Chapter Text
“I remember my first time seeing a human face-to-face. She was wearing a flight suit, waving around a handgun about as technologically relevant as a stone club. She was between me and my objective, and I was in full armour, carrying an assault rifle. I told her, I think my exact words were 'put the weapon down, and you won't be harmed.'
“She kicked me in the dick.”
-Primarch Adrien Victus, on the Relay 314 Incident.
Commander Ajax Shepard: recipient of the Purple Fleur de Lis (the highest honour available to un-canonised humans), the Bowie Knife of Valour, for extreme violence in the line of duty (ever-humble, Shepard had attempted to decline this honour, arguing that his defence of Elysium hardly counted as extreme violence, but was eventually talked around by Captain Anderson), and the Genki's Head- a medal that had come with automatic beatification. Rumour had it that Shepard had been offered a chance at canonisation already, but had declined, citing 'prior commitments'.
This muttering was given some weight by the fact that the stripe on his N7 armour had mysteriously turned out red, rather than purple. When quizzed about it, he had apparently assured his superiors that he would have a word with requisitions. The red had remained, nevertheless.
Aside from this discrepancy, Ajax had, for his entire career, been nothing less than a model soldier, which those following his progress had found slightly disappointing. Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that he seemed to act more like a turian than a human at times, or, perhaps, due to it, his name was put forward for consideration when the idea of a human Spectre was floated.
Within a month of this recommendation, Shepard had accused a fellow Spectre of murder, collected a ragtag band of misfits and set them at the throat of the most ancient evils in the universe, detonated an improvised nuclear device, resurrected the rachni, defied a number of direct orders from the Council, coerced Captain Anderson into physically assaulting Ambassador Udina, annoyed an ancient technological god to the point where it decided it had to fight him hand-to-hand, and embarrassed the Council beyond belief by saving all their lives.
His superiors had breathed a sigh of relief. It appeared Shepard could act like a proper human after all. He had just been something of a late bloomer.
Still, even they hadn't expected him to survive being spaced.
The Illusive Man had been slightly embarrassed when it turned out that the Collectors had absolutely no interest in humanity. That had rather put a dent in his argument that the Collector threat was within the Deckers' remit. Still, he had invested a not-inconsiderable amount of money in making sure Shepard was walking and talking, and he'd be damned if he wasn't putting the man to work.
He had been surprised at how easy it was to persuade Ajax to investigate. He'd seemed genuinely worried about the plight of the turian colonists.
In the following months, he would look back on how pleased he had been that Shepard was ready to cooperate, bury his head in his hands, and try to forget what an idiot he had been.
After the sudden disappearance of the Alpha Relay, the man that destroyed a star system sailed his ship into harbour back on New Earth, his crew gone, apart from his doctor, his pilot, and (although this was not exactly common knowledge at the time) his ship's AI.
When pressed as to the whereabouts of the alien crewmembers, and, more to the point, the renegade humans that made up the bulk of the crew, the man had shrugged, and said they had decided to find their own way home.
When asked why, exactly, he had turned himself in, he had given them a choice. Either they could lock him up, or he would take his ship and surrender himself to the Batarian Hegemony.
When the Reapers came, they hit Palaven like a meteor.
And the next morning, Commander Shepard, from his cell, had sent a private message to Admiral Hackett- something, incidentally, that was supposed to be impossible, as his omnitool had been confiscated, and all extranet access forbidden.
The message had directed Hackett to look up clause 73a(iii) of the Saints Charter, a document from the desk of The President In Absentia Herself.
Within a day, Commander Shepard had been tossed the keys to the Normandy, and been told to get to it.
73a. Pertaining to the duty to intervene in the affairs of alien empires, hostile in general but not in the specific: don't. Just don't. If they come fuck with you, don't let them get away with that bullshit, but the Saints don't start shit, okay? We end it. Unless the following conditions are met:
(i) It's the Goddamn Zin again. Fuck those guys, seriously.
(iii) They're being led by an evil clone of me in a goatee and a bad hairdo. (Asha made me put this in)
(iii) They're some real end-of-days shit- something you can really get your teeth into, you know? (Johnny made me put this in. I think Jezebel made Johnny make me put this in.)