It started out like any other Saturday. I got up around 0600, had a quick breakfast and ran out the door to catch my ride. Every Saturday my dad would drive into town for supplies and he would drop me off at the neighbours on the way. Being on a farm, our 'neighbours' were anywhere between 5 and 7 kilometers away, so everything about Saturdays hinged on catching that ride. I said good-bye to my dad and hurried to the wood shop. There, I had a part-time job cutting wood that had quickly developed into an apprenticeship building furniture. I loved putting things together and I considered my neighbour Henry Foy to be a genuine artist. Everything we made was crafted meticulously and devoid of nails or screws of any kind. I loved how it needed to be perfect every time. There was no room for error.

On this particular day I was putting the final touches on a wide lounge chair I intended on giving my father. Most of the pieces I worked on would be quickly moved out of the shop for sale, but Henry allowed me this one piece for myself. I cut down the tree, I cured the wood, I shaped it the way I needed it, and I purchased the leather and padding for the cushions from Henry at a reduced price. I was proud of my work and I was excited to present it to my family. To show them I was good at something productive.

I had another, less positive, talent that I had discovered a year earlier when I was 15. My big hands, broad shoulders, and muscular build thanks to farm work had resulted in a rather uncanny ability to hurt others. I discovered my talent accidentally while at school; I encountered a group of guys bullying some kid. I walked up to them and asked them to stop, and one of them took a swing at me. I side stepped and instinctively (thanks to many sparring matches with my brother) threw a powerful right hook that connected with a crunch. The kid went down like a sack of potatoes and was out cold. The others scattered. I earned a reputation. I liked that people feared me a little, respected me more, and generally wanted to be on my good side. I liked fighting because I was good at it.

It was around noon and the day was getting hotter and hotter, almost to the point of being unbearable. I listened to music on my digital player with the volume cranked up high. It made time go faster and made me work more efficiently. I was about to take my lunch break when Henry burst into the shop with panic written all over his face. He was drenched in sweat and was making his way hurriedly towards me. I took off my headphones.

"Something's happening." He managed to say, searching the place for something. He settled on an axe and gave it to me. "Here, take this. You've got to get out of here. Use the woods so they won't see you. Get home, hide."

Tensions between humans and Batarians had been growing since 2165, while we competed for territory in the Skyllian Verge. I remember seeing my parents looking worried while watching news reports of attacks on human colonies, but they always put on a brave face for us. Being so far out, Mindoir was vulnerable, and we all knew it. My parents did their best to act like everything would be okay.

I took the axe from Henry and felt all my muscles tense.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I'll make a run for the house and grab my gun. Hold them off for you." He peaked out the door and quickly turned back to me. I was frozen in place.

"GO!" he shouted and I instantly ran at his command.

I flew through the back door and sprinted to the woods. Almost the second I stepped outside I could see the world had changed. The sky was a dark, sickly orange from all the smoke and ash in the air. I could hear people screaming in the distance, the sound of gunshots ringing out, and see drop ships flooding the once peaceful landscape.

I knew my house was south of the Foy's farm, but that was about it. There was a network of trails that ran through the woods, connecting our farm to Henry's, but the way I entered the forest had caused me to lose all my bearings. I decided my best chance was to follow the wood line and use it for cover, while keeping an eye on the road that led home, at least until I could connect with a trail.

I followed the woodline staying well inside for better cover, and moved slowly at first. I stopped and crouched down when I was able to see the front of Henry's shop and the back of his house and my breath caught. Flames engulfed just about every pre-fab shelter on the property and human-like figures in varying colours of armour were wandering about. One was shouting commands, as the others rounded up members of the Foy family outside the house.

Katha (Mr. Foy's spouse) was thrown onto the ground in front of Henry, who had been strung up by his hands to a nearby tree. The armoured captors threw a second rope over the large tree limb for their son. One forced Katha to watch while another shot her husband and son. I could hear her wailing as they tightened a collar around her neck and struck her in the back of the head with a rifle.

I knew had to get home quick.

