Mass Effect - A Hero Rises Ch. 01

Mass Effect: A Hero Rises

A Mass Effect Trilogy Novelisation

Book 1, Chapter 1 -- Beginnings

*****

Splashing cold water into my face, I waited until I felt all the droplets ran down my cheeks and over my nose before I looked up into the mirror. Cool blue eyes stared back at me, the same eyes that had since the first time I'd looked in mirror. Even at my somewhat early age, they'd already seen enough that they were relatively blank, trained to show next to no emotion. I had what they called a defined jaw, stubble lining my cheeks as well. Not particularly within regulations, but no-one questioned me. I kept my hair nice and short at least. Not quite buzz cut but not long enough to run a comb through.

Standing tall, grabbing the towel to wipe my face dry, I looked down my torso. Aside from the scars of war, there was a definition that came only from years of gym work, military exercise and constant battle. I'm vain enough to admit that I waxed my chest, otherwise it would be covered in hair, same with my back. Some women liked the hair, most did prefer it smooth. Those I slept with anyway.

I was currently wearing trousers, but knew I had that defined v-shape that ran down to my crotch, and I definitely received enough comments from women, and sometimes men, about my rather firm butt. I'm confident enough in my sexuality that, if a man were to comment, I'd simply smile and thank them. My legs were powerful, having run endless miles over the years, and one should never forget leg day when they are working in the gym.

Putting on a thin white t-shirt, I threw the towel over my shoulder and headed back to the bunks. Though I was the XO of the Normandy, I still had to bunk with the enlisted men. The ship was rather small and compact, and though the crew itself was limited in number, space was at a premium. Only Captain Anderson had his own quarters. I didn't mind bunking with the men, and quite frankly, I had more than enough space. I'd seen the first ships that had been sent into space once Grissom passed through the first relay. Barely enough room to swing a cat, more like sardine cans than ships. The Normandy was a luxury cruiser compared to the early model ships the Alliance built as we explored the stars.

I lay back on an empty bunk, waiting for the call. We were heading somewhere. Where? I wasn't sure, I hadn't been told. Why? That was even more of a mystery. And for what? I assumed Anderson would tell me eventually. But I guess while I'm waiting, I can tell you a little about myself. It's quite the story how I managed to wind up on the most advanced warship in the Alliance Navy.

*****

My name is John Shepard. I was born on April the 11^th, 2154. I was born on Earth though what city doesn't really matter as, by the time I was born, the idea of the nation-state was starting to die out. Once we discovered alien life, humans started to think as a collective, the old borders starting to fade, whether you black or white, from Europe or Asia, it didn't matter. What mattered was that we were human. Generally, two arms, five fingers, two legs, five toes, our eyes came in all sorts of colours, as did our hair. Some of us were short. Some tall. Some fat. Some thin. Male or female.

I was an orphan. To this day, I still have no idea who my mother was. I have asked one or two people since then and they believed it was probably a young girl, far too young to be giving birth, and giving me up for adoption was the best thing. Despite all the technology available, I've never managed to track her nor my father down. I'm not even sure Shepard was her surname.

So I grew up in an orphanage as a kid. I saw few of us actually leave over the years, which in itself was disheartening. With next to no hope of actually being adopted, the streets kids that would come to the gates spoke of the life living on them. To a ten-year-old kid, it sounded appealing, considering one is not particularly old enough to understand the consequences. But it was better than the orphanage. Don't get me wrong, the ladies who ran it were nice, but it was a job. There was no real love involved, though they were not mean. But we simply existed, knowing we'd remain until we were of age, then we'd simply be kicked out, though we'd probably be helped into our own accommodation.

I started hanging out with the street kids and soon learned the ways of petty crime. I realised early on I was one of the biggest, so while I proved quite good at pickpocketing, I was generally used as the distraction so others could pilfer goods for us. The longer I hung out with them, the more I thought about leaving the orphanage. I'm sure they knew what I was up to, and at thirteen, I simply left one day and didn't go back. I would come to regret that decision though not in the way imagined.

