Life Did Not Stop, and One Had to Live – The Story of Lena E. Shepard

Hello, dear readers!

This story marks my first foray into the scary world of fan fiction, though it is one that I have pondered for some time. Like, I am sure, the majority of you, I was captivated by the Mass Effect series and the world and characters it introduced me to. My imagination was set off like that of a child, pondering what my Shepard character was feeling and thinking, and what her life had been to lead her to become the woman she was by the time of the games' stories. Eventually some details began to settle, and when I gave it a bit more thought so more details fell into place. The result was that I had a fairly solid picture of Commander Lena Elizabeth Shepard in my mind.

So, off I went to the fan fic website (via the recommendations section of TV tropes), to see how it all works before doing my own "life and times". Lo and behold there were many wonderful stories for a colonist Shepard (in particular PMC65's) and so I took the position that there was nothing I could add. Anyway, after reading the fantastic stories of Sirrocco (still in development at the time of writing) and the wonderful Melaradark (just read them!) my imagination took off again. This time I plonked myself down at the laptop with the intention of writing some short notes for a story and eleven pages later I'd just got up to the maiden voyage of the Normandy. It's a fun and challenging process that I would encourage all members to go through – by the end of it I felt like I knew my Shepard much better.

Though the main events are the same, the details evolved (or in some cases were created ex nihilo) in unpredictable ways. I was forced to consider Shepard's family, life and relationships much more carefully and her name even changed slightly to reflect this – gone was Lena Elizabeth Shepard and in was Lena Elisabet Shepard, a change brought in to reflect the Scandinavian half of her background and most certainly not a typo!

There are several things here that will probably stand out to many a reader, many of which will be cultural. Unlike the majority of writers I am not American (or perhaps Canadian, to my European shame I can't tell you apart from your writing) and as such many parts of Lena's life that would usually casually assume the primacy of American culture have been Anglicised (note the "s" over the "z"!). This was initially unintentional, an automatic assumption that everything was how I know it that many of us are guilty of, but in the end this became more part of the plan. To some extent this is to reflect the multinational nature of the Systems Alliance, and also to demonstrate my guess that colonies in the ME universe would be much like communities on Earth – roughly grouped together by cultural commonalities. For this reason, as well as the fact that it is much easier for me to write about that with which I am familiar, Mindoir is really rather British (and Irish).

Some of this (the frequent reference you will see to the sport of rugby) comes from some thoughts I had about the bizarre sexual dimorphism one sees in the two available Shepards – male Shepard is a big, hench (English slang for muscle-bound) dude with an action hero demeanour while Female Shepard is built like a supermodel with breasts. Is there a conceivable reason for this other than FemShep being required to appeal to a mostly male audience?

From here it occurred to me that FemShep would probably be a tad more hench than the model we are presented with, and that got me thinking about the differences one would see amongst the different classes. Being a rugby fan I immediately thought of the different shapes one sees in different positions on the rugby field. For those of you not familiar, please feel free to look these up, but I thought that the soldier and infiltrator would be an athletic but strong build like a second row (e.g. Paul O'Connell); an adept or engineer would be lithe like a wing (e.g. Topsy Ojo); the sentinel would probably have a build like a big scrum half, always providing support in combat without actually being in the thick of it (e.g. a Mike Phillips kind of build) and the vanguard would be a big, scary, smash all comers kind of centre (see Jamie Roberts/Manu Tuilagi) or back row (e.g. Sean O'Brien). Consequently I came to think of my vanguard Shepard as a bit of a beast, and rugby will both play a part in her life on Mindoir and influence her style on the battlefield. Anyway, if you find the rugby terms baffling, just check out the BBC guide on what the positions mean, or google the people I mentioned and turn them into red haired women and you'll be halfway there!

This initial instalment of the story finds our heroine in a wretched state on the Citadel at the end of ME3. Let it be said now that the ending will not be that of the game – I didn't like it and I make no apologies for that. My massaging of the ending will be the biggest detour I take from canon, but there will be other slight changes, though I've spent a lot of time reading codex entries and have endeavoured to keep to the facts, fictional as they may be. From here Lena finds herself in quite a state and talking about her past. This is intended as a framing device rather than an imagined interview, and as such the events will be narrated in an impersonal sense rather than having Lena say "I did this, I went there" etc.. This is because it allows me more freedom to describe the events whilst also setting up the post-ME3 story the way I like.

