A/N: First, I want to thank all the reviews and commentary I've gotten so far – it's more than I expected, given how new I am at this, and it's greatly appreciated :)

The basic training here is (roughly) based on the united states basic training program, mostly because I have a friend in the army who was able to tell me some of the things they put him through. They won't all come up here, but they'll be referenced later.

The name of the general IS a shout out, but that's as far as the similarities go.

Basic training was a huge change for Shepard. Things that she had previously accepted as normal were unheard of, and things that she'd previously considered commonplace were unacceptable – and even illegal.

Take the food, for example. The tenth street reds were a tiny gang by most standards, numbering only a few dozen individuals scattered over a couple blocks. They were less a criminal organization and more a group banding together for survival. Unfortunately, aside from the random burglary, they didn't have much in the way of income... and since almost none of the Reds had jobs, that meant that food was quite scarce."Fend for yourself" was the truly the name of the game.

Shepard had learned at a very young age what you could and couldn't eat of the things that people threw out. Meat was rare, since by the time you came across it, it was usually bad – and eating bad meat was a great way to end up dead. Foul smell and maggots in meat were a sign of opportunity missed – leave it for the flies and move on. Fruit and vegetables, however, were a different story. Most fruit molds and the like wouldn't hurt you, even if they tasted foul, and a fermented fruit wasn't half bad, considering.

Those were the easy parts to identify, however. With limited running water, you had to be very wary of fresh-looking fruit and vegetables – oftentimes, they were drenched in pesticides and other chemicals that would make you nearly as sick as eating bad meat, with nastier long term effects. Finding an intact apple with a worm in it was actually a good sign: It meant that the apple wasn't drenched in pesticides, and the worm was effectively free protein.

In boot camp, the food was plentiful and safe, and nobody thought twice about snagging an apple from the bin. She'd been suspicious at first, and her fellow recruits had even laughed at her for washing the apple in the drinking fountain for three minutes before taking a bite. Once she'd figured out that it wasn't the same crud that turned up in the few grocery stores near the Red's turf, she'd eaten so much that she'd barely been able to walk to her cot.

She'd had more than just long term starvation as a reason for being hungry, as well. The minimum physical standards for entering the military were quite clear, and it was only with the exemption offered by the N program headhunters that she'd been able to get in at all. Their pass on entering didn't get her out of the physical requirements, however, and a malnourished fifty-one kilogram girl trying to carry a twenty-five kilogram rucksack on top of a fifteen-kilogram suit of armor was an impossibility... unless you cheated.

Which she did. Vigorously. Not by taking out gear, or lightening the load, but with biotics: Without an amplifier, she couldn't generate a field strong enough to use as any kind of weapon... but she could lift about twenty kilograms. So she did her marches, and her training, and her exercises while carefully holding her bag off her back for hours on end. That energy didn't come free, of course, and she finished each day exhausted to the bone and starving. It was all worth it when she – much to her evaluators' surprise – passed all of the physical tests, avoiding the Fitness Training Company.

Another aspect of military life that had taken her a good bit of getting used to was hygiene. The Red's ramshackle camp hadn't had a functional water heater or even proper running water much of the time, so showers and baths had been very much a "catch as catch can" operation. Combine that with a veritable rat's nest of salvaged goods and dark corners, and the entire Red camp was crawling with parasites and vermin of all kinds: fleas, mosquitoes, ticks, bedbugs, rats, roaches, you name it, it was there. Personal hygiene became simultaneously very important and very difficult.

As a concession to this, almost every member of the reds were clean-shaven and as hairless as possible: not only did it cut down on the number of places where various stowaways could hide, it minimized the time one spent in the showers when they did manage to get enough water for one.

The twice-a-day warm showers available to recruits in training were, to Shepard, one of biggest luxuries she'd ever experienced. Good food came along now and then, even in the Reds, but one never had consistent access to warm running water and soap. She quickly became known among her fellow recruits for being the first one into the showers in the morning and the last one out before breakfast.

Other parts of boot camp weren't so pleasant. Shepard had grown up knowing that the only person really looking out for herself was her, and when she'd found that she would have to relinquish all her weapons, she very nearly refused. Only a reminder that she'd be back out on the streets if she didn't made her do it, and even then it was with no small amount of trepidation that she'd handed over her knives, shiv, garrote, slingshot, and brass knuckles. The poor man she'd been turning her gear in to had nearly pissed himself when she'd lifted the old, shell-using sawed-off shotgun from down one pants leg and set it angrily in front of him. Only a quick word from the N7 program recruiter that had tagged along for her induction into basic training had prevented her arrest then and there when she dumped four different illegal weapons in the box for disposal.

Sleeping in a barracks had been nearly impossible at first. She'd spent her whole life sleeping lightly – a sound sleeper on the streets could easily find themselves never waking up – and what rest she did catch with the Reds she only got after making sure that she had at least five ways to stop someone from sneaking up on her. Being crammed in a barracks with twenty something other recruits was nerve-wracking enough; being crammed in with twenty something other absolute strangers with no weapons was jarring enough to make getting a good night's rest a serious ordeal.

