Author's Note: This story follows both Commander Shepard of the Alliance Navy and Cassiopeia Corinthia (Ci-Ci, my OC). Though detailed, I have not explained all the details of the Mass Effect world. If you are unfamiliar with the universe, some things may not make sense. I apologize for this, but I have done my best to make this accessible to everyone. Mass Effect's world is extremely detailed and I do not usually write sci-fi of any kind. However, I humbly submit this for your consideration and enjoyment. Be aware that I write as if I am writing original fiction, so I will be explaining and describing races/concepts/things/events that those familiar with the Mass Effect universe will already know.

The events of this story take place before the first Mass Effect game through Mass Effect 3 (planned, to be completed once the game is released). I am aware that this is a massive undertaking (rivaled only by trying to write a character through all seven Harry Potter books) and I am aware of why the majority of people read stories here. So, I will do my best to keep things well-paced, intriguing, and interesting. Due to the expanse of the game, I am presenting things as vingiettes, at times, rather than continuous narrative. There is a reason that I put the date/location of almost every event. Weeks/Months/Years will pass between episodes and I will NOT, in all likelihood, be mentioning it immediately in the narration. However, when I go back in time (flashback), I WILL draw attention to it.

For those familiar with Mass Effect, Commander Shepard begins as a renegade and slowly becomes a paragon. He has an Earthborn/Ruthless background. However, he and Ci-Ci have participated in all three background events.

This is a Shepard/OC pairing. I feature Liara as a lead character because she is, in a sense, the third "main" character in the story, though, I warn you, this thing is almost entirely Shepard/Ci-Ci.

Last but not least, a big shout-out to my editors, GoogleFloobs and LeroyZanzibar. Go check out their stories (The Butcher and Mass Effect: Friend of a Hero respectively). I owe them a lot, especially for their patience with my agonizing and perfectionist tendencies.

This story is currently under revision. Un-revised chapters have "Unrevised:" before the title. Revised chapters will be unmarked. For a detailed description of the changes, see Chp. 59 "Author's Explanatory Note: An Update".

Disclaimer: Mass Effect is copyright of Bioware. Many of the characters contained herein—Shepard included—are property of Bioware. Shepard is partially of my forging, since I am able to choose many of his reactions to events within the parameters of the game. The sequence of events and their outcomes are property of Bioware. The interpretations of and reactions to the events are largely my own. Ci-Ci is mine. Please do not repost this story or any parts of it herein. Always give credit where it is due. I owe the Mass Effect Wiki a great deal for helping me figure out timelines, details, and other such things that I did not pick up during the game.

I welcome constructive and/or encouraging reviews/critiques. Thank you for reading. Enjoy!

11 April 2172—Los Angeles, United North American States, Earth, Sol System

John Shepard slowly backed out of the building. The Tenth Street Reds stared at him in shock, awe, and confusion. How could he, one of their own, betray them like that? Especially him? They'd been certain he'd become —

His biotics flared around his fists. They all understood his warning without him saying a word: Follow me and you die.

He could feel the blood burning on his face. Ash and debris clung to his clothes. If he was right in his thinking, he'd just started a war. That hadn't been the plan, but, then again, he hadn't really had a plan to begin with. The only thing he knew was how it was going to end; all he had to do was get out of the door.

The moment he was certain the Reds weren't going to follow him, he turned his back to the building, pulled up his hood, thrust his hands into his pockets, and exited the area as quickly as he could. Sirens echoed in the distance as they came to inspect the source of the smoke.

Admittedly, Shepard had outdone himself. He was seven — no, he was eighteen. He'd turned eighteen at midnight. As if he could have the self-control necessary to stop his biotics from blowing up a wall. And pipes. And fuses, not to mention the head of the Reds. So, yeah, he was a murderer. The Reds would never rat on him. They knew what he was capable of.

After pacing the path to the Alliance Recruitment Center nearly one hundred times, Shepard's feet carried him without him having to see his path. His senses were still focused on any potential pursuit. Maybe he was practicing to be a soldier, but fighting was the only thing that made sense to him. It was the only thing he was good at.

So, in a desperate attempt to leave behind a life of crime, he was going to sell his soul to the government devil and follow even stupider orders.

He stopped in front of the Center, his heart pounding in his chest. He had never been this nervous in his life. What if they didn't take him? What if they knew that he was a murder, thief, liar, traitor?

"Just do it, Shepard," he growled through clenched teeth. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

It was as if the world had stopped existing. He couldn't hear the shouts, horns, or anything of the outside. Even the room smelled sterile, tinted with some kind of flower air freshener... Whatever the Alliance was trying to say, floral was not the way to go. Though, at this point, Shepard didn't care. He had nowhere else to go, and flowers were sure as hell better than cigarettes, red sand, piss, and blood.

