Escape
In which Shepard's Clone leaves the Citadel
I was swimming in a sea of pain. Not dead, because death has no pain, or so they say. No lacerations, my kinetic shields and hardsuit had done their jobs well enough, but I think I'm covered in one giant bruise. Throw in a bad concussion for good measure too.
A lucid thought broke through to the surface of the sea. I need to figure out where I am. I opened my eyes. I was on the floor of a strange apartment. It was a nice apartment, a large living room with two sofas orbiting a coffee table and a big screen with surround sound on the closest wall, a well tended kitchen visible through an opening, the pots and pans gleaming in the light, a balcony above it leading to a games room, a spacious stairwell leading to the upper level, and finally a bedroom visible behind the stairway. It was a very nice apartment, other than the fact that someone had broken a window and scattered glass everywhere.
Who am I? Why did I break that window? When did I get a hardsuit? How did I get hurt? Where am I? I struggled, I do something involving sheep. I herd sheep. I'm a sheppard. That sounded right. Some sort of Shepard. I think I was falling earlier, falling from what? Norman? I fell from Norman D. That fall could have been why I broke the window, and why I'm hurt all over. What's my job, some sort of spirit, maybe? Ghost? Ghostbuster? Banshee? A witch? A Spectre? Special Tactics and Reconnaissance, it's an acronym, I think. The hardsuit is my armor, I was in a fight, a battle. A battle with another Shepard. That's it, I was in a fight with Shepard on the Norman D.
And it all came back to me. Everything from my awakening 6 months ago to my fall from the Normandy. I'm a clone, an imperfect one. I couldn't replace Shepard, I couldn't save Earth from the Reapers the way I was supposed to. But who decided that was my future? Brooks? That bitch left me to die alone. She was like a mother to me, the only mother I'd ever have. She taught me everything I needed to know; how to fight, how to deceive, how to barter and bargain, how to sneak, how to maneuver through a conversation to learn information. Everything I needed to be Shepard, under her guidance.
But she left me. Whatever she taught me is useless without her help, there was always that nuance, that tidbit that she never taught; so she could have an edge over me in everything. Wait, was that the sound of a door opening?
"What the fuck happened? My new appartment! It's ruined," said a voice in the same direction as the door. "What did you do to it you bastard?"
I immediately leaped up from the ground. "None of your business," I stated "Spectre authority, this is strictly on a need to know basis. You're lucky sir, this could have been worse." The voice belonged to a human male of about 60 years of age, blondish grey hair, hazel eyes, of Asian ancestry. Obviously a man of wealth, well dressed, with an upper class apartment. Just a little below average height too. "Sir, if you could provide me with funds, I will repay you when I can."
The man stared at me skeptically "And what if I don't give you the credits?"
"Then I confiscate them immediately. And I won't be so nice as to refund you." I threatened, and added "And you get bragging rights that you helped the great Commander Shepard stop the Reapers." Maybe Brooks' training wasn't entirely useless without her.
The man was taken aback "You're Commander Shepard? Oh my god, this can't be happening to me. Take these credits and go. Just leave me with my broken window"
I quickly knocked out the man, he would probably write the experience off as a hallucination due to lack of sleep. Probably.
I left the apartment through the door the man had entered. No one seemed to have heard the earlier commotion of me falling through a window. If they had, they might've reported it to C-Sec. I walked over to an elevator and selected the ground floor.
I needed a plan, and fast. My current armor was too iconic; everyone's seen Commander Shepard posed in N7 style armor for Alliance promotional material. The easiest way to find new armor was to strip it off of some dead merc, I'd find that in the lower Wards. A ship to get me as far away as possible from the Citadel, that's what I'd need before long. I'll need to bide my time, build my strength, find more lackeys to use. Not just ordinary mercs, Shepard plowed right through those CAT6 types like a hot knife through butter. Goddamn, won't this crate go any faster? Now I know why the original Shepard hates elevators so much.
Weapons are also a problem. Brooks managed that part of the operation. Not only that, but she even killed the contact we used. Nothing fancy, just the bottom of the barrel guns. Stuff you can get for cheap. I checked the amount of credits that man had sent me. 430,000 credits? I must have scared the poor bastard! That's enough to buy me a squad's worth of decent weapons. This elevator couldn't possibly go any slower than this! I activated my omni-tool and ran a hacking program on the elevator's controls. Take this, you stupid hunk of metal!
