Commander Lyra Shepard
Service No. 5923-AC-2826
14 June 2183
Personal Log 113:
It's the old man's birthday today. What is he now, fifty-six? Seven? Another year he hasn't keeled over from alcohol poisoning or something, anyway. At least, I think—I mean, it's not like I've checked in on him lately. Nobody's contacted us about his passing or anything, though, so he must be doing fine, at least for now. Modern medicine really is amazing, but there's still only so much it can do. It won't do him much good if he keeps undoing everything they fix with his carelessness.
Still, I wonder if he's picked himself up and gotten his life together by now…
Hah. Nah. Fat chance. He's lost everything. If he couldn't pull it together back then, he sure as hell couldn't now.
…I don't know, maybe Xander and I really should visit him one of these days… it's been years. Of course, we had every right to leave, but I don't know—I don't really feel angry too often anymore. I feel like I can only hold onto a grudge for so long before it starts to feel pointless.
That same sentiment felt like it could apply to more than just her father.
The so-called "First Contact War", or rather "only contact" so far—it's been dragging on for over two decades, escalating into a terrible total war that consumed all of humanity's focus and resources. For their first encounter with alien lifeforms, things went about as well as many people feared. They weren't exactly the gray amorphous blobs that had been depicted in sci-fi vids for about two centuries. No… they were much more terrifying. Everything about them screamed predator, from their vicious talons and scaly-looking plates to that sharp deadliness in their eyes. At this point, humans would have preferred time-traveling to the age of dinosaurs rather than space exploration in an age where dinosaurs just so happen to have spaceships and lasers.
Yet there was nothing they could do to change this current situation—they were locked in what appeared to be an eternal stalemate with some of the most terrifying and brilliant aliens they could have ever encountered, and even their most determined of efforts only served to slow what seemed like their inevitable extinction as soon as their resources or willpower ran dry. It was because of this war that nearly every family lived in poverty and fear. It was because of this war that all hopes of conquering and understanding the vast reaches of space seemed to crawl out of reach with each soldier's last breath.
It was because of this war that she was here now, floating across enemy space discreetly within one of their ships.
It was a stroke of luck that they'd managed to get a hold of a small transport model that the scientists were willing to let go. Any ship that the Alliance had managed to capture typically went into labs for studying. Not that it was a bad thing—analyzing their ships allowed them to find structural weaknesses and understand the technology behind their unique brand of space travel. They were heavily armed, but a well-aimed shot to the barrier projectors just below their frontal weapons tended to weaken their shields faster than normal. Their travel seemed to be based on mass effect physics, but they clearly had a much more finessed grip on the concept compared to humans. The adaptation of several of their innovations had managed to greatly improve human ships' speed and maneuverability.
However, the most important advantage thus far had been the turians themselves, prisoners of war intensively studied within secluded labs. All was fair in this war, when it meant fighting back the possibility of the complete genocide of the human race. The more gruesome and fatal parts of study had subsided by now, but a more complete understanding of their language and culture had yet to be grasped. Still, with what they knew, a rudimentary translator had been created and implemented to eavesdrop on communications hacked into from comm buoys, allowing humans to gain an upper hand by attempting to translate various enemy movements. They'd also even managed to implant a few false leads, but that was a riskier business—any sort of odd message, just confusing or even primitive in grammar and vocabulary, and the turians might catch onto the fact that their language was no longer safe to speak in alone without additional coded measures.
It was the best chance the humans had to turn the tide of war, and this crew was at the forefront of that wave of change. They were taking on a mission of espionage, observing enemy lines and patterns, listening and watching for any and all weaknesses and openings that they could relay to their main forces. In short, the stakes couldn't be higher—this mission could make or break their advantage. If they were caught, the turians would figure out just what the humans were really capable of, and they could definitely adapt to ensure all attempts at future reconnaissance would fail miserably.
If they were caught… well, she didn't want to dwell on what else that might mean.
"Hey, Ly." A familiar voice sounded from behind, the owner of the nickname turning to spy a mischievous grin.
Lieutenant Alexander Shepard—he was her older brother by six years, and honestly her whole reason for being here. He'd always been her rock, her role model to this day, even though she had eventually achieved a higher rank and N designation than he. She followed him with every footstep he made, yet even when he stopped travelling down a path, she continued, hoping to become someone that could protect him as he had done for her long ago. It felt like the least she could do for him.
"Two drinks if they've got a ship bigger than ol' Everest." He leaned casually against the metal rails next to a glowing screen with various status reports, blue eyes shining with confidence.
