CHAPTER 14

The Hero

Despite Hackett's best efforts, news of Shepard's survival spread throughout the allied fleet like wildfire. Everyone from the humans, turians, krogan to even a few select batarians were celebrating the Commander's amazing victory over death. Hackett initially wanted to keep the news quiet until Shepard's injuries had been fully assessed, fearing that people's celebrations would be premature should he later die from his injuries. However, his order couldn't stop Corporal Vasquez from boasting to everyone he could about his heroic rescue of the legendary Shepard.

The war against the Reapers had been taxing for all involved. Especially so for Vasquez. His short military career was riddled with loss after loss. Most of his family had been killed in the initial invasion of Earth, and over time, more and more of his friends that he served with in the Alliance were lost as well. The battles he fought throughout the galaxy were terrible, and whatever victories they achieved were pyrrhic ones at best. Victories which would usually be undone only days later by the arrival of Reaper capital ships. The battle of London had been particularly harrowing, with Vasquez having to spend much of the battle in active retreat, or hiding when the unit he was assigned to was mercilessly torn apart by shrieking banshees.

But finding Shepard… that was the one accomplishment Vasquez had achieved since the war broke out that he could take pride in. The one thing he did that actually felt like it mattered. And he had decided that no matter what the consequences may be, everyone would know the name of the man who saved Shepard.

For a good portion of his time off, Vasquez had been drunkenly retelling the story of his heroic rescue in a makeshift bar at one of the many small bases set up along the outskirts of London. The small army of admirers he had gathered throughout the night would usually buy him a drink and ask him to retell his story. As the night went on, and the drinks grew more frequent, the tale would get taller and taller.

"So there he was! On the ground!" shouted Vasquez, perched on a table in the middle of the bar and waving his arms around in exaggerated motions. "Surrounded by three- No!- four hungry keepers! Each one bearing horrible, dripping fangs! Preparing to devour the poor, helpless Shepard!"

"What did you do?!" bellowed an overly inebriated krogan staggering at the bar.

Vasquez contorted his face into the best Dirty Harry impression he could muster, and pointed toward the crowd with an imaginary gun. "That's when I said, 'Dinners cancelled ya filthy buggers!' POW POW POW!" he cried, causing the drunken crowd to roar in thunderous approval.

"That's only three shots!" came a disbelieving shout from an uptight turian at the back of the room. "You said there were four keepers!"

Vasquez shrugged and mimed another shot "POW!", eliciting yet another cheer from the crowd of rowdy soldiers.

He basked in their praise and adulation, trying to absorb as much of it as he could so that he might never forget the feeling. But another feeling soon crept up on him. An unwelcome one that managed to crawl from his stomach all the way to his throat before he finally figured out what it was.

Vasquez quickly slid down from the table and swallowed as hard as he could, trying to keep whatever was coming up back down where it belonged. A few hard slaps to the back from his fellow soldiers nearly made that impossible, but the fear of potentially losing his fan's newfound respect strengthened his resolve, and after some concentrating, he won the battle.

Figuring that was the sign to finally take his leave, Vasquez humbly bowed before the crowd. "All right! This hero has had enough for one night. If any of the ladies want to know what a legend feels like… you know where to find me," he said, winking suggestively at several asari sitting at a nearby table.

They responded by sneering at him and rolling their eyes in mild disgust. Vasquez took the rejection in stride, although, he was pretty sure he saw a turian female just past them wink back at him.

Standing up straight, puffing out his chest, and doing his best to fight through the alcohol induced dizziness, Vasquez pushed his way through the rowdy crowd. He grinned like a cat feeling many different hands, human and alien alike, slap his shoulders and back as he made his way toward the door. But when he was only feet from the exit he felt an extra strong hand clasp onto his shoulder and roughly tug him back toward the bar.

He stumbled awkwardly from the unexpected pull and his face immediately flushed with anger. The strength of the grip, at first, made him think a krogan had grabbed him, but he was surprised to see it was an older human man. The man smiled warmly, staring into him with piercing amber colored eyes. He had long, messy silver hair that stopped just before his jawline and several deep scars scattered across his rugged, stubble covered face.

"You can't leave just yet! I want to hear more of your story!" the scarred man bellowed while drunkenly shoving a half-empty glass of brandy into Vasquez' face.

Vasquez glanced past the drink to quickly look the man up and down. The man looked like a simple mechanic. Wearing black deck boots and stained coveralls that reeked of grease and coolant. With a face like his though, Vasquez figured the man had probably seen some hard combat. That, or maybe some wild animal had a go at him.

The man pressed him again. "Did you really do all that? Did you really save Shepard?"

Vasquez nodded awkwardly back at him. "Of course! Carried him back to the rescue shuttle all by myself too."

The man let out a throaty laugh. "Thats amazing! Here, let me get our savior's hero a drink!"

Before Vasquez could reject the offer, the man reached behind, plucked a waiting glass filled with a pungent purple liquid off the bar and thrust it toward him. Almost instinctively Vasquez reached to take it, but the little voice in the back of his head telling him to stop and rest stayed his hand.

