Chapter 1

Seven years ago

The first impression he had of the SSV Houston was how much more spacious it felt. Like all military craft, the Houston was designed with other priorities besides crew comfort but the spartan metal bulkheads of the crew quarters seemed to have expanded since the heavy cruiser had dropped his unit off on Torfan. It took Staff Lieutenant John Shepard a moment to figure out exactly why that was and then it hit him.

Other than the subtle humming of the engines, the ship was deathly quiet. On the trip to Torfan, this area had been a beehive of activity, a full company of marines sharing space with the ship's crew in a space barely adequate for the ship's normal contingent. Now, other than a few crewmen wandering through the area, the crew quarters were virtually deserted. The rows of bunks the marines had set up six weeks ago as temporary sleeping arrangements were mostly unoccupied, covers made up perfectly as if awaiting inspection. Each empty bunk seemed to be a reminder of how badly the mission had gone wrong, an operation where nothing had been as planned and many good marines had paid with their lives. As he made his way past each bunk towards the small cabin that served as the officer's quarters, the face of its occupant and their name flashed through his mind.

Nelson. Rodriguez. Sullivan. Cohen. Townsend. McClung, Paulson... Suddenly the effects of prolonged sleep deprivation and fatigue hit him like a sniper's bullet. Staggering into his cabin, Shepard cast off his armour and fell into his bunk, almost immediately drifting off into a troubled sleep.

The Admiral set the debriefing dataslate down on his desk and took off his glasses.

"Lieutenant, I called you here to debrief me in person on what happened on Torfan."

Shepard stared directly ahead, focusing his gaze on the wall behind the Admiral, avoiding the man's steel grey eyes.

"It's all in my mission report, sir. I left nothing out," he stated coolly. He had no doubt the brass were looking for someone to blame for the debacle on Torfan. With Major Kyle still undergoing psychiatric treatment, Shepard knew exactly whose door the witchhunt would end at.

"I want to hear it from your mouth. How did you end up in command of the company? What happened to Major Kyle?"

Shepard risked a glance at the man sitting behind the desk. Even sitting down and dressed in a spotless navy-blue dress uniform, the Admiral's athletic build and imposing height were obvious. Printed in perfectly straight letters across the gleaming nameplate pinned to the Admiral's chest, he could make out the name "Cullen" but it didn't ring a bell. Shepard set his jaw and took a deep breath before beginning his report.

Shepard ducked his head as a shell screamed in overhead.

"Goddamnit! The squint bastards weren't supposed to have artillery!"

He turned his head but his runner, Private Paulson, was cowering in the bottom of the foxhole, her face as white as a sheet.

"This is nothing compared to Elysium, Paulson. It'll take a lot more than this to scare us off, won't it Marine?" he tried to calm her with a courage he wasn't sure he felt. She nodded weakly and Shepard gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.

"This is Fox Lead to Fox Three-One, do you copy?"

Shepard keyed his comlink.

"Fox Three-One copies."

He could barely make out Major Kyle's voice over the channel. Since they'd landed, the batarian signal jammers had been playing hell with the comm net.

"Shepard, keep your squad under cover! Batarian guns are dug in deep. SSV Houston is attempting to provide fire support but..."

A massive shell blast cut him off. Shepard looked out over the ruined landscape and his heart jumped into his mouth. The Major's command post had almost been obliterated by a direct hit from a batarian shell.

"Fox Lead! Fox Lead! This is Fox Three-One! Do you copy?"

Shepard hammered on his comlink's transmitter.

"Respond, damnit!"

When he was met with only static, he slowly realized he was now the ranking officer in the company.

Admiral Cullen leaned forward in his chair, steepling his hands under his chin.

"What happened next, Lieutenant? I want to know why you chose to launch a counterattack instead of withdrawing your company."

Out of the corner of his eye, Shepard could see the Admiral pick up the debriefing dataslate again.

Another shell slammed into the ground, just barely missing the foxhole and spraying the occupants with dust.

"Houston this is Fox Three-One, acting commander of Fox Company. Fox Lead is down and we are under heavy enemy bombardment. Requesting immediate extraction, over."