I turned up the speed of descent. I could feel the elevator moving ever so slightly faster. Whoever designed this building must hate everything and everyone. I maxed out the elevator speed controls. Maybe now I'll make some headway in this piece of shit. The elevator ground to a halt. Stupid machine! GO DOWN DAMN YOU!
I felt a shudder resonate through the box. What now? There was no other warning; the elevator suddenly fell. The feeling of weightlessness is a feeling to be savoured, but there was no time, only me hitting the roof of the elevator.
Crash!
I was thrown to the floor as the elevator hit the bottom floor. That's going to leave a mark. Now I'm never messing with elevators again.
I peeked my head out of the elevator. No one in sight, good. All the better to sneak around. I crept through the foyer in front of the elevator door. The only living soul here was a bored looking security guard. I suck up behind him and gave him a knock-out blow. I stripped the armour he wore from him, and appropriated his pistol. Now I was disguised and armed. I took off my own hardsuit and put the guard's in its place.
I looked around for a locker room, thinking that I'd find a place to stash my N7 armor. The only thing I found was an outdated duffle bag, so I put the suit right inside. Quickly, I dashed out the door and into the streets. I picked a direction and followed it for an hour or so. When I passed through a market area, I stopped for some purchases. A personal V.I. I compressed and stored to my omni tool, never know when that comes in handy. One of every type of weapon I would conceivably need. Specialised armour colourings, so I could change the armor colour when I needed to. When I had finished, I made my way to a noodle stand. I don't know why, but I wanted noodles, spicy ones. I ordered something called Ramen. It was good, but not something I could eat often.
Finally, I made it to a shuttle port. I booked passage on a freighter that was leaving soon. Toting my purchases, I made my way to the cargo bay. I slipped the cargo handlers some extra credits to not mention me to the ship's captain. I made myself an area to sit in and look over what I had. The armour I had stolen from the guard was a classic adaptive Predator/Mantis/Scorpion/Ursa camouflage pattern produced by Hahne-Kedar, fifth class heavy armour. The guns I had purchased were also produced by Hahne-Kedar, standard issue in most mercenary companies. Not to mention the expensive VI suite I ordered and downloaded to my omni-tool, thanks to some data banks that were linked to it.
Remembering the VI, I set to work unpacking and installing the intricate computer. The VI stands for Virtual Intelligence. A Virtual Intelligence is basically an advanced computer in that it handles multiple software processes to reach a conclusion. That conclusion could be anything from discovering the results of an extranet search, to optimizing performance during the rigours of battle, to even managing the details of a scientific laboratory. All VIs lack the traits that allow an AI to become "self-aware". This is mostly the correct software or other processes, as the VI only appears to be an intelligent being, a result of some particularly clever programming. This VI I set to work scanning for suitable hide-out locations that I could go to. Now, come to think about it, I need a ship to use. I'd also need more credits, an exploration vehicle, and some subordinates. Mercenaries are often the easiest subordinates, but get expensive over time. Criminals are another choice, but they aren't particularly reliable or durable. Free-lancers will often sign up for work where ever they can, but aren't very consistent. Maybe I'll cobble together a band of mercenaries, old cops, scientists, criminals, social rejects, priests, and military veterans to solve crimes and do good deeds for money and sex. Because that always works.
The best solution would be freelancers. The sort of people that no one would miss while they were gone. That way, the minions are expendable, have low upkeep, and have no reason to leave my service. Well, good thing there's a large database that contains the information for many of the galaxy's freelance mercenaries. I also assigned the database crawling task to the VI, and directed it to flag any mercenaries that met my needs. And now, a ship.
Like I said, I need a small ship. I I might be able to use a frigate, but it will need storage space. Maybe I could buy a freighter? Yes, that's the solution. Buy a freighter, tack on some illegal weapon systems, some shuttles, maybe a Mako or two, make it self-sufficient...that's the dream. Too bad I don't have enough credits. But that hasn't stopped me before, right? I tasked the VI with locating a suitable freighter, and finding extranet offers for the other things.
