There we are ! The first chapter of what I hope will be a long , very long serie ! I will try to get at least on chapter a week, but I have the feeling it's gonna be hard. Beeing French, I have some problems writing in english, so I hope you will help me to improve. Whatever. Enter Commander Shepard, Lion of Elysium, Son of Terra, and psychotic badass.

Something was not right. He could feel it.

"Com'on kid'o. We're not done here." The voice rang into the darkness, bringing back to life images he would have rather forgot. His own gaze was staring back at him, from the cracked mirror of the filthy bathroom of an old abandoned factory. At this time, the boy who would become the fearsome Commander Shepard was nothing but a brat without parents, like so many others in the streets of New York. Short, dirty black hairs were hanging around a face as white and as cold as ice. Only his blue eyes were betraying his future, burning with a flame of sheer will. The will to survive, no matter the cost.

A pained cry echoed through the factory. Tearing his gaze from the mirror and leaving the room, the boy took a look at the scene playing before him as a heavy hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.

"T'is 'bout time. What took you so damn long ?", spat the man.

"Sorry Flinch." ,was the quiet answer, "won't happened again."

"Better not…" he grumbled as another shout silenced them both. In the middle of the hangar, a lone man tied to a steely chair was surrounded by half a dozen thugs, each of them pacing around like savage animals, on the verge to break their leash. Only one man was standing, unmoved neither by the call for mercy nor the blood thirsty howls. An aura of authority surrounded the man and his voice was steady as one of his men slammed once again a crowbar on one of their victim's knee.

"You've disappointed me Carl", he sighed, almost compassionate, "I gave you home and protection, didn't I ? "

Moaning through his broken teeth, the man only managed to spill more blood on his face.

"And all I was asking for, was a little respect. " The face of the man was a mask of contempt. "But even that you couldn't give me, could you Carl?"

This time, he managed to speak.

"John please…", he choked as a fist suddenly impacted with his jaw, unbalancing the chair and sending him to the floor.

"Don't you dare speak to me you miserable piece of shit!", eructed the man as he raised a foot above Carl's face and slammed it down with all his weight. The sound of broken bones filled the factory as John hit the man, again and again until he barely moved anymore. Breathing deeply, the chief of the Tenth street Reds turned slowly, coming to a stop only when his gaze found the whelp's.

"Come here child" , he said all anger gone, "It's time for you to learn something."

Seeing the boy unmoving, Flinch ruthlessly shoved him forward. Uncaring for the glare of the Reds, his gaze fixed on the pathetic excuse of a man curled on the floor, he merely noticed that something hard and cold was pushed between his fingers as John was kneeling at his side, eyes as cold as the gun he just gave him.

"You know the deal kid…We take care of you and your sister, and you take care of some problems for us."

Shaking lightly, the whelp glanced down at his hand wrapped around the heavy caliber, staring at it for several long seconds.

"Or", pursued an impatient John, "We could take really good care of her…Would you like that kid ?"

Something broke into the boy. His gaze hardened and his shakes stopped. He took a quick step forward and leveled the gun to Carl's face. He shot once. Behind him, he could nearly feel the glee of the Reds leader.

Darkness took him.

He grew larger. Still, it was not enough. The day had begun on a joyful note. Both him and his little sister were humming lightly in their kitchen.

On his arm, the pain caused by his recent gang's tatoo was nothing compared to the sheer joy he felt at the sight of his sister looking at the cake in front

of her.

On top of it, four candles were alight, brightening slightly their small apartment. The anniversary cake was a luxury, but the smile of the girl was worth any price. She looked at him, unsure how to procede.

"Make a wish." he muttered. She flashed an even brighter smile at him and closed her eyes. And then all hell broke loose.

The door of their apartment disappeared in a flash, throwing both of them off their feets. Through the smoke, black figures clad in massive armor came, weapons at the ready. The first of them spotted the childrens and walked straight at them.

Shaking, the boy raised and tried to stand in the path of the soldier.