The answer from the Houston came back almost immediately.

"That's a negative, Fox Three-One. We can't do a pickup at your location while those guns are still active. You'll need to withdraw to at least Sector Two-Zulu-Charlie."

Shepard called up a map display on his omnitool.

"Houston, that's five kilometres!"

"We cannot extract while your position is still under fire, Fox Three-One, you'll have to either get to Sector Two-Zulu-Charlie or hang tight until the fire stops..."

Not even waiting for the full response, Shepard angrily cut the link.

"What do we do, sir?"

Paulson had a look of barely-contained terror on her face. A five kilometre trek to the extraction zone. It would require them to leave their wounded and expose themselves to batarian fire from their fortifications cut into the hillside. Intelligence had advised that a head-on assault would incur unacceptable casualties but...

"That squint artillery isn't going to stop. If we stay here, we die, Private. If we retreat, we die. If we advance, we'll at least take a few of those SOBs with us!"

He keyed his comlink.

"This is Lieutenant Shepard to all surviving elements of Fox Company. Major Kyle has been incapacitated and the Houston cannot extract us. We either move to engage the enemy or we die in our foxholes. All squad leaders, I am executing assault plan Echo-Two-Seven. Advance on my mark!"

Shepard looked across at the Admiral but the man's face was expressionless.

"Your company sustained over 85% casualties. D Company of 3rd Battalion, 412th Marine Brigade has effectively ceased to exist, Lieutenant. One hundred and thirty-one marines died on Torfan. With that in mind, would you have done anything differently?

Shepard grabbed Paulson by the arm.

"You stay on my ass and don't stop moving! Don't stop for anything! You understand me, Private?"

She looked scared. All of them did. Shepard willed himself to hold his own emotions in check. They all expected the hero of the Skyllian Blitz to be fearless. If that was what it took to keep them alive, he would have to be that man.

"Up and at'em Marines! Follow me!"

Vaulting over the top of the trench, Shepard charged up the hill. A hail of batarian slugs slammed into his kinetic barriers and an alarm sounded as they overloaded. He gritted his teeth as one of the slugs got through and impacted against his armour. An antivehicle missile struck Rodriguez and exploded. The big corporal disappeared into a pink mist that splattered against Shepard's face. All around him, Marines were getting cut down, shredded by automatic weapons fire or vaporized instantly by exploding shells. But it was too late to stop. They either kept going or they would be slaughtered.

Admiral Cullen nodded.

"One last thing, Lieutenant. In almost six weeks of fighting, your company didn't capture a single enemy prisoner. These were slavers and pirates, opportunists, not fanatics. Their kind aren't normally known for fighting to the death."

Three out of Fox Company's four platoons had taken over eighty percent casualties. Hill 425, the last batarian stronghold on Torfan, had finally fallen.

A line of batarian prisoners was being herded past him into a fenced enclosure. Here they would be processed before the Alliance sent a ship to take them into captivity. Private Paulson handed him her canteen and he splashed it over his face.

"We finally did it, sir. We're... alive. I can't believe we did it!"

The young marine looked exhausted but Shepard could see hints of her childlike enthusiasm returning. Shepard smiled tiredly and handed her back the canteen.

"You did well back there, Paulson. I'm proud of you."

She flashed him that toothy grin the rest of the platoon always gave her grief for and disappeared over the hill.

"LT, we've got a few live ones up here. They look wounded but they'll live. I'm going to see if I can do anything for them..."

Shepard's blood ran cold.

"Amanda, wait!"

A shot rang out. He made it to the top of the hill just in time to see Paulson fall backwards, a look of surprise on her face as a bright red blossom of blood slowly expanded across the front of her body armour. A wounded batarian lay at her feet, a pistol in his hand, his face twisted into an ugly sneer. Shepard felt like an observer watching a holovid as his body seemed to act of its volition, drawing the long bayonet from his boot and slashing it across the batarian's throat. He grabbed Paulson, cradling her head in his arms as he screamed for a corpsman.

"I-I... I'm sorry... LT..."

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks.

"Hold on Marine, don't you die on me!"

