AN: This is a complete rewrite of a previous story, and a lot of things have/will change. Long story short, ME3 was so awful it inspired me to start writing again. This fic is a retelling of the story of Commander Shepard and crew, but there are a few things that are not canon.
1. I am trying to portray each character in a slightly different light than they are usually seen, while sticking to the core aspects of their personality.
2. There will eventually be a Femshep/Ashley romance, but it will be done tastefully, so fear not. It was total BS that they made Kaidan available for ManShep in ME3 but not Ash for FemShep. Still, if it bothers you, move along.
3. There are minor OC's (inspired by the crewmembers whose dogtags can be found at the Normandy Crash Site)
Also, since I'm assuming people who read this have played the games, I won't spend a lot of time methodically going through the missions (they'll obviously be included, but these are things that are knowns). I'd rather focus on the unknowns/ambiguities.
AN2: The first chapter is a prologue of sorts, a snippet of each of our heroes' lives on the eve of the events of Mass Effect. Just to be clear what's going on.
Through the unrelenting wind we march
For our country, for our home
Into hell we charge
Onward we march
To death, victory, and glory
Soldiers of fortune, masters of war
Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko held his hand up in a closed fist, signaling the soldiers to wait. He got down on his stomach and crawled to the top of the hill. From his vantage point, he could clearly see the pirate camp in the valley below. Several humans and a few krogan paced the camp. There wasn't much – a couple of armored vehicles and a couple of mobile operations units. He rolled over onto his back and motioned for his men to divide into three groups and flank the camp from three sides.
His body glowed blue with raw biotic power as he raced down the hill, rifle in hands. As the stampede of Alliance soldiers sent the camp into chaos, Kaidan focused on the krogan. They would certainly cause casualties if not dealt with quickly. Summoning all the biotic fury he could muster, he launched a sphere of consolidated dark energy at the nearest krogan. The biotic warp did little to take down the armored behemoth's barrier, but it was something.
"Concentrate fire on the krogan!" He ordered amidst the chaos.
A scream rang out from somewhere close by. He briefly poked his head out from behind the armored vehicle he'd taken cover behind, just in time to see the krogan knock one of his men to the ground. The marine's weapon slid across the hard, rocky ground as the krogan lowered his shotgun, holding it point-blank against the soldier's face.
"No!" Kaidan shouted, leaping out from behind the vehicle and putting all his force into a biotic throw. The krogan flew a few feet backwards, but he was evidently a force to be reckoned with. Even with his barrier taken down, his injuries seemed to heal faster than the soldiers could shoot. Worse yet, Kaidan was beginning to feel himself weakening. Even with the augmented power of his carefully-controlled L2 implant, there was only so much a human could do against a krogan.
"Looks like you could use some help!" His XO appeared at his side, shotgun at the ready.
"I was getting to it…" Kaidan grunted.
Before he could say anything, the vanguard launched into the krogan with a biotic charge. The force knocked the krogan back yet again, giving them precious time to pump a few more bullets into his impossibly strong armor. Draining himself of every last ounce of willpower he could muster, Kaidan launched a final biotic warp field straight at the krogan. The sounds of gunfire and shouting began to blur as he focused on his target. Finally, the krogan fell.
As the gunfire ceased, Kaidan slumped to the ground, leaning his head back against the cold, dirt-caked metal of the armored vehicle. He was done. "Let's never do that again."
Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams smiled, reaching over to grab her combat knife off the coffee table. She slid the blade through the packing tape and pulled open the flaps on the reinforced box. Sitting atop the array of neatly organized packages was a small holo-card.
Merry Christmas Ash! Wish you could be here with us. Love, Mom, Abby, Lynn, and Sarah.
"Stuff from your family?"
Ashley turned to see her roommate, Gunnery Chief Allison Baxter, peering over her shoulder at the box.
"Yeah…" Ashley pulled out the first package and opened it. "Homemade blueberry muffins. You want one?"
