Chapter 1: Prologue

A/N: Default John Shepard (Sheploo - Earthborn - Sole Survivor - Soldier.)

Being pushed around and told what to do was one of the few things that downright pissed Shepard off. It made him feel like some kind of an errand boy. He was aware that, in some way, he was. Constantly being thrown around the streets on a new job, interrogating, intimidating, killing and spreading fear by making people aware of the presence of the Tenth Street Reds. That would identify you an errand boy.

Growing up on Earth without any parents to care for him, seeing they either bailed out or died, he had little choice but to find his own way of survival. Joining up in a gang was the easiest choice. They always needed young, capable people to count in as members. Kids like Shepard were easily exploited seeing that they needed nourishment to live like everyone else. Most people would do fucked up things to survive and Shepard was no exception. He was never that kind of guy that would consider to put a bullet into his own skull when things became difficult. He had on several occasions wanted to just stop caring, but that was almost the same thing, only less blood involved.

Shepard rounded the corner of the Reds so called "HQ" to see Finch leant up against the wall with arms folded across his chest, in conversation with Curt, another member of the Reds. The three were usually assigned to the same jobs if it required more than one person.

"Put your dicks away, ladies. Got a new job for us."

Finch scoffed. "Fuck off, Shep. You wish," he said, released his arms and pushed himself away from the wall. Shepard flicked up a pack of cigarettes but made no comment. "Hey, gimme one of those will you?"

"You'd be choking before you even got it lit, Finchy." Shepard held one to the surface of his lips as he reached for the lighter in his back pocket. "Couldn't last two seconds."

"Ouch, Shep. Your cocky attitude come along with it? Or is it just your charming personality?"

He lit his smoke. "Touché."

They were always bickering around like that. Shepard found little to be more amusing that seeing Finch flare up like a thousand suns. It didn't exactly take much to light his fuse because he was touchy as hell. A guy who could dish it out but couldn't take it. Shepard wouldn't exactly call himself 'close' with anyone in the Reds as he wasn't naïve. All of them were in it for themselves, him included, and he wasn't shy to that. He always kept his eyes open as his supposed 'friends' wouldn't think twice about snatching his wallet no matter how low on credits he was.

"Play it nice, assholes," Curt broke in. "Spill each other's guts after we've finished the job."

Yeah, then there was Curt. Not much better than Finch. The guy had a tendency to end up in jams and needing Finch bailing him out (like Blasto and Bubin come to think of it, although neither of them had a lover in every port, or that many tentacles.) He wasn't as touchy and that was the very reason why Shepard didn't flip him the bird as often.

It took away the fun when he didn't get a reaction.

Finch shoved his hands deep down in his pockets. "So what the hell are we dealing with here, anyways? Or did you fall asleep during the debriefing just like last time?"

So you aren't a *complete* idiot.

"Hey, that guy can talk for hours. I can't exactly stand still for that long in these jeans, either. They're really fucking tight down there," Shepard said. "Oh, wait. You wouldn't know how that feels." Curt muffled a laugh.

Finch shook his head. "Too much info."

Shepard leant his hip to a stray metal barrel.

"Not much to go on. Like always. Name's Aaron," he said. "The street is pretty packed today and this requires three bodies to get done - one for lookout, one for making a distraction, and of course, one for putting a bullet in the target's skull. I guess even the two of you can handle that." He saw Finch tensing up and was barely able to hold back the smirk. "Some guy from a rival gang gave Mr. Can't Do Shit Himself trouble, rat him out to another rival gang, and he wants us to take care of it."

"Talk about Jericho like that and he'll eventually find out," Curt piped in. "If it wasn't for him, you'd be lying dead in the streets, wishing for your mommy and daddy dearest to come pick you up. I wouldn't want to end up on his bad side."

He had to admit that Jericho wasn't really a guy he would want to go toe-to-toe with. The guy was huge. A twenty-year-old pile driver. Shepard was himself seventeen - wasn't too low on muscles himself - but Jericho had been on the streets longer than him. He knew he wouldn't have a chance against him but he kept that to himself. Show any sign of weakness among these people and you were walking dead meat.

Shepard snorted. "Keep telling yourself that. So are we going or not?"

"Lead the way, Columbus," Finch said. "The sooner we get this done the sooner I can be rid of your smug face."

"Nah, you'd miss it too much."

The three soon left for the garages only a few blocks away to get their motorcycles. Shepard had one of his own seeing that he was also their main mechanic. No one around were as good as him with the tools and that gave him an edge.

You had to be smart to survive on the streets and these guys needed him.

