Disclaimer: Mass Effect and all its characters belong to Bioware.
Author's Note: Shep's recruitment chapter! Way more action, way less social commentary.
This Is It
Earth April 10, 2172
He had to keep running. His lungs and his legs were burning but there was nothing he could do; he had to keep running.
When was it, Shepard wondered, that fear alone had ceased to be enough? No, not just fear. He knew why the Tenth Street Reds had come into existence in the first place. Because people were afraid. But Shepard? No, Shepard was fearless, stoic, untouchable. In a world of criminals only he never seemed to be a victim. Wouldn't it be only natural then to gravitate to his side?
He came to the edge of the domed roof. How far was that – forty, sixty feet? Shepard heard another shot go off behind him, could feel it speeding past his ear. Fuck it, he thought. No way that uniformed fuck gets to be the one to take me down. Shepard leapt off.
He thought the Reds would last. Hadn't he, after all, given them all the justification they needed to fulfill that savage bloodlust innate in all humans? Human nature, he had believed, would keep the gang going. Not just fear and cowardice. What he hadn't figured was that alliances were fickle things. In the end it was every man for himself.
He landed first on the balls of his feet. As he made contact his knees bent automatically, his head tucked in towards his chest, and he propelled himself forward. Shoulder to hip, he reminded himself as he tumbled forward. As he came to the end of his roll he tried to push himself up with his left hand but fatigue was quickly taking over and he stayed immobile, the right side of his face against the cool metal. He peered towards the roof he had just leapt from only to see a dark figure dropping rapidly through the air behind him. Shepard pushed himself up and kept running.
It wasn't just human nature Shepard has miscalculated. Admittedly, his own greed had gotten in the way. The Reds grew too fast – too many men, too much territory. At first the rigid hierarchy had functioned well. The formation of the thirteen Districts had also functioned well. Eventually, though, the cost of having more and more men who knew him only by position and name and less and less who knew the man himself had made itself evident. It was a breeding ground for discord, subversion, and rebellion.
Shepard heard another shot but this time it came from in front of him, not behind. Fifty yards ahead of him was a young man, a teenager, holding a gun with his right arm and wearing a blue armband on his left. Another traitor. He ran straight at the boy. Once he was close enough – the kid's hand had started shaking uncontrollably causing his shots to be fired all over the place – he grabbed on to his wrist with his left hand and delivered a heavy punch to the kid's wrist with his right hand. The gun clattered to the floor and skid over the ledge of the platform. Shepard cursed under his breath before delivering one final blow to the left side of the kid's face. He sprinted over the edge of the platform, quickly descending the stairs that led further into the lower tiers. Shepard kept running but he had no idea where to. He did know one thing, however: he would keep heading down. Down into the darkness, that festering womb he had emerged from.
Shepard hadn't yet decided whether the authorities' decision to finally come down on Reds activity as they went through their period of inner strife was good or bad. Could he have repaired his empire? Restored order? Still, he should have anticipated their move. The Reds were too big to fly under the radar anymore. Everyday they expanded, and everyday the target on their back became a bigger, brighter red. Yet Shepard had been blinded by his success. Who else could've made what he had from scratch? All his achievements were Fate's way of telling him what he was doing was right, weren't they? Or maybe he was just rationalizing. Maybe what had led to his downfall was that irrational saboteur: youth.
Shepard jumped from the platform onto the roof of the neighboring building. How is this fucker still on my tail? He ran across the roof before he swung his legs over the edge, his hands still gripped to the ledge. He bent his knees and pushed off the wall, springing backwards. He twisted midair and grappled for the railing of the fire escape. He missed the first one but his momentum carried him close enough to the next one down that he managed to grab on with both hands. He pulled himself up and began pulling off his jacket. He wrapped it around his lower arm and rammed it into the nearest window. Kicking away the glass around the edges, he stepped into the apartment and into the dark.