"Hah, no thanks … too carby for me."
"Come on, Al, it's Christmas!" Ashley threw one of the cakes at Baxter.
Baxter laughed, taking a small bite out of the muffin. "You know, you're lucky to have such a great family."
"I don't know what I'd do without them," Ashley replied.
"They probably don't know what they'd do without you."
"I suppose that's true."
"You okay? You seem a little 'off' today, Ash."
"Yeah. I got a card from one of my buddies from basic. He landed an assignment as weapons specialist for the marine detail on the SSV Bosworth Field. Lucky bastard."
"You really wanna spend months at a time aboard a tiny, cramped, flying can of sardines where you eat nothing but beef and rice for every meal and have to share a sleeper pod with some grungy Earthborn kid who's unaware of the existence of deodorant?"
Ashley laughed. "Bad experience, Chief?"
"You… could say that," Baxter deflected, avoiding Ashley's gaze. "Look, Williams, we've been friends a long time – good friends, even, but there's something I never told you."
Ashley's expression turned to one of concern. "What's up, Al?"
"You ever wonder why they sent an N4 to a boring, backwater colony post?"
Ashley frowned. "I don't follow…"
"I did spend some time on a couple ships, Ash. Specifically, the Passchendaele. I fought at Torfan. And it messed me up, bad. War makes you do things you never dreamed you could."
"I read about that," Ashley turned her gaze toward the floor.
"You read about Torfan? Nothing that made it into the news even comes close to what it was like, Williams. Everyone who set foot on Torfan lost a part of themselves."
"I'm sorry, Al, I didn't know."
"No need to apologize, Ash. I'm just saying … you're a good soldier, but more than that, you've got a good heart. Don't be so quick to rush into battle – enjoy life while everything is still pure and fascinating. Your time will come."
Officer Garrus Vakarian crouched on his stomach, peering through the scope of his sniper rifle. He and his partner, Officer Corvan, were perched precariously atop a stack of storage crates, overlooking the transport docks. Slowly, their objectives appeared, scuttling out from the maze of crates. A lone salarian approached a group of three krogan.
"Well, the bastard's got balls," Corvan whispered.
Garrus glared at the other turian. "Shh…"
They watched intently as the salarian produced a datapad and handed it to one of the krogan. Garrus strained his ears to hear, but they were far away. What the hell is going on? This was supposed to be an arms deal – the datapad must have coordinates to a cache! They needed to get it! As Garrus realized what was going on, the krogan and salarian exchanged nods and turned to part ways. Thinking quickly, the turian leaped down amidst the crates, his pistol at the ready, and sprinted towards the salarian.
"Vakarian, no!" Corvan began, but it was too late.
"C-Sec! Get out of here!" The shouts of krogan and the crashing of metal on metal echoed through the storage docks.
When Corvan finally reached the scene, Garrus' armored, scaly forearm pressed the salarian against a wall. His pistol hovered inches from the salarian's face.
"Where is it?" Garrus growled, his mandibles flaring as he spoke.
"I don't know what you're talking ab—" the salarian stammered.
"We know what you're up to!" Garrus shouted. "You can't—"
"Vakarian!"
Garrus and the salarian both turned to see Corvan standing several meters away, his hand on his pistol, ready to draw.
"If he won't tell us where it is, there's no reason for him to stay alive. We could just end his terror right now – throw him out an airlock. No one will be the wiser."
"It's not right, Vakarian," Corvan shouted. "Let him go. We have nothing to hold him on."
Garrus let out an exasperated grunt as he abruptly released his hold on the salarian. The thin, feeble figure crumpled to the floor.
"We'll get him eventually," Corvan tried to reassure his frustrated partner.
"Will we?" Garrus shot back.
Tali Zorah nar'Rayya was overwhelmed with a maelstrom of emotions – wonder, fear, excitement, apprehension – as she stepped off the shuttle onto the gleaming steel-blue floor of the Citadel. She'd never seen so many people – or so many different species in one place, for that matter. After all, many of the other races regarded the quarians with a degree of apprehension.
