A/N: This is my first attempt at a 'serious' fic. This prologue is meant to be wistful, tense, and tragic. POV will shift from expository and narrative to first person quite a bit; I assume you the reader will be intelligent enough to figure out when :). I didn't add as much humor as I would have, I figured the backstory of a Colonist Shepard would be more about the doom and gloom that started him on his path of military excellence. The rest of this fic will include Shepard's training, and War Hero backstory.
UPDATE: With the awesome suggestions of Aeternix, KendokaGirl, mwalkerswirly89, RamenKnight I have redone this chapter so its less "full of suck" and more of "holy **** that doesn't suck!"
UPDATE: Re-updated with suggestions from so many Afterlife authors.
Disclaimer: Locations, recognizable characters, and universe owned by Bioware/EA
Mindoir: Home.
The Shepard homestead- spanning the vegetable fields and animal paddies to the south, the gently rolling knolls on Sybar's Prairie in the west. A babbling creek in the north, flowing surely through the wood, bringing the native aquatic species for sport and food. This was comfort, security, adventure, fellowship, love; occasionally it was anger, strife, worry. But above all else, this was home.
Most of the Systems Alliance colony of Mindoir is farmland; the soil of the garden world optimized for large-scale production of levo-amino foodstuffs. Initial surveyors, following faint traces of Prothean artifacts, deduced that this was likely due to the agricultural prowess of the bygone race.
Mindoir was located in the Attican Traverse, a region of space close to the near-lawless Terminus Systems, a haven for lowlifes of the galactic community. The dearth of garden worlds with as many exploitable resources meant that humanity claiming Mindoir was inevitable, even with the inherent danger, poised like a guillotine- or perhaps a roulette wheel.
Matt Shepard, son of Gayle and Charles Shepard, was born on-planet in 2154, and took fast to the rugged colonist life. It was obvious even while he was growing that he would become a leader, perhaps in the Alliance government, or even the Citadel government itself. Other children found themselves following him, in simple things such as play, to more ambitious projects on equipment and engineering. His closest friends never questioned him if he decided to lead.
As he grew, his political and martial acumen were honed and flexed.
His was a religious family, and when he was Baptized into the Catholic Church, his mother would swear until her death that she had heard the voice of God saying "He will grow to do great deeds". He was Confirmed in 2169.
He had a knack for hunting and tracking, as well as talent for programming, always fiddling with his omnitool and the family's colonist-issue weapons. He was especially fond of the sniper rifle, though he was quite adroit with the pistol and shotgun.
He was very good at becoming invisible, hiding in plain sight, or even sneaking up on people for a laugh.
He worked the family farm, not quite content with his lot, but several avenues of advancement were closed to him until he had some money to his name. The Alliance military preferred colonists stay for at least three generations, and most corporations that could make use of his skills could hire merc labor for cheaper. While his family had a good lock on the production of cereal grains and stewing vegetables, it wasn't enough to make a big enough ripple in the pond.
Then in 2170, Matt Shepard's life would advance him in one of the strangest ways ...
It was almost planting season on the arable continent, the thaw was retreating and the wildlife was emerging. I was taking some time to cull a herd of space cows that had expanded during the cold season. Jess had come along with me, my beautiful girlfriend. After a few klicks of stalking the woods, silent but for the rustling of fabric, we saw the herd.
"Hey, wanna bet I can nail that Space Cow from here?" I plastered my cocky grin on, and slowly went prone on the overlook.
"You showoff!" Jess Kennedy, longtime friend and lover, who was a conveniently skilled spotter, rolled her eyes, but nonetheless brought up the spotting scope. "Settling into a feeding pattern, 213 meters with a 12 degree down angle".
Making the adjustments, I centered the post sight on the head of the space cow, assumed an old Russian sniper pose- right leg slightly bent to engage the adductor magnus muscle- and slipped into shooting state.
I do not necessarily have multiple personalities, though I am able to slip into several subconscious archetypes. There's the Officer, cold, calculating, efficient, fearless. He gives orders and expects obedience. Attaining the rank of Eagle Scout through the Mindoir chapter of the Alliance Youth Scouts helped develop this. The Sniper, a shell of logic and calculation that cared only that it's target died- for food, protection, or money. I say 'it', because when the Sniper is in control, there is very little humanity evident. The Scholar, able to obsess over any topic until I know it intimately and can deliver a professor-grade discourse, such as those times in school when I had to give a report on an old civilization, or a particular technology. The Diplomat, a paragon of intrigue and manipulation, able to squeeze somebody for help, aid, or support.
