(A/N): Hey all! So this isn't my first fanfic I've posted on here, under a different name, but this will be the first Arrow centric story. Hopefully I can stick with it and get this one finished. I can't promise a stric publishing schedule, because of school and work it leaves me with little free time. But have no fear! This story likes to pester me with ideas so I will always be writing to keep you guys happy. :) Without further ado...enjoy!

It all seemed so surreal to her as she stood in place, looking through the thirty-two by twenty-eight inch glass window that separated her waking nightmare and her wildest fleeting dreams. If someone had walked up to her and told her she would have laughed it off. She would have been mildly insulted that anyone would have the audacity, only before threatening to burn everything around them to the ground. All veiled in subtle phrases, however, because no one would ever believe her willing to do so.

"Over thirty percent of his body is covered in scar tissue."

She remembered when the news first came to her. She remembered denying it at first, yelling at the person that it was all fabricated. A ruse to catch her off-guard, to harm her family. Then the pieces fell into place. The lack of contact, the missed calls, the growing pit of dread in her very being as she lay awake at night wondering. She remembered, when it finally sunk in, her legs unable to hold her as she fell weeping, crying out her very soul as her world shattered around her. She remembered feeling broken. She walked the same route through her home every day, her hope that if she could just make it around the next corner her despair would end.

It never came.

"He also has fourteen fractures that never properly healed, not including the burn marks and various other wounds."

She remembered a daughter lost and scared crying for her mother to help her understand. How the despair turned to anger at the lack of response. How that anger was molded into spite and then forged into to recklessness. She remembered coming home to find her daughter in handcuffs for shoplifting, or find her bruised and split open from a fight she had no business starting (in her eyes, her daughter being surprisingly vocal to contradict her). How could she help her understand when she had no idea how to fix herself? She remembered when lies and deceit became routine for her. The thought of continuing her late husband's morally construed agenda under his oldest friend's guidance weighed heavily on her. Under that guidance she lied and manipulated her web of secrets, doing whatever necessary to keep what was left of her family safe.

And that was when her doorbell rang unexpectedly. She remembered as she stood in her doorway staring at a tall, British, dark skinned man dressed in an overly expensive suit with a bouquet of her favorite flowers. A well-spoken, stern, and focused man standing in her porch blubbering like a summer intern. She remembered how surprised and happy it made her that she readily accepted his invitation.

It was her escape. And her darkened world seemed a shade lighter.

"He has been quiet so far."

She remembers, after having her world turn upside down and then slowly picked back up, the call that seemed to both tear back down and build back up said world in the span of roughly nine minutes and twenty-seven seconds. A hole, she had led herself to believe was healed, opened back up and fixed itself properly. She could remember feeling a weight lift and as she once again found herself on the floor crying, her husband and daughter hovering above her asking if she was alright. And she remembered thinking that at that moment she could finally speak the truth.

"And the man he came in with will not leave his side." The doctor's faint touch on her arm brought her out of her trance. There was someone else with him? Could she afford to have two miracles in one night? "I want you to prepare yourself. The Oliver you lost will not be the one they found."

To hear of the injuries and trauma he most likely endured, Moira Queen was anything but naive enough to believe anything less. She placed her hand on the knob and after a nod from the doctor opened the door softly. With shaking limbs, her heart in her throat, and her whole body feeling compressed, she stepped into the room.

"Oliver?" As he turned to look at her, she was shocked to see the differences from the last time she saw him. His face, once so full of childlike joy and happiness, now seemed like a stranger to her with shadows and a refined jawline. Moira was amazed how much older and more mature Oliver looked. Gone was the shaggy hair and clean shaven face, in its place was cropped hair and a permanent five o'clock shadow. His eyes were seemingly darker and she noted how they swept over the room, taking in every detail, before landing on hers. She watched in confusion as his eyes narrowed and held her in place, peering right through her like he was coming to the conclusion that she was no immediate threat. His whole stance softened as his lips curved up in a small smile and she let out a breath she did not realize she was holding.

"Are you just going to stand and stare, Kid?" That one statement seemed to snap Oliver out of whatever daze he was in and brought Moira's attention to the other man in the room. She noted his foreign accent and dark complexion. The way his eyes seemed dark and wild like her son's, taking in the room in one large sweep. His short dark hair and stubble matched Oliver's and the hospital scrubs did little to hide his muscular physique. Her lips twitched in amusement; he could easily dwarf most of her security. At her gaze the man bowed his head in acknowledgment, "You must be Oliver's mother. Slade Wilson. The kid had quite a bit to say about you."