"Move along, suit rat!" A human dock worker glared at her as he heaved fuel cables toward the shuttle. His face and hands were caked with grime, and his muscles bulged beneath his soot-coated t-shirt. A cigarette hung from his mouth, and a filthy baseball cap sat awkwardly on his head.
Well, they didn't say it would be easy.
She needed a terminal, and a place to work. Preferably somewhere quiet. She moved hurriedly amidst the crowd of people, clutching the metal case at her side. Suddenly, she felt herself shoved powerfully aside as a turian plowed through the crowd. She reached out to stop herself from falling, inadvertently grabbing a human's arm in the process.
"Watch it!" He pushed her away.
After what seemed like an eternity of navigating crowds, she finally found the place she was looking for. "I need to use a terminal," she said.
"And I need to get laid," the human at the desk replied dryly. He didn't even look up.
"I said—"
"I heard you, lady – you got credits?"
Tali stared at the ground. She'd salvaged a few credit chits from dumpsters and storage containers, but as the quarians operated in isolation for the most part, she'd had no need for credits. Until now.
The human sighed. "Tell you what. Your kind are good with tech, right? I got a whole crap ton of broken parts that might be worth something if they were... not broken. You fix a few of those up, and I'll let you use a terminal."
It was better than nothing. "Okay."
The human showed her to a workstation and heaved a tub of random devices – all in various states of disrepair – onto one end. She said nothing as she pulled the first object out. A simple multiphase induction assembly. Should be easy enough to fix. A food-station VI interface. Tali studied it with a puzzled look. She fixed it, ignoring the obnoxious audio-loops. A robotic door arm … she wasn't sure what type of ship it had come from, but she could fix it.
It wasn't long before she'd worked her way through the entire array of miscellaneous objects. As promised, the human led her to a terminal. Looking around cautiously, she opened the case that had never left her side. A small silver sphere with a single cable port sat inside. As she connected the geth's memory core and pulled the files into the terminal interface, nothing could prepare her for what she was about to find.
Dr. Liara T'Soni knelt amidst the dirt and gravel of Therum's desolate surface, examining the metallic shard in her hands. There was writing on it, but it was only a fragment. This was definitely a Prothean colony. "Iriya?" She called out to her assistant. "Can you tag this sample and take it back to the storage container?"
"Yes, doctor," Iriya made no effort to conceal the tone of annoyance in her voice – Liara was only three years older, and she hated being bossed around by someone who, as far as she was concerned, was her societal equal. Furthermore, she thought interest in the Protheans to be a childish pursuit. What was the point of learning about an extinct species? Real archaeologists studied the origins of cultures that existed today, not ones that disappeared ages ago.
Liara stood and stared out over the rocky landscape. Therum was a maze of jagged towers of rhyolite, jutting up towards the pale orange sky. In the distance, the low rumbling of volcanism echoed through the thin but stable nitrogen and carbon dioxide atmosphere. Far above the surface, powerful winds carried plumes of volcanic ash through the sky, leaving intricate, winding trails in their wake. Ahead of her, a path through the imposing spires seemed to lure her. She wasn't particularly worried about running into any other living being on Therum, but she still exercised caution as she proceeded forward.
The path led up a hill, over a small escarpment, and into a vast, flat basin flanked by steep, imposing walls on all sides. She spotted something – the glint of orange light on metal – about halfway up the wall. Taking care with each move, she scrambled up amidst the fractured rocks toward the object. Reaching a ledge, she steadied herself against the rock wall as she touched the object. It appeared to be part of a long tube – she pulled it towards herself – a thunderous roar erupted as the wall began to give way. Liara jumped quickly to the side, grasping the sharp rocks and flattening herself against the wall. In a matter of seconds, it was over. The asari cautiously opened her eyes, staring down at the pile of talus and settling dust. Turning her gaze back to where the pipe had been, she simply gaped.