Much to her irritation, her drill sergeant had noticed the circles under her eyes... and the remedy for sleeplessness in recruits was much the same as it was for being "too scrawny": More make-work. She'd spent hours carrying huge rubber tires from outdated ground transports from one side of camp to the other, only to get a snickering order from a conveniently new sergeant that there was no reason they should be moved in the first place, and that she should immediately take them all back where she found them. She had seethed at the obvious shell game... but when she'd actually slept soundly for the first night since arriving, she'd grudgingly admitted that it had worked. To herself only, of course. She would never give her taskmasters the satisfaction.

Hand-to-hand combat training had left her frustrated, as well. Shepard's weapon of choice in the Tenth Street Reds had been an old sawed-off shotgun that fired actual gunpowder-carrying shells, and failing that, a set of knives. Being forced to unlearn all the techniques she'd used to fight with her entire life to swing a giant padded bat around had gotten her screamed at by drill sergeants with halitosis far more than she'd have preferred.

It was made worse by the combat training that they taught: Swinging heavy pugil sticks required a lot of upper body strength that, despite her rapidly developing musculature, she simply didn't have. Even with her underpowered biotics adding extra mass to her blows, she still ended up knocked clean on her behind more often than any other recruit there.

In the end, she'd picked up enough of it to squeak through it, but resolved when she finally got out that her first order of business was going to be replacing all the knives she'd had to give up before arriving at basic training. Hitting people with the butt of a rifle or a bayonet was all fine and good for hundred-kilo twenty year old men, but for totally honestly eighteen malnourished women, it didn't work so well.

She'd also grown to loathe the "battle buddy" system. As a rule, Shepard didn't trust anybody farther than she could throw them... and at sixty three centimeters and fifty-one kilograms, she was hard pressed to throw anyone anywhere, even accounting for her non-amplified biotics. Being forced to go everywhere with some too-cheerful recruit that was twice her size and seemed far too comfortable in boot camp did nothing to put her mind at ease, and she'd nearly snapped at him twice before remembering that the polite, slightly nervous girl she was pretending to be wouldn't have threatened to gut somebody over not letting her walk to the bathroom by herself.

Still, she'd endured more irritating things in the past... and in far less favorable conditions, to boot. The work was still hard, the people were still generally idiots, the rules were still arbitrary, and the training was still something that a trained monkey could do in its sleep. It was boring, exhausting, and often aggravating... but Shepard endured. With gritted teeth and clenched fists, perhaps, but she still endured. The hours turned into days, the days into weeks, until – faster than she would have though possible, and far slower than she could imagine – she was standing outside the office of the N program recruiters in her newly pressed and very itchy dress uniform.

The massive soldier snapped a quick salute before standing formally at attention. "Lieutenant Geoffrey McAllister, reporting as ordered, sir," he said respectfully.

Admiral Steven Hackett nodded at the somber-faced young soldier before him and smiled. "At ease, Lieutenant," he said in his gravelly voice, gesturing at the overstuffed chair in his office. "Have a seat."

The young marine relaxed, nodding his thanks as he settled gently before the admiral. "Thank you, sir. You asked to see me?"

He nodded. "How was basic the second time around?" he asked with an amused smile.

The soldier didn't quite grin, but it was close. "Interesting. It's funny how fast they go from pimply-faced kids to... well, not soldiers, but..." he trailed off, searching for words.

Hackett nodded in understanding. "Potential ones."

Geoffrey echoed the nod. "Yes, sir, exactly. They're not great yet... but they could be."

"I know what you mean," Hackett said wryly. His rise from the ranks of enlisted men was near-legend among the troops under his command.

"Still, as interesting as the experience was, it's not why I sent you there," he said, the humor vanishing from his voice. Geoffrey straightened unconsciously in the chair at the admiral's tone.

"You wanted me to keep an eye on Shepard," he said.

"Yes," the admiral confirmed. "Normally we send potential biotics to BAaT, but with that program shut down and the ascension project not quite rolling yet, we've made do with tutors," he explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Shepard's case is... unique, however, and it was decided that sending her through normal boot camp was necessary, despite the risks."

"Risks, sir?" McAllister looked at the admiral, confused.

"You were told to guard her from harm and watch her actions as often as possible, Lieutenant. I've read your formal report, but I'd like to get your personal impressions. It's... important," he said quietly.

The young lieutenant scowled, thinking. "I don't know, sir. She's remarkably controlled. She didn't sleep well the first few weeks, but got over it pretty quickly. Kept to herself most of the time, seemed a little on the shy side." He gave a helpless shrug. "I put everything in the report, sir. Nothing really out of the ordinary."

"Nothing at all?" the admiral pressed, blue eyes intent. "No little things that bothered you?"

Geoffrey's scowl deepened. "Well... I still don't know how she hauled her rucksack around. It had to be nearly as heavy as she was, but I never saw her try to cheat the weights."

Hackett gave a small chuckle. "You've heard the phrase 'never judge a book by its cover,' lieutenant?" Geoffrey nodded, confused. "Well, never judge a woman's strength by her size. You'll be wrong more often than you're right."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," he said respectfully.

