Author's Note:
The plan is for this story to become novel-length, and I'm sure going to do my best to make that a reality. I do not own anything in the Mass Effect Universe. At all. The universe and most of the characters in this story belong to Bioware and anyone else in the making of the game. This hasn't been beta'd. I'll be going back and revising every chapter after two more are posted. The first two chapters are prologues, so if you'd like to get straight into a new story, you can skip. I am new to , so please forgive any mistakes I make regarding how everything is formatted, ect. I'll do my best to learn, but for now, I've got no clue as to what I need to do. Enjoy.
Fireworks at Dawn
Shepard's stony glare bore into the Catalyst, in the hope of another option being presented. The child's silence made Shepard feel mocked. Every choice he'd made and every result of those choices was ridiculed by the three possibilities, this ultimatum. Destroy, Synthesis, Control. Each was sure to alter the galaxy in ways his confused state was able to even begin imagining, much less understanding. And I have to choose alone, he thought, terror beginning to fill his gut. No one could help him; no one could offer their opinion. The fate of every human, turian, asari, and whatever else the galaxy held was solely his to shape. The journey to this point had been a hell of ride, but in the next few moments, it'd have an end, once and for all.
Sunlight shone on the curvature of the Earth, signaling dawn. "Make your choice, Shepard."
And so he did.
With a sharp breath, Shepard steadied his arm and aimed it at the machine on his left, the one that would destroy the Reapers- and the other synthetics. A casualty of war, he'd decided; it wasn't the time to worry about them. Today, Shepard would finish this the way they'd planned it, from the very start. He began to walk in the direction. There would be no regrets from this point on.
As quickly as he was in range, he fired the first shot. Admiral Anderson saluted, his face young and free from the stresses of war. Shepard nearly tripped as he took a step forward, but he didn't let his balance falter. A second shot. Thane Krios bared his fangs in laughter, fighting shadows around him. He looked at the Commander's eye and raised his thumb, a gesture Taylor had shown him. Almost running, Shepard took another shot. Legion spoke that sacred word, "I".
He shifted his eye, and discovered he was down to his very last bullet. With a wicked grin, and eyes flaring red, Shepard yelled over his shoulder. "I've got one fucking bullet left, where would you like it?" The moment the last word escaped his lips, the last shot was fired. It broke through a layer of glass and lodged itself within the machine, causing a ping to reverberate. The light sound intensified in a split second, and time seemed to slow. He'd felt a similar feeling before, on the Normandy, as it exploded.
A whoosh wrapped around his ears, popping them, and fire enfolded him. Burned and bruised, Shepard fell on his back. The Catalyst flickered out, almost angrily. Good. He fucking hated the damned kid.
With a heavy sigh, Shepard let his head touch the cold metal of the platform's floor. Above him, the fleets began to retreat. That was good, too. There was no telling what effect the growing red beam would have on the ships, and he didn't want to find out. What happened to the Reapers, however, was something he'd been eager to witness for a very long time. As it was, Shepard felt like he weighed a thousand pounds, and he found it difficult to move much, if at all. Even with the dribble of blood flowing from the corner of his mouth, Shepard grinned like a fool. This little injury wasn't going to keep him from enjoying the fireworks.
The Citadel began to shake lightly from the strain of powering the Crucible. He hoped it wouldn't get any worse. "Here we go", he breathed, voice slurred by blood. Shepard would have done something about it-probably spit, but in his state, the best he could do was waggling his pinkie. It was a start, at the very least.
The space above was now entirely free of the galaxy's forces- the ones that weren't in ruins, and only the Reapers remained. They erupted in an ear-piercing, simultaneous drone that could only be described as mournful wailing. It was in their language, but Shepard was glad to hear the sound. It meant the Reapers were finally scared.
With a bloody hand pressing down on his side, Shepard began to relax. His breaths slowed and his eyes drooped. It was almost funny, really. Commander Shepard of the Normandy SR-2, Hero of Elysium and unifier of the galaxy, was bleeding out, cold and alone. A death fit for a Tenth Street Red. He almost shook with rage at the thought of the gang. He'd promised himself so long ago that he wouldn't let something like this happen, and he sure as hell wasn't going to go back on that. At least not until he saw the fall of the Old Machines. It seemed like a fair enough trade.
In the final moments before the Crucible did whatever it was powering up to do, Shepard's thoughts began to wander to those who mattered the most to him: his crew. Over the months and years, these people, once soldiers and comrades in arms had become his friends, and so much more. They had become his family, and he was damned proud to say it.
Centering his daydreams was the one who meant the most. Major Kaidan Alenko. From their fighting styles to the headaches that came after, the two were remarkably similar. They forged their friendship in the race against Sovereign, almost ended everything on Horizon, and soared above in the final onslaught. Blood flowed in a steady stream, but determination had set in. He was going to make it out of this, for Kaidan and for Garrus, for Chakwas and for Joker, for the Normandy and her crew.
He gasped as he sat up, wild-eyed, and almost choked. A scowl that personified resilience spread across his face as he spat sticky blood out onto the cool, blue floor. A second sound emanated, its epicenter the citadel, and nothing like the ping he'd heard from the machine. He felt this to the tooth, but he still managed to stand to his feet. Hunched over and sorry-looking, but up. It was more than a start.
Red light filled the air, washing over him. It was a rejuvenating sensation, and it seemed to aid his biotics. Without intending to, Shepard began to radiate blue light. He cocked his head up to the battle zone, hand clutched firmly on the wound, with reinforcement from his biotics. As the Reapers' screams were cut short and they cackled with electricity, Shepard grinned, bloody and toothy. Silence hit seconds after the beam, leaving a surreal ringing in his ears. The Reapers went dark. He hadn't realized it, but Shepard had held in his breath. He sucked in oxygen, his relief obvious.
"Finally", he breathed. "Finally", he repeated.
Shepard's heart soared high. He sent a prayer to no god in particular, begging that this was real, and that the Reapers had truly been defeated. As if in answer, the Citadel began to tremble. Slowly at first, but the shaking intensified in a matter of moments. From his vantage point, Shepard saw one of the Citadel's splinters explode. He fell back, and before he had been able to fully process the occurrence, he fell unconscious.
"It reflects my bad image,
Of someone who's lost,
Getting older by the minute.
Laugh lines are like growing scars
Someday they will be finished."