Whilst I'm warning you, it's worth mentioning that there will be violence, especially when things get messy on Mindoir and Elysium. Another non-canon warning comes from the natural consequences of some of the decisions I made – if Mindoir were a predominantly English/Anglo-European community, and I've made Lena's parents Irish and Swedish, would she speak with a Canadian accent? The likely answer is no, and while it pains me to say it, you should probably not imagine her with the iconic Jennifer Hale voice. In what sense then is this still Commander Shepard? The most satisfying response to this query is that there is already a great deal of freedom granted in these stories on Shepard's appearance, background and personality, so why not her vocal cords? I would like to think that Lena sticks to the game events fairly well, and as such is still within the acceptable spectrum of what she can be whilst remaining Commander Shepard. As such I've come to think of her with something of a Claudia Black in Farscape, vaguely Englishaccent. Good times!

So... that's pretty much the introduction to all this out the way. All that remains to be said is that as this is a first attempt there will no doubt be problems. As such I make the difficult request that you persevere as I find my feet, and the less difficult one that you put some completely honest feedback in the review box. General complements may polish my ego, and "dude, this sucks" may make you feel compensated for wasting your time, but I learn little from either and am then likely to repeat mistakes. I've tried my best to think about the things I've put into the story, and all elements are at least considered, if not completely purposeful. However, I am just one person, and so I will have missed things that you will not – let me know so that I might grow as a writer. You never know – finding out what you don't like by articulating it may even help if you should write your own story!

Chapter One

"The waves of death surrounded me; the floods of destruction swept over me. The grave wrapped its ropes around me; death itself stared me in the face. But in my distress I cried out... yes, I called out... for help." The Bible (2Samuel 22:5-7), Various Authors.

And so this was it. This was to be how it all ended.

Sitting here, slumped against the pedestal in the centre of the large room, looking out over Earth, Commander Lena Elisabet Shepard was faced with her inevitable death for the second time in three years. There were less impressive ways to go – how many people ended up dying under a millions of years old superweapon on a billions of years old space station, having just convinced the brainwashed leader of a galaxy-spanning terrorist organisation to shoot himself in the head, and, now not being the time for modesty, having quite possibly saved the galaxy for the third time? Thinking about the madness of the last few years it was a life to be proud of. Hell, life had been crazy since Mindoir really, but the last few minutes of your life aren't really when you want to start examining your traumatised childhood. Hopefully Garrus would get the details from Liara if he ever did write that biography.

Liara.

Liara was the reason she'd been able to keep going. Liara was the reason she'd got through all the BS that had been thrown at her over the last few years. And yet now she would have to let go of her. A hand pressed over the wound on her side, still leaking despite the medigel, blood matting her short red hair and with more than one broken rib, she knew she wasn't exactly in her best state. Even the Cerberus tech she'd been filled with from the Lazarus project wouldn't save her now. Maybe the Illusive Man wasted his money.

I wonder if he thought that when we finally met up here? God only knows what he was thinking.

Cerberus tech or none, this really was it. Ever since Mindoir she'd liked to think of herself as a pragmatic person, and so it seemed that trying to find some peace here would be the best course of action. She had done her best for everyone and while things hadn't completely gone to plan – most officers don't plan on getting blown to hell by Harbinger – the Crucible was in place and the war should be over soon. Even though she wasn't naïve enough to think she'd brought about galactic peace, a Reaper-free future wasn't too bad a result. Anderson – the man who had come to be something of a mentor to her over the last few years – had even said he was proud of her before he died. She'd witnessed the death of too many close friends over the years. Maybe it was time to go. Think of something nice, and just let go.

Suddenly she became aware of an odd feeling in the air. Thinking about it, it had been there since the Crucible docked. Looking up she saw a peculiar red glow coming off the machinery where the weapon joined the Citadel.

Show time?Will I last long enough to see it?

Whatever the Crucible was doing, it was doing something. There was a faint hum coming from it now and the hairs on her arms were beginning to stand on end. It was a simple matter of time before something happened. What that something would be though, nobody had been able to predict. It was a good measure of the desperation of the situation that all the developed species of the galaxy had been willing to throw everything they had at a big, ancient mystery.