"That's it, though?" Hackett pressed again. "Nothing else?"

"Sir, what's going on? My report-"

"Was perfectly clear, I know. I trust your judgment, McAllister," he said, using the young lieutenant's name for the first time. "I want your opinion, the little things you might have left out of the report, the bits you can't justify writing down."

"I-"

"If there aren't any, there aren't any. That's fine, too. I just want you to tell me if there are any parts that you might have hesitated to put in because of how they might sound. That's all." He leaned back in his desk and eyed the lieutenant levelly.

Geoffrey, to his credit, thought long and hard. "Nothing that wasn't in there already, sir, I'm sorry," he said finally, shaking his head.

Hackett nodded slowly before smiling politely at the young man. "Thank you, Lieutenant. That will be all."

"Sir," Geoffrey stood at attention and snapped a salute before turning and leaving the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Alone in the office, Hackett let out a long sigh. He reached for his desk communicator, punching in the the number for the N program recruitment office.

"Carter, this is Hackett," he said somberly. "She passed. Go ahead and make the offer."

"-ake the offer," Shepard heard faintly from inside the office. She'd been told it would be a "short wait" nearly an hour ago, and wondered for the umpteenth time what was going on. She'd been told right after graduation that she needed to go see a one Samuel Carter with the Interplanetary Combatives Training program... more informally known as the N school, for the vocational code that went with the certification it granted.

She'd known vaguely that they'd played a role in getting her into basic, but wasn't too sure what, if anything, they'd wanted. She'd been fairly sure that her biotic talent would have garnered more attention, but she'd be shuffled along the normal training route with next to no mention of it whatsoever.

Before she could run her thoughts around the same course they'd be trundling along on for last hour another time, the door latched clicked and opened.

"Shepard?" a voice called from inside.

She stood up quickly, leaning her head around the doorframe. "Sir?"

The man at the desk – Sam Carter, she assumed – was an older, dark-skinned man with a severe countenance and hard eyes. He looked her up and down as she stepped into the doorframe, then gave a small nod at one of the chairs. "Shut the door and take a seat, private," he said gruffly.

Shepard closed the door and sat down on one of the hard chairs across from the man. As she settled in, he began speaking. "I am General Samuel Carter, in charge of recruitment for the Interplanetary Combatives Training program," he said.

"A pleasure, sir," she said.

"Drop the act, private," he snapped at her.

Shit. "Sir?" she asked, a slight scowl on her face.

"I said drop the act, Shepard, I know it's fake, and I don't have the patience to deal with it."

Definitely shit.

"Sir," she replied, the politely intrigued and nervous expression fading from her face as if it had never been. She stared at the general with steady and calculating eyes.

"Better," he said. "I know who you are, I know what you are, and I know what you did."

She shrugged. "So Doctor Wells didn't keep his promise."

The general snorted. "He tried, girl, but I outrank him. He didn't have a choice. I'm not here to kick you out or lock you up, though," he said, raising his hands in placating gesture.

Oh? This should be interesting, she thought to herself as she raised an eyebrow at the general. "You're not?"

"No." He pushed his chair back from the desk and stood, turning away from her to look out a window onto the training grounds where the graduation ceremony was still being cleaned up. "We don't normally send potential biotics through basic training, you know," he offered.

"I wondered about that," she said. "The recruitment posters seemed to make a big deal out of it."

"Strong biotics with an interest in military service are rare, Shepard," he said without facing her. "But your case is... unique."

"Because of what I am," she said calmly.

"Exactly. Brain scans can only tell us so much. We needed to see how you would react in a real scenario."

"As if boot camp is a 'real scenario," she scoffed.

He shrugged. "It's real enough."

She tucked her hands behind her head and slouched in the chair. "So you were testing me. Did I pass?"

He turned to face her and gave a short laugh. "You already know the answer to that," he said, sitting back in his chair.

She smiled coldly at him. "Fair enough. I don't know the details, however," she said, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, "so why don't you explain what's going on?"

"Fine," he said. "Here's the deal: You get an L3 amplifier implant, join the ICT, graduate from N-school, and serve honorably in the military for at least three complete tours of duty. In return, that mess with the Reds vanishes, and your medical records are locked up as tight as we can make them. After your three tours are up, you're free to do whatever you want."

"And if I decline?"

"Then you're arrested for twenty six counts of first degree homicide, four counts of smuggling illicit substances, three counts of burglary, all with gang enhancements. You spend the rest of your life in prison or a locked ward."

"Hm," she said noncommittally. "Am I limited to three tours?"

"No."

Perfect.

"Then I accept," she said simply, and reached across the desk to shake the general's hand. "Where do I start?" the newest N-school recruit asked, face breaking into a feral grin.

A/N: Not sure how much of Shepard's N-ville training I want to cover. I'll probably do a small bit with her biotics, but unless there's a huge demand for it I'd rather move on to the more interesting bits... you know, the parts with all the other people that we know and love.

Oh, and Torfan. Because really, did you expect her to have any other background?