"Uh… Thanks," he said, offering the man a gracious smile. "But I think I'm good. Besides, I've got to get back to my bunk."

The man's jovial expression slowly morphed into one of sad confusion. "But you can't go just yet. You haven't finished your story! C'mon, tell me what happened next. What did you do after you found him?"

Vasquez stammered for a few seconds, confused by the man's request. As far as he knew, the most interesting part of the story was when he found Shepard. Nobody ever asked what happened afterwards.

"Well… I took him to… a doctor… on a ship," he stumbled, his inebriated mind blanking on how to make it sound as interesting as the earlier parts of his tale.

The man arched a suspicious eyebrow at him. "Thats it? C'mon, what ship? What did the docs say when they saw him?"

Vasquez appreciated the man's curiosity, but he was starting to become annoyed. While he knew he would most likely be reprimanded for openly talking about Shepard's retrieval before he was supposed to, Vasquez was certain he'd be court martialed if he gave away any sensitive information. He was drunk, but not that drunk.

Feigning regret as best he could, Vasquez shrugged his shoulders and simply stated, "Sorry. Thats the whole story. Wish there was more I could tell you."

The man frowned glumly at him as he slowly retracted the offered drink. "Damn. I was hoping there would be more… Oh well, I won't keep our hero any longer." With that, the man slowly slunk back into his seat at the bar and proceeded to finish his brandy.

Fatigue from the eventful night beginning to set in, Vasquez quickly pushed the strange man out of his mind and stepped out into the cold London night. The playful and relaxing music of the bar was swiftly replaced by the thrum of overhead shuttle engines and the sound of boots splashing in soft earth and mud.

Hundreds upon hundreds of stark white field tents were outstretched before him, organized in neat rows almost as far as he could see. Tents set up for the wounded, for soldiers who no longer had a ship to return to, and for the scattered refugees that had flocked to them once the Reapers had fallen.

There were several prefab habitation units scattered between the tents that had hastily assembled in the battle's aftermath. Most were being used as field hospitals, but several were reserved as barracks for active, long range SAR units. Vasquez considered himself lucky. For if he wasn't part of the SAR team, he would've been stuck searching the maze of identical tents for whichever one would have been his.

He stumbled awkwardly through the rows of tents as he made his way toward the barracks, occasionally glancing inside of them as he passed. Many of them looked to be filled with refugees. Humans that had stayed or were left behind once the Reapers hit Earth in force. Most looked pretty worse for wear, with many of them emaciated from a lack of food, or nursing old injuries that never got the chance to be properly treated. From what he could tell, almost all of the tents were full, and he wondered if they would have enough for the countless others that no doubt needed help.

The barracks was buzzing with activity when he finally reached it. Dozens of soldiers were scooting past each other through the relatively small doorway. Some were just getting up and ready for duty, while others were like Vasquez, hoping to get some rest or much needed sleep before their next arduous shift.

Vasquez nodded and saluted to just about everyone on his way back to his bunk, unsure as to which of the figures he was passing was an officer or not. Most either didn't notice him, or were too busy to salute back.

He grinned upon finally reaching his room, the third door on the right, down a lone corridor. It took several attempts to open the door as the alcohol made it pretty difficult for him to properly aim his index finger. The door finally swished open and he let out a loud sigh of relief.

He had the room to himself for once.

He typically didn't mind sharing, but lately he had been paired up with a man who's snore tended to be louder than a Mako engine. At least for a few hours, he figured, he could finally get some good sleep.

It was more of a closet than a room. One that had four bunks filling the walls leaving only enough space for a small table, some footlockers, and a cramped walkway in between them. But compared to the tents, this was a mansion.

Vasquez haphazardly kicked off his muddy boots, flinging them toward the far end of the room before moving to settle down on his cot. It was surprisingly comfy tonight, but he wasn't certain if that was because it genuinely was or if the alcohol was playing tricks on him. Either way he didn't mind. Just before he laid down, he reached over to the small holographic clock on the table beside him and clicked on some of his favorite music. Since he was alone for a change, he cranked the volume as high as he wanted.

He let the synth waves from his loud music wash over him as he laid there, head swimming in a mix of self satisfaction and drunken contentment. A feeling he wished to savor for as long as time would allow.

But just before he was able to drift off to sleep, he heard the intrusive sound of the door to his room opening and closing behind the stamp of hard boots stepping in.

"Don't worry…" he groaned, swinging his feet off the bunk. "I'll turn it down."

"No need…"

Vasquez's eyes instantly sprang open. He recognized the voice, but it didn't belong to any of his bunkmates.

He turned to see the strange, silver haired man from the bar standing in his doorway, fists tightly clenched, and amber eyes boring into him.