There were more types, but I would discover them later.
The Sniper took over, both eyes still open, right eye down the scope, left eye buried in an occluder. I felt esoteric adjustments to the gun come of their own accord, minor changes in hold and heft that a shooter experiences, but can rarely explain. The spot-weld of the rifle to my cheek felt natural, and the space cow was reduced to a Target ... and with one measured finger-squeeze, a diamond blade took a chip, no bigger than a grain of sand, from a steel hunting block, then fed the grain into a mass effect chamber. Once there, a surge through the element zero core caused the mass of the grain to drop to miniscule levels, and a chain of high-grade magnets received power. The grain, powered by the Lorentz force caused by the magnet chain, sped down the barrel and exited at hypervelocity, its mass reverting and heightening, but still holding a constant velocity. The reactive recoil was diminished as a secondary pulse of the mass effect core increased the mass of the mercury cushion behind the free-floated barrel. By the time the space cow could understand the noise, it was snuffed.
As the Sniper left, I was once again 'normal'. "Well then, was that good enough a show for you?" I joked.
Jess just laughed, a sound I likened to a melodious flute. "That's one less problem. He did look shifty ..."
Collapsing the rifle into standby, I half-snarked, "Then perhaps we can loot him for credits."
As we were about to head back with the dressed meat, the whine of an atmospheric craft became apparent.
"Look at that! I didn't think we had any of those out here!" Jess observed. I reached for the spotting scope, and the Scholar absorbed the details: modular body, guns mounted on the nose, rockets on the wings, alien markings...
"Its the new A-61 Mantis gunships!" I exclaimed. I'd heard of them over the extranet, they were just seeing service in the field, and seen attached to mercenary groups ...
I stood there, shocked that any merc group with the funding for the new gunships would drop by this backrocket world. Using the scope again, I checked the cockpit of one of the ships, and what I saw froze my blood.
A being with four eyes, a wrinkled cranium, and sharp teeth.
Batarians.
The rockets weren't high explosive either, they were anti-riot types, which could only mean one thing: slavers had come to Mindoir.
Grabbing Jess' hand, I lit up my omnitool, trying to reach home. Nothing. I then attempted contact with several friends, whom I knew were usually free about this time, their farm chores generally done an hour back. I managed to get a hold of some of my closer buddies, and arranged a rendezvous. Al, the crazy engineer wannabe, and Mike, a a sentinel apprentice. But first, we made for the homestead. It took twenty agonizing minutes to backtrack, tramping through wooded areas and avoiding the debilitating Waspflower and Sharkfern stands.
Finally pausing at the near creek, I engaged the rifle, again looked down my scope, anger rising up like a harpy. Four batarians had my family in the yard, on their knees. My father was shouting at them, trying to distract them from my mother and two sisters. As their leader looked away, my father drew his sidearm that he had concealed, but the other batarians were too fast. Drawing assault rifles, they sprayed killing fire into the bodies of my family. Shocked for a moment, the Sniper pushed aside emotion ... and took down the first gunner. Down went the second, but rage had displaced the calm, and that second shot caused an overheat. The remaining two started pouring fire our way, and we were forced to retreat or die in vain.
So this is how it is to be shot at...
Through scrub and bush we ran, fleeing swiftly, away from the callous murderers. Bitterly, the Officer noted that my mother and sisters were spared a life of unwilling promiscuity, and my father would not be cannon fodder or a miner.
But never again would I be able to canoe or kayak with my sisters, teach them how to take advantage of nature's gifts.
Never again would I hug my mother or shake my fathers hand, resolve an argument, or propose an idea.
Never again, as their futures were torn from them by the harsh chatter of Haliat-issue rifles.
We had made it to the next property, kilometers away, where my friends were waiting with stories of their own.
Tired and shaking with adrenalin release, we hunkered down.
"I just knew this was bound to happen..." raged Al, while checking his pistol's ammo mod and omnitool charge.
"So whats the plan?" Mike inquired, outwardly calm, but with slight biotic flaring.
Their eyes turned to me. Resolve strengthening with a deep breath, I stated, "The only thing we CAN do. We fight, or we die. Or worse, since these bastards are looking for slaves."
An omnitool beeped.
"Just got word that the governor got off a call to the Alliance Navy" said Mike.
Think, Matt. How do we gain control of our situation?