He grimaced at the orange-tinted holo-images of happy men and women of all races standing behind the Systems Alliance flag. They saluted as the systems anthem played, steel cruisers flying overhead. The front desk had a rose-colored marble counter, scattered with stacks of flyers about the various sectors of the Alliance Military. As young as he was, Shepard was too jaded to even begin to think that a single moment of service was going to be like that.

The recruiting officer, a man in his forties with non-commissioned officer bars and dandruff on his shoulders, raised an eyebrow and set down his pen.

"Can I help you?" he asked critically. Kids who looked like Shepard were generally pulling some kind of prank.

Shepard stepped up. "Yeah, I'd like to enlist in the Academy and N7."

N7 was the elite Alliance training program at the Academy for their Spec Ops group, only open to the best of the best. It wasn't just for Academy grads, but Shepard wanted to get the designation as soon as possible. Then again, he was praying that he would qualify. He was smart, but he hadn't been able to get away for long enough to attend high school. He'd secretly gotten his GED months before, readying for this moment. He would do anything to escape and prove his potential. In his mind, the Alliance Navy was the only way to do that.

The officer rolled his eyes. He'd heard that more times that he liked, mostly from underage punks with stupid names like "Dick Wadd" or "Jer Koff". They could at least have been a bit more creative and less obvious.

"Son, this is a government institution. If you walk in here, you're expected to show the proper respect. Now, are you really here to enlist?"

"Yes, sir, I am." Shepard pulled back his hood. He had bright blue eyes, the remains of a beard from the day before, eye-length black hair, and a jaw set that made it clear he'd had a rough life. He had a recent scar on his chin, probably something from a fight, and looked quite a bit stronger than most raw recruits. From the looks of things, he'd just walked out of a collapsing building as well. The Alliance didn't want a tough guy; they wanted the average person who could sit and take orders. Shepard's haircut screamed that he'd give his drill sergeant the middle finger and never show an ounce of respect.

Then the officer met Shepard's eyes. They didn't belong to some street punk; they belonged to someone who had been through countless wars, survived, and was still ready to fight more. There was intelligence there, though maybe not from books, only enhanced by a blazing passion unlike any the officer had ever seen. Shepard's gaze went beyond determination. It was like looking at someone you knew would become a hero one day. That was exactly what N7 wanted.

"This isn't a place to hide, son. You come here to make a commitment."

"I understand, sir," Shepard answered shortly, not moving to even attempt to clean off his face.

"How old are you?"

"Eighteen."

"Are you sure?" The officer would've thought him at least in his mid-twenties.

"It's my birthday today."

"That's a little young… The average age of enlistment is twenty-five."

"I want to go into the N7 program," Shepard pressed, hiding his desperation. If he didn't get away from the Reds then, he never would. They would rally in forty-eight hours and come looking for him with a vengeance.

"N7 only accepts the best of the best. It's the toughest program of everything in the Alliance. They haven't accepted an NCO in years."

"I know. I can handle it."

"That's a lot of confidence."

"I don't do anything unless I know I'll succeed." Shepard cracked his knuckles. It was something he did when he was nervous, not meant to intimidate. Still, the recruiting officer quickly grabbed the application and held it out.

"Fill this out. You'll need to submit DNA for a background check and drug screen. Have a seat while you fill it out."

Shepard took the pad and sat in a chair in the corner. He only knew half of the information. That's what he got for growing up on the streets. He never knew his parents and all his friends had been gang members. That was how he got into the Tenth Street Reds to begin with, but he was done with being xenophobic, done with drug running, done with breaking the law. He was going to make a new life for himself, and the Alliance Navy was the only place that would take a parentless delinquent.

Then again, Shepard had spent his entire savings to forge a clean record for himself. The Alliance would never even know that he'd been a part of the Reds, or any gang for that matter. He was just John Mark Shepard, orphan, and that was what his DNA scan would show instead of a list of arrests (but luckily no convictions).

He pulled his hood back up as a group of people looked through the window. If the Reds saw him... No, it didn't matter now. They couldn't do anything with an officer right there. If they came back later, he'd be a soldier and they wouldn't be able to touch him. He'd have a squad at his back and the Reds would run scared.

Shepard went back to the counter. "I don't know all the information here. I'm an orphan and grew up on the streets." He wasn't proud of it, nor was he ashamed. It was just a fact.

"The DNA scan can fill in everything else. Hold out your hand."

