It was always the same dream in the end. He carried with him.
Even on the rare occasion that it started off good, it never took long for it to devolve into a nightmare.
They were simple people. Just farmers. Eking out a quiet existence on a fringe colony.
The same accident that had given his mother cancer had given him powers beyond that of mortal men the same powers that every asari was born with, that most species in the galaxy were lucky to get at all.
The ability to create and manipulate mass effect fields with a thought.
Jonathan Shepard was a Biotic.
He was the talk of the colony after that for good and for ill.
His parents had spent their life savings to get him fitted with an implant. Something he'd never be able to repay them for. They'd wanted to give him the best and brightest future possible. His mother had insisted, even when the payments started to take away from her medical bills. Hannah was a good mother. You were born under a lucky star, she always told him.
She'd been dragged out of their home and shot in the street for being too weak to enslave.
His father had well-known around the colony. Best tasting produce at the lowest prices. He always said that it was a man's job to provide. For the strong to take care of the weak, not exploit them. Jon had been blessed, and he needed to use his powers to help people. Richard Shepard was a good man.
He'd been run over by a batarian shuttle, pushing Jon out of the way. With his spine shattered he'd whispered something in Jon's ear before he died.
And on it went as the colony was razed to the ground.
Old man Clarence?
Burned to death inside the general store, while the batarians laughed and barred the door.
Paula Fletcher, the girl that Jon had taken to the school dance not a week ago?
Raped until she passed out and then shot in the temple.
They were the lucky ones. Jon could see others being herded like cattle. The children. The ones that would last the longest as slaves. Something broke in Jon that day, and it became evident when he snuck up on a batarian and bashed his head in with a rock, biotically throwing the ones that came near.
Then they noticed him, took an interest in him over the other civilians that were trying and failing to fight back.
Biotics were valuable, and he was only sixteen.
But Jonathan Shepard was angry, and he'd just watched everyone he ever cared about get murdered in front of him. He'd also never had any training on how to use his abilities. His parents had been saving up to get him sent to a special school. That was yesterday.
The batarian's closed the distance and Jonathan reached deep within himself, willing his powers to do something, anything. He'd gotten decent at biotically throwing things over the last few years, practicing on rocks.
He reached out his hands with a cry of rage and then everything went away in a blaze of brilliant blue.
Years later, he'd find out that the trick he did was commonly referred to as a flare. Something usually only asari in the matron stage were capable of doing. He wouldn't be able to do it again for years.
As it was, using it the first time nearly killed him.
That was how the alliance patrol under the command of David Anderson had found him, shuffling around the town square in a daze, faintly glowing blue and covered in batarian blood.
Jonathan Shepard was a survivor.
That was then. Seven years ago.
Now, now he was on Akuze, staring hollowly at the blood drying on his boots as a new nightmare wrapped its hand around his heart. It had all seemed so simple. A fringe colony had gone dark. Jon had volunteered for the mission immediately. It hit too close to home. There was talk of it being slavers.
Some fringe elements that had survived the Skyllian blitz.
The alliance had sent fifty soldiers under the command of Captain Hendrickson to investigate, figuring that it would be more than enough.
They had been wrong.
It wasn't slavers. It was something far, far worse.
They had arrived at the colony to find it empty. Not a trace of a single person at first glance. Then they'd looked closer. Started seeing the smears of blood. The green fluid that was acidic enough to eat through metal dripping off of some of the prefabs. The footprints in the sand that ended at odd depressions in the ground.
Then Jones, God rest his soul had spotted something blue and ropey, several feet long sticking out of the ground. Some kind of space cactus, he'd joked. Then it moved. It moved and there hadn't been any wind. And then Jones, that poor son of a bitch, had touched it. What had happened next was a blur for Shepard. It had wrapped itself around Jones and then erupted out of the ground, revealing itself to be at least several stories high in length. A massive insect of some kind, all tentacles and hard chitinous armor, and that blue ropey thing had been its tongue.
Jones disappeared down its throat before he had time to scream. The rest of the squad screamed for him and opened fire but to little effect. When the creature had slammed down into the ground to burrow away the force knocked nearly everybody off their feet and crushed Captain Hendrickson into a paste. Then when the ground started to shake all over the colony, they realized that there was more than one of the things.
That was then.
Two hours ago.