"Good. Use that scanner we programmed and see if you can find the response". Mike nodded and got busy on his omnitool.
"Al, we're going to try to improvise some tech warfare, so I need you to use that developer license you've been oh-so proud of ..."
I glanced at Jess, who was starting to break down. Her omnitool message screen was up, showing cam feeds from around her homestead. It was nonexistent, a high explosive charge had leveled the main unit and atmospheric fire had razed the compound.
"Hey... C'mere..."
I held her close, trying my damnedest to make a difference, but words aren't much comfort for losing your family, your home, your way of life.
Leading a hiking expedition is one thing, but this is entirely different ...
"Of course, if we had a planetary militia, or even ground turrets, this wouldn't be such a desperate situation." Al griped, pointing out the obvious as usual. He was smart enough, but most times his observations were surface only.
"No, really! I thought we would all just sing Kum-Ba-Yah and they'd help us!" Mike's acerbic wit was quick to follow, glancing up from the protocol filter he was setting up.
"I'm just saying ..."
"We all know, now please, just get those mods," I warned, eye-gesturing at Jess, shaking in my arms.
Keep the peace. Save it for the enemy.
We headed out into the damp wilderness, alert and angry and worried. Occasionally, we would see signs of struggle, blackened craters from kinetic impacts, crusted blood trails, broken and bruised bodies, snapped brush, boot tracks. We stopped and swung on every unexpected noise, high-strung and paranoid. After several long hours, we made it to the outskirts of the capitol city, Nova Troya.
We spent the night preparing a guerrilla plan, upgrading our omnitools to allow for tech attacks- nothing like what we'd seen in the holovids or Alliance recruitment demos, but they would suffice. Mike managed to find the naval correspondence, learning that a detachment of marines would be making planetfall within 24 hours.
Al brought up the city's layout on a low-grade tactical display.
Mike fiddled a bit, and some symbols superimposed over the projection.
"I'm catching the most amount of comm traffic in these areas. The patterns here look like it may be the processing area for the slaves."
"How can you just... say that?!" Al fumed.
"Because, Al, that's the reality of what we're facing." Mike shot back.
"But those are people. People we knew. People who-"
"Snap out of it!" I hissed. "Let's not argue and get overheard by some mook patrol. We can debate ethics later."
Isn't that what they say in the holovids?
"Fine, but I still don't like it," groused Al. He had been undergoing major perspective changes, each one held extreme. He wasn't one for logic so much as emotion, currently.
"So, whats the plan, Matt?" Mike asked, getting back on track.
That's right, bucko, you get to make life-and-death decisions now.
I observed the layout, trying to remember anything pertinent I'd ever read or seen.
"Stick to the high ground for now, you and Al swing around the rim westward. Take as much time as you need, observe patrol patterns, defense emplacements, everything. Jess and I will take the east, and glass from there. Stay on the high ground. Godspeed." Al and Mike shuffled off, careful to set their omnitools to night-hunter mode.
As they left, I placed my hands on Jess's shoulders and squeezed lightly. "Hey, are you going to be ok?" The Lover cautiously arose.
She looked up, with red, puffy eyes, light grime streaks broken by runnels of tears. "I... think so. Its just..."
I cupped her face in my hands. "I know." Gently I ran my thumbs in circles over her cheekbones, hot from recycled breath. "We need to keep going. We will set everything straight, we just need to do what we can until the Alliance can get here and drive them off for good. I just need you to be strong for a few more hours, then we can focus on rebuilding."
Slowly shaking her head, and with a small hiccough, she said in a strained voice. "That's my man. Always knows what to do."
Oh, baby. I wish that were true with my heart and soul.
I ran one hand down her back and the other behind her head. "I love you. Now we need to do our part for those who still have a chance."
"I love you, too."
She closed her eyes and leaned upward slightly, and my lips met hers, salty though they were with tears. And it was in that kiss, that her trust and love and admiration; along with my own love and hope and awe, were truly expressed. Reluctantly breaking the embrace, I set our omnitools to my own stealth hunter mode, and we started our observations.
While reconnoitering, we discovered that the batarian bastards had rounded up many of the farmers and their families into camps based on age, gender, and build. We met up again to compare notes on patrols and emplacements.
"We've got this!" Al blustered, about to go charging in.
"No, you idiot!" hissed Mike, "do you not see how many there are?!"
"But... oh. Oh. I just saw the ones by the fence."