Shepard did. The recruiting officer passed a wand over Shepard's hand. He felt the heat of decontamination, followed by a strange tingling feeling. The officer nodded, satisfied, and eyed Shepard's perfect GED scores with astonishment. "Well, Mr. Shepard, you seem to match our base qualifications… But we'll still need to do our own examination."

"Sure."

"Do you have any drug history?"

"No."

Shepard was not stupid. Even if he had run and dealt drugs for the Reds, he wasn't about to use them. A smart drug dealer had to be clean and never, ever, partake in any kind of vice. Besides, it was just idiotic. Like he needed them to escape.

"You understand that there will still be tests to confirm this."

"Yeah."

"Okay. Go in the back. Dr. Chakwas's door is the second on the left."

7 November 2175—Alliance Military Recruitment Center, Zakera Ward, Citadel

Of all the Wards on the Citadel, the Zakera Ward was the most colorful, vibrant, and full of life. Lights flashed, people shouted, advertisements tried to make you buy asari burial robes, and the scent of food for all species lay heavy in the air. As a merchant ward, beings of all economic levels were there, haggling for their goods.

Cassiopeia Iphigenia Corinthia-Imreas—Ci-Ci to her friends—held up a holo-map, trying to find her way to the Alliance Recruitment Center. She had already been to the Embassy on the Presidium, where the Embassies for various species were located, as well as the Citadel Council. The Presidium was the heart and soul of the galaxy, and yet the Human Embassy couldn't give accurate directions to their recruiting station.

She stood before Avina, the Citadel's VI. The purple holo-woman cocked her head to one side. "Greetings. I am Avina. How may I assist you?"

Ci-Ci scratched her head. "Well, I need to find the Alliance Recruiting Office…"

Avina spouted off the directions. Ci-Ci copied them onto her omni-tool, an orange holographic device located on a person's non-dominant forearm that acted as a personal computer, communicator, and data store. It looked like she holding a large, orange ring in her hand which attached to a gauntlet of the same color. She thought it looked a little bit like a squid with a pacifier.

"Right, thanks," she murmured. She programmed her omni-tool to project an arrow pointing along the path she needed to take and set off. She felt like an idiot. She had spent the majority of her life on the Citadel and yet she felt like she was in a new city. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

The Citadel was a space station that was home to billions of people of all species. It consisted of a center loop with four arms, like a flower, cradled in the center of the Widow Nebula. Built by the Protheans 50,000 years before, it housed the Citadel Council, the galactic government. The three species that contributed the most to the galaxy—the asari, turians, and salarians—had one Councilor each who created laws and upheld justice.

The asari were an entirely female species. They were, for all intents and purposes, immortal, only dying when killed or when they chose to. They could live to be thousands of years old, if they wished. All asari looked much like any human female, in terms of body structure. They had blue or purple skin and smoothed-back head tentacles, which looked very much like hair. They were usually highly skilled biotics and considered to be one of the wisest species in the galaxy. Unfortunately, their femininity also led them to be underestimated amongst other more patriarchal species. They freaked Ci-Ci out, mostly because they could mate with any gender of any species and always have an asari child. Asari weren't asexual; they could just take the DNA of someone else and create the missing chromosomes needed to produce a child.

Turians were the warriors. They had large chests, tiny waists, and bow legs. Their skin was scaly and plated, like armor. They had black eyes, crests very similar to an asari's, and a flat beak-like mouth. Ci-Ci saw them as the missing link between birds and dinosaurs, like a velociraptor that evolved into sentience… and having a flat face. Turians were powerful and intimidating opponents on any field. They believed in honor, integrity, and loyalty. Any turian who disagreed was banished or worse. The humans and turians did not get along well, since the humans had started the First Contact War with the turians simply because the humans were xenophobic and afraid of anything new. Though the war was over, many turians and humans still harbored dislike for one another.

Salarians were a highly intelligent, amphibian species that had been part of the Citadel Council for centuries. To Ci-Ci, they looked quite a bit like the 1950s and 1960s interpretations of aliens, with smooth skin, large slanted eyes with indiscernible pupils, slits for their nose, and two curling horns atop their heads. They could think at the speed of lightning, were highly calculating, and considered to be the technological pioneers of the galaxy. Unfortunately, their hyperactive metabolisms caused few to survive to their forties. Thus, salarians developed much more quickly than all the other species in space.

Humanity was doing everything in their power to get a seat on the Council, but the majority of the space-faring races said that it was too soon. After all, humanity had only been a part of the galactic community for twenty-eight years (beginning in 2157).