"Seriously?" An eyebrow quirked as the younger Shepard appraised him. The SSV Everest was nothing short of a technological marvel, an innovative and massive design that ultimately required the new classification of "dreadnought" to be implemented. "You're on. That thing's a monster. I feel like these guys are more about quantity, anyway."
"Not so sure about that." His head tilted back lightly, expression filling with amusement. "You've seen how ridiculously militant they are. Nothing says 'I can kick your ass' like 'hey, I have a massive ship.' Intimidation is half the battle."
"Fair point." The female Shepard conceded, gaze downcast as a hand held her chin lightly. He was right—practically every sort of conflict that caused new technology to be developed in human history was essentially the equivalent of a size contest. Surely their enemies had some sort of alien equivalent.
Yet that meant there was a good chance she lost this bet. "Damn," The hand shifted to rub her forehead as a heavy sigh escaped pale lips. "Can I back out?"
"Nope, already committed to it." Xander turned with his hands stretching behind his head and began slowly prancing away. Even though all that she saw was dirty blonde hair, she was sure his emerald eyes were gleaming bright with triumph. "I'm thinking of going for something expensive this time, like that nice bar in London."
The woman's arms crossed under her chest, lips pursing lightly as she turned from his retreating form. "You do that, and I'll have to cash in that favor you owe me for covering your ass while you were hungover from last shore leave. You know, Gardner's been hoping to have someone taste-test some new dishes…"
The sound of footsteps halted—she imagined him turning around with an expression that was a strange mix of amusement and horror like he always did. "Ouch. Now that's just cruel."
She turned to face him, eyes meeting in a challenge. "Eye for an eye."
"Empty pockets are nothing compared to his oh-so glorious 'mystery meat surprise.'" His last words were emphasized with dramatic jazz hands, the younger Shepard snorting in amusement.
"What, you'd rather starve?"
"At least I know how to stomach hunger."
His last words had meant to be just as teasing as the rest—she knew that—but the implications behind them caused the smile to fall from her face as memories resurfaced. Crowded slums on Earth. A father that was a ghost of what he once was. An endless struggle for survival. It wasn't something either sibling liked to think about, but it was definitely something that had shaped most of their lives. Sure made the struggles of the military a bit easier to handle, though.
"You'll owe me all the drinks it takes to knock me flat on my ass if we get out of this place." His words drew her out of her reverie, the atmosphere lightening as their causal banter continued.
"Hey, nobody said I was betting on getting attacked here. But that's fine with me, regardless—you're a lightweight."
"I'm cost-efficient." He corrected, a cheeky look crossing his features. "Besides, you have no room to talk. You still can't remember the hotel disaster from—"
"I swear you'll lose your tongue if you say one more word about it." Green eyes narrowed dangerously, a lighthearted smile betraying the seriousness of her threat, but not entirely.
"Hey, just trying to have a bit of fun while we can." The older Shepard sighed as his gaze shifted to a few of the monitors nearby, statistics and schematics in an unknown language a subtle but hard-hitting reminder of where they were, and the risks that hung like boulders across their shoulders.
"Nervous, Xander? Don't worry, it's just about our most daring mission to date." The upbeat sarcasm seemed to lift the corners of his mouth a bit, but not his spirits.
"Yeah. Simple as N-School had been." The sarcasm was returned half-heartedly, something deep within keeping his gaze from meeting hers. The fearless Lieutenant, avoiding eye contact? This was more serious than she'd thought.
"Xander." Her voice rose stern yet gentle, demanding his attention yet pleading for him to understand. "Everything will be fine. And if everything hits the fan, you know we'll find a way out of it."
A curt nod and the sight of the back of his head was her reply, a carefully guarded expression peeking over his shoulder at her as he paused in his sudden departure. "I need to get back to the comms. You should take a rest—pacing around isn't doing you any good, you know."
The edge of her mouth twitched at the observation, fighting the urge to resume the restless wandering she'd been engaged in before he approached as his figure disappeared through a sliding metal door. Okay, maybe he wasn't the only one apprehensive about this mission, but who wouldn't be? This was the closest the Alliance had ever gotten to blending in with the enemy, and they couldn't do anything except just sit around and gather intelligence. She was a soldier used to action, not bated-breath waiting.
Not that she had to wait for very long, anyway.
"Commander. Fighter ship in view, seems to be approaching." A bit of crackled static announced the firm voice of Joker, the only pilot she'd ever trusted to keep everyone safe from sticky situations. She hoped to the gods that today would be no different.
"Is the Lieutenant back at comms yet?" The hardened voice of a leader sprang from Shepard's usual gentle alto, the sharp and articulated tone filling the area and filtering its way through the ship's internal communications system.