"Oh, brother... If we weren't fighting for our lives, this would warrant a punch"
"Knock it off! I don't think we can necessarily take on the bulk by ourselves, we may just have to wait them out." The Officer had snuck in, and was desperately attempting to come up with a sound plan. Its one thing to move units in a computer program, but quite another to be a unit.
"Then perhaps... we ride at dawn!" Al said in a fake Cali accent.
We all appreciated the humor, after so much destruction, and facing the plight of so many like us... Even Jess, still dealing with the events, cracked a smile.
"Good thing I saved some of that space cow... I've a kidney and a heart left..." Firing up the rustic white gas survival stove I had brought, we had dinner.
"Oh, and I have dibs on the aorta and first chamber" I said, pointing the cooking utensil at my friends.
"Fine... as long as I get the tapered part of the kidney." Mike said grudgingly. Space cow giblets were a treat, as their diet of native grains and grasses imparted a robust, full-bodied flavor to the meat.
After a few minutes, the sizzling rations, along with some root vegetables we had found while creeping about, were fully cooked. Reaching back into my pack, I pulled out some condiments I always kept, 'just in case'.
Al took a bite, then looked around, "Ketchup, guys, where is it? And keep that evil mustard away from me!"
Jess was holding the bottle of yellowy goodness, then abruptly squeezed a stream in his direction. "What, this mustard?"
Mike and I had a good laugh over this, as Al just barely managed to move his leaf-plate out of the way of the blessed tangy stream.
Al just shook his head.
I smiled inwardly, seeing Jess joke around again meant she was on the rebound.
Mike grabbed the salt canister that I generally used for the first stage of pelt curing, then emptied about half of the mineral onto his portion of the kidney, covering it as snow covers the land.
"Gotta have the salt!" Mike crowed as he then began to eat his meal. He had an affinity for salt, in fact, he had a strange neurological problem which required a massive salt intake.
After we were finished and had buried the leaves, open containers, and leftovers. We all knew it would be too risky to have a fire, so I just let the white gas continue to burn.
Settling down after the meal and a few swigs of juice from some burstfruits we had found, the somber blanket of reality settled back down.
We told stories of earlier in our youth, recounting all our past adventures, mischief, and petty squabbles. We remembered the good times we had had with those who had recently been brutally ripped from the fabric of our existence, and then finally drifted into a companionable silence.
Breaking out the camo stealth-tarp I had designed, I said, "Who wants first watch?"
Thats what the military does at night, right?
We delegated watches, then got ready for rest. As soon as Al was about to crawl into the tarp, he paused suddenly. "Wait, you had this in your pack the whole time today, correct?"
I nodded. "And you knew you were going hunting with Jess today, correct?"
A smirk crept onto my face. "Just shut up and get rest, Al."
He looked stricken, but ultimately figured that no sleep was for squares.
Daybreak- Smoke, screams, moans. Throaty batarian voices scolding, joking, snarling. Human voices pleading, begging, posturing.
Hurried checking of weapons, program fine-tuning. Biotic 'stretches'.
And most welcome of all, the booms of descending Alliance ships.
"This is it, our fight is here and now." I said.
Better to sound brave and resigned than relieved and reliant. Maybe.
The Officer stepped up full force. "Mike! I want you listening to both side's freqs, let me know if anything important happens. Al! Track down and sabotage any emplacements they have. Jess! Spot for officers. Ill take them."
"Which ones are officers?" Jess asked.
"Giving orders, personalized armor, that sort of thing" I replied. "Batarian officers all look like they just bit into a green persimmon."
"Persimmon...?" Al asked over comm, having headed for the nearest emplacement.
Mike piped up, "Its a fruit, Al." I could hear the head shake.
As the Sniper started to take over again, I heard Mike shouting, "Not good, Matt. They've got a fast-response Mantis team, and portable emplacements set up in choke points. I cant get through to our help!"
"Then catch up to Al and take them out personally!"
Oh, shit... did I just send him to die?
"Officer, 234 meters, north by northwest..." -BOOM-
"Officer, 130 meters, west by northwest..." -BOOM-
Meanwhile, Al was busy throwing weld packets at the slavers and Mike was combining throws and flash freeze fields. Not bad for a couple of farmboys who had just been thrust into the horrors of a battlefield.
I noticed the Alliance contingent disembarking, carrying Lancer-series rifles, but the first wave was mown down by two Mantis gunships on a high-speed strafe. Then a wing pair of Alliance Tridents swooped down and blasted the offending units.
"Turret Officer... Oh, God..."
