Author's Note:
Hello everyone! This is my first fanfic that I've ever actually had the guts to post for readers! Writing is a passion of mine and I have finally put it out there for others to love/hate. Feedback is something that I have always appreciated, both good and bad, so please, COMMENT AWAY! As long as it is constructive, I will always listen and try to keep readers entertained! Don't be shy with criticism, I'm a big boy who can handle the hard truth, as long as it's helpful! So, without further ado, here is The Lost Shepard!
Marcus woke up to the sound of someone busting through his bedroom door. Instinctively, he activated his biotics and threw a singularity in their direction. As he shook the cobwebs from his head, he saw two extremely surprised Krogan floating in the air trying to fish for their shotguns on the floor. Scowling, Marcus pulled out his own Claymore and shot each one in the face. Damn, he'd almost gotten used to this location. He'd gone a full month before they'd discovered him this time. He knew it'd been stupid to stay in one spot so long. Desperate to get the hell out of dodge, he slung his always packed bag on his back, busted out his street side window and threw his massive frame out into the street. His biotic field broke his fall as he hit the ground fifty feet below and he hit the ground running. He'd planned a scenario like this before and knew exactly where to run. He heard the mercs chasing him screaming at each other to get after him, but he was already a football field of them before they finally gave chase. He knew if his past ever came after him themselves he'd be a whole new level of fucked, but thankfully he stayed in enough crowded areas for them to keep sending hapless mercs after him. He'd had a few run-ins with the more popular groups like the Blue Suns and Blood Pack, but these seemed to be a local group consisting of humans, krogan, turians, and even about a dozen asari commandos by the sound of the female voices. This was going to be very interesting.
Weaving in and out of the crowded streets, Marcus finally got to his destination: a packed warehouse with plenty of cover and, he felt ashamed to admit, lots of civilians to provide a distraction when the posse finally arrived. He didn't want to risk any innocents, but he refused to head back to the labs. He was done being a test rat. He sprinted to the back of the building, drawing a confused stare from the salarians working the assembly line, and set up to the best of his ability. He didn't have a lot of ammo, only enough thermal clips to reload each weapon a max of twice. He thought about putting all of them towards his assault rifle, but that would do him no good in either long range or up close and personal situations. More than anything, he was royally pissed at himself for not bringing more food; he was going to need his biotics, but those were going to run out fast without calories, especially with those asari chicks. He needed to end them first, no prisoners and no mercy today.
The krogan busted through first guns blazing. Marcus cringed as he saw a couple poor bastards get blown apart by a blast, but he didn't have an opportunity to feel guilty. He lined his scope up and fired.
BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!
Four shots, four dead mercs. He couldn't help but smile as he painted their brains against the wall, but felt a sense of dread as he reloaded. He got the final two krogans, but the other two were human. He'd hoped to pop a couple asari, but the bitches held back and let the idiots get popped first. Oh well, time to let them know what they were dealing with. Without warning, he jumped to his feet and sent a Reave straight at them, catching six of the commandos. Once their barriers were down, he took them out with a series of torso/headshot combos, making sure they stayed down. He dropped again to reload his M-96 Mattock; he loved the stopping power that the gun provided, but the fucking magazine capacity annoyed the shit out of him. He made a mental note to work on fixing that issue if he got the time and resources. He was shaken from his thoughts when he heard the mercs screaming and firing at something, but for once it wasn't him they were shooting at. He looked behind his cover and saw the majority of the mercs facing back at the door, firing at a trio of fighters: a Turian with a sniper rifle, a massive krogan, and a human biotic. The three of them easily tore through the human and turian mercs, leaving him with the last six commandos. Grateful for the help, Marcus dashed from his spot and caught the screaming asari in a singularity field, then unleashed all his anger and stress into one massive Slam attack. He tried not to enjoy the sickening crunch they made as they hit the ground.