"Just got an update from him. Currently transferring the falsified authorization of a delayed cargo transport arrival and the alternative route data due to avoiding the battle zone. Should be clear in a few moments."
"Understood." The reply came short and terse, nerves that wanted to bubble to the surface quickly extinguished by years of emotional training. Focus. Be ready for anything. That's all she needed to think about right now.
"Er, scratch that, Commander. Not clear. Not clear at all. They're suspicious and wanting to come aboard."
A hand instinctively flew to the pistol at her hip, making her way towards the bridge as she ran through a mental checklist of her equipment. "What tipped them off?"
"No idea. Everything should have been solid. They might just have sticks up their asses like some of our own leaders." Though the situation was chokingly intense, he sounded almost amused.
"Joker, just get us out of here. Now."
The ship jolted forward in response, a quick swerve to the right, then left—
A soft explosion rocked the ship in an unsettling way just as Shepard found her way into the cockpit.
"Status?" The demand assaulted the back of Joker's head, the faded cap he always wore the only part of him visible over the large seat.
"This thing isn't as nimble as Alliance vessels." An annoyed sigh created a brief interlude in his words, too engrossed in the various foreign controls and displays to look back at her. "These dinosaurs knew right where to target. FTL drive can't discharge. Unless you want us to cook in our own hull like a nice human stew, we're going to have to outrun them the old-fashioned way."
"Then do it!"
"A 'please' would be nice, you know." The pilot's familiar confident grin lit up his face, calming Shepard as she gripped a bit of nearby railing to steady herself as the ship furiously dodged oncoming attacks. It seemed like every few seconds, there would be a distressing rumble and another alarm would start blaring or another status warning would flash in a foreign language on one of the various displays. If this kept up—
"Second fighter, straight ahead. This isn't looking good, Commander." A string of mental curses ran through her head as the swaying continued, the rumbles of direct hits sounding progressively worse until suddenly the lights flickered off, the dim display of Joker's controls casting an eerie orange glow across the room.
"Rough hit. Thrusters are disabled." It was the first time he had looked at her this whole time, and his expression said more than words could express. "Great news—we're sitting ducks."
So that was it. This is how it all ended. Stranded in the middle of enemy space, awaiting the barrage of attacks that would come and tear their vessel to shreds, and the last thing she ever heard would be Joker's half-hearted sarcasm.
Yet surely their demise should have happened by now?
"They're not attacking." The statement was simple, matter-of-fact.
"You're right. They're approaching."
Whether they wanted to watch the lights leave their eyes or to check and see if they were just suspicious turians, this was good news for the humans. Face-to-face meant they could fight back. Face-to-face meant they had a chance at survival.
"How much time?"
"Two minutes."
"Re-route some of the emergency power and tap me into the ship's comms." Momentary silence filled the air between them as his fingers danced across the controls, giving her a short nod of affirmation as he leaned back into his seat.
"Everyone, gear up and be ready for a fight on the bridge. Our enemy is trying to board. Stay strong, and we'll all make it out of this." She was still trying to convince herself that her last sentence was true, but maybe if she said it enough, it could become a reality.
An odd sound echoed dully into the room, causing Joker's attention to shift to a hologram of the ship, a few areas blinking with turian words Shepard couldn't quite understand as easily as Joker could. "They're attempting to breach the main entry. Wait—the lower level hatch, they've managed to bust through!"
"I'll handle the lower, everyone else needs to focus on the main!" Her pistol found its way into her hand as she dashed away, the bridge dimly lit by the blue emergency floor lights as they guided her way to the lower level's door, avoiding running into her comrades as they apprehensively readied themselves to hold their ground. Joker routed a bit of power into the door as she approached it, slipping through and down a short flight of stairs until she quietly slipped into a nearby doorway, left open in its powerless state.
Two hulking yet slender figures rounded a corner and made their way down the hall, guns steady and footsteps light. In the dim emergency lights, their silhouettes moved slowly, smoothly—it was clear they were well-trained, but so was she. They began their sweep of the area, blissfully unaware of the small human watching from the shadows.
Perfect.
Two shots to the head sent one of the beasts to the floor—at least that was a weakness regardless of species. The other shoved one of the tables on its side, scattering odd metal and plastic-like objects as her third shot embedded itself in the makeshift metal shield. Resourceful bastard.
Her aim explored the edges, anticipating when some part of the alien would inevitably come out of hiding. Breaths came shallow and almost imperceptible as she steadied her hands. It couldn't hide forever. This thing was as good as dead already.
So she waited.
And waited.