Ci-Ci could've cared less. She just wanted to have some sense of direction with her life. She hadn't spoken to her father in years, her mother was long dead, and she didn't know anyone other than some friends from school who were now members of the salarian Special Tasks Group (STG). They had made it quite clear that she couldn't safely contact them.

She didn't want to continue with school, either, if it was anything like she had experienced.

She and three other children had been enlisted in a special, experimental salarian exchange school program in 2165. Ci-Ci had been the only child to continue, completing the salarian education in 10 years. Though most sixteen-year-old salarians already had tenure, Ci-Ci had just finished her last year of college and was done with learning. She wanted to explore the galaxy, see more than Elysium and the Citadel. She wanted to follow in her mother's footsteps. Captain Catherine Corinthia had graduated from the Academy's N7 program with the highest honors and had been in charge of the SSV Geneva. She was killed in action whilst defending her ship from a group of pro-human terrorists called Cerberus. Though Cerberus failed to actually take the ship, they had taken Ci-Ci's mother.

Ci-Ci finally found the recruiting station. It wasn't well marked, with just a simple holo-banner above the doorway reading Alliance Recruitment Offices. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The only sound was the hum of the air processing units, cooling and venting the recycled oxygen. Several men in their casual blue uniforms stood in one corner, clearly discussing something important from the way their heads were together.

Behind the reception desk, the secretary typed away at her monitor. Her eyes were red and glazed over. She'd clearly had a very long day and was not eager to see someone else walk through the doors.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked wearily.

"No. I want to enlist in the Academy," Ci-Ci said, trying to sound confident. "N7, too, if I can manage it."

The secretary rummaged and found a data pad for Corinthia to fill out. "Take this and—"

Ci-Ci had her omni-tool out and waved it, the data pad filling in completely. "What?" Ci-Ci asked innocently. "It's not illegal, and I'll submit to whatever DNA testing you want to prove it's me."

The secretary rolled her eyes. "A DNA test is required for all hoping to join the Academy. Please hold out your hand."

Ci-Ci did, enjoying the sensation of decontamination. She'd always liked it, though she had no idea why. She also didn't know why she had an adoration for fuzzy things, mountains, and driving an all-terrain vehicle far more quickly than was advisable.

"I see you're… overqualified, Miss Corinthia-Imreas," the secretary muttered, seeing Corinthia's résumé. "Have a seat. The Captain will see you shortly."

Corinthia sat in one of the chairs along the far wall, trying not to fidget. She failed and ended up fiddling with her omni-tool, perfecting a program that could open any locked door at will. Was it illegal? Yes. Did she care? No. She wouldn't use it… probably. Maybe. Not for anything illegal, at least. Unless it was hilarious.

A handsome soldier with cold blue eyes and military-grade short hair walked in, greeting, "Millie, I've got the reports for Captain Hackett."

The secretary held out her hand. "I'll take them, Lieutenant."

"He wanted me to deliver them personally."

The secretary seemed relieved: It was one less thing for her to do. "Oh, very well. Have a seat."

The Lieutenant sat in a seat across from Ci-Ci. She grinned at him and continued to fidget with her omni-tool.

Shepard's first thought was that she was too young to enlist. His second was that she was too pretty to enlist. All the Alliance girls were… butch. She was not. She had soft, smooth, brown hair; light hazel eyes; tanned, olive skin; and curves. Lots of curves. Or, at least, her dress made it look like she did. What sort of a girl came into a place like this looking like she was supposed to be going to a club?

He checked his thoughts and stared at the reports in his hands. They were extremely dull and about the proper hull density for a ship. The girl's nose appeared in his peripheral vision.

"How come you've got turian research?"

Shepard looked up. "What?"

"That's turian research."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "What's your point?"

"Well, there are rumors of the turians and humans working together to engineer a stealth ship. It needs a minimum hull density of three thousand grams per millimeter in order to be small enough to be undetected except visually, but large enough to handle going through the mass relays."

Mass relays were massive structures that enabled travel between the different star systems, as long as there was another mass relay. It was these relays and the discovery of element zero that led to the creation of the mass effect core, which powered every ship that traveled the galaxy.

He narrowed his eyes dangerously. "And you know the contents of this report how?"

She shied away, turned off her omni-tool, and grinned sheepishly. "I saw the title and did the math."

"In your head?"

"Well, I checked it on the omni-tool, but yeah." She blushed faintly and tucked her hair behind her ear. "What? It's perfectly normal, isn't it?"

"No, it isn't."

"Oh, right. Sorry. I'm not used to interacting with humans."

He gritted his teeth impatiently; he didn't like talkative people... or teenagers. There was no way she was much older than eighteen.