Vasquez jumped to his feet. "What the hell!? What are you-"

The man closed on him in the blink of an eye, and before Vasquez could properly react, slammed a hard fist into Vasquez's stomach. He doubled over from the sudden pain, and the contents of his stomach that he had fought so hard to keep down earlier quickly came pouring from his mouth.

He gasped desperately for air, but soon felt the man's hands wrap around his neck, lift him back up, and pin him harshly back to his bunk.

"I hate it when people don't finish their stories," the man hissed while tightly squeezing Vasquez's throat.

Vasquez tried prying the man's hands off his neck but his grip was too strong. He tried kicking, swinging wildly at him, anything to try and get his attacker off of him. Nothing worked. The man shrugged off his clumsy blows with barely a reaction.

Just as he was about to lose consciousness, Vasquez felt the man's grip loosen just enough for him to take a quick, haggard breath through his clenched windpipe.

"Tell me, hero," the man mocked. "What happened next? Where did you take him?"

Vasquez desperately tried to shake his head. "Just… some ship!" he squeaked out while still gasping for air.

In a quick motion, the man raised one hand and clenched his fist, summoning a long, glowing omni-blade from behind his wrist.

Vasquez's eyes grew wide in terror as the man leveled the hot, rippling blade at his now sweating face.

"What ship?"

He tried to pull away, but that only made the blade draw closer.

"I-I… don't remember!"

"What ship!" the man snarled viciously as he lowered the blade until it was only inches from the terrified soldier's face.

The heat from the blade stung his eyes, and despite his best efforts, hopeless panic quickly took over.

"Ginsburg!" Vasquez croaked, finally relenting. "We took him... to the Ginsburg!"

The man kept his firm grip on his throat and the omni-blade leveled for several, long seconds. His eyes, almost glowing in the reflected light of the omni-blade, were studying him intently. Looking for any sort of lie or excuse to finish him off.

To Vasquez's shock the man smiled at him, disabled his blade, and let go of his throat.

Vasquez coughed hard and immediately brought his hands to both rub and protect his throbbing neck. The man continued to hover over him, grinning almost innocently.

"There. Was that so hard?" the man asked calmly. Vasquez simply stared back at him, sweating, struggling to breath, and frozen with terror.

"W-why?" was all that Vasquez was able to say between ragged breaths. The man responded by gently patting the side of Vasquez's beleaguered face.

"Its not important. All you need to know, is that you've done a great service not only to humanity… but the rest of the galaxy as well."

Out of the corner of his eye, Vasquez saw the man reach into one of the many deep pockets on his mechanics uniform and pull out a liquor bottle filled with a bright green liquid. Panic set in again and Vasquez moved to roll off his bed and make for the door, but the man's hand resting against his face gripped tightly in anticipation of this and held him firm.

"By the way… Its rude to refuse a drink." In a flash, the man roughly tilted Vasquez's head back, forcing his mouth to open, and quickly jammed the neck of the bottle into his mouth.

Vasquez gagged audibly as the green liquid shot down his throat. The pain from the liquid was excruciating. Feeling as if shards of glass were raking their way across his tongue, down his esophagus, and into his stomach.

He flailed his arms wildly in a desperate attempt to get the man off of him, but only succeeded in knocking the bottle away. The man recovered quickly by covering Vasquez's nose and mouth, refusing to allow any of the green liquid to escape.

Heart pumping fast from a sudden rush of adrenaline, Vasquez tried again to push the man away, but almost instantly the room began to spin around him. The strange sensation from the green liquid surged through his blood vessels until it reached his head. His arms and legs no longer responded to his commands and started spasming on their own.

He tried to scream, shout for anybody to come and help him, but his mouth and throat went numb. Vasquez's eyes rolled back into his head as he began convulsing violently, his mind now a swirling maelstrom of panic, pain, and confusion.

After what felt like an eternity, his body finally stopped moving, the man and the room disappeared, and he no longer felt anything.

The man kept his hands covering Vasquez's mouth and nose for a while longer. Waiting to ensure that the unfortunate soldier had indeed breathed his last.

After he was certain that it was truly over, the man reached down and placed the bottle of ryncol he had poured down Vasquez's throat beside the dead marine's bed. Hoping that whoever found him, would think he had accidentally drank himself to death by being adventurous with the dangerous krogan liquor.

Not that it really mattered to him. He had no intention of sticking around long enough to find out. Quickly, the man set to work downloading any and all information off of Vasquez's omni-tool.

Once the download was finished and he was satisfied with what he had, he straightened out his dirty coveralls, and quietly stepped out of the room towards a side entrance out of the barracks. Without making a sound and managing to avoid all of the bustling people outside, the man wandered into the endless maze of tents, and disappeared into the cold London night.

END OF PART 1

If you are reading this, then I'd like to thank you for reading this all the way through! This is a project I started a few years ago and have worked on and off on it ever since, and I think I finally reached a point where it is ready enough for other people's eyes. I hope you liked it! I am very new to writing (and too the world of fanfiction in general) so any input is welcome.

I have started part 2, but because life is a little hectic right now I'm not sure when that will get finished.