The corpsman rushed over and pushed him aside. Checking the young marine's vitals, the corpsman shook his head. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Shepard strided over to the enclosure where the last of the batarian prisoners were being herded in.

One of the prisoners saw his lieutenant's insignia and laughed.

"How does it feel, human? We're POWs now. How long do you think the Alliance can hold us for? We'll be back out in the Terminus in less time than it took us to burn Elysium!"

Gritting his teeth, Shepard slammed the enclosure shut and ordered the marines guarding it to leave.

"You think so, do you?"

Climbing up on the back of a Grizzly assault vehicle, Shepard swivelled the mounted heavy machine gun around. The batarians realized what the Alliance lieutenant intended to do and began trying to claw their way out. Hammering down the twin triggers of the gun, Shepard held them down until the barrels glowed red. He knew that what he was doing would get him court martialed but he didn't care. He kept shooting long after all movement had ceased in the fenced enclosure.

The Admiral cut him off with a wave of his hand.

" I've heard enough, Lieutenant," he said, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, "You led an assault against a dug-in enemy that knew you were coming and won. Batarian raider attacks in the sector have fallen 70% since Torfan, probably thanks to you and your men. I don't know if you're brave or just crazy Lieutenant, but judging from those reports, you're lucky to be alive."

Shepard stood straight at attention, waiting for the hammer to fall.

"But you also got almost your entire unit killed and by your own admission, executed at least sixty Batarian prisoners. Based on your actions at Torfan, I would be perfectly justified in recommending you for another Star of Terra then throwing you before a court martial right after."

The Admiral finished scribbling something on his dataslate and gestured to the Marine stationed on guard just outside the door. So he's a military prosecutor. I should have guessed. For a moment Shepard's muscles tensed as he wondered how far he would get if he took down the guard and attempted an escape but quickly pushed the idea out of his head. If they want to take my career, they can have it. If they want to take my freedom, I probably deserve it. He would face the court martial and tell the world of the sacrifices of the Marines of Fox Company on Torfan. He would not end up lying in a pool of blood having been shot in the back like a coward during an escape attempt. I owe the dead that much. I owe Amanda Paulson that much.

"Take this message back to the captain of the Houston. Nobody on that ship breathes a word about what happened on Torfan."

Admiral Cullen stood up and walked around his desk. Putting his hands on his hips, he looked directly into the younger man's eyes, as if trying to read his mind. After what seemed an eternity, he nodded as if he approved and sat back down.

"I've read your file Lieutenant. Your aptitude scores and technical skills put you in the top one percent of your graduating class at the Academy. You're ambitious and idealistic and on paper, you're everything the Marine Corps wants in its junior officers. But you're raw and emotional. You let what happens out there affect you in here."

Admiral Cullen jabbed a finger in his own chest for emphasis.

"You're one ruthless SOB but you understand the stakes and you get the job done. You've got that look in your eye that tells me you'll never back down from a fight and that rare quality that makes men want to follow you. There's not a lot of Marines wired like you, Lieutenant."

The Admiral took out a cigar from a drawer in his desk and leaned back in his chair. Slicing off the tip, he lit it and puffed on it a few times.

"Sir, I led my men to their deaths and lost control of my emotions. I deserve to be court martialed."

Admiral Cullen shook his head.

"No, you led them to victory against impossible odds. Not many Marines could have done what you did on that hill that day. But I didn't call you here to justify your actions," the Admiral paused, setting his cigar down in an ash tray, "I'm going to be straight with you, son. You've got two options right now. You can walk out that door and Alliance JAG will pick you up and charge you with killing those prisoners. It's your life, if you want to be a martyr, I can't stop you. If you want the deaths of your men to mean something though, keep listening."

Pulling a file out of his desk, Admiral Cullen slid it across the desk.

"I've been looking for young men and women like you. You've got qualities that would have taken you places if it hadn't been for you losing your head and butchering those squints on Torfan. Hell, I wouldn't even have been surprised if they'd put admiral's bars on your shoulders someday. Right now though, even if you beat the court martial, you'll never serve in the Alliance again. But I've got a proposal you should consider if you want to keep fighting for the cause your men died for, if you want to keep fighting for humanity."

