Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Shepard limped slowly. To his right, the glowing ethereal figure of a child watched him dispassionately. Before him lay the core of the Citadel, and the choice that stared at him mercilessly. Never before had he felt so weak. And never had he been this powerful.
He pondered the weight of the Carnifex pistol in his hand. It held one last clip. He could empty it into the glowing child in a last futile response of rage. Even better, he could put it to his head and ride a bullet into oblivion. No more choices to make. No one else to die because of him.
But the weight of endless, countless lives pressed upon him. Ghosts and memories from distant stars formed a solemn procession in his mind, each one reminding him of the impossible decision in his hands. Commander Shepard, champion and scourge of the galaxy. The hero and the demon. The savior of worlds and the destroyer of stars.
Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
A rumble tore through the floor, sending Shepard momentarily off-balance. Another ship had met its end. An hour ago, in a distant life, he would have checked if it was a Reaper dreadnought; celebrated inwardly if it was, mourned briefly if it wasn't. That was then. He no longer cared.
The walkway branched off in front of him. The branch to the right led to the core of the Catalyst itself. Two inches of reinforced glass protected the core intelligence of countless fleets of the oldest and most destructive threat to the galaxy. Two or three Carnifex rounds would obliterate the sensitive synthetics. Extinguish the Reapers for good.
And he would die. Synthetics were part of the systems that kept him alive. The Geth, the robotic platforms who at last gained individualities and personalities, would join him. Millions of lights extinguished. And EDI, the artificial intelligence that had guided his ship through countless light-years, would never know what it would be like to be truly human.
The path to the left led to the Catalyst's control conduit—the focus of the Illusive Man's dream and obsession. Total control over the Reapers. Domination and power. He could release Earth, Palaven, and Thessia from their presence within minutes. He could rebuild the galaxy with them. A new era, a new beginning.
Harbinger's words rang in his ear: Assuming direct control. How ironic it would be to turn the tables. The Reapers, finally subjugated. The race dedicated to consuming the galaxy would itself be consumed by him.
And he would never leave. He would know neither death nor life. Imprisoned in the Citadel, he would stay, watching the stars swirl and circle around him for eternities to come.
Then there was the pulsating, blindingly bright beam running central to the Citadel's core. He need only throw himself into it. The Crucible's brilliant machinations would dissipate his consciousness and essence across the stars. Life itself would be rewritten as synthetics and organics merge into a collective. EDI and Joker would at last be together in every sense of the word. Devoid of a reason to pursue annihilation of all organic sentient lifeforms, the Reapers would instead join the ranks of the galaxy's denizens. A perfect ending, or so it seemed; at his expense. The choice would never be easy. Things stopped being easy an eternity ago.
He stared at the beam, pondering the vast energy that traveled down its path. Soaking in the idea of disappearing into nothingness. Fragmenting into an oblivion that transcended death.
Was it just him, or was the beam getting brighter?
Suddenly multiple ghostly holograms of the small child appeared around the core, each one flickering in and out of phase like corrupted recordings. Gone was the child's emotionless, soft voice. Instead, a metallic voice assailed his ears—
Primary level twelve temporal anomaly detected—timeline parse records compromised—extensive continuum rupture—initiating lockdown protocols—
And immediately the entire expanse of the Citadel lit up with a flash of the brightest blue.
Shepard hauled himself back on his feet, only to collapse to his knees again. His body was most definitely broken. And likely, so was his mind. Because right in front of him, five feet down the walkway, was a blue police box off the streets of London.
The door of the police box swung open.
And out stepped a man, wearing a clean chestnut-brown trench coat, a black bowtie, and a broad smile.
'Well hello there!'
Hello, everyone, it's my first time here and it's good to be a part of this community. This is my first fanfiction on this site. I enjoyed Mass Effect 3 but felt that the ending was anticlimatic to say the least. I thought about writing something about the ending. And I thought, add some Dr Who, because why not? Please rate and comment, I hope to improve and write more for your enjoyment.