Ren's Note:
This is full of spoilers so if you haven't beaten ME3, you've been warned.
This takes the ending at face-value without any of the prevailing theories regarding indoctrination. The final choices seemed appropriately epic with high stakes. And I was moved by the emotion involved in the decision. That's my review in a nutshell.
However, the plot hole parts that struck me were A) that Shepard would not have consulted anyone about what they wanted, since everyone left behind would have to live with his/her choice (think V for Vendetta), B) that Shepard didn't warn anyone that the mass relays were going to be destroyed so thousands of disparate races from the fleets would have been trapped on Earth, and C) …where the hell was the Normandy going, and how did everyone get on it so quickly?
I do my best to address these points though I took some liberties, of course. And as always: Mass Effect is property of Bioware.
"Shepard? Shepard! Come in, Commander!" I could hear Admiral Hackett's stern repeat into the intercom as I dive out of the elevator into the CIC. Lieutenant James Vega and the Prothean Javik are a step behind me when I leap for the cockpit.
Joker's hands fly over the control screens, adjusting calibrations as the ship swoops around blasts from Reaper cannons. The front of the Normandy is completely obscured by Joker's instrumentation. Only when you look out the starboard or port windows is the battle visible.
It is utter chaos above Earth. Small geth fighters bob between larger quarian dreadnoughts pounding away at Reaper ships. Alliance bombers and Kodiak drop ships collect into tight battle formations to protect turian cruisers from the angry red assault of Reaper oculus fighters. The open Citadel sits in the background, caught in the middle of the merciless Reaper assault above and on Earth.
And somewhere in that gleaming black monolith, Shepard had made it. The last thing I'd seen as Admiral Anderson's forces had double-timed it toward the teleportation beam was a bright flash of light and James wrestling with me against a tank. I had fought against him, but I had been too slow to join Shepard in the final push to that beam. James had saved my life, though I wasn't feeling too grateful knowing Shepard was in there somewhere. Without me.
We all scattered to get away from Harbinger, because even from a distance I could feel the pull of indoctrination. My vision was hazy and black around the edges, obscured by more than just dust kicked up around the ruins of London. I heard whispers, cries of pain, felt the sting of memories long since buried.
I wanted to stay to help the wounded, but I was shoved into an Alliance Kodiak by a shouting human marine. We would be cut to pieces by Harbinger if we did not retreat, he said. Like Shepard.
The Normandy met us in the mesosphere above what remained of England for pick-up, but I was too numb from the devastation. How long were we riding in that Kodiak? Hours? Minutes? I had chanced a look out the window, but it was always the same in every direction. Ships, both Reaper and rebel, zipped by amidst chunks of metal from fallen brothers and sisters.
Bright orange bursts dotted the surface below. The hallmark of the Reaper invasion. This was what extinction looked like. How long would it take those shadows to darken the sky of every world and raze them to the ground? Or melt our people into new Reapers to terrorize future cycles?
I was grateful when the view suddenly changed to the inside of the Normandy shuttle bay, but that meant I was jolted back to reality with the painful question: What happened to Shepard?
A burst of static woke me from my reminiscent stupor of just minutes ago. "—This is Shepard—"
My heart resumed its pounding. That voice. I didn't think I would ever hear it again. Always patient. Thoughtful. Strong. But I could hear a falter in that once undefeatable soldier, an extra wincing intake of air, a groan masked as an exhale.
"Shepard! Are you with Anderson? What happened?" Hackett's holographic form wavers in agitation above EDI's copilot console.
"Anderson is dead. The Illusive Man killed him." I hadn't known Anderson well, but his loss still strikes hard. He had been the face of the resistance on Earth, the one who stayed behind to give people hope while we had been running behind Shepard. But… the Illusive Man? What had happened up there? How did Cerberus get there before us?
I see digital Hackett pause, his brow furrowing and scarred lips tightening. I lean forward to patch into the communication, but Hackett beat me to the question I want… no, NEED… an answer to.
"Are you all right, Shepard?"
A wet, laboring cough in reply. "Took some fire from Harbinger. Anderson and I both took shots from the Illusive Man before he went down."