I saw what Jess had seen. Al and Mike, trying to take out a turret, had forgotten that taking cover behind a couch in a video game is a viable tactic, but in the real world, a mass effect firearm isn't so easily foiled.
That is, while the projectiles are designed with soft metals in order to transfer kinetic energy upon impact, space cow leather and cotton are easily torn through and bodies hit on the other end.
Once more a feeling of loss welled up, having lost two friends I had known for close to a decade. The Sniper wagged his finger- emotion screws up shooting. I opened my eyes again to the scope and occluder, taking out the officers and specialists spotted by Jess.
The Marines had set up a Kodiak fortification, attempting to use the 'combat cockroaches' as cover against the relentless assault of merc fire. SO far we hadn't truly drawn much attention up high.
I kept firing, making sure to only shoot every two seconds, to let the rifle cool down.
I scoped one of the camps, and saw that the guards were starting to exterminate the youngest and oldest, presumably keeping time with their own casualties. Not for much longer...
A stray shot zinged into the overlook we were using and shattered the spotting glass Jess was using.
The Sniper left and was instantly replaced by the Lover, checking to see if she was okay.
"I'm fine, really, just let me use one of your guns."
I handed over my Kessler-series pistol.
The Officer reminded me of our chances, and I figured it wouldn't hurt to wait another few seconds. "I love you. Whatever happens, I will always love you."
Jess quirked a half-smile, and said "How many war movies did you say you watched?" But her words were merely to make light of the situation. Using only one arm to hold the rifle, my other one held hers and the Sniper resumed work.
After another few minutes, it appeared that the Alliance was gaining ground, so I decided to chance meeting with them. We left the snipe point and ran, cutting down the hill and through a few buildings. It soon became apparent that an enemy sniper was at work, though, and getting awfully close to us.
"Down, here!" I called as we reached a semi-safe stairway. I quick-scoped the high buildings, trying to find a glint or movement. All the options I had to counter-snipe were distasteful, but we couldn't stay hidden under wood forever. The best solution the Officer could come up with was certifiably insane.
I grabbed Jess' hand. "You're going to have to trust me. I need you to lead me around until I can dispatch that sniper. I'm going to be on the scope the whole time." She looked at me strangely, but nodded. I leaned down and kissed her, fearing it might be our last. "Oh, and you still need to teach me how to ballroom dance when this is over." She nodded, and looked for a good path.
I dialed back the scope to 4x, hoping it wouldn't throw my perceptions off too much. Jess took hold of my vest, and we scampered out.
Darting around, I glassed for any sign of the enemy sniper. Finally, I caught a glimpse of movement, high in a signal tower, and lined up my shot.
The Sniper took over once more, dilating my sense of time. It felt unreal, as though I watched two players, myself and the batarian, engaged in a game of chess out-of-body ...
I started the squeeze. Check.
He swung minutely, seeking the arrogant human boy ... check , yourself.
The trigger broke, and the deadly sequence began on my rifle. Checkmate, buttercup bitch.
Time came back, and batarian blood was spattered all through the rebar of the perch I had shot into.
"Down you go!" I cheerfully called, and looked over at Jess... who was on the ground. Stalemate, 2-eye baldface.
By all that is holy...
I dropped the rifle, pulled out the omnitool, knelt by her, loaded a shot of medigel ...
"No ... its not enough ..." She managed to say. Her shaking hands, streaked with some of her own blood, sought my face.
"Yes it is! And how many romance vids have you been watching recently?" I choked out, trying to hold back tears and the cruel flow of her lifeblood.
"You know ... I only watch horror ..." she said, fading away, her hands falling. "I love you ..."
I kissed her for the last time, in a dusty alley riddled with squib marks, rifle forgotten, with tears running freely, barely registering the world around me. Her omnitool chirped, with a file popping up timestamped that morning. Blinking through the hot, relentless tears, I copied it over to my omnitool for later review.
I felt a hand fall heavily on my shoulder. The Sniper leapt into action- I grabbed the pistol where it had fallen and spun, already depressing the firing stud ...
"Hey, son, you can put that down, now". Belatedly, I realized there weren't anymore gunshots, ambient or otherwise. A tall black man in N7 officer's armor held up his hands.
Taking in the situation, he said, "I'm Captain David Anderson of the Alliance Fleet. We're here to get you out, son."
POST SCRIPTUM: Thoughts, dear reader? If you have any constructive criticism, a review and/or a PM would be most appreciated!