Marcus turned around, casually drawing his M-3 Predator heavy pistol, to see the new team slowly making their way towards him with weapons drawn but pointed at the ground. Smart move, he couldn't help but think, always treat new contact like hostile contact. He couldn't see the man's, for he certainly was a human male, face behind his breather helmet, but the krogan and turian both looked battle-hardened, like they were bred for nothing else. He certainly hoped they were friendlies; he didn't like the idea of killing people who saved his life. He kept his gun ready, waiting for one of them to make the first move. The human, obviously the one in charge, obliged him.
"I gotta say, you certainly know how to draw a crowd for just one man." Marcus smirked at that; he always appreciated a smartass sense of humor to relieve tension.
"Who said I was just an ordinary man?" he challenged, hoping that his reputation preceded him if these were more hired guns. He thought it weird that they didn't fly any specific colors or crest, especially the turian. He had the look of either military or C-SEC training, and that massive scar on his face certainly didn't look like it came from a bar fight. No, that one had seen some shit. The krogan looked fairly new to combat, but he certainly made up for it with enthusiasm. He had this look about him, like this was his entire purpose: combat, war, battle. The human, strangely enough, was wearing the Alliance N7 special ops unit armor, but was packing WAY too much high tech heat to be backed by those cheap bastards.
"Anyone who can toss around six Vanguards at once obviously isn't normal, so I'm gonna have to say, as impressed as I am, you'll have to forgive us for not putting our guns down unless you do." Marcus hesitated at the tone this guy used. Here he was, rivaling even the krogan in height, and this dude was trying to intimidate him!
"I gotta admit, hoss, you got stones. I'll make you a deal, gimme a name and I'll put down my gun. Fair enough?"
The turian tensed before offering his opinion,
"Not a good call, Shepard…" Marcus didn't hear the rest of what his gravelly voice said, too shocked and trying to process what he heard. Shepard….impossible, absolutely no way. Was it really him?
"Shepard? John Shepard, Alliance Navy?" He audibly swallowed as the man slowly turned his head back to face him. Slowly and deliberately, as to not set off the giant in front of him, he holstered his gun and unlatched his helmet, pulling it off and resting it under his arm. Marcus couldn't believe it. That was a face he hadn't seen in years, a face he never thought he'd see again.
A face he thought was dead…
"Yea, I'm Commander John Shepard. Who the hell are you?" Marcus couldn't speak, couldn't get the answer he so wanted past his throat. He barely got out a question in return.
"Johnny?" Shepard uneasily stepped forward to the massive human, who looked weak at the knees and actually lost the grip on his pistol, dropping it clumsily to the ground. Marcus dropped to his knees, tears threatening to fall from his eyes, never taking them off the ghost in front of him. Shepard looked hard into the big man's face, past the beard and wild hair, past the anger, straight into his eyes. They seemed so familiar to him, like a ghost of a memory trying to come back to life. He shakily reached out and rested his hand on the massive shoulder of the kneeling man.
"Who are you? What's your name?"
"My name…is Marcus Shepard, son of James and Mila Shepard." John stood speechless, shocked and unable to believe what he had heard. This was impossible; he hadn't heard those names in over a decade, filing them away in his subconscious with everything else that hurt. But here he was, now that he really looked at him. This mountain of a killing machine was one of three people he believed that he would never see again. It was clear as day in his features, those young, blue eyes, that strong chin, hell even the nickname he called him.
"M-Marcus? You're alive?" Unable to contain himself anymore, Marcus dropped his massive head against his brother and wrapped his arms around him in a hug, the first sentimental contact he'd had in eleven years. He tried to hold it in, but he couldn't help the tears that ran down his face. He felt John return the embrace and could tell from the way his body was shaking that he was crying too. Marcus released the commander and got back to his feet, wanting to see his face again. He couldn't help but laugh as they stood there like a couple of idiots unable to speak. The krogan finally broke what had to be an uncomfortable silence.
"Shepard, who is this pyjak?" Shepard started to answer, but couldn't help but laugh for a second at this turn of events, the last thing he had ever thought to happen in his lifetime.
"Marcus, allow me to introduce you to a couple members of my team. The turian is Garrus Vakarian. The krogan with an affinity for insults is Grunt. Gentlemen, this is Marcus. He's my brother."