He shoved in the key, turned it around until he heard a *click* and pulled up the metal gate. A goofy smile crept up on his lips as he saw the two-wheeled beauty before him. It was a Moto Guzzi Stelvio 2015 MC with a few red spots that he had been saving up for. Easy to maneuver, and fuck, it helped that it looked nice. He had earned a handful of envious glances from several people - reds, rival gangs and pedestrians alike. He hadn't used her in about three weeks. After a job gone awry, they had to lay low. Shepard had a different partner at the time. Their job back then was to steal some device from a rival gang leader, but after they had broken in, its owner heard the commotion his partner caused and confronted them. Shepard was almost able to talk him down until the asshole he worked with acted before he thought.

The son-of-a bitch instead chose to shoot the guy between the eyes, angering their rivals, turning almost the whole street against the Tenth Street Reds alone.

They had some kind of deal between each other that was comparable to the mafia. A relationship based on respect. They had violated that understanding in that very moment, and after that, everything just went to hell. They lost allies. The Alliance was still looking for the culprit behind it all because the streets became a complete mess after the incident, killing many civilians in the process.

Shepard approached the MC, only to begin softly cursing under his breath, seeing that her oil was leaking.

"Fucking... fuck, son-of-a..." he murmured, and dropped to his knee next to her. "Stupid, fucking -!"

Finch leant to the garage door. "You all right, mate?" he asked. His gaze wandered to a car he was working on before he reached for it. "Something wrong with your wheels? You sound like a truck driver who forgot his lunch in his other pants."

"Hey," he said, as the cigarette rested on his lips. "Don't fucking touch anything."

Finch rolled his eyes, but averted his hand. Shepard's focus was back to the leak. Her oil pan seal had a dent that probably appeared when he moved the bike to make space for the car. The seal could be replaced. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed it before now. He was usually both careful and possessive over the MC seeing that he didn't allow anyone to touch her. Do as much as breathe on her and you were bound to receive a real mean right-hook.

The Moto Guzzi was expensive as fuck and he had spared no expense with the few credits he had.

"I'm going to need ten minutes. Replace the oil," Shepard said.

Finch scowled. "Are you kidding me? Ten minutes to change oil? Hell, just take a damn oil canister and pour it in. Thought you were supposed to be the 'master mechanic' around here. Or do you just say that so Jericho won't kick your ass out?"

You can't be serious...

He returned his expression. "This ain't a fucking car, genius," he replied, grabbed a rag from his back pocket and started drying the remaining oil off his hands. "Aged oil needs to be entirely tapped first, and to get the whole load out, you've got to let the engine run for ten minutes so it reaches its normal temperature. I also need to replace the filter."

In the rear-view mirror, Finch threw up his hands in defeat.

Idiot.

Shepard wasn't even sure why he tried. "Finchy, make yourself useful. Grab an oil seal."

"A fucking what?"

"An oil seal, jackass. What the fuck do you think it is? Oil. Seal. Can't get more specific than that," he said, amazed by his stupidity. Shepard waved a hand to the workbench in the same room. "Second drawer from the top."

He whistled. "Hey. Easy, Shep... Don't get your panties in a twist."

Finch approached it, obeyed seeing that they would never get moving if he didn't. He pulled out the drawer and started looking through it until he grabbed a cover and waved it in the air. Shepard held out a hand, only to hit his forehead into the handle of the MC, as he instead felt the metal hitting him straight into the kneecap. The shit-eating grin Finch gave him was enough for him to want to put a bullet in his skull.

Shepard groaned. "Son-of-a -! Fucker..."

They parked their vehicles about a block away from their location. If they brought them in, they would surely be mugged for every last credit, being in rival territory. He could recognized a few of the gang members that he had earlier been in a brawl with, so he pulled up his jacket collar, covering half his face. Shepard sent Curt out to create a distraction while Finch was the lookout.

He dragged his feet towards the entrance. If he was lucky, he could buy some info from someone. Loyalty wasn't worth much seeing that everything came down to money in the long run. Shepard stumped his smoke on a nearby wall and let it drop.

He spun around the cover with his Edge pistol up, only to hear a small and pitiful gasp, ending up face-to-face with a kid who couldn't be more than seven. The kid had to know better than to go up against a guy - obviously older than him - with a gun. The kid was simply another soul with nowhere else to turn. It was easier to buy the loyalty of kids, requiring less to be persuaded with, so things just got a lot easier.

Shepard lowered his arm and pulled out five credits.