The only way to exist was through crime. Pickpocketing. Shoplifting. That sort of stuff. It wasn't entirely victimless, but at that early age, we were certainly not violent. If it looked like we were caught, we simply split up and ran until we had escaped. The group I ran with, the Reds, were a rag tag bunch of kids, most having ended up there the same way as me. One or two did have families, and they'd either been kicked out or they'd run away too. I liked to believe we were all in it together.

There was a code we lived by but it was also dog eat dog as well. Being one of the bigger kids, I soon learned that some wanted my protection, and some wanted to prove themselves against me. I quickly learned how to throw fists and fight, and learned that although I felt pain, I could happily fight my way through it. I could have the literal shit kicked out of me, and I'd still stand up, fists raised, blood streaming from cuts, ready for more.

Slowly but surely, I ascended the ranks, particularly as I got older, even bigger, and certainly a lot stronger. While that happened, the element of our crimes changed, became more violent. Muggings and robberies were a favourite, though we still drew a line at things like murder. We didn't want to kill anyone, or at least that's what I thought. I'd certainly drawn blood on more than one occasion, but that was generally during battles against opposing gangs. That's when I definitely earned my reputation, and after Mikey, the only one above me in the hierarchy, had a metal pole put through his head, that's when I found myself in charge.

It all went to my head, obviously. I was an arrogant fool, believing I was above the law, or at least they couldn't catch me. It didn't help that most in my charge worshipped and failed to question me, and those that did were handled harshly. It was all bound to come crashing down, and it did when one of us ended up killing an old man when a mugging went wrong. We should have laid low, but when the cops were led to our hideout, we were done for. We could have fought, but we had baseball bats and lead pipes against pistols and rifles. I had to tell them all to surrender. I didn't want all their bodies on my conscience.

I was dragged to the nearest police station and charged with a list of offences. To be honest, I was looking at being put away for a long time. Honestly, I can admit I deserved it, but I'd had a bloody good time, and I'd do it all the same again. The cops even appeared impressed by the set up. I looked after those under my care. Everyone was fed. Everyone had a bed. Don't question my authority. And none of them did, following any order I gave them.

I certainly wasn't expecting any preferential treatment as I was a right smartarse during questioning. I knew they had plenty on me, not enough to put me away forever, but enough to ensure I'd sit in a cell for a few years. Most of it was circumstantial but some of it would stick. My fingerprints were everywhere.

Led to the interview room for the umpteenth time, I sat back and waited for whoever it was to walk in. They always asked different questions, trying to get an idea of what our gang actually did. We had our fingers in plenty of pies, most if not all of it illegal. But we made credits and we lived comfortably. And, most of the time, our presence was ignored. People don't like to look at the homeless and destitute, definitely not in their eyes.

I was surprised when a tall, broad, dark-skinned man walked into the office, and I knew enough to know he was wearing an Alliance uniform. I'd walked by their offices more than once, a slight yearning in the back of my mind, telling me to head in and apply. Escaping Earth would be just that. An escape. A way to see the stars and... Well, although I enjoyed the life I'd been living, surely travelling the galaxy would be far more exciting.

The man sat down opposite me, placing a datapad on the desk. I assume it held all my details.

"John Shepard?"

"That's me. Most people just call me Shepard."

"Okay, Shepard. I'm David Anderson, Lieutenant of the Alliance Navy. I'm here as word of your... exploits, let's call them, has reached our ears."

"O... kay..."

"Sounds like you had quite the little operation going. Lots of little foot soldiers doing your bidding with you in command. Almost like your own little army."

"In a way, I guess. I looked after most of them and they simply did what they were told. The streets are a shit place to grow up."

"Yet, from what I've read, you did run away from an orphanage?"

I shrugged. "Didn't seem likely I'd get adopted so I figured I'd take my chances on the streets. I can't complain too much. Would have ended up here one way or the other."

He nodded, making a noise, as he picked up the datapad. "Looking through the charges, Shepard, there's a few here that raise eyebrows, but nothing that I would call... Would you consider yourself violent?"