Oliver snorted in mild protest, and at Moira's arched look raised his hands in defense. "All nice things, I swear."

Moira smiled as Slade tilted his head knowingly at Oliver, the hidden smirk evident. She watched the silent conversation the two had in front of her and not able to stand it any longer, crossed the room and enveloped Oliver in a crushing hug. She felt her son tense at the sudden contact and wondered what had happened to make him freeze like that. It was forgotten immediately when her son wrapped his arms around her tightly, quieting her softly as she let a pent up sob escape her.

"My beautiful boy…I'm so glad you're home." Oliver hummed his agreement as he moved to hold her at arms-length his gaze moving up and down.

"You don't look any different Mom."

Moira smiled and felt herself blush at the praise. She could say the same for her son, except that would not be true at all. Everything about him, from his posture to his features and voice seemed drastically different than five years ago. A pang in her chest formed at the thought of him coming home, her eyes dropping to stare at the ground.

Oliver noticed his mother's sudden discomfort. He placed his thumb under her chin and made her look up at him, "Mom? What's going on? How come Thea isn't here with you?" At her slight shudder and refusal to meet his gaze, Oliver's grip on her tightened somewhat as his soft quiet voice dropped into an almost growl at his next words. He had figured something was off the moment he realized Thea was not present. "Don't lie and say she's fine."

Moira gasped and stepped back, wringing her hands together as her son stepped into her personal space, towering over her. "Oliver please! I just had the miracle of having my own son-"

"Where. Is. She?" With each punctuated word that formed Oliver felt his control rapidly spinning away. He closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, calming himself. Once calmed, he fixed his mother with a piercing gaze, "How long has she been missing?"

He noticed how nurses crowded the windows outside the room to steal a look at the castaway returned home and why he was so upset; how Slade sat rigid in his hospital bed next to Oliver's, all relaxation on the man's face erased at the mention of his friend's plight. He also noticed how his mother seemed to shrink in silent despair; how her shoulders straightened as she composed herself before taking a steady breath. "Ever since the…tragedy Thea has been acting out. Going to parties late at night, shoplifting, coming home drunk. I always thought that it was to get closer to you and it was her way of coping. I paid it no mind. Until she came home one night, crying because a boy she met at a party tried to drug her." By now Oliver was staring holes in the far window, his jaw ticked and fists clenched at the mention of someone trying to harm his Thea. "I talked her out of trying to have him arrested and she went on as usual. Nothing else happened for years, until a week before today. She was out partying with friends from school…" Moira stopped suddenly, fighting the emotions that were threatening to tear her apart. "Oliver, it's the same group that took you and her before."

Oliver and Thea always had a natural bond with each other. They could always tell when the other was worried or sad or in trouble. That bond only strengthened when a month before Oliver and their father set sail for China when Thea had been abducted on her way home from school. Oliver had been with her picking her up from school. After Robert Queen closed down his factory, putting hundreds of people without a job and on the street, some of his former employees had taken it upon themselves to enact revenge. It turned out that they were a part of one of the cruelest and notorious gangs in Starling City. Oliver and Thea had been held captive for three days with no food and barely enough water before a ransom had been sent out electronically. With the help of a computer-genius friend of Oliver's and an outside security consultant, it had taken the family another three days to track them down. (1)

Oliver remembered the beatings they received as they waited. That did nothing to stop the torture he and his sister endured. He remembered with each passing day how the number of 'exercises' increased, like it was some sort of punishment. To Oliver, it felt like it was. That was the first time he felt guilty about how he had wasted his life. He remembered how the men would target Thea, singling her out in their twisted way of breaking him. As he listened to his sister's cries and screams as she was being sexually assaulted and beaten right next to him, it was the first time he remembered the pure rage and anger that gripes him. The need to lash out and kill the ones that were harming his sister. The memories haunted him more than Lian Yu. Before he realized it, he was outside the hospital and headed towards the family car with his mother and some nurses yelling for him to stop. He was about to open the door when he heard Slade's voice pierce through the crowd of people.