It didn't take long for the freighter to get to its destination. I quickly searched for appropriate lodgings, a nice hotel room wouldn't hurt anybody while I planned for the future. My Future.
This was a terrible idea. I ordered all of the equipment, and had everything loaded onto the freighter. And then I stole it.
I knew all along I couldn't pay them all, but bought it all anyway on the promise that "I will pay when I get my purchases". They're going to regret agreeing to my demands. I'm currently on the run to the hideout I found in the stolen freighter, jumping from Mass Relay to Mass Relay in an attempt to lose the pursuit. Speaking of which, I checked the local scanner. They're certainly slowing down the chase, it's been an hour since I last had contact. Stolen equipment in tow, I made it to a refueling station to top up my reserves. The station operators didn't seem to care if they refueled a stolen ship. I had at least twenty freelancers hired and at a rendezvous point, hired through the VI system. I directed the ship through one last Mass Relay, and to the Star system I would be traveling from.
When I brought the freighter up to dock with the rendezvous point - also a refueling station - the freelancers were brought aboard and told to settle into their quarters, and be ready to report to me near the bridge. Waiting a decent amount of time, I summoned them over the ship wide announcement speaker. "All freelancers report to the Bridge, all freelancers report to the Bridge."
I examined my armour. I had taken time to paint my own pattern on it, a series of abstract designs that both make me look intimidating, and recognisable anywhere. Well, time to see how the crew feels about me.
I watched as the freelancers entered one by one, to stand in four different lines. I examined each at lightning fast speed, assessing, without remorse. Seven - more than I would have liked - are Turians, tall bird-like aliens famed for their military prowess. Three, no, four Salarians, short-lived reptilian aliens, known for their scientific ability and tactical thinking. Three Quarians, a nomadic race that is forced to wear environmental suits all the time; They have no homeworld-but are masters of fixing what many thought was unfixable. There was also a Krogan, another reptilian race; tough, resilient, deadly, and capable of going into a blood rage at almost a moment's notice. The final twelve1 were humans. All freelancers were wearing some form of full-body armour, so they would survive more than a few minutes in a firefight at least.
I addressed them "Welcome aboard freelancers. You may be used playing by your own rules, but by signing on with me, you have made the conscious decision to play by my rules. You will address me as 'Sir', and by no other name! You will follow every order I give to the letter, and I'll know if you get it wrong. THAT MEANS YOU! MIDDLE ROW, THIRD FROM THE LEFT! GET OVER HERE!" I gave the speech my best "I am the leader" tone. The mercenary I had picked at random sheepishly walked up to where I had indicated. The hapless recruit was a human freelancer, green and inexperienced. "GET DOWN AND GIVE ME 20 PUSH-UPS!" The recruit balked, and dropped to the ground and flawlessly performed 20 pushups. "Good. This is the level of dedication I expect from all of you. No insubordination will be tolerated with me! Dismissed!"
The assembled freelancers left the bridge. All of them except for the Krogan. "I said, dismissed!"
The Krogan laughed "I get it, human. You're trying to play the tough guy. In most mercenary companies, the tough guy is the one who his 'friends' let get killed. I can do that job for you, human. I can drill these pyjak into shape in no time. You aliens are all so squishy, you'd never last in a Krogan training camp."
"And who are you to tell me how to do my job?" I snidely replied.
"I'm just a burnt out old Krogan Battlemaster with more than a couple-a centuries under his belt. You should have seen me in my prime, I'd be able to take down any of these so called "freelancers" with just my fists. I can at least deal with troublesome recruits, nothing like what a human'd do."
"Tell you what. I don't have time to deal with training these fools. I have plans for that garden world in this star system. It shouldn't exist, so it's the perfect world to hide on." I stated.
The Krogan remained unconvinced. "So you're some sort-a criminal? Am I supposed to be impressed with this?"
I shook my head "I'm not really a criminal, just looking to lie low. Maybe this whole Reaper thing will blow over."
The bridge door closed as the Krogan walked out. I quickly tasked the shipboard VI to prepare a landing vector. There was no time for fancy scouting probes and landing parties, now was the time for action. I signaled the mercenaries to prepare for a landing, and started the descent.