"Sir?"

The Admiral gestured to the file on the desk.

"I won't sugarcoat it, son. If you accept my offer, I will ask you to do things that will seem to go against everything you've been taught to believe. Some of it will seem barbaric, illegal, and even immoral but I promise you – everything I ask you to do will be what is necessary to safeguard our race's place in the galaxy," Admiral Cullen paused as Shepard picked up the file and opened it, "I trust you've heard of the N7 Marine Special Operations Division?"

Shepard nodded.

"I have a place for you in something that makes MSOD look like the space cadets."

His head was killing him. As Shepard opened his eyes, he was almost blinded by the bright iridescent lights of what looked like a medical bay. Shielding his eyes with the back of his hand, he blinked several times, trying to shake the unmistakable haze of anaesthetic from his system.

"How do you feel, Commander Shepard?"

Admiral Cullen was suddenly hovering over him, handing him a mirror.

"Commander Shepard, sir?"

The Admiral gestured towards the mirror. Giving his head a final shake, Shepard looked into the mirror and almost fell out of his bed. He was staring at his own reflection but the face was that of a stranger's. His sandy blonde hair had been cut short and was now a dark, chestnut brown. Grey-blue eyes stared back at him, framed by sharply defined cheekbones.

The last few days had gone by in a blur. After checking in with Admiral Cullen, he'd been immediately transported to a hidden facility on an asteroid orbiting a star he'd never heard of. There, military doctor had told him he'd be undergoing major cosmetic surgery to alter his appearance. Before he'd even had time to allow that to sink in, a team of surgeons had had him stripped down to his skivvies and were wheeling him into an operating room.

Still in shock, Shepherd ran his hand along the side of his jaw, feeling a several-day-old growth of stubble covering his face. How long was I out for? He understood the change in hair colour. After several hundred years of racial intermingling on Earth, recessive traits such as blonde hair had become extremely rare. The dark brown would enable him to blend in far more easily. What struck him the most though, were his new facial features.

With a limited timeframe to work with, the surgeons had been unable to do any major reconstruction and had instead made subtle changes. However, the cumulative effect was mindblowing. On a conscious level, his mind accepted that the face in the mirror was his, but his subconscious was having a more difficult time. The disconnect made him feel dizzy and suddenly he wanted to throw up. Admiral Cullen shoved a steel bowl in front of him and Shepard gratefully heaved into it.

"The official story is that Staff Lieutenant John Shepard died six months after the action on Torfan. Death was ruled a suicide due to a severe case of undiagnosed PTSD. Unofficially, you've been promoted to Lieutenant Commander and reassigned to the Epsilon Program under my command."

Epsilon Program? Admiral Cullen nodded to the omnitool strapped to Shepard's wrist as if he had just read his mind.

"My operators take the missions nobody else can. My operators hit the targets no one else can reach. The Epsilon Program exists to do what is necessary for the survival of the human race in a hostile galaxy. Nobody knows who we are because we don't exist. From this moment, you are accountable only to me and your mission."

Shepard tried to get out of bed but lost his balance, crashing into a medical cart before the Admiral grabbed his arm.

"We've erased your pre-service history and given you cosmetic surgery to eliminate any links to your past. Colony records at Mindoir were destroyed in the attack, which made our job far easier."

Admiral Cullen helped him to his feet and continued.

"Best you'd forget what happened there too, son. Memories like that have a bad habit of sneaking up on you at the worst times."

The Admiral guided him to the door and pushed a change of clothes into his arms.

"Get dressed, Shepard, we've got a lot of work to do."

Lieutenant Commander John Shepard slowly let the air out of his lungs, settling into a steady breathing rhythm as he looked through the scope of a heavy sniper rifle. Turning his head slightly, he whispered into a collar-mounted comlink. A holo of the target, one Michael Sorenson, head of an anarchist movement on New Liberty, lay beside his rifle.

"Archer Five, give me a sitrep, over."

Through the scope, he could out the three vehicles making their way down the road. A voice crackled in his ear.

"Target is on the move. We haven't been able to narrow down which vehicle in the convoy he's in, over."

Shepard cursed under his breath.