And the creatures had hunted them relentlessly, toothy maws never full, hunger never satisfied.
There were Four of them now.
Four. Out of fifty.
And even though he was only a gunnery chief, Jonathan Shepard was the highest ranking officer left.
With a muted sigh, he tore his eyes away from his boots and looked at who was left.
Corporal Toombs, Private Reilly and Private Mason, counting himself that was it and Toombs was muttering to himself like he'd lost it.
He probably had.
The shuttles that had taken them down to the surface were all parked three clicks away from the outskirts of the colony. Less than two miles, but they might as well have been on the moon for all the good it was doing them. Two and a half hours of trying to get there, inching forward, finding safe places to stand, and never knowing where the ground would erupt next.
Who would die next.
They'd lost Carter and Scott less than fifteen minutes ago. Carter had always had a nice smile. Jon had watched as that smile slid off her face, along with her skin and muscle.
He was going to miss her.
"We're fucked." Toombs muttered.
Jon nodded in agreement.
They stood on a small rocky outcropping, something that gave them a moment's respite from teeth under the sand. The creatures, giant mouths that they were, did not seem to enjoy tunneling through rock as much.
Of course, it could have been that the ones closest to them had their hunger satiated for a moment as they digested Carter and Scott. The shuttle was so close now. But they'd lost so many people just trying to make it as close as they had.
Forty feet away from salvation.
"We've got to go now." Jon said quietly. "I don't… the creatures have been quiet, but they seem to always know where we are. Maybe smell. Maybe they can feel the vibrations when our feet are touching sand. "
"Think we can all make the run chief?" Reilly asked with a note of hope in his voice.
No. Jon wanted to say. But that wouldn't help anyone. "On three we run." He said instead. "Good luck and godspeed. One. Two…" Jon tensed his legs.
"Three!"
No sooner had they hit the dirt that a maw burst out of the ground, spitting venom in their direction.
A ball of acid exploded across Mason and he was gone with a short-bloodcurling yelp, rapidly melting away into a fleshy puddle.
"Keep moving!" Jon yelled.
Thirty feet away.
Twenty-five.
The ground erupted in a cascade of dirt and rock. Tendrils dragged Toombs out of sight before he could make a noise. Jon grit his teeth. He could mourn later. They could mourn later.
Twenty-five became ten.
They had a chance. A real goddam chance.
Reilly screamed.
No. Jon thought in agony, spinning on his heel. Reilly was being pulled into the ground, one spindly tendril wrapped around his body.
Their eyes met briefly.
"Shoot me! Goddammit Jon, Shoot meee!" Reilly screamed as he started to disappear from view.
Jonathan's hand shook but he managed to shoot Reilly in the head. His corpse disappeared down the creatures gullet and then the monster reared out of the sand, turning its attention to Jon.
He was waiting for it. That cold fire was gathering in his chest again. He'd been one of six biotic soldiers in the platoon. But the others were all dead now. They couldn't throw, pull. Jackson had hit one with a warp and severed its tongue but it turned out their blood was acidic too, and he hadn't been able maintain the barriers over the people near him for very long.
But Jon was out of people to protect. And there was no need to worry about collateral damage. It lunged at him with a roar and he thrust his hands out with a roar of his own. The dark matter fields he was manipulating blew its head apart as its jaws closed around him.
The maw, for that was all it seemed to be, collapsed to the ground with a wet thump, insides spilling out its neck. Jon collapsed to his knees in exhaustion, the blast of biotic energy having worn him out. Can't rest. He told himself, getting to his feet and stumbling into the shuttle. He made it to the pilot's chair and pushed the controls wearily. It rose into the air and sped away from Akuze's surface in a matter of moments.
Then, and only then did Jon allow himself to weep.
Momma always said he was a born under a lucky star. And Pops? Well, his last words had about summed it up.
"You're gonna do something great one day, boy. You ain't gonna die 'till you do it."
Maybe pops was right, but that didn't make the pain of being the sole survivor of another tragedy hurt any less.
But he'd carry this with him.
Just like Mindoir.
So here we have a look into the last moments of the tragedy on Akuze, the moment that made the sole survivor. This is my paragade shepard, a colonist/sole survivor/adept. As Always, reviews are welcome. Thanks for reading! When we return for the last one-shot we'll be taking a look at the Hero of Elysium, who happens to be my renegade!