Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to my first fan-fic! A few years ago, if you asked me what Mass Effect was, I wouldn't have been able to tell you anything. Now, here I am, fleshing out that massive universe even further. I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and please, comment, praise, criticize, suggest, I'm open to all of it.

In case you didn't see the description, I'm going to try to stay within the boundaries of the Bioware endings, but I've got a few ideas in the works which will do a hell of a lot more than "clarify" (I mean, seriously, just how much more artificial can Bioware's excuses get?) the Shepard trilogy.

An explosion of red daggers, then a welcoming cloud of darkness. "How many times has it been now?" mused Commander Trent Shepard. A Batarian carnage blast from the Skyllian Blitz…the Prothean beacon on Eden Prime…the destruction of the SR1…yes, the whole 'see red then black out' thing was becoming a trend for the hero of humanity. But then again, maybe it wasn't, because as the darkness began to encroach on his thoughts, Shepard couldn't help but wonder if this was the end of the line.

No, Shepard didn't wonder because he was religious, or because he subscribed to the "law of statistics" like some jumpy marines did. No god or deity decided when his day would come; there was no bullet with his name on it. He had been in the service too long to be taken in by those myths. Instead, whenever he had questions about the nature of reality, he approached it scientifically. The outcome of any event is determined by a huge number of variables. Shepard had gotten good at controlling variables. Any victory on the battlefield he attributed to fastidious weapon maintenance, strategic team selection, and creative tactics. Any victory in diplomacy he attributed to information gathering and the employment of ethos, pathos, and logos, either separately or in conjunction with one another. Apparently, the Illusive Man had thought so highly of Shepard's ability to influence events that he had risked over four billion credits in the hopes that Shepard would change a "suicide mission" into a victory for humanity. He had not been disappointed.

Despite his successes, Shepard never allowed himself to become arrogant. There was only so much he could control; for instance, he couldn't stop blood from leaving his wounds, and he couldn't repair the extreme trauma to the front of his body. No human mind, or artificial one, could predict or create the future of the universe. There were simply too many variables.

The Catalyst had finally recognized this, which was why it had decided that a new "solution" was needed. As for why it had let him choose the Crucible's function, Shepard still didn't know. He had wanted time to weigh his options, but off in the distance, he could see Reapers massacring the allied fleets wholesale.

He had closed his eyes and forced his gaze inward.

Synthesis: out of the question. The decision to become a synthetic-organic hybrid must be left to the individual. Also, making everyone's DNA the same isn't going to magically make problems and conflict go away. After enough time, organic life will rise again, and what's to stop people from making new synthetics? And when has similar DNA ever stopped a criminal, or reconciled differences in…religion, for example? So…

Control: definitely seemed like the best choice. Any aversion Shepard had had to the Illusive Man's plan was a result of knowing the Illusive Man's character, not moral qualms over holding the reins of power. Besides, if Shepard controlled the Reapers, he could fly them into stars, or into black holes, or force them drop their barriers and fight each other to the death. He had given his life in service once before; he was willing to do it again if it brought an end to the cycle.

But, before he could force his battered legs to move, he took one last look at the Catalyst. It had once been an organic, and so had Harbinger, and the rest of the Reaper fleet. Did the Catalyst have a family? Was Sovereign royalty, a slave, or somewhere in between? Might the Reaper on Tuchanka have been a scientist on par with Mordin? It didn't matter though; they were the Reapers, and from the largest dreadnoughts down to the lowliest husks, their sole collective purpose was to cull the "chaos" of organics.

Shepard's mind had been honed through combat, structured through reflection, tempered by loss, and sustained by the hope that all his work would help the galaxy be a better place for everyone. But would it be enough to control the Reapers? If his mind were separated from his body, and if it was converted into an AI, would he be able to think the same way? Or would his new outlook lead him to the same conclusion the Catalyst had reached?

No, trying to take control was too risky. The Reapers were too powerful to be put in the hands of one flawed human being.

Destroy: this was the final solution, the absolute end of the extinction cycle, but it had a cost. The destruction of all synthetics. The Geth. EDI. Both of them, hated and feared by the "civilized community", yet willing to risk survival for the sake of a future without the Reapers – a future not just for them, but for Shepard, and for everyone Shepard fought for. Both of them, so recently beginning to appreciate the beauty of true sentience, the thrill of emotion. They had pledged themselves to Shepard's cause, "to the death" EDI had stated, but Shepard had never wanted them to have to make good that promise.