"Oliver!" The man in question froze, eyes snapping up to meet his mentor's. Slade's face was set in stone, expressionless except for the fire that blazed in his eyes. "Сделайте их страдать." (2)

Oliver stared at his mother who was trying frantically to get out of Slade's grip on her arm. Her eyes were pleading with her son to stay, to forget about rescuing Thea on his own and be safe. He knew why she wanted this, but he never was one to stay idle. Oliver would not be lying if the sight did not strike a chord in him. He felt a tug at his heart that he had not felt in five years. He closed his eyes, got in the car, and tore out of the parking lot. Now that he could do something, he would not rest until Thea was safe in his arms.

XxX

"Stop! Please, no more! I'll do anything just don't touch me!" A smack echoed of the walls followed by a shriek and quiet sobs.

"You don't seem to get it, I control you now. And I'll do what I want."

"No! Stay away!" The screeching sound of a chair raking against concrete echoed again, followed by a manic laugh.

In a room next door a man rolled his head back, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block the noise out. Death wasn't supposed to be so loud. His eyes snapped open at that thought and swept around the dimly lit room. He tried to raise a hand to his aching head only to realize his arms were tied behind him to a wooden chair. He blinked slowly as his mind caught up to the fact he was still alive, tied to a wooden chair no less. A low laugh rumbled through him as he pulled on his restraints. He took stock of himself: whatever injuries he had were minor, half nude except for a loose pair of cargos that he did not remember receiving, his bare-feet scraping the concrete floor. Voices floating outside the room turned his attention to the door beside him. He slowed his breathing and lowered his head as the door opened. A side glance found two men in black arguing with each other, fully equipped for a small war.

"And I told you it wouldn't be a problem. The guy hasn't moved for three hours. Wherever Hector found him, he'll be no trouble."

"I don't know, Jas. It seems fishy to me. I mean he freaking appears out of nowhere and Hector expects us to be cool about it." The taller man, Jas, looked over and sighed before walking up to the man in the chair. He circled around him before bringing the butt of his weapon and smashing it into his chest. The man groaned as he fell backwards, hitting the floor hard. Jas stood over him and pulled him back up.

"Now that I have your attention, why don't you tell me what you're doing here?" The man kept his head bowed, his shoulders shaking in concealed laughter. Jas stood, "fine have it your way," He said, as the butt of the gun collided with the man's head throwing him to the floor a second time.

"We won't get anythin' from 'im if you keep pounding!" The shorter man piped up, coming to stand next to his hot tempered associate. Jas grumbled in acknowledgment, using his foot to bring the chair back up. Neither of them took into account that the man had two shards of wood hidden in hid palms until it was too late. Using the momentum of the chair, glad his feet weren't tied as well, the man surged forward plunging the wooden shards into his captors. They didn't have time to scream as they fell to the floor in a crumpled heap of flesh and blood.

The man groaned slightly as his aching muscles protested the quick movements. Checking the bodies for anything valuable, he stripped them of their knives and grenades leaving the guns where they were. They would be too noisy and only end up being a hindrance. Stepping into the lit portion of the room he was in, the man rubbed the blood from his dog tags, revealing the writing underneath.

Major M. Shepard
Systems Alliance N7
Co. 105th Ptl.
KIA Aug 13, 2173. (3)

Endnotes:

1. Kudo's to the first one who can guess who I'm referring to here. :)

2. The most literal translation (from Google translate) was Make them suffer.

3. Now I have no idea how Mass Effect likes to format their dog tags. It was never shown in game. If anyone knows, please let me know so I can make corrections.

(A/N): So if you haven't figured out, this will be a crossover (well, sort of lol) of Arrow and Mass Effect. Shepard is not canon. He is my own thought up creation as i was toying around with the idea of making an AU ME story line. But I figured it would be easier to write him in here. If anyone wnts to know his origins and back-story, PM me and I'll be glad to share. Or if you think I should explain it in the next chapter let me know.

Now, onto other things. I want this to be an engaging story. What I mean is, I want you as readers to give me suggestions on what you'd like to see next chapter, and any other chapters afterwards. I have most of the main plot bunnies written, but for little things like: character interactions, conversations, or any other little bits you guys want to read, I'd like to know your input for things you want me to add in. :)

So let me know what you think, and always R&R. Helps me get excited about writing faster. :)