What was it that had finally sparked the fire? Number Three, wasn't it? It was. Three had been one of the ones with Shepard since the beginning. When the districts were carved up, this had led to him getting one of the largest districts, directly bordering Shepard's own District One. Three had lapped up all of Shepard's definitions of who in society was disposable. This, of course, included the disabled. Not just any disabled though - only those whose mental or physical disability precluded them from ever contributing to society in any meaningful way. Between the rarity of such individuals and the advanced technologies that could prevent or almost completely heal such defects, disableds had never been one of the Reds primary targets.
But then Three's younger sister had an accident that left her in a persistent vegetative state. Her brain damage had been severe though doctors claimed she retained some level of awareness. The damage throughout her body had been so extensive that any hope of restoration to her previous state meant paying exorbitant sums for an operation with almost no chance of success. Three had managed to prevent all action upon her within his District and had kept the information from Shepard for months; Shepard had been told she had died within two days of her accident and had written off Three's irregular behaviors in the following weeks as caused by grief. The only reason Shepard found out was because one of the outer District Heads, who had been eyeing District Three for himself for months, had stumbled across the information and brought it immediately after to Shepard.
Shepard's final decision had been precisely as Three had feared. And the fire had been lit. When Three withdrew from the Reds, Shepard was ready to execute a simple plan: cut off the snake's head. What he wasn't ready for was District Seven proclaiming his allegiance to Three. Seven, the most influential of the outer District Heads, had already made plans for the situation. Probably was the one who pushed Three to keep his sister alive, showed him how to keep it a secret, and encouraged Three to break off. Once the fighting broke out it was too widespread for news not to travel uptier into Alliance ears. And once the Alliance started sending in squads by the dozens, things got truly chaotic.
What District was he in now? Eight? Nine? Either way this was hostile territory. Shepard moved through the apartment silently, unsure what to expect. Most of the non-Reds in the thirteen Districts had moved out of the territories where the fighting was the worst; they were those splitting the inner Districts still following District One from those following District Seven. Five, Eight, and Nine. It seemed this building was no exception. Drawers had been ripped out and emptied, evidence of a quick flight. Yet Shepard knew not to assume the place was empty; Seven's men were likely still patrolling the area. Shepard silently exited the apartment and started heading down the hallway towards the stairwell.
Coming from behind him, Shepard heard a metallic clang followed by the sound of crunching glass. Finally caught up. Shepard quickened his pace. Just as he reached for the door leading to the stairwell a voice spoke out from the apartment opposite the stairs.
"Turn around." Shepard did. Just my fucking luck. Holding a modded Kessler 2 (Shepard was well aware of Hahne-Kedar's propensity to deal in its own backyard) a few from Shepard's face was a Red standing just inside the apartment doorway.
At the same time Shepard noted a dark figure emerging from the apartment he himself had waded through less than a minute before.
Shepard closed his eyes and tilted his head back. "Fair's fair. You caught me. Been on the run for days. I mean, I know your boss wants me dead but really you've been hounding me for days." Shepard briefly opened his eyes to see the dark figure moving towards him from the opposite end of the hall and the Red still inside the doorway, a confused look on his face. Just keep talking, Shepard thought to himself. "Though I can see why you might think I deserve it. I get that you don't agree with what I believe and everything." Shepard delivered the lines without taking a breath; he couldn't afford for either of them to speak just yet. "I understand your point of view, really I do. In fact I –" Gotcha. Shepard grabbed out at the Kessler and tugged the Red towards him. He spun him around and held him in front of him just in time for the Red to get three of the bullets coming from the opposite end of the hallway square in the back. Shepard ripped the gun from his hand and sprinted into the apartment the Red had been standing in seconds before. Without giving it a second thought he turned slightly, tucked his chin to his chest, and jumped out the window.
Once the Alliance had gotten involved, there wasn't much Shepard could do. The Reds had the numbers and the home turf advantage, but the Alliance had the training. In the end, District One's collapse had started the day the Alliance sent a strike team into their home base. That was the day the chase began.