"Fire a few rounds in their direction but do not fire directly on the convoy. We'll figure out where the target is based on their reaction."

"Roger that, Archer Lead."

The sharp report of a heavy machine gun shattered the morning tranquil, tracers slamming into the road directly in front of the first vehicle. The first two vehicles skidded to a halt and their occupants spilled out, firing automatic weapons into the treeline. The last vehicle peeled off and sped back in the direction it had come.

Smart. I would have guessed it was the one in the middle.

"Hold them here Archer Five, I'm going after the target."

Collapsing the sniper rifle, Shepard threw off the camouflage cloak he was lying under and jumped on a lightweight scout skimmer he had hidden nearby earlier. Opening the throttle, he was able to quickly catch up to the target vehicle, ducking as a bodyguard leaned out and fired a burst in his direction. Gritting his teeth, he instinctively ducked as a civilian skimmer screamed by in the other direction. The pursuit was taking them back into the colony, where the narrow streets and increased traffic would make it more difficult to track his quarry. Shepard drew his sidearm and carefully aimed it at the speeding vehicle's primary control surfaces. Firing several shots, he watched as the skimmer skidded out of control, slamming into a prefab. Sorenson, a heavyset man with greying hair who looked to be about in his early 50s, staggered out of the wreckage and ran into an alleyway as two bodyguards put down a deadly hail of cover fire in Shepard's direction. Ducking behind the handlebars of his scout skimmer, Shepard gunned the throttle and aimed his vehicle at the wreck, muttering a silent prayer that the kinetic barriers of his exosuit armour would hold. Too late, one of the bodyguards realized what he was doing and shouted a warning before Shepard's skimmer slammed into him, impaling him against the wall. Leaping off the skimmer, Shepard tackled the other bodyguard and dispatched him in one smooth motion before taking off after Sorenson.

"Archer Lead to Archer Five, I'm in pursuit of the target on foot back at the main colony. I may need some help here."

The distinctive growl of Operations Chief Yoshida crackled over the comlink.

"Sorry boss, we've got problems of our own. Reinforcements just showed up and they brought some heavy guns. We'll try to keep them off your back but that's about all we can do."

Shepard leapt over a low fence and clicked his comlink.

"Acknowledged, Archer Five. Keep me informed if the situation changes."

Despite his age and heavy build, Sorenson could move. Ducking between prefabs and cutting down twisting alleyways, Shepard sprinted after him until the older man reached a deadend and ran up a flight of stairs to a rooftop, only to find himself cornered. Turning to level his weapon at Shepard, he was met instead with an armoured fist that sent him flying across the roof, the pistol skidding out of his grasp.

"You can't just kill me here! There'll be witnesses!"

Shepard arched an eyebrow and looked around.

"We're on the roof of a water filtration centre, the tallest building in this settlement. Nobody can see us, unless you believe in God."

Sorenson looked pathetic as he scrambled away from Shepard on his back. His eyes darted about wildly, looking for an escape route but seeing none, desperation set into his face.

"Please! I was just doing it to feed my family!"

The man pulled out a holopic of a woman and two young children. He held it up like a religious icon, as if he could protect himself through sheer faith and willpower alone. Shepard drew his sidearm and grabbed Sorenson by the collar, hauling him to his feet.

"Right. You harvested red sand, shot two colonial militia officers when they came to shut you down, then blew up the Alliance liaison officer's prefab while he slept and you did it all to feed your family."

"The Alliance colonial development office lied to us! They lured us out here promising good farmland and opportunity then abandoned us when they discovered the planet wasn't what they thought it was! There was no other way! Please!" Sorenson grabbed Shepard's arm and tried to slip away but took another punch in the face for his trouble.

"If you take me in, they'll lock me up for life! What are you? A bounty hunter? I've got credits! I'll pay you double whatever the Alliance paid you and disappear!"

By now the man was hysterical and tears were flowing down his face.

"Please! You've got to let me go! I'll never be able to see my kids again! Have you got a wife? A family maybe? You've got to..."

Shepard coldly struck him across the face with the back of his sidearm.

"Who I am is of no concern to you Mr. Sorenson. I have my orders."