She didn't get the hint and kept chatting away. "I went to a salarian school. Don't ask; it's complicated. And weird, I guess, but, yeah…" She laughed nervously. "I guess I'll have to learn. Are you a biotic?"

"Huh?" Her sudden change in subjects took him by surprise.

"Are you a biotic?" she repeated.

"What's it matter?"

She shrugged. "Just sounds cool, you know? To have all that power..."

Shepard felt himself warming up to her a little, mostly because she was slowly becoming awed by him. He liked it when people looked up at him. "It isn't. Really. Fine, it is, but not when you're Alliance. You can't really do anything with it."

"Try for Black Ops."

"Can't for another three years."

"Try for the Spectres."

"They don't let humans in."

"You're just a Debbie-Downer, aren't you?"

"A what?"

She giggled. "A cynic. No-Not. Complainer."

"I don't complain."

"That's what all tough guys say." She suddenly extended her hand, almost hitting him in the chest. "I'm Ci-Ci."

He didn't shake it; he never did. "John Shepard."

She sheepishly withdrew her hand. "Don't you have a rank to go with that?"

He pointed to the bars on his shoulder. "Lieutenant."

"Okay, LT Johnny Shep, it's nice to meet you." She grinned and stared at the magazines on the side table, hardly noticing him wince at the nickname. "Seriously? How does 'Attack of the Mutant Squid' qualify as good writing? People these days…"

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to join the navy?" If she did and he was assigned with her, he'd go insane.

"Why not?"

"You're too…"

"Girly?"

"...Perky."

She laughed. "Someone has to be. I'll let you know what my drill sergeant thinks."

"If you have Banes, tell him 'Hi' from me."

"Did he like you?"

"No."

"Then I think I'll remain a network-less maggot."

Shepard leaned forward. "Seriously, kid, you don't belong here. You're not ready for this."

She smirked evilly. "That's what she said."

Captain Hackett appeared right as Shepard, Corinthia, and the receptionist started laughing. Well, in Shepard's case, he was smirking in amusement. Hackett had never seen that kind of an expression on the Lieutenant's face before.

But the Captain wasn't going to spend too much time thinking about it. There was business to attend to.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.

Shepard and the receptionist stood and saluted. "No, sir!"

"Good. Shepard, I'll see you in a moment. Miss Corinthia-Imreas. The salarian Councilor said that you'd be coming by. Please, this way." He gestured to his office. Ci-Ci went in before him, feeling embarrassed and pleased that she'd got such personal invitation.

"You've got quite the résumé, not that you would need it. I would've let you into the Academy without any of this. I'm also going to overlook the fact that you should be eighteen to enlist."

"I never heard that law before, sir."

"It's a guideline, not a law, put there to make sure that everyone who went into the Academy was legally there by choice. Your salarian schooling will put you miles ahead of most everyone, and if you're anything like your mother when it comes to getting the job done, you're going to be the best addition to the Alliance Military since Jon Grissom."

Jon Grissom had been the man to lead the expedition through the Charon Relay, near Pluto in the Sol System, and had founded the first human colony of Elysium.

"What about the Brass? Won't they get angry that you let me in?"

"Miss Corinthia-Im—"

"Ci-Ci, please, sir."

"Ci-Ci, you're already considered a prodigy."

She already had three vastly different degrees from a well-known salarian university and, though not necessarily a straight "A" student, she was still extremely bright. Her parents had been two of the first people through the Charon Relay, had settled on Elysium, and had been adamant that their new baby daughter get the right kind of education. At six, after her mother's death, she was enrolled in a salarian school, where you're expected to finish your entire education in a matter of years. She chose to have a broad education rather than an extremely focused one, but she had still graduated from college at the age of fifteen. Of the four human children in that experimental program, she had been the only one to successfully adapt to salarian-style learning. She learned astoundingly quickly and had trained herself to have a near photo- and audiographic memory. Her head was packed with useless trivia, mostly from the entertainment industry, and her almost ADHD mind left her easily distracted and too creative for her own good.

"The Brass would be insane not to let you in," Hackett continued. "I hope you have your bags packed."

She grinned. "Thank you, sir."

"You'll have to wait for the official acceptance, Ci-Ci, but we'll contact you soon. Good day."

She shook his hand and left, suppressing doing a happy dance in the hall. Shepard ran directly into her. "Sorry," she giggled. "It was nice to meet you, LT. Looking forward to working with you."

She skipped away, Shepard watching her from the doorway. Hackett coughed. "Shepard…"

Shepard turned to Hackett. "Sir?"

"That look you gave her never bodes well for officers and the fraternization laws."

"She's just a kid, sir."

"I'm not so sure, but come in. You have some reports for me?"