Shepard is hurt. Possibly dying. I can't even will myself to breathe at this point. My lungs simply will not accept air. I feel a consoling hand on my shoulder, but I refuse to make eye contact with its owner out of fear of just losing it.
Hackett smoothes a hand over his chin with a sigh, then holds his fist to his chin in a silent prayer. It is a moment before he speaks again, his voice thick with emotion.
"Admiral Anderson was a great man. I'm just sorry it had to end like that." Another pause before returning to business. "Our forces fled when Harbinger landed. That goddamn monstrosity was vaporizing ground units from a kilometer away. I'm just glad someone made it to that beam. I think it thinks you're dead, Shepard, because there hasn't been any additional surge in Reaper activity. Can you activate the Crucible?"
"About that, sir. There's a small problem."
A small problem. Shepard always was fond of understatement. Sometimes that soldier's humor baffles me, but I can hold my own with the Commander. Though not in a situation like this. Saren and the Collectors were a "small problem" to Shepard. I can't even imagine what sick joke of a small problem the galaxy has up its sleeve this time.
"I didn't think it would be that easy. It never is," Hackett says tightly, the stress showing.
"I can use the Crucible to control the Reapers, destroy them, or… turn every living thing in the galaxy into an organic-synthetic hybrid…" Shepard's communication trails off into a fit of coughing, and my heart does that little flip again.
"Come again, Commander?"
"It's—it's just like it sounds. The Reapers think they're protecting us from synthetics," Shepard's voice raises in exasperation. "If we all become partly synthetic, there's no more conflict."
"What makes you think any of these options will work?"
"I don't know. This… Catalyst… This… spokesperson for the Reapers… never anticipated the Crucible being completed. And now that it is, it's letting us decide how …we—we want to …stop the cycle…" The energy leeches from Shepard's words. I have to physically cover my eyes to block out the mental image of the Commander covered in blood, staggering about some strange chamber on the Citadel. Weakening by the minute.
"I see…" Hackett's cheek twitches but his expression remains neutral. "What do you think we should do, Shepard?"
"I… shouldn't make that decision in a vacuum, sir. Everyone will have to live with the consequences."
Hackett nodded. "I'll radio the fleets, try to get some consensus." I felt a sudden pang of sadness when I thought of Legion, always gathering consensus. Another sacrifice for the greater good. But I had my doubts the new geth would volunteer for the destroy option.
Was this going to go to a vote, who lives and who dies? I know that in the end, it'll be Shepard's call. And it'll be the right one.
"I also need you to order a full retreat on my command. Tell everyone they need to go home. Now."
The whole room, probably the entire galactic fleet, fell silent at this. Is Shepard admitting defeat? My hand digs into Joker's chair but I don't notice the pain. One minute, I'm dying to speak to Shepard, to hear that voice again even with the entire fleet listening. Now, I'm still. I'm afraid. After all this, all that we'd been through, was Shepard giving up?
"Say again, Commander?"
"Everyone needs to get back to the mass relay." After a sharp throat-clearing to muffle the pain, Shepard continues. "The war is over, Admiral. When I activate the Crucible, the mass relays are going to be destroyed. Everyone needs to get out unless they want to take the long way home for a few decades." I hear… what is that? Is that a smug smirk? Even now, Shepard can make a joke out of this? I don't know if I want to hug or hit that bastard.
"Are you sure? Without the fleet, you're at the mercy of the Reapers. If we leave, you'll be completely exposed. You'll have 5 minutes. At the most." At least Hackett is making sure. I wonder if Shepard is sane at this point, because how can this be a solution?
"5 minutes is about all I have left anyway. But I'll hold on as long as I have to."
Mine is not the only gasp in the Normandy at this ominous statement. I can't handle the radio silence anymore, nor can I keep the strained quiver out of my voice. "What are you saying, Shepard?"
A pause, then Shepard's voice softens, "Hey. I was hoping I'd speak to you again. Are you safe?" Even now, Shepard is worried about me. I have to brush the concern aside, because this is not the place for the conversation I'd rather be having.
"I'm fine, we made it back on the Normandy. …What are you saying, Shepard?" I repeat, this time with an emphatic edge.
"It's …bad. I'm putting pressure where I can, but I don't have much time left. And it doesn't matter anyway. Once the Crucible is activated, there's no coming back."