Everything was still. Everything was silent. Yet still she waited.
…The hell? Her fist collided with the gray wall, echoing dully throughout the area, hoping to draw attention.
Yet there was nothing.
Seriously? Nothing? That couldn't possibly be right—it would have retaliated by now, tried to communicate to its comrades somewhere on the ship, it would have done something, anything. Yet there was no sound, no sight of her adversary, almost as if it vanished into thin air as soon as it hid itself.
No, that's impossible and ridiculous. There was no intel showing they ever had a way to turn freaking invisible. She waited more, willing her hands to stay still as they starting to shake slightly from the tension. Still nothing. Another turian didn't even appear like she expected them to, even though surely they were searching the whole ship for survivors by now. More should have come and found her by now. Why was there only this one here? Was it even here anymore?
Was it even there anymore?
The question gave her a start, her razor-sharp focus on the table beginning to soften and drift around the room warily. Could it have escaped? Did it somehow sneak around the few areas in the room that were too dark to detect movement in? Or did it somehow have access to some sort of discreet teleportation?
Well, there was no sense in just sitting here wondering about it. It was either investigate or wait too long and risk fatiguing her senses or—even worse—falling under a surprise attack.
Her cautious eyes still burning holes into the table, she took a hesitant step out of her cover. The sound of her boot echoed lightly within the silent graveyard of the walls. She tensed at the sound, waiting for any consequence of her movement. Still nothing. Was the coast really clear?
Then she took a second step.
A sudden sound. A sharp pain in the hand.
Definitely not clear. She staggered back into cover, mind reeling as she tried to process what just happened. It was still there behind the table. She shot, an unprepared shot connecting with its shoulder. As for its own shot…
Great. Just great. A curse seethed through her gritted teeth as she pried the bloodied gun from her left hand. The metal of the bullet shined a grotesque red through the ripped flesh of her palm. Despite the pain, an annoyed yet impressed huff flowed into the air. Smart bastard—it waited for her to take a bold step, to believe it had somehow escaped. This thing used tactics that she hadn't anticipated. Honestly, they just seemed too savage to use anything other than strength and precision to win. Yet here she was with a hole in her dominant hand and an almost dumbfounded expression on her face. Maybe it was a good thing Xander wasn't around. He'd never let her live this down, both getting outsmarted by these brutes and for underestimating their potential.
She glanced around for something to staunch the bleeding, wondering if it was worth it to dart back into the room and risk the beast charging for her while she attempted to care for her wound. Probably not—she didn't know what half the things were around this ship, and it's not like she could see well in this darkness anyway. It wasn't a good idea to play nurse with foreign objects and a blindfold.
Aside from that, she was just beyond pissed off. It wanted to play dirty? Well, she had some tricks up her own sleeve.
Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she gingerly picked up the gun again, her right hand reaching for the metal object at her belt. Hiding out was getting her nowhere. It might be risky to try physical combat with such a bulky enemy, but her small size had been an advantage in most other occasions. If she could just create one opening, this could all be over.
The smoke grenade from her belt was tossed into the room, eyes closing and body turning away until the familiar bright flash lit up the wall she was facing. With a deep breath, she rolled into the room, hearing the blinded shots whiz over her, deadly if she had been standing. Her leg collided with something on the floor, squinting into the dense fog to grasp the object and launch it at the turian. There was a sharp clang as it connected with the gun trying desperately to find her, confusion buying her enough time to hop to her feet and charge.
Her body rammed the table, the impact toppling it over to its original position. On its flat surface, the human wobbled unsteadily—the long metal bars that acted as the table's legs had trapped the turian under her weight. It thrashed with a vicious snarl, trying to free itself. She only had moments before it succeeded.
Quick motions brought her to the end of the table, gun almost poised to shoot underneath when she was suddenly sent spilling over the edge. It was faster than she thought—she was losing the advantage. A second later and she would have been crushed under the table. Her hand flew to the knife at her side as she regained her footing after her hasty dodge. The alien began to stand. She lunged.
Then everything froze.
The cold metal of her jagged knife hovered close to the leather-like skin of its neck, pistol pressed threateningly to a similar texture on its chest. The beast's own oddly-designed gun was shoved uncomfortably into her throat while a strange, glowing orange blade came to rest against her abdomen.
There they stood, stiller than death, more furious than a raging volcano. Forest eyes burned into beady sapphires—alien staring at alien, enemy glaring at enemy.
An impasse.
An oddly impressive one, at that, she realized with a strange amount of casual observation. It seemed unlikely that something with this thing's height and lack of apparent flexibility could match her, yet here they were. It had strength, she had agility, but both clearly had extensive training when it came to fighting the other species.