Also, if all synthetics were destroyed, and the future gave rise to new synthetics, would the lessons of the past few years be remembered, or would the Catalyst's macabre predictions come true? There was no way to tell.

…

Ah…there's the answer. There was no way to tell. The peace with the Geth might be temporary, but so was any other kind of peace. Sometimes things work out, sometimes they don't; either way, everyone moves forward. However, the existence of the Reapers denies everyone that hope: the hope that we can change the future. Against all odds, Shepard had rallied the entire galaxy, and as long as the Reapers were destroyed today, others could and would arise to bear the torch.

To bear hope.

Now, after the explosion and the retreat from his senses, Shepard wondered if this was the end of the line, but he already knew the answer. Shepard had breached the Catalyst's realm of possibility once by activating the Crucible; he could do it again.

He wanted to live.

He wanted to breath.

*Haa*

Oh God, the pain…

Don't stop now!

*Haa*

*Haa*

He calmed his mind as adrenaline surged through his system, working to assess his injuries and avoid further damage. He could feel several broken ribs shifting with every breath, and as he gave his limbs experimental twitches, only his right arm responded properly. The rest he guessed…severe breaks, muscle tears, skin burns? Oh, and the large abdominal wound from Harbinger's beam. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle, but it needed to be closed. He needed proper medical attention.

Where was he?

He forced his eyelids open, the charred films of skin protesting with a dozen new fractures, and waited for the dark blur to begin resolving into shapes. Ten seconds passed. Then another, and another, and still all Shepard could see was a dark blur. He began to wonder if the explosion had blinded him, but he pushed that thought aside and refocused on how to get medical treatment. Even if he could see where he was, he wouldn't be able to move.

He slid his right arm gingerly under his back, scraping his knuckles on what felt like concrete, and pawed at the various utility pouches on the back of his Hahne-Kedar torso-piece until he found what he was looking for: a compact but powerful beacon. He had planned to use it to signal in reinforcements to the Citadel wherever the beam took him, but then Harbinger happened, and - shit; If Coates is still alive, I should have him court-martialed once I'm out of here - all other forces had begun beating a hasty retreat.

Now, though, someone should come to investigate. Shepard was fairly certain that the Crucible had fulfilled its function, because if the Catalyst had been lying about its intentions, it would have simply killed him after Shepard fulfilled his role, whatever that would be. However, he was worried; in retrospect, he should have asked the Catalyst how the Crucible would destroy the Reapers, and whether it would affect organics or starships. Also, what state are the fleets in? How bad are the losses? The Normandy; did Joker and EDI carry out my orders? Oh, God, I hope not, Tali would –

Stop. Stop, getting anxious will only make my injuries worse. The best thing I can do for them now is signal my location – where's the button, ah, here we go – and get treatment. Once I'm recovered, then I can…I can… oh, right! I owe Tali a house on Rannoch… and Garrus a few beers…maybe I can challenge him to a rematch on that spot on the Presidium…oh, but its gone…doesn't matter, we're finally fucking free! So many places we could go…I should take the whole crew to the American West, it's really beautiful out there…and sparsely populated, so the Reapers shouldn't have hit it too hard…c'mon, stay awake man, there is so much more I want to do!...

Shepard quickly lost track of time, his thoughts bleeding into each other. Thinking was hard, so instead he remembered. He remembered all those little moments when he felt most alive: his childhood on Earth, running packages for the Reds, leaping effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, wishing that one day he might break free of gravity and simply soar up and out into space, and sometimes crashing down into an alley, being cushioned by a pile of trash or the occasional unfortunate hobo; The nervous rush during his Alliance drill instructor's first "pep" talk, the swelling of pride in his chest as he accepted his N7 certification, Captain Anderson nodding his approval from the audience; The incredible wave of relief after the Skyllian Blitz, watching the last pirate ships disappear into the atmosphere and prying his stiff fingers from his half-melted rifle.

And how would he ever forget the transfer to the SR1 Normandy…

There you have it, the first chapter. Yes, Shepard is alive, he chose the destruction ending, and he will continue to be alive until whenever I end this fanfic. And what were Shepard's orders? Who's alive and who's dead? What state is the galaxy in?

Now, I wasn't too happy with how I moved between real life and thought, but if it works for you guys, I'll stick with it. If not, then if you're planning to critique (which I seriously encourage you to do), see if you can include a few words concerning that aspect of the piece.

I'm going to try and have the next chapter up on or before the 21st, and it will be significantly longer than this one.