"Think you can help me out, kid?" Big eyes wandered to the money, hesitated, before he looked back. "I'm looking for a guy named Aaron." The kid went pale. He looked utterly terrified, making it obvious that he knew him, so Shepard lied. "I just want to talk to him."

He just stood there. "I'm... I'm Aaron," he said, his voice small.

Shepard froze up. That couldn't be right. Aaron was a common name and Jericho wouldn't have sent him to kill a kid. That was downright messed up. He was a reckless asshole, that was for sure, but this was taking it too fucking far.

Did Jericho know? He shuddered at the thought. No, he thought, and shook his head. Not a fucking chance.

"You the only 'Aaron' here?" he asked, just to be sure.

When Aaron slowly nodded, face pale as snow, Shepard's brain stopped functioning properly. Before him was two wide eyes that were bound to break into tears. Shepard took another moment to check his surroundings. He was in the right place. It was him. Kids were perfect for rooting out others. Could move around more easily, hide more easily, ears and eyes everywhere without anyone expecting it. Shepard's first years in a gang consisted of just that. He had boundaries to what he was willing to do and killing a kid was crossing a line. He wanted to help him, but fuck, there wasn't anything he could do.

He would've escaped from the life of crime himself if only he knew how without dooming himself in the process.

Shepard clutched the gun, saw Aaron avert his eyes before he slammed them shut, as tears begun streaming down his face. He had no idea how to deal with a crying kid. Shepard shoved the gun into his belt. He hesitated before he crouched down to be face-to-face with him, not to seem intimidating, as it worked for animals.

He awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Uh... kid," he said, and reached out to try comfort him in some way. Shepard quickly took his hand back when Aaron's muscles tensed. Bad move. "Sorry. Look, I didn't know you were a kid, so... fuck. Sorry. You're safe, okay? I ain't gonna hurt you. I promise." He held up his hands. "Look, no gun." Aaron eventually managed to slowly pry his eyes open, blinked a few times, before turning to him again. Shepard slowly raised the credits up to him not to startle the kid and held them up.

"Here," he added. "I promised you this if you told me who Aaron was, and you did, so here you go."

Aaron gazed somewhat hesitantly at the money. His expression was uncertain. Shepard put them down on the floor before him, slowly pulled up from the ground, and backed a few steps. The kid seemed to relax slightly again. He held Shepard with his eyes as he crouched down to take them as if he expected him to act when he was off-guard.

Shepard felt like he should say something.

Moving a hand to rub his neck, he said, "Hey, uh... for the record... you really pissed off my boss. He saw you as a threat. You must be pretty good, huh?" Aaron's eyes lit up, and then a careful smile showed itself on his mouth. "Take care of yourself, kid."

He found Finch and Curt and told them that it was done.

A bomb of uneasiness went off in his abdomen knowing he needed to give Jericho a convincing lie. The target was still alive, but Jericho didn't know that, and it was better to keep it that way. There was only one person in the galaxy he could trust with what happened - a damn attractive bartender named Ace Hunt that he met about a year ago - but even so, he couldn't tell him about it, because Shepard had earlier lied to him that he had left the Reds behind. Ace was also the only one alive that knew Shepard's first name.

He managed to keep it under wraps for a week - but shit went down resulting in Ace's death - and he was on the run for his life.

Shepard had a huge bounty on his head. Some bastard had found out about him backing out from killing Aaron and Jericho got ahold of the information. The guy he once called 'his boss' had pinned the whole incident that nearly ruined their whole business on him, giving the Alliance an anonymous call, saying Shepard was behind it. The whole city was looking for him. He was a wanted man, both by the Reds and the Alliance. For the first time in forever, he had no goal, no plan and no one to turn to.

...and it scared the crap outta him.

Eventually he came by a coffee shop. The local was far from packed. His hand was clutched around a just-bought cappuccino, or whatever the fuck it was called, seeing that they didn't serve anything but coffee. Shepard have never had coffee before.

The Alliance had no face to go after, only descriptions. Blue eyes, dark brown hair three inches long in length, often oil stains in clothes, usually wearing torn jeans and a black leather jacket. They also had his last name. Shepard. His mind tricked him into hearing police sirens and the hum of the Reds MC's. Each time he heard the bell above the door go off, his eyes went watchful as people stepped in and out, expecting it to be someone wanting him dead. He had lived just like that for who-knows-how long.

His throat went dry when the next person arrived through the doorway. Straight posture, uniform, definitely Alliance.