I don't know how I find the courage to ask, "What—what happens to you?"
"It doesn't matter."
"What. Happens. To you." The hysteria rises in my words, but I don't care anymore.
"I think you know."
"I need you to say it." Otherwise I'll refuse to believe it.
I hear a barely audible sigh and can't help gritting my teeth in dread while my eyes close of their own accord to brace for the worst.
"I die. To be a template for synthesis. To absorb my consciousness into the Reapers to control them. To destroy the Reapers and all synthetics, including the pieces inside me. It's the same choice for me. What matters is what YOU want from this."
"…I want YOU, Shepard."
It always came down to these moments. Our last. We had been here before, up against impossible odds counting down the hours to battle. I had been just as presumptuous then, encouraged by our mutual building flirtations. A lingering holding of hands. Eye contact for a little longer than necessary. That little curl of a smile when the Commander didn't think I noticed. Such a tease.
And then? We were past blushing like children. Then we were bold. We talked openly about our past. I shared memories while Shepard attentively listened. I got a straight answer when I asked "How are you doing, Shepard?" instead of a canned response. When we needed to, we could draw on each other for comfort and accept it as a natural condition of our relationship. Comfort. It was all we had left, wasn't it? We certainly didn't have time left.
More time. There was never enough time. For everything I wanted. For everything I needed. Just… to be with Shepard. Where the din of fighting could be quiet for a few damn minutes and we could just be together. Us. Just us.
This thing between us. It had always been there, since the moment we met. Even when it didn't have a name or we were too blind to really see what we were. Together… We were better together than we ever were apart. If only we hadn't wasted so much damn time being apart. Worrying. All those stupid worries. Adding up all those wasted worries amounts to days, weeks, maybe even months we should have had together.
Our last time together. Had it only been hours ago? I invited myself in to Shepard's cabin, abandoning what remained of protocol. How pointless the chain of command seemed compared to the end of everything.
"This is it" had been our theme for so long. No more wasting chances to say goodbye or say how we felt.
That look, that touch. I still feel a ghost of a caress on my arm and I have to resist the urge to reach my hand out for the one not there.
The awkward fumblings of before were also easily forgotten. It was hard to believe I'd once struggled for words in this situation, when we were such a natural fit. This time had been blessedly different. There was no awkward small talk while feeling each other out for intentions. "Now or never" was the unspoken rule of the night as we counted down the fairytale ending to Shepard's intercom buzzing to dive into yet another mass relay of doom.
Shepard had been quiet. Tender. Sad. No less passionate than I remembered, but I knew the galactic burden was taking its toll. We managed to escape that burden in our moments of ecstasy, and we clung to them over and over again.
I was always asking Shepard if we should retire to sleep, but I could see panic flash in my lover's eyes at the suggestion. But even catching up on two years of wasted time couldn't keep sleep at bay forever.
It had become so easy over time, even with two years lost. Those two years had been hell, thinking Shepard was dead. And that damn console on Cronos Station just confirmed it. Shepard wasn't comatose or MIA. Shepard was dead.
And now Shepard would be dead again. I can't bear it. There's no goodbye for this, no suitable words to accept this with dignity. I'm stunned into silence, which thankfully Hackett took over.
"We're coordinating the fleets, Commander. There will be a mass exodus to the Sol Relay on my command, and you will have only a few minutes to make your choice."
Several thick swallows, then Shepard murmurs out through gritted teeth, "What do they want me to do?"
"The Salarians, Elcor and Krogan favor control, the Geth, Vorcha and Volus prefer synthesis, the Turians, Asari and Alliance say destroy the bastards. It's a three-way tie, Commander."
"Un—understood, Hackett," Shepard says faintly. The worst decision in the universe, and it's all up to Shepard. It always is.
"I'll give you a sign when I'm close. Everyone needs to run. Now."
Joker shifts in his chair as he springs the Normandy into action, murmuring something about "I don't want to be anywhere near that thing when it goes off." I don't even care where we're going. It doesn't matter now, does it?
I don't know what to say, but I can't just say nothing. "Shepard…"
A soft pause, before a soft reply, "I know. I'll let you know when it's time. Go."