"Goddess…"
The sudden removal of thousands of years of tephra had revealed an intricate doorway. The writing on the faded, dirty walls was definitely Prothean. Eagerly, Liara proceeded forward into the ruin, excited about what she might discover in this ancient fortress of a species all but forgotten.
Urdnot Wrex shouted in fury as he charged at the other krogan, his shotgun drawn. Dull thuds sounded as the armored beasts collided – punching, kicking, scratching, and headbutting. Wrex found himself on his back, pinned by the other krogan. He quickly responded with a powerful headbutt – just enough to catch his foe off-guard. Throwing his adversary off, Wrex quickly rolled over, searching for his shotgun amidst the foliage. Too late. The other krogan had risen to his feet, and was pointing an assault rifle directly at Wrex. As the barrel erupted into a flash of light and the incessant ratatatat of automatic fire, Wrex dove behind a massive boulder.
"You messed with the wrong hrakh, Urdnot!" The other krogan roared.
"Evidently, so did you, since my employer sent me to kill you." Wrex's voice was low and determined.
"You're a fucking mercenary. A simple hired-gun. What do you know of loyalty to anyone?"
"Loyalty won't buy your life," Wrex growled as he drew a pistol and aligned the sights with his adversary's head. He fired quickly, not stopping until the weapon overheated. The precise shots were enough to stun the other krogan long enough for Wrex to sprint forward, tackling him to the ground. Wrex quickly rose to his feet, pointing his pistol again at the krogan who now lay panting on the damp, dirty grass.
"Kill me if you want. You know as well as I do we are all dying. People like you serve only to expedite the process."
"I didn't create the genophage. What exactly do you expect me to do about it?"
"You fight for credits. You'd fight alongside turians if they were the highest bidder."
"Not a chance in hell. And this conversation is getting boring. Your time's up."
Wrex pulled the trigger, executing his foe. Beneath the dead krogan's head, yellow-orange blood began to seep out, staining the dark green leaves and soaking into the dirt.
Hah. Wrex thought. I'd fight with turians. Yeah right.
Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau leaned back in the soft leather chairs, his thoughts drifting everywhere but the giant tin can that was his current place of residence. Damn, I need to get back out there, he thought. He closed his eyes, reminiscing about the "glory days" – sitting in the pilot's chair of the SSV Los Angeles, an imposing heavy cruiser that jetted through the void like an unstoppable charging krogan. Under his careful, calculated control, the Los Angeles had single-handedly taken out five mercenary ships in the Attican Traverse before being forced to retreat back to Citadel Space through the mass relay. His actions had made him the recipient of the Flight Expertise medal, but also landed him in an ocean of paperwork.
The brass was concerned about the … damage … that the Los Angeles had sustained during the battle.
Evidently, getting a star on your shoulder-boards means you lose the ability to think.
"Hey, Joker, what's happening?"
"Hey Cohen," Joker nodded at his old-time flight school buddy. "Not a lot. Buried up to my waist in paperwork you know."
Cohen laughed. "Yeah, I heard about what you did out in the Traverse. Drink?" He held two cans of cheap beer. Joker frowned at the dull green cans. "Elysian Wheat." Colony beer tastes like horse piss compared to the stuff they got back on earth. At least it ain't that purple and red asari crap. Being a starship pilot, Joker had seen quite a bit of the galaxy. And being an Alliance soldier, he had a fondness for liquor and was compelled to try the local brews at every port.
"Sure. I ain't going anywhere. So what you been up to since they sent us out into the wide open galaxy?"
"Been flying B-104 Peacemakers off the Oppenheimer. My first real operation was at Torfan … not much to say about that. Just glad I was safe in the cockpit of my bird."
"Lieutenant Moreau." A gruff voice called from the doorway.
"Yeah, wha—sir!" Joker scrambled to set the beer down and stand at attention – not an easy task considering his affliction, Vrolik's Syndrome, made his legs exceptionally unstable.