"I only bring violence to a violent situation. Push me, I'll push back harder. Hit me, you'd better damn well I'm knocked unconscious because I will hit you back so you are. There is a code on the streets."

"There is a code in the military as well." He put the datapad down, crossing his arms on the desk. "Stand up for me." Figuring there was no harm, I stood up and took a step back, noticing he lean back to get a good look at me. "Well, you've certainly got the physique of a soldier. How old are you? No-one was able to tell me."

"Think I turned eighteen around two weeks ago. Not sure entirely," I replied as he gestured for me to take a seat.

"I'm going to make you an offer, Shepard. It's a one-time deal. If you say yes, you leave with me today. The charges will be dropped and you will be under my care. I will explain after you make your decision. If you say no, I leave, you will face trial, be found guilty of your crimes, and you will see the inside of a cell, at least for a few years."

"Gee, I wonder which option I'm going to take," I replied sarcastically. That made him grin at least.

"That's what I thought. So you will take my offer? I need to hear you agree."

"Yes, I accept."

"Very good. Once we leave this building, I will escort you to the nearby Alliance office. There, you will be inducted into the Alliance Armed Forces. Your previous record will mean nothing once you put on that uniform. But the expectations on your shoulders, you will learn very quickly what is expected of you. But in your record, I also see something in you, Shepard. That's the only reason why I'm here."

"What do you mean?"

"We're always on the lookout for bright young kids from any walk of life. I have some contacts in this city. One of them contacted me, told me all about you, said you were made of the right stuff. Sure, you were on the wrong side of the law, but a few weeks at boot camp would straighten you out, then the world, or the galaxy, would be your oyster."

"You're serious?"

"If you prove yourself, Shepard, I already have an application for officer training ready to be sent off. As I said, you had your own private little army, and from the sounds of it, you ran it effectively. If you could transition that to the armed forces, then I think you'll prove to be a natural. You'll even find kids easier to deal with than soldiers. Probably less complaining from the kids."

"Um, thanks, I think."

"Don't thank me yet. Boot camp will be gruelling and you will be nothing but a grunt in their eyes." He smirked. "I expect you'll spend a few days in punishment detail, but I think you'll adapt quickly enough. But if you're the leader I think you could be, then I think they'll have you in charge sooner than even you think."

"No pressure then."

He picked up the datapad and got to his feet. "Well, no point sitting here talking. If you follow me out of this door, a new life awaits." He turned and walked to the door, opening it and walking through. I waited a couple of seconds before figuring I didn't have much choice, rose to my feet and followed him out. Following him through the station, my handcuffs were taken off before we walked through the secure door, the paperwork regarding my release was filled out, and then he escorted me outside to the waiting car.

"Don't even think about running, otherwise I will shoot you," he stated, I think half-joking, half-serious.

"Not thinking about it, and that's being honest."

"Good man. Hop in and we'll head to the office. We'll take all your details, you can have a wash, get some new clothes, some decent shut eye. Then you'll be sent on with the next batch of recruits to boot camp."

I had to admit, I quickly came to like the idea. Sure, I'd enjoyed my time on the streets growing up, but to be honest, it was always bound to end how it did. Frankly, I always figured I'd end up dead somewhere, killed by either another gang, my own gang, or the cops. In a way, this was the perfect escape. I just hope I didn't come to regret it in the end.

*****

Boot camp was gruelling. I didn't like being yelled at by people. It took a while to adapt. Anderson was right about one thing. I did have to get used to being punished for being insubordinate. But they must have seen something in me, as they never stopped believing. First time in my life I had people who seemed to give a shit, in their own sort of way, pushing me to be better.

It was exhausting rising before dawn and heading to bed well after dark. The running, jumping and assault courses were actually the fun part. I turned out to be a real natural at shooting, which was a good thing. But it was the little things like being presentable, and the state of my bed and kit, that often let me down. Took a lot of push-ups and sit-ups, getting into my head, learning to be a soldier. Again, they never gave up. Sure, a lot of it was yelling, but there was a point to it. Do it properly and I wouldn't get yelled at. At the start, I'd glare, set my jaw, and I could see the joy in their faces, hoping I'd throw fists. As I grew in the role, if I made a mistake, I learned from it and respected why they were doing it. As one of them explained, they broke us down then rebuilt us. What I'd done before meant nothing to them. What mattered was who and what I was when I walked out the door.