He didn't care to get a good look at him and tried to make himself as small as possible as he sat at the inner table. He tried to inconspicuously cover his face without seeming to obvious. It was confusing why an Alliance Officer would look for him and not send one of their jarheads to do it for him. The guy was alone and had most likely seen his motorcycle outside. Shepard had expected to hear a gun cock when he reached his table, but he didn't, and instead heard a calm voice.

"You're a long way from home, son."

Fuck.

He didn't look up, but in his peripheral vision, he could see the guy slump into the seat before him.

"It isn't safe out here alone," he added "...and those cuts on your face? Better allow someone to look at them."

Shepard scoffed. "Yeah, I'm aware of that. Thanks," he said dryly. "Congratulations, you found me. You going to cuff me or what?"

He looked up and saw the guy clearly. He was an older man, definitely in his middle thirties. The guy didn't answer at first and seemed unfazed by Shepard's unyielding hostility.

"I'll might have to but that's not why I'm here. You're Shepard, correct?" he asked, and Shepard snorted without humor.

Obviously.

That was apparently answer enough for him.

"My name is David Anderson," he added. "I'm from the Alliance. You're a smart kid. I'm sure you've figured that out by now. I can see that you're aware of the situation we've found ourselves in, but I can also see that you are making no attempt of fighting back."

What's the point? I can't go up against the whole fucking Alliance.

"Listen up, son -"

"I'm not your son, old man," he snapped, lifting the coffee to his mouth

"Well listen up either way, because that attitude is going to get you nothing more than a kick in the ass."

Shepard nearly choked on his drink, started sputtering and coughing like a madman on red sand. He sure as hell hadn't expected to hear that from this 'Anderson' guy... and fuck, coffee tasted like shit. Never again.

Why the hell does people like this stuff?

He scowled and pushed it aside.

"The reason why I was able to track you down here is thanks to a kid who called himself 'Aaron'," he added. Shepard froze. "Good. You remember him. An Alliance unit asked around for you and he approached one of the soldiers that later reported back to me. It became obvious to me that it went deeper than all this, The incident that you're supposedly responsible off? It was brutal. A massacre. A man able to pull that off wouldn't care when it came to pulling the trigger on a 7-year-old."

"And the point of all this?" he asked.

"The point is that we both know you're innocent." There was a subtle softened change in his facial features, and Anderson seemed to have noticed. "There's no hard evidence against you. Hell, they point to someone else when the crime scene was investigated more thoroughly, proving you were simply caught in the crossfire. I can't say more. It's classified. Either way, refusing to kill that kid revealed that there's yet some humanity left in there. There's not many your age that still holds onto your morals. To some extent." Anderson's hands connected at the tabletop. "But you're still a member of a gang. A criminal. I'm here to offer you an opportunity. A chance to redeem yourself."

"Why the fuck do you bother?"

He let out a heavy sigh. "Because it's the right thing to do," he simply said, centering an authoritarian look on the seventeen-year-old. "We don't get to choose how we start in this life. Real greatness... is what you do with the life you're dealt. There's some humanity behind that cocky exterior, and whether you refuse to see it or not, it's there. I have a feeling you're going to do well in the Alliance. So what do you say?"

"What do *I* get from this?"

"A place where you can feel safe from these gangs," he replied, as if it was obvious. "I'll push your records aside and we'll see where this takes us. Offer still stands. Can we count on you?"

It was an opportunity. He could live. There was a moment of silence as Shepard's jaw clenched. He ducked his head, fidgeted with the cup while leaning back in the seat. His fingers trimmed at the rim of it as if he had a song stuck in his head.

"Fine," he muttered.

"Say again?"

He scowled again. "Yes, sir."

"That's better. You know where the headquarters are?" Shepard only gave him a slow nod in reply. "Good. We'll see if you've got the guts for this job soon enough." Anderson pulled himself up from the chair and was about to go.

"John," he said, not able to stop himself.

The words came out before he could stop it. It was enough to catch Anderson's attention as he stopped with a puzzled look. Shepard might've made the biggest mistake of his life but it was too late to back out now.

"My name. John Shepard," he added.

"Well then, John. You came to your senses."

"Don't mistake my cooperation for trust... and fuck, don't call me 'kid.' I turn 18 in three days."

"Then get off your sorry ass and start acting like it."

Normally, Shepard would kick the ass of anyone that dared to speak to him like that, but Anderson seemed like a guy you didn't mess with. Fuck, Shepard knew he would probably be knocked on his own ass if he tried, and he didn't need his pride to be wounded in such a way.

"I see potential in you, son," he continued. "Now it's your turn to act upon it. You'll thank me one day."