafening noise, smoke, dust, vibration from his weapon.

Then...all was quite... The stillness was almost deafening is its abruptness. The smell of blood, mixed with dust, mixed with gun powder to create a...unique scent. Jason attempted to still his trembling hands as he ejected his empty magazine before loading his last magazine. He scanned the more than a dozen downed insurgents, making sure none rose to threaten him or his comrades. None did.

His squad leader, 2 Actual, began calling out status checks and Jason stood on shaky legs to return to his truck to check on his team when he found himself on his back. Blinking in confusion he wondered what the hell just happened. Then it hit him...pain...his throat... he couldn't breathe! Blood...blood in his mouth and throat... the majority of the sounds he could make out...was his gurgling as he struggled to breathe through his perforated neck, the rapid crescendo of his struggling heart.

Then he could faintly hear voices, talking... talking about him. Hands... pressing something onto his neck. Then he felt something...tear in his throat, and red sprayed the face of...who is this frantic face above his own...then...as darkness overtook him, his last conscious thought turned to his family. How he wished he could take back his last conversation with his father... Told his mother that he loved her... his sister to look out for the boys.... his brother to not let that big math exam freak him out.

And so... Jason Thorson...son...brother...soldier... breathed his last before falling still... forever.

Or did he?

~August 2007- Iraq~

In the basement of a large hospital, lights...bright lights flickered before coming to life, revealing a room that was instantly recognizable as a morgue. Through the door briskly walked a man, his commanding presence only enhanced by his salt and pepper hair and groomed beard, tailored suit.

Following him was a female aide wearing glasses and several men who scanned the room, obviously hired for what they could do to other human beings in defense of another.

The leader of the group nodded to the female member of this formidable looking ensemble, who made her way over to the far wall, where multiple rectangular doors lay. Glancing over the names tapes applied to the individual doors, she came to a stop before tapping the door labeled. -Bjornsen, Jason B. SGT US Army-

"This is it...open it."

She said looking at one of the security personal, who walked to the door, opening it and sliding the gurney out and stepped back. The female unzipped the body bag, pulling a PDA looking device from her belt and withdrew a syringe from her coat pocket before sticking it in the bodies arm and withdrawing blood until filled. The syringe then was placed in the device and the woman began pressing buttons.

'Well...did I waste my time coming here or not Dr Kennington?"

"No...it appears not Mr Zimmerman...It matches... It's a perfect match for our criteria... one hundred over one hundred sir."

The leader of the group gave a satisfied grin before turning to leave, offhandedly speaking over his shoulder.

"Bag him Dr Kennington...I want him in the Prometheus Program...and do be careful... He's soon to be worth more than Bill Gates could ever dream of."

Dr Kennington began prepping the cadaver for transport, before studying her new project that lay before her.

"Who are you going to be Mr Bjornsen when were done with you...if we even succeed... let's begin our journey shall we?"

She said softly before nodding for her helpers to continue.

~End Flashback-

AN: R&R Please. :D Poll in profile for who should be paired with my OC.