[Flashback: 5 years before ME1]

'Stop her before she kills him!'

The cell window was almost entirely obscured by blood spatter. Batarians bleed green -but Shepard already knew that. She was covered in the stuff. The prisoner was unrecognisable from the creature that had first entered the brig. Two of his four eyes had been decimated. Part of his head had caved in from the savage beating he had suffered. There were various sharp objects protruding from parts of his body, causing more blood to stream to the floor.

'Commander, open this door right now!'

Shepard ignored the muffled shouts from behind the glass. She had not yet extracted the information she needed. Losing patience, she grabbed hold of one of the instruments impaling the batarian's flesh and twisted. He screamed and writhed in agony on the floor.

Shepard crouched down beside him and leaned in close. 'You like pain, Droverk?' she hissed into his ear. 'I guess you must, because otherwise you'd have told me what I want to know.'

'Please!' begged the ruined prisoner. 'I don't know where they are! I swear!'

Shepard shook her head slowly. 'That's a shame…'

She kicked him in the face, sending another gush of blood cascading across the floor.

'Commander Shepard!' came another protest from outside the cell. 'I order you to open this door!'

The batarian was curled up in the foetal position, moaning. Shepard began to walk around him very slowly. Time was running out, but she did not want the batarian to know that.

'Now,' she began in a casual, almost conversational, tone, 'I don't know much about batarian physiology. But I'd hazard a guess that your most vulnerable spot is around the same area as ours…'

'Please, no…' whimpered the prisoner.

'For a human male, my next idea would result in unbearable agony.' She pretended to consider this solemnly for a moment. 'I wonder how bad it would be for a batarian…'

'Listen, I don't know what I can say,' he cried. 'Please, I honestly don't know who bought those slaves or where they were taken.'

Shepard continued to ignore him. 'Just in case it didn't have the same effect, I'd have to incorporate some extra details…'

'Get that door open, now!' barked the Captain from beyond the window.

'Please! I don't know!' wailed the batarian. 'I'll tell you anything else – anything!'

'You have nothing else to offer me, Droverk.'

'But.. But… What if I told you the location of the slaver's main base?'

Shepard stopped pacing. The crew outside were beginning to cut through the door with lasers. She had less than a minute to get something out of this alien before they reached her. The regs that she had broken to do this could mean the end of her career in the military, so there was no way she could leave this cell empty-handed.

She crouched beside Droverk, her face smeared with green blood. 'Are you screwing with me?' she demanded.

'No! No, I swear!' The batarian blinked his two remaining eyes, trying to see through the blood and tears. 'I'll tell you where the base is!'

'Tell me.'

'Torfan!'

'Give me the co-ordinates.' She activated her omni-tool and offered the galaxy map screen to Droverk.

With trembling fingers he keyed in the location of Torfan. It was just a small moon – there was no way the Alliance would have discovered the batarian's base there. Shepard felt her adrenaline surge. The slavers' base!

'There,' choked Droverk. 'That's worth my life, isn't it?'

Shepard deactivated the omni-tool. The laser cutter had almost made it through the door. She had no more than a few seconds left. She clenched her fists, frustrated despite the new information. She had not learned what she had come here to find out.

The batarian began to panic, fearing that the Commander was dissatisfied. 'Please!' he started to beg again. 'That's all I know. I swear, I don't know where the slaves were taken.'

Shepard looked at him. He was a wreck, no more than minutes from death. She took her pistol from its holster and armed it, aiming it straight at Droverk's head.

'Please!' he shrieked. 'I don't know!'

Shepard smiled, her eyes devoid of humour or pleasure. 'I believe you,' she said.

She pulled the trigger.