His poorly aimed fist was deflected as nothing more but a mere nuisance while an armored boot was thrust into his stomach, leaving him suffocating on the dirty floor of their house. In the far, he could still hear his sister screaming his name as she was dragged out of their home. Of the two of them, it was her that managed to knock out one of the soldiers, her body aglow with biotics. It did not seem the least bit confusing to them. They just took her. And now here he was, almost passed out, alone. He tried to raise again, only to feel a foot flattening him to the ground. He tried to crawl his way out of his trap. A shot rang and a jolt of intolerable pain carved his way through his stomach. As everything seemed to fade away, he could still see the ruin of a cake on the floor, the four candles still burning.

Darkness took him.

Someone saw the fire. That's how they founded him. The governement. Alone, no parents, no friends, no future. He was eleven and they took him. For his own good they said.

Now he was sitting in a large white room. Cleaner than ever. High-pressure shower do that. In front of him, a not so young woman was gently smiling at him. Behind her, a large grey-haired man was standing, military dressed and looking as straight as law. His gaze was hard, critical, demanding. The boy stared back, unmoved. The woman was speaking again, but he couldn't quite get himself to listen at more vapid feelings. The old man never blinked, but as their contest went on, a sharp smile slowly crept across his face.

A snap brought the boy's attention back to the lady. She was in military outfit too, now that he was taking a moment to notice. More important, she was pissed.

"I'm not use to people not listening at me boy" , she barked with a voice used to order people around, " and I won't have that around here!"

As if kicked by instincts long forgotten, the boy found suddenly himself holding his back straighter and listening to the woman in front of him.

"That's more like it " ,she grumbled before throwing a glance at the man behind her.

"He has some spirits" ,he said, " I like him."

"Right" ,she replied, "Should have known you would fall for a hard-headed one." She turned back to the boy.

"You want to get out of here son?"

There was only a moment of hesitation before the answer came out, thrown out as if burning his lips. "Yes."

"Then you might call us mother and father. I am Hannah Shepard. What is your name?"

He went silence for a few seconds as he thought of something fitting.

"John."

Darkness took him.

If there was a hell, he would gladly give up his shore leave at Elysium for one week down there. Another shot missed him by only an inch. He was getting sloppy. Crouching behind his cover and correcting his aim, his riffle let out a new burst of fire and the last Batarian went back with a howl of agony. There dead were starting to make piles across the streets. John had long lost the sense of time. The only thought across his mind was simple, hold the breach or die. Talking about that...His gaze travelled across the volunteers who had chosen to take the arms at his sides. Only dead eyes stared back. His gaze went upon the nearest, a woman, civilian. Three bloody holes in the chest, a mask of shock upon her face. Snarling, he grabbed her by the collar and dragged her cold body across the floor and dropped her among the pile of dead civilians before resting the barrel of his rifle on the top of them as once again he knelt behind the corpses. From the far, alien's howls were echoing upon the wind as the slavers were getting ready for an another assault.

Shepard merely cocked his weapon.

Let them come…

Darkness took him.

Billions of screams. Entire worlds burning. The methodical and relentless extermination of an entire galaxy. This time, the darkness remained. Snarling, the man fought the visions, pushed them back as he refused to be overwhelmed by the primal fear that surrounded him. The Lion of Eltsyium roared and darkness fell back.

Lieutenant Commander John Shepard was not used to dream. For him, a casual night was empty as the void. He was not used to feel every inch of ruthlessness he had to display to merely survive. He was not used to be sane while slaughtering people and then using their bodies as cover. He was for sure not used to feel the death of a whole specie. He blinked. The darkness disappeared, only to be replaced by a white ceiling. He went still for long minutes, trying to put any sense on what he just saw. He blinked again and brought a hand to rub his eyes hard, finally figuring out that he was in the Normandy's infirmary.

Jenkins KIA…Perky Turian Spectre KIA…Gunnery Chief Williams, alive. Or I hope so.

As if his movement had turned on a switch, someone out of his vision shouted something he couldn't bring himself to understand.

"Gotta stop the booze…"

Oh that's right. The beacon…

Thanks to sergiusthegreat for his help.