Three days later it still hadn't stopped. As Shepard landed in the dumpster, his omni-tool gave off a small ping. Shepard pulled himself out and looked down at the orange glow: 12:01.
Happy Birthday to me.
As Shepard rounded the alley's corner a strong hand grabbed him by the collar and pushed him backwards. In a flash, Shepard was pinned.
"Gotta give it to you kid, you put up one hell of a fight."
"Judging by my current situation I can't say I agree." Shepard glared at the heavily built man sitting on his chest.
"Not a lot of rats can manage to evade a trained Marine for three days."
"What do you want? A fucking thank you?" The butt of the Marine's pistol connected with Shepard's face. Shepard bit his lip only allowing himself to let out a grunt. "Shouldn't you be trying to save that kid up there? Soldier's duty and all."
"Not in my orders."
"That so? And what is?"
"Find the guy who runs the Reds and take him out."
"Shit, I don't even get a trial?" This time Shepard got a blow to his liver.
"Wasn't expecting the head of the Reds to be a fucking kid though."
"Well guess what? I'm not. I'm 18 as of five minutes ago."
The Marine laughed. "What's your name kid?"
"Shepard. Silas Shepard."
"Silas? What kind of fucking name is that?"
"It means-"
"I don't give a shit what it means. Your name is John from now on. 'John Shepard.' Nice ring to it eh?"
"Sounds like a fucking dead body some cop found in a dumpster."
"Funny. Anyways John I have a present for you."
"Painless death?"
"Even better. You get to join the Alliance."
"What?"
"I've seen what you can do. I've seen what you're willing to do. The Alliance needs people like you John."
"Fuck that. I'm a criminal. I have no parents, nothing. Fuck, I don't even have a damned birth certificate."
"Like I said, the Alliance needs people like you. And don't worry about the paperwork. I'll take care of that."
"I'm still a criminal."
"Oh? Way I see it a kid like you just needs directions. You grew up without rules so you made up your own. And from what I hear you listen to those rules like they're a trigger happy hillbilly holding a shotgun to your nuts."
"First of all, that was fucking retarded. Second of all, what has that got to do with anything?"
"If there's anything the Alliance is good at, it's making up a shitload of fucking rules. So all you have to do is start following those. And if our intel on you is right, military life probably won't even conflict with the rules you've been following the last eighteen years."
"Yea? How's that?"
"You'll be too far away from civilians to pull any of the shit you pulled here for one; the only guys you'll get the chance to kill are ones the Alliance already wants dead. Plus, somehow I don't think killing soldiers is something your code lets you do, am I right?" Code, Shepard thought. I like that.
Shepard's thoughts returned to the man's question. "Yea. I guess so."
"See? Problem solved."
"You don't think anyone's gonna mind fighting alongside a murderer?"
"Hell, we're all murderers, just licensed ones. Besides, no one has to know but me and my boss."
I can't believe this, Shepard thought, I actually believe this guy.
"I know your eyes kid. You want a purpose. So I'm giving you a chance to find one. A damned good one. Not to mention if I were you I'd be tired of living in this pisshole killing civilians. I'd want a real challenge. Join the alliance John."
"Ok," the Marine took his knee from Shepard's chest and held out a hand to lift him up. Shepard took it. "One thing though."
"Yea?"
"I don't care what goes on my fucking birth certificate – you better start calling me Si."
The Marine laughed. "And you can call me Logan."
For the first time, Shepard grinned.
Author's Note:
So there it is. Reviews welcome as always. Next chapter I'll either do a climbing the ranks type of thing or go straight onto the Blitz and the raid of Torfan. And then onto ME1!
Also, inspirations for this chapter come from Deus Ex (love the takedowns!), the awesomeness of parkour, and as for the Code I'm feeling a little bit of Dexter. Next chapter will be up Thursday night I'm guessing. Or like in a couple of hours if I opt to go into the next chapter instead of watching some Battlestar Galactica. Who knows?
PS Please review. Seriously.
