Here follows the story of Commander Alexander Shepard, Alliance Marine, First human SpecTRe, Hero of the Citadel.

Mass Effect

I) Origins [Colonist, War Hero. Class: Adept]

The XO's bunk on the SSV Normandy had yet to acquire that subtle bowing from use and abuse. An unconscious reminder of new privileges and new duties the title Commander brought. Shepard rolled over in his sleep, his body reacting to subtle stimuli, and his mind following, dreaming of a day 17 years ago.

The vast grey fields of Mindoir open up before him. There is a separation, a dissociation as he watches a much younger version of himself laugh, proud and strong, at his feat – holding a massive stone in the air, a shimmering blue corona licking the edges of the dark rock. The young asari next to him – only visiting, her mother in talks with her father about training for young Alexander – laughs in pleasure, sharing his accomplishment.

"You're getting it! Now try this!" her smooth blue face grew serious for a moment, and she flicked her hand outward. A small dark orb popped into existence, uprooting and destroying weeds around it as they swirled into the tiny accretion disk. The outer edges had picked up two very surprised gerra pups, who gave an odd, snuffling wail. The children laugh at the alarmed squeals the small rodents make, and the small asari gestured proudly toward her creation.

"Bet you can't do that!"

"Can too!" Young Alexander concentrates, and flicked his wrist the way the asari did. A shimmering blue field appeared, briefly, then was snuffed out. Frustrated, Alexander tried again, this time managing to pick up a wad of dirt, but nothing else. His companion smiled and tried to teach him, guiding his arm, but he shook her off.

"I can do this Nala!" There were six more impotent puffs of biotic energy before he let Nala take pity on him. She launched into an explanation, only a little bit too pleased at Alexander's contrite face. She began showing him the mnemonic, and more importantly, explaining how to think about the energy called upon. She let Alexander try a few more times, (with varying levels of failure) enjoying her role as teacher.

Nala stopped suddenly as the sun is blocked out by a shuttle, flying low and fast. Dread wells in Alexander's heart. It isn't a familiar ship. Its sides are painted with strange characters, and it had far too many guns. The wind picked up near them as the ship slows, and gave a hiss – audible even at distance – as it starts its landing sequences. The ground rumbles as more fly in recklessly close. They land haphazardly, on top of buildings, in the middle of fields. They crush the buildings the colonists were so proud of, flatten the crops that sustained them. Screams and harsh yells make their way into earshot, and the children stare at each other, horrified.

"We've got to hide!" the young asari took his hand, and started pulling Alexander into the woods that lined the end of the empty field they had been playing in. A crash near them breaks him out of his shock, and he pulled free of Nala's grasp and sprinted off, headed for home. His parents had to be alright. They had to be. Dad would protect them. Alexander glanced behind him, just once, seeing the sun glint off of the tears that had tracked down Nala's face. Her hands covered her mouth and she looked from the woods to him and back.

"Run, Nala!" he yelled, then turned and sprinted for home.

He reached their small pre-fabricated home as his mother, white-faced and terrified, ran down the street screaming his name. They crashed in the street, Alexander swept up in his mother's arms. She sprinted home, and thrust him into the closet, making him swear to be silent no matter what he heard. The door closed, and he was alone. His dad's deep tones soon joined his mother's panicked breathing, and Alexander heard the sound of their gun – a pitiful, ancient sidearm – being cocked from inside the soft darkness of his meagre protection. Things quiet inside the home, though the filtered screams continue outside. Harsh laughter passes by outside the home. There's a rough knock – the front door. A crash as it caved in. A single shot, throaty shouts of rage from the invaders, a strangled yell from his father, then a wet thud. He hears his mother whimpering, pleading. There are sounds of furniture crashing, heavy steps getting nearer. The door opens, the light blinding Alexander as a leering Batarian face peers at him cowering in the darkness.

Commander Shepard awoke with a gasp, sweating. He rubbed his eyes harder than was strictly necessary, still hearing the sobbing breaths of his mother grow fainter and fainter. The Normandy's XO office is dark, still several hours until 1st shift. Shepard stared into the darkness, trying to master the unruly memories that always came with this day.

Deciding to rob his ghosts of both the darkness and his attention, the Commander left, to grab the swill they called coffee in the mess. He sat at the single table, finishing the mandatory reading for their new Several coffees later, the 3rd shift began filtering back to their bunks, while the still bleary-eyed 1st shift began filing into the mess, grabbing the food dispensed by the surly machine that served as cook. They ate what passed for their breakfast, glancing about occasionally. They had yet to settle in, having only left Arcturus yesterday. Shepard grabbed his allotted double portion, to satiate his biotic metabolism. He glumly moved it about, and switched to back to his reading – reviewing the suggested standard operating procedures, and reviewing his notes on turian language and customs provided by the Alliance.

"Commander, we're approaching the rendez-vous point. Council vessel Necess Gladian is hailing us." Flight Lieutenant Moreau's voice was professional. Shepard idly wondered how long that would last, having read the man's personnel file.

"Set preparations for the exchange. Have Fredricks and Jenkins suit up and report to the airlock. Linkage arrangements your discretion." Shepard said.

"Understood Commander." Shepard nodded amicably to the crew sitting around him, and left to change into his dress uniform.

