CHAPTER 2
Ilium is a free-trade world. One of his team mates had rightly mentioned that Ilium is just another Omega with expensive shoes that one wrong sign and you're in neck deep trouble.
Before finally deciding about the shore-leave, Shepard had talked with nearly everyone in the Normandy to know what they had in their mind – though few preferred Citadel over everything else, majority favoured Ilium, yet there was a stray suggestion about the 'The Hock's Castle' in Bekenstein, even a suggestion for Omega. One thing Shepard knew for sure was that – whatever else may happen he was not going to end up his free-time fighting with gang wars again, considering the so diverse characteristics of his team; thus, Omega was struck out from the list in the first place.
He knew their accommodation was arranged by his XO and probably, as he guessed, with the help of Liara. Hotel Azure is one of the most posh hotels in Ilium; and once the crews came to know that it also comes with an exotic edge, everyone one so animated that they were barely able to conceal their excitement on their face in front of their commander – as Shepard saw, once he officially announced the leave in the CIC.
While he entered his room in the hotel, he gave a quick glance and was more than astounded to see the aristocracy and the erudition of the interior decoration.
Back in the days of his training in the Alliance, he remembered – he only had a cot, a small table and a personal locker. He had sometimes joked himself thinking what exactly he had for HIMSELF to store in a locker! However, the Alliance arrangement – to him was in one way – 'what-else-one-can-dream'. As in his childhood days on Earth, he had slept on the floor in his uncle's house. In those days he only fantasized to have slept on a bed wrapping a quilt, especially during the cold seasons. In most of those nights he had got special assignments from the local drug-dealers – so in other times he mostly slept, sitting on the crates inside the dark, damp, foul-smelling and condemned garages, where the gang-leader or the drug dealers would set up their bases of operations.
Sometimes Shepard wondered about the transition of his life from an anonymous gang-member to an N7 marine and finally a Spectre! Even in his early teenage years, he didn't find any other reasons to have an ambition more than becoming the 'leader' of a gang. Shepard had no image of his mother, who died on the process of child-birth. His father was too busy with his drug business to even remember the birthdays of his only child. Ronald (his father) had set up his heinous commerce along with his elder brother whom he lost during a cross-fire while both of them were on one of their several deliver operations. Shepard was raised along with his two senior cousin brothers by his aunt.
Till the age of eight years, John seemed to be less bothered about their family business, attending a local school he would have his childhood fantasies and all... Then the day came when he lost his father to another gang-war and was forced to join the family business under the pressure of his aunt. All that he had been dreaming during these many days were perished under the twisted will of the Fate. To have said 'neglected' and 'exploited' to judge the next phase of his life was like giving an honour to the kid.
Shepard had never known what it is to have a mother – hence, the concept of motherly affection was something alien to him. His aunt was a witch – in all sense – who not only spitted out foul words to the young Shepard but also behaved the same way to her own off-springs. And in those days the only friends he had were his two elderly cousins – Niel who was 7 years senior and Charles who was 4 years senior to him. All these went through with lots of toughs and crests till he was sixteen.
Probably, the Fate finally decided to turn the kid upside down and make him prepared for his destiny in the years to come.
That night, as John remembers, they had just finished their supper and along with Niel and Charles, he was preparing for the night operation, as usual. While his aunt was busy packaging the small drug pouches, Niel was making jokes on Charles about the fact how Charles has got a 'crush' on the youngest daughter of their gang-leader. Shepard was enjoying watching silently the two ever-bickering twins.
Suddenly, Franko, the one-time right hand of his father, busted through the door panting heavily with a face full of horror and agony. Everyone inside the room was startled by the unexpected rush, concentrated on the visitor with uncanny and perpetrated anticipation. Franko was bleeding heavily from a large gaping wound on his right lower abdomen. He was trying really hard to cease the blood-flow with his right hand, but on the process failing, leaving his costumes stained with fresh deep red. His speech was staggered and jumbled, his eyes were coming out of their sockets and he was desperately trying to wave his free hand to all of them indicating to flee. He could barely stand and dropped on the floor hard, only to increase his agony further. With all effort what John and his family could make sense was that – they have been attacked and exposed by the rival gang and their house has probably been flanked from all the three sides and that they must immediately leave, should they wish to survive.
Without a moment's hesitation, Niel grabbed Charles and John – threw them to the corner of the room and himself tried to take a cover on the opposite side of the room; alas! He was too late. The windows being open, the goons outside had already got him marked – three bullet shots hit straight in his chest while the fourth one passed through his wind-pipe dropping him dead beside the dying Franko. Sara (Shepard's aunt) was in the opposite corner of the room, she tried her best to take a cover between two crates while switching off the room lights. Once the room was dark, John and Charles heard the footsteps outside the entrance of the house – they were trying to blow the door open!