Yet it was the eyes that told her more than actions—or rather, what she saw within them past the cold hatred that was mirrored within her own gaze as they continued their silent challenge, daring the other to be the weaker one and break eye contact first. A blue fire raged within the depths of its very soul, the flames fed by unwavering determination and intimidating skill. It was the very same fuel that powered her own life.
A worthy opponent, to say the least—to find a familiar drive within someone so foreign was unexpected, yet appreciated. Were all turians like this? No wonder the war had gone on for so long. Neither race would back down first, even if it meant the gradual yet complete disintegration of both.
Despite herself, she laughed darkly, the turian tensing at the unknown sound. "Not bad, ugly." She remarked, confidence brimming in her intimidating sneer. "Didn't think you could keep up."
Its response came in the form of various flanging snarls, its voice razor-sharp with its subvocals resonating with what might have been snark or anger, considering the acidic feeling it left sizzling on the human's neck. The slightest sound of blood dripping onto the metal floor filled the tense silence that came after, her red blood and its odd blue fluids mingling into a disturbing purple below. The orange aura of its omni-tool gently illuminated their faces, the turian's blue colony marks almost brown in the light. Its breath ghosted hot against her skin, dangerously close enough to rip its fangs into her throat, if it could move closer without her impaling a rather thick and important-looking tendon in its neck.
Yet something seemed off about its demeanor. She expected more ferocity, more effort to get the upper hand on her instead of staying frozen in this stalemate. Instead, the rough plates on its face were set in a stoic look, at least compared to its earlier savagery during their struggle. It reminded her of moments before, when it was deathly quiet while it hid behind the table—it was planning something. It was waiting for something.
The softest footstep caused her to whirl partially to the side, the knife still hovering in its threatening place as her gun moved to quickly shoot once, twice between the eyes of another turian that had snuck down the stairs and had just begun to raise its rifle.
Yet that was all the distraction the other turian needed—it sidestepped away from her knife as she vainly slashed in its direction, her gun raising and her body moving until—
Until her vision was filled with nothing but the floor, head throbbing and spinning in a vicious whirlwind.
What happened? Her mind reeled as she vaguely recalled the dull crack of something against her skull, adrenaline coursing through her veins as her gun raised towards the blur of a turian above. Yet she was too slow—the turian easily disarmed her, the hand with the knife wildly flailing until finally that was knocked out of her grasp, too.
A crushing pressure came to stomp down against her chest, holding her in place with what she assumed was the heavy weight of its body through a large, taloned foot. She struggled to free herself, but between the vice crushing her firmly down into the floor and the dizzy pain clawing at her senses, she couldn't muster the strength. Screaming at herself to move, her strategic mind clicked into action as her hand clawed for another smoke grenade at her belt, tossing it towards what she hoped was its face as the fog spread across her already blurry vision.
It stumbled, the weight falling off of her chest just a bit, but it was all she needed. Her arms reached up to snatch its leg, yanking it and sending the turian to the floor with an ungraceful thump. A quick roll took her out of its immediate range, heart thrumming as a hand found the small pistol hidden in an ankle holster. The gun was raised to aim.
Crack. Through the smoke, she had seen the butt of its rifle racing towards her head a second too late. Before she realized it, the overwhelming weight of its form held down her chest again, but she couldn't will her body to retaliate. Between her screaming survival instincts and her mental curses of frustration, she should have managed to do something, anything. Yet here she lay, waiting for a death that should have come by now, until a question slowly dawned on her like a creeping smog burning her insides like acid.
Why hadn't she seen any bodies?
In her dizzy moment of staring at the floor, even when she'd first made her way down here, she hadn't seen any dead humans—not even a drop of blood. The engineers—they would have stayed down here to try to make the ship functional again so they could escape. They would have fought with the minimal combat training they had. Why weren't there any signs of a struggle?
Yet the answer was already smacking her in the face, sending her world spinning even more than the blows to her head had done.
She hadn't seen any bodies of her comrades because they didn't kill anyone.
There weren't any corpses. There were only prisoners.
Something blurred fast in the edge of her vision, and then there was nothing but blissful darkness.
It's been a while since I've delved into the fanfic world, and I've gotta say, it feels good to be back! This idea's been bubbling in my head for a few weeks now, and I'm really excited to keep it going and see where it leads.
Things may seem a bit unclear right now, but fear not! The next chapter will clarify a lot of the details regarding the history of this particular timeline, but I'm always open to answering questions at any point in time and receiving critiques to improve my writing.
Until next time! :)