He arrived at the airlock, as the ships linked, a seamless execution of an otherwise dangerous maneuver – a slight bump the only indication they had they were no longer flying alone. The VI droned as the decontamination process began and ended. Captain Anderson walked up, also in his dress blues. He patted Shepard on the shoulder, and settled himself beside his XO, arms crossed. There came a hiss, and the interior door of the Normandy swung open, with the accompanying mist that was a residual effect of the decontamination. Three turian forms stalked onto the ship, tall and wary, yet their angular forms seemed at home among the curves of the ship. Two were dressed in standard armor, the black with grey strips along the shoulders and across the chest, Phaeston rifles clutched in their hands.

But the lead turian seemed not so much to walk as to stalk in, his movements languid and graceful. He had what amounted to half an armory on his back, his armor unlike anything Shepard had seen. Captain Anderson stepped forward to make the formal greetings, and Shepard found himself snapping to attention with the marines. He drew his sword and gave a full salute as the turian party formally boarded. The lead turian's eyes never left him.

"… And this is my XO, Commander Shepard." Anderson finished. Shepard nodded. The turian – Nihlus, he'd said – didn't react. He finally spoke.

"I expect we will get to know one another well, Commander." Shepard nodded.

"I'll be happy to answer any questions you have about the Normandy." Shepard motioned down the CIC. "For now, Fredrickson can show you and your men to their berths." Nihlus turned and gave a flick of his head to the soldiers, who saluted and retreated from the airlock.

"They won't be accompanying me. Lead on." Shepard nodded. He was curious, but knew better than to show it during formal proceedings. Fredrickson saluted, and shipped his weapon, putting on the mag-lock on his back.

"We'll have a formal briefing at 1100 hours. Explore the ship at your leisure, SpecTRe Kryik. My men have been ordered to assist you in any way you might require." Anderson said. He nodded respectfully, then left. Nihlus gave one last searching look to Shepard, then followed Fredrickson to his berth.

"You alright Commander?" Jenkins asked as the turian left earshot. "You look a little beat."

"I never sleep well today." Shepard said. Jenkins laughed, and the Commander forced a grin.

"There's always tomorrow, eh?" Jenkins said.

Shepard nodded half-heartedly. "You're dismissed, Jenkins. Back to normal duties." Jenkins saluted, and was about to give a sarcastic quip about staring at walls, but the Commander had walked away.

"It's the anniversary of Mindoir you ass." Joker said from the cockpit.

Jenkins frowned, surprised. "Oh." He walked up to join the pilot in the cockpit. "But all colonists think he's a hero for what he did there."

Joker glanced at the impressionable marine, wondering how somebody that naive had made it unscathed through boot camp. He softened his tone. "That's not what he's going to remember about it. He lost his family there."

Joker watched the thoughts connect in Jenkins' head. He assumed with some bitterness that the man must've had ridiculous physical aptitude scores.

"What exactly happened on Mindoir? All I know is that he killed the Batarians that attacked the colony."

"Look it up on the extranet if you want details." Jenkins gave him a look. Joker was about to give an exasperated retort when Lieutenant Alenko walked up, a mug of coffee in his hands.

"He's just gonna keep bugging you until you tell him something." Jenkins grinned in reply. The LT knew how boring shipboard marine postings could get. Jenkins nodded his thanks. Joker sighed, irritated now.

"Right. Mindoir. Single bloodiest batarian raid on an Alliance colony. Came in, tore down half the buildings, took three quarters of the colonists captive, killed the rest." Joker let the VI take over flight control, now that they'd disengage from the Necess Gladian, and pulled up a summary of the event on the haptic interface in front of him. There was a grim picture of smashed buildings and burning rubble at the top of it – the remains of the colony.

"They come and get away mostly clean. Says here that it was likely a fleet." Joker glanced at the article. "Anyway, after the Alliance finally shows, they do a sweep of nearby systems. Halfway to the relay they found one of the cruisers responsible drifting, all systems functional." Despite himself, Joker was getting into the story. The marines rapt attention didn't hurt.

"When they boarded, they found the large majority of the lost colonists still locked in their cages. No batarians in sight. The Commander, only 9 years old, was sitting cross-legged on the bridge, a dozen dead slavers and a biotic singularity behind him."

"Bad. Ass." Jenkins mouthed silently, staring at the article the pilot had pulled up. Alenko frowned at the marine.

"He was forced to kill before he'd reached a decade old." He shook his head. "More than that, he saw first-hand what slavers are capable of. He wouldn't remember being a hero. He's lucky he came out of it still sane." The lieutenant said. "I know I wouldn't have.

Jenkins nodded seriously. "It's a good thing he did though. We needed him there on Elysium."

"Yeah, yeah. Now go tell your war-stories someplace else." Joker shooed them out of the cockpit. Jenkins looked put out, but left. The lieutenant, on the other hand, gave him a sardonic grin, and sat down in the co-pilot's spot.

"I'm here to oversee shakedown procedures, actually."

"Well that's just great." Joker muttered.

The lieutenant's evil grin widened. "What was that Flight Lieutenant?"

Joker rolled his eyes, but gave a salute. "Sir, yes sir."