Author's Note: This story is purely self-satisfying in nature. I'm writing this for my own entertainment. My Shep has specific physical features and a personality that I've carefully molded just for this story. So, if you're not into that, I wouldn't bother reading this. You have been warned. More info on her will be posted later.
Chapter Music for Listening: A Perfect Circle: Passive
It was just like back on Earth, when she had had to live life on the streets. Back then, life was simpler. It was dog-eat-dog; you either fought or died. It wasn't easy scrapping for a meal each day, but Shepard had done what had to be done. Enlisting in the military had seemed a worthy escape; at least she had three square meals a day and could put her fighting prowess to use. It was a troubling transition; she wasn't used to being under anyone's authority but her own. After smacking around a few superior officers, and a few trips to the brig, she adjusted to military life. It was a rapid climb up the ranking ladder for her after that.
Torfan was a bloodbath, but necessary. The batarians had had it coming. Shepard wasn't the type for peaceful surrender—it was divide and conquer, all the way. The surviving members of her unit never looked at her the same way after that; it didn't matter though, a job was a job, and she had performed beyond all expectations in the face of great opposition. This was her game, cat and mouse, routing the enemy and wiping them, clean or otherwise. A life on the streets had taught her that sentimentality and compassion were weaknesses when it came to the real world. To her, relationships were made in order to further the mission or for some other gain. She had a talent for reading people, even behind the cold, unfeeling visors of their helmets. There was an art to persuasion and intimidation, and she was a master. Any relations Shepard formed were purely for convenience or to complete an objective; there was no such thing as a personal relationship with her. Sure, she could fake sincerity, reassurance, and any other "fuzzy" feelings you could think of, but it was never real. Sex in itself was fun, but never more than a recreational activity for blowing off steam. It was like there was some sort of barrier around her heart, boarded up by years of hardship and the fight for survival itself. They say the military changes people; for Shepard, it only served to hone her predatory nature until she became a practical killing machine, ready for anything. It was only natural that she was selected for Eden Prime.
The things she had seen were disturbing, even for someone as emotionally detached as Shepard. A fount of blood like that meant nothing good, especially for the human race. Her first thought was a tactical plan, but what could she possibly think up when she had nothing but a jumble of feelings and images that weren't hers? All she knew was that Saren had to pay.
On Captain Andersen's request, they docked at the Citadel. Her new objective was to present her findings and suspicions to the Council in person. However, after Eden Prime, all Shepard wanted was a drink. A friendly salarian directed her to Chora's Den. It was a bit on the dodgy side as far as clubs went, and the noise was bothersome, but she could at least get a drink without having to threaten someone.
She surveyed the area and noticed a pair of krogan arguing on one side of the club. Her eyes narrowed, and she slammed her drink before heading over. "What seems to be the trouble?" she asked coolly.
"None of your concern, human," grumbled the bouncer, folding his stubby arms.
"Fist's days are numbered," snarled the opposite krogan. His scarred face and bright red eyes promised that. Intrigued, Shepard slipped off and gathered what information she could before approaching the battle-hardened alien.
"So, this Fist guy giving you some trouble?" she inquired later, peering sidelong at him, nursing a drink.
"A job's a job," was his short reply. "Say, aren't you Shepard? I've heard some stories about you lately."
A brief but amicable chat later, Wrex and Shepard were partners in crime, so to speak. They had similar trains of thought, and therefore meshed well together. Shepard respected his fighting prowess, knowledge, and take-no-shit attitude. Together, she and Wrex followed some leads that took them almost to the Council chambers, where they encountered a pair of turians arguing.
Judging by their body language and the heated tone of the less decorated turian, something was really eating at him. What was more interesting was the fact that he mentioned Saren. This raised an eyebrow for Shepard. This turian could be a direct line to the traitor's whereabouts. It wasn't long before Shepard, Wrex, and their newest recruit, Garrus were standing before the Council.
It was tough to swallow, but the Council called bullshit on Shepard's testimony. Not that she had any hopes they'd buy it, but that was fine by her; she lived for the hunt. They would have to keep searching the Citadel for any leads. Along the way, they picked up some odd jobs—after all, credits were credits, and they'd need all they could get when it came to tracking Saren down. Plus, the Citadel was a big place. By Shepard's calculations, they'd be better off taking the slow, methodical approach if they were going to come up with any clues. If she were in Saren's place, she'd have covered her tracks damn well, exploiting any loophole or sorry schmuck she could.
It turns out that persistence pays off.
A scuffle or two and some dead goons later, they had a quarian with a vital piece of information. There was no way the Council could refute this evidence.
It was difficult for Shepard to keep a smug look off her face when she saw the expressions of the Council members. Just like that, she became a Spectre.
A full-fledged, all resources at her command, race for humanity and the rest of the galaxy to take down the deadliest weapon the Council had at its disposal?
As Shepard pulled up the Normandy's galaxy map, blood pumping wildly, she couldn't help but laugh. "I hope you make this worth my time, Saren."