Placing the barrel of his pistol against the man's forehead, Shepard pulled the trigger. Sorenson's head snapped back as the light in his eyes went dim. Stepping down off the roof, Shepard spoke into his comlink.

"This is Archer Lead to all Archer elements. The target has been neutralized, repeat, the target has been neutralized. Make for extraction site Echo-Two for pickup, over."

Chief Yoshida's voice crackled over the comlink. Shepard could hear the chatter of automatic weapons fire and the distinctive report of mortar fire in the distance.

"This is Archer Five, we are under heavy enemy fire and have taken casualties. Requesting immediate assistance and a medevac pickup!"

The comlink crackled again.

"Archer Lead, this is Archer Five. We're close enough to render assistance. Just say the word."

A cloud of dust was billowing in the distance, a few kilometres down the road. More enemy reinforcements.

"That's a negative Archer Three," Shepard said sharply into his comlink, "Archer Five, give me a sitrep!"

"Two KIA, three wounded, including myself. We can't make it to the extraction site on our own," Yoshida responded, breathing heavily into his mouthpiece. Shepard switched channels.

"Archer Lead to SSV Hamburg, do you copy?"

A calm, clinical-sounding voice responded almost immediately, contrasting sharply with Yoshida's harried tone.

"SSV Hamburg reads, Archer Lead. What have you got?"

"I need fire support on grid square Delta-Two-Six."

"Say again, Archer Lead? That's right on top of one of your units."

Shepard closed his eyes for a moment to allow the full weight of his decision to sink in before answering.

"Affirmative, Hamburg. That was not a mistake. Fire support on grid coordinates Delta-Two-Six, now!"

Holstering his sidearm, Shepard hopped to the ground and started running towards the extraction zone.

"All Archer elements, fall back to the extraction zone immediately. Enemy forces are converging on the area."

Pausing for a moment, Shepard switched back to a private channel.

"Chief, this is Shepard. I'm sorry."

There was no response for a moment but then Yoshida's baritone voice sounded in his ear.

"I understand sir. It's been an honour serving under you."

The sky suddenly lit up as several streaks of light slammed into the ground in the distance, the impact sending shockwaves in every direction and deafening Shepard momentarily. The commlink buzzed for a moment then cut out to static.

"... the target was neutralized at approximately 09:00 hours this morning, sir. Surviving elements of Archer were successfully extracted by SSV Hamburg shortly after."

Disembodied hands cut off the tip of a cigar and lit it, bringing it up to Admiral Cullen's face. The Admiral leaned into the holodisplay.

"Casualties?"

Shepard suddenly saw Operation Chief Yoshida's smiling face in the reflection of his glass and heard his booming laugh outside on the crew deck. He half expected the man to poke his head in the door, asking Shepard if he wanted to join the rest of the men for a game of poker. No matter how many times Shepard said no, Yoshida would always come back to ask again. Shepard suddenly found himself wishing he'd accepted the last time.

"Nine dead, two wounded."

Admiral Cullen nodded.

"Well done Commander. I'll see you back on Arcturus in a few days. You and your men have got a few days of leave saved up."

Shepard reached out to cut the link but then stopped.

"Was there something else, Commander?"

Shepard hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

The Admiral waved his hand for him to continue.

"Do you ever have trouble sleeping, sir?"

Admiral Cullen puffed on his cigar thoughtfully for a moment.

"Nightmares, Commander?"

Shepard's eyebrows arched in surprise but the Admiral just closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

"It's not easy leading men into battle, son. Being in command means that sometimes you give orders knowing that your people are going to die. That can't affect your decisions. You want to know my recommendation Commander?"

Shepard nodded, although he already knew what the answer would be. The Admiral gestured to the glass Shepard had in front of him and the half-empty bottle of Johnnie Walker Black beside it. For the first time since he'd met the man, Shepard thought he saw a glimmer of regret in Admiral Cullen's eyes.

"Keep pouring, son and promise you'll do better next time."

Admiral Cullen cut the link, leaving Shepard to sit alone in his cabin. Lighting a cigarette, Shepard took the bottle and poured himself another glass.