At this point, I was panicking and likely experiencing some symptoms of shock. I never imagined this scenario before and I wasn't prepared at all to see what I had just seen. I paused several times, unable to continue walking or running because my breathing was erratic and uncontrollable. I couldn't think clearly and I wanted to scream and cry all in the same breath. Eventually I completely collapsed from what was likely a panic attack but managed to pull myself through. By the time my mind was clear enough to enable my body to breathe again, the sun had started to set.

So much time had passed my mind instantly pictured my family dead, and I started to spiral again into panic. This time, I tried to focus on my breathing.

"Inhale, count to four, exhale, count to four" was a trick my father taught me to control my temper. What he had actually taught me was tactical breathing.

I stood up and started running as fast as I could through the woods. While I was always athletic, I was never much of a runner. But this time I felt no pain. I couldn't feel my legs, I couldn't feel my lungs burn, I couldn't feel my tears falling down my face.

My house was about six kilometers away, on the open road. Running through the woods is different. It's slower by virtue of having far more obstacles with which to contend.

I have no idea how long it took me to my house; it felt like hours but couldn't have been any more than minutes. I was at a full sprint the whole time and was running on pure panic, fear and adrenaline. I ran until my lungs felt like they were on fire and my veins pumped acid through my entire body and I kept running.

When I reached the wood line bordering my house, my heart sank. I thought I would pass out. The barn was on fire and I could see dead pigs and cows scattered around the pens. Smoke billowed in a huge plume and I could feel the heat even being some hundreds of meters away. I examined the property a little more and I was instantly filled with an ounce of hope when I realized our main pre-fab was still intact.

I couldn't see any movement around the house. Couldn't hear anything other than the violent crackling of the barn fire and the sound of distant gunshots and screams echoing in the air. I looked down at the axe in my hand and cautiously approached our home.

I made my way in a half crouched position to the western side of the house. My first instinct was to peer through the kitchen window, to see if there were intruders. All I could see was chaos. Cupboards torn off, the table flipped, everything was wrong.

I edged along and warily examined the front porch and saw three pairs of unfamiliar feet. After a few minutes of listening for intruders, I abandoned my cover and slid open the front door.

My father, once proud and strong, was on the floor leaning against the wall across from the door; bright red blood splattered against the wall above him trailed down to his resting place. His shotgun was still in his hand.

There are many feelings I associate with that image, even now. I felt terrified, sick to my stomach, devastated, heartbroken, and alone.

I barely noticed the three Batarians my father had managed to kill before he went down himself. I slowly approached his body, hoping beyond hope he'd just start breathing again. I knelt down and stared at him, trying to will him back to life. In the vids you always get a final moment, some final words of wisdom or of love, and I desperately wanted that final moment. I think our last conversation was something like him telling me not to forget to bring Henry some tools he had borrowed and of course I did. I didn't want to think my father died thinking of me as a disappointment.

The tears were burning in my eyes but they hadn't spring forth yet. I grabbed my dad's shotgun and silently followed the trail of destruction throughout the house. I broke cover around the corner of the doorframe and held my gun in the direction of the noise. I dropped it to the floor.

My mother was lying next to by brother who had been shot in the head at close range. I recognized his favourite band shirt, though it had been stained with blood.

My mother was also wounded, gunshot in her stomach, and was dying slowly. I knew that from the pale look on her face, and the way she smiled when she saw me. It wasn't a hopeful smile. It was relief that she'd get to say goodbye. I held her in my arms, tears welling in my eyes as I looked down at her.

"Mom."

She tried to speak but when he opened her mouth, blood flowed and her body heaved silently. I held her tight and the tears came then.

She touched her hand to my cheek and I pressed against her, again hoping a prayer might be answered to spare her.

Her hand dropped to her side and she tried once more to speak. I begged her to stop and to just stay with me. A second later she exhaled and never inhaled again.

Just like that, she was gone.

No 'I love you', no unforgettable words of wisdom, just death.

I sat there for a while beside her, sobbing and feeling sorry for myself. When I finally broke free of the despair I searched the remainder of the small prefab, then the rest of the grounds. Stephanie was missing and I suspected she had been taken as a slave.

I wiped the tears from my eyes and packed a bag full of canned food, a couple bottles of water, some medical supplies, and most importantly, ammunition.

I had to find my sister.