"As you were. Just wanted to let you know you've been reassigned."
"Sir?"
Admiral Hackett handed Joker a small datapad. The black screen was flashing the words "TOP SECRET CLEARANCE REQUIRED"
"Sir, this says I need a security—"
"That's been taken care of, Lieutenant."
The sun was peeking over the snow-covered peaks of the Wasatch Range as Lieutenant Alexandra Shepard bounded out the door of her apartment and embarked on her morning run through the quiet streets of the base. The orange light glinted off the fresh layer of frost that coated the streets; the air was cold and crisp. She loved the winters on Earth. Many of the colonies, while exotic in their landscapes and climates, were relatively monotonous. Earth had everything – deserts, mountains, jungles, coastlines, forests, plains – everything. It had been a good place for her to come back to after Torfan.
Salt Lake City was a booming metropolis, thanks to the construction of a major Alliance spaceport, but it was still close enough to the remaining pockets of wilderness of western North America that it was easy to get away for a weekend. Not a bad place to be stuck while the Alliance figures out what to do with me, I suppose.
After a thorough investigation into some … unfortunate … allegations against her by her former CO – Staff Commander Patrick Kyle – Shepard had been cleared of all charges, but she feared that her career as an Alliance officer with any real responsibility was over. You got 150 people killed, Shepard. Don't forget that. The cold, bloody war with the batarians on the fringes of the Terminus Systems was slowly winding down, and there was no room for ruthless yet effective officers in Alliance command. Not to mention they don't want your name popping up in any more news vids the batarians can see.
As she turned the corner, she winced slightly, remembering the headlines that had flooded the news channels. "Lt. Shepard: War Hero or War Criminal?" "Alliance Investigates Conduct of Platoon Leader on Torfan." "Hegemony Promises Retribution For Alleged Murder of Batarians" "'I'm not a murderer!' – Lt. Shepard."
That bitch. Khalisah bint-Sinan al-Jilani – the reporter from Westerlund News – had ambushed her the minute the transport docked at Arcturus. Exhausted from the 17-hour journey, despondent over the loss of 3/4 of an entire company, and exasperated from being berated by Commander Kyle, she'd snapped. The still of her face, piercing blue eyes on fire with rage, golden hair hanging loosely across her left eye, had been plastered across peacenik propaganda as evidence that Alliance soldiers were blood-hungry, xenophobic war hawks.
"Shepard?"
The voice startled her as she reached the front steps of her apartment, leaning forward and checking her watch. "Yeah?" She looked up, her deep breaths turning to pale steam in the winter air. "General? What are you doing here?"
"I got an assignment for you."
"With the 406th?" Shepard leaned over, grabbing her water bottle out of the snow bank and taking a swig.
"Nope." He handed her a datapad.
Shepard's face fell. She'd dedicated everything to that unit. They're sending me to some colony shithole to command a fucking security detail. I know it. Mentally bracing herself for the disappointment, she read the orders. "SSV Normandy? I've never heard of it…"
"It was built as part of a top-secret joint task-force venture with the turian military council—"
"Turians? You're shitting me, right? Sir, half the Alliance thinks I'm a xenophobe—"
"It's an Alliance ship, Shepard. In fact, Captain Anderson requested you personally."
"Yeah, I'm sure—wait. Captain Anderson? Captain David Anderson?"
"That would be the one."
Well, that's a relief. At least there's someone in the Alliance who still respects the N7 designation, even if it is another N7.
Shepard nodded. "So when do I ship out?"
"Zero-six-hundred local time tomorrow."
Shepard's eyes widened in surprise. "Thank you sir. It's been a pleasure serving with you."
"Likewise," the general began down the steps. "Oh, and one more thing. Congratulations, Lieutenant Commander."
Shepard gaped. A posting on a starship and a promotion? What the hell happened to the Alliance who hated my guts?