Straight out of boot camp, I applied to become an Alliance Marine as although the idea of flying in a spaceship sounded like fun, I definitely preferred the idea of walking across different worlds across the galaxy. Something must have impressed them as I was initially accepted for an interview, sent across the Atlantic to Europe and the old United Kingdom, the Alliance Marine program roughly following that of the old Royal Marines. I somehow managed to pass the interview, then had to perform a fitness test, which was an absolute breeze. Sounds arrogant, but I'd never felt fitter. This is when Anderson must have got wind of my progress, as I found myself in an office one day, sat in front of an Admiralty Interview Board. For the first time since joining up, I was a little intimidated, almost feeling out of my depth.

They questioned everything about me, and they expected complete honesty. I thought that was going to ruin my chances immediately, but I didn't plead nor beg, I simply told them the truth. I think that's what they were after, knowing where I'd come from to the man that sat in front of them that day. Before I was accepted, there were more physical and mental tests, and they really tested my ability. The physical stuff was fine, it was the mental stuff, the intellectual tests, that concerned me. Somehow, I was smarter than I thought and managed to pass. When they told me I was accepted as an officer, I have no problem admitting that I nearly wept. All the pain was worth it.

What followed was thirty-two weeks of intensive training that, by the end, had me walking ten foot tall and more confident in myself than ever. And after basic, you are treated like a soldier. In fact, I like to believe you're treated more than a soldier. They treat you like a marine already, you simply have to earn the right to call yourself one, the right to earn that beret.

There are tests what feels like every week. The amount of training was nuts. I learned skills that I didn't even know I had or were possible. But as you watch others around you develop, you know you are developing at the same time. Fellow marines become firm friends. There is a brotherhood that exists. You would fight and die for those around you.

If anyone thought the training was tough, it was all in preparation for the Commando Course. That separated the wheat from the chaff, and only those who passed it would become Alliance Marines. Within a seven-day period, a marine had to complete four tests. The first is a nine-mile speed march, carrying 32 pounds of equipment, finishing it in ninety minutes. The second is a six-mile endurance course, again with 32 pounds of equipment, to be completely in seventy-one minutes, that includes a two mile run across moorland and woodland, and a four mile run back to the Commando Training Centre. After that is a marksmanship course, where 60% of targets must be hit. The third test is the Tarzan Assault course, again with equipment, to be completed in twelve minutes. By then, even the fittest of us are starting to struggle, but it is nothing to the last test.

The thirty miler is spoken of in whispers by even those marines who have passed it. It is the one test to really sort the men from the boys. It is here that most potential marines fail. The first three tests take place over four days. If you've already failed one of them, you're pretty much done. The thirty miler is regarded as such a gruelling event, the event can be re-run over the next three days, though it is accepted that if you didn't pass it the first time, you probably won't pass it the second.

The thirty miler is a march across Dartmoor, a barren landscape with few defining features, again carrying 32 pounds of equipment, including addition safety equipment in a daysack. For officers, it had to be completed in seven hours, one hour shorter than the enlisted men, and we had to navigate ourselves. Sounds easy but it was a right bitch. The idea was for all of us to work together, inspire each other, and get us all to the finishing point within the required time.

After passing out as an Alliance Marine, earning that beret I had come to covet during my training, Anderson made an appearance and, I'll admit, a small part of me had done all of this to impress him. He looked proud as punch, taking me to the nearest town for a beer to celebrate, knowing I'd be out later with my fellow marines to really let our hair down.

"Now, Shepard, this isn't the end of your training. At least, it won't be if you don't want it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, how far do you want to go? What do you want to be?"

"I'm really not sure. Passing out as a marine was the objective. What else is there?"