Both the kids and Sara felt that they were nearing their last moments. But John had never ever given up so easily in all short span of his life. The Fate, in her twisted whims, might have played and ridiculed the kid in the worst ways possible, may have tried her level best to bring the boy down to his knees but unknowingly only have made him stronger, more determined and more resolved, in the process. Probably, it was the goddess of Destiny who was still harbouring some hope in her mind to meet with the boy some day.
John elbowed Charles and whispered something into his ears. Both crawled to the bathroom which was jus few steps away from their location. Sara was in the opposite side of the room, she heard the sound of the bathroom door open. The bellows of the unholy laughter outside their house had increased by this time and there were filthy bark from the goons – threatening the survivors inside the house to the core of their hearts. Sara tried to quickly cross the distance to get to the bathroom but stumbled on the two corpses only to get a loud knock to her head, seeing stars.
Inside the bathroom, John tried to dismantle the glasses from the window sills. Once there was a wide berth, he squeezed through the opening, falling straight on the garbage dump with a silent thump and a dull throbbing pain to the back of his head. Charles being stouter and less agile had great difficulty squeezing through the opening.
By the time Shepard came out of the garbage dump, he looked upward to see Charles head peeping through the opening and then – there was a huge explosion – the darkness inside being shattered with the bright golden orange hue of the blast.
The entrance was whacked! Once the way was clear the gang open fired through the darkness. Sara had no chance, got caught in between the surge of bullets and met with her destiny.
Marcos, who was leading the gang, had some warped gut-feeling that something was not going as per the preparation. He ordered his men to cease fire and entered the room. The room was filled with streaks and rays of light coming out from their torches. They saw the dead bodies.
"Where are the KIDS?" Marcus shouted impatiently.
Charles got desperate and on his careless attempt, forgot to keep up the stealth – splintered several glasses under his feet and then unexpectedly realized it was "stale-mate". On his last effort he could only yell, "Run. John. Run" before a barrage of shells left his body obliterated. John only saw the eyes got lifelessly fixed on him and Charle's body limply fell on the garbage can. His vision was blurred, he could not stop crying and he felt so helpless. But his limbic system, behind the back of his brain, urged him to run – the three basic characteristics of a life – growth, response to a stimulus and multiplication.
Marcus rushed to the bathroom; he peeped his head out of the window and saw the kid running. He started firing at the direction. "Get. The. Boy!"
John felt a sense of pointed excruciating pain on his left shoulder and stumbled on to the road. It was too much for the unconditioned juvenile body! Despite all the ache and emotional mayhem, he clenched his teeth hard, got up and started running again as fast as he could. He could hear the sounds of gun-fire behind him and the monstrous scream and shouts of the gangs. He knew they were coming after him.
In his front, John saw the contorted reflection of the moon on the running stream water which carried industrial waste from a nearby manufacturing industry. To the locals, the water was a curse – one could hardly think of even walking along the stream, not to talk of swimming across it.
But John never had the luxury of options in his life – one more foul play of the Fate. He drew a deep breath as much as he could manage and dived into the water. The stream spanned 50 to 60 meters at most and current was feeble. With last pump of his will he swam across to the other side – his body was literally on the verge of lock-down. But John could see the lights in the not-so-distant colony, he could also see two or three cop like figures guarding the entrance - from frying pan to fire – the Fate devilishly smiled at the kid probably, for the last time.
The last image he had in his mind before his body finally collapsed on the road unconscious was the lifeless stare of Charle's eyes, his body being mutilated by the gun-fire.
A/N1: For me Shepard is an encyclopaedia of pain and sufferings, an idol of negligence and exploitations, a statue of strong will and survival. It was not that the commander, as we see today, was built in a day. It was the series of events which started when the first sign of survival was announced by the triumphant sperm (of his father) gaining entry into the ovum (of his mother) and which continued through the birth trauma, his childhood days – making his existence a living hell out of the innocent and immature mind. I'll try to bring out these aspects of the Shepard's life. And well... this is one of my futile attempts to project a picture of his early days and how he stepped on the podium of life to become the man as he is today. Reviews are much appreciated.
A/N2: I am not a sadist ;) in case one falsely figures. I couldn't exactly figure out ratings for this fiction; so preferred 'M' just to play safe. As far as category/genre is concerned it involves – Drama/hurt/romance/humour/friendship.