As the device began to power up, a calm came over Lena. They really had done it. What was there to worry about now? Glancing at the weeping hole in her side she knew she'd be in shock from blood loss soon, but there was an odd serenity that came with the certainty, a tranquillity when there was nothing to fight. Sit back, enjoy the view and hope that Garrus wasn't already waiting for her at that bar.

"Sir! Something's happening at the Crucible."

"I see it Lieutenant." The practised authority in Hackett's voice masked, and yet somehow reflected the fact that no-one really had a clue what was going on at the Citadel. Still, that building glow was slightly unnerving in a weapon of that size. Would it do anything? If it was capable of destroying the Reapers, would it destroy everything else here too? Frightened murmurs and a few prayers were beginning to fill the bridge.

"That thing's gonna kill all of us..."

"What the hell is going on?.."

"Our Father, who art in Heaven..."

"Orders? Sir?" spoke the breaking voice of the Lieutenant, distressed at the unusual hesitation from his commanding officer.

For the briefest of moments, a look of resignation came over the Admiral's face, almost at though he were expecting something else to have happened. What could he be thinking of? The mission had succeeded.

"All fleets! The Crucible is armed. Disengage and head to the rendezvous point." The authority was back in his voice again, "I repeat. Disengage and get the hell out of here!"

And with that, the amassed fleets of numerous species, gathered as never before, began to retreat to the Charon relay.

"I repeat. Disengage and get the hell out of here!" The distinctive voice of Admiral Steven Hackett was recognisable even to someone as beaten up as Lena. The fleets were still intact and they were going to get out. If the Normandy managed to escape after picking up Liara, Kaidan and the rest of the crew then so were most of her surviving friends. With all this good news she was really starting to get into this accepting your mortality thing.

Hackett came over the comms again, "Whoever it was that made it to the Citadel, the whole galaxy owes you a great debt, soldier."

"Guess who, Sir." Even now she couldn't resist a bit of cheekiness.

"Shepard! Thank God you made it. Moreau reported in that you'd continued on after requesting an evac for Major Alenko and Dr T'Soni..."

A sudden tight feeling appeared in her stomach and the dizziness that was coming over her abated at the mention of Liara. She cut him off, "The Normandy got out?"

"They made it, Commander."

"Can you patch me through?"

"No can do Shepard, they've already hit the relay."

It didn't sound like Joker to bug out, but maybe he'd seen sense for once. "Thank you anyway Sir."

"Shepard, we can have someone come get you before we go. I'd have sent somebody earlier if we'd known you'd survived."

"Just go Sir. I doubt you could get here quick enough anyway. I'm not quite firing on all cylinders anymore. Do you know about the rest of my crew?" As soon as she asked she began to regret it – the worries of command were flooding back and the dying in peace plan was starting to go out of the window.

"I'm afraid not Shepard. Moreau only mentioned Alenko and Dr T'Soni."

And with that, the worries came flooding back. The view of Earth, now bathed in an ethereal red light from the Crucible, no longer soothed her. What of Garrus, James, Tali and Javik? What about everyone else? Wrex? Grunt? Miranda? Samara? Jack? Kasumi? Jacob? Thoughts of everyone she had commanded, everyone who she had been responsible for, everyone she'd cared for and lost began to fill her mind. As the power and noise of the Crucible generators increased, so did the memories fighting each other for her attention.

Such was her panic that she didn't notice Hackett's voice as he thanked her and said goodbye, instead, she began to feel an intense dread come over her. She'd felt this before, when things would remind her of that night on Mindoir when her life changed. Of the night she watched her family die, cradled her mother's dead body in her arms, seen her father shot as he surrendered to the raiders, held Alice and she choked out her last words of love. That was the night she ceased to be just Lena. From then on she was that girl from Mindoir, the hero of the Blitz or the quasi-mythological figure Commander Shepard. So many times she had just wanted to be Lena again. She'd found that with Liara, and to a lesser extent with some of her other friends, but even thoughts of Liara couldn't help her now. Her resolve drained by the battering she had taken, the panic took hold of her and she began to cry. As she reached the depths of her despair and was about to cry out, she was picked up and thrown across the room by an incredible pulse of energy.

And so this was it.