"The paths are open, but you have to choose."
Shepard blinked, and nodded. His vision blurred and rocked, and a flare of sunlight caught his eye. He opened his mouth to say something, but the breath caught and he couldn't produce any sound.
By his own (impaired) judgment, Shepard was probably dehydrated, exhausted and certainly losing blood. He could smell iron. Any last stand would be feeble, and would have to be done quickly.
"How do I know," Shepard finally managed to croak, "that you're not lying to me?"
The child's image remained static, unmoving. Was it thinking? Considering how best to bluff?
"I don't understand," it said, finally (it, Shepard reminded himself—it was just a projection.) "I have offered you a choice."
"How do I know," Shepard repeated, "that destroying you will end the cycle?"
"Destroying the Crucible will destroy us," the child said. "It will also destroy the Citadel. It will destroy me, and I control the Reapers."
"But it'll destroy every synthetic in the galaxy." Shepard rolled his eyes upwards. "It's not often you get invited to commit genocide."
"Genocide, it may be," the child said, its face gazing pointedly upwards at Shepard's. "But the choice is yours."
Shepard squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again. His head was throbbing and beginning to feel lighter and lighter. There was something wrong about this, but he could not fathom what it was.
"I… why me? Why my choice?"
"Because you are special, Commander Shepard." The hologram flared a bright blue. "You were the first human to know about us. You were chosen by the beacon on Eden Prime. You brought this fight to us—"
"No, no!" Shepard interrupted. "I wasn't chosen by the beacon. It went for whoever was closest. If I hadn't moved Ash it would just as easily have been—"
He stopped dead as he remembered the beacon. Remembered the sensation of being dragged towards it, the horror of the visions, the howling in his ears, the force of the explosion.
And, for some reason, he remembered this place.
This tremendous open space, its giant walkways, the shimmering column of light. The structures were suddenly familiar to Shepard, and he understood every one of them in minute detail, even though he could not understand why.
"The choice is yours…"
The child's voice suddenly felt distant, barely perceptible, and certainly not worth paying attention to. He found himself consumed, instead, by an urgent and pressing need to find a spiral ramp.
"Commander!"
Spiral ramp, spiral ramp—he had no idea why, or how, but he sensed a spiral ramp was the way to go, the way to fire this thing and get it over with.
"Shepard!"
Gingerly, Shepard turned about, and found himself making gentle footsteps towards the right. A spiral ramp—just as he'd remembered from somewhere. The endorphins were beginning to wear off, and it was only now that he began to sense the utter agony in his right leg, his abdomen, the burning sensation and smell of clotting blood on his left arm.
"Shepard. I am unable to raise Admiral Hackett."
He looked back for a moment, down to the catwalk he'd come from. The child was nowhere to be seen. The ramps leading off to the sides had also vanished.
"Normandy to Shepard, Normandy calling Shepard. Come in, please."
Shepard pressed on upwards, shuffling forwards one foot at a time, steadying himself with his arms when he felt himself falling. The pistol he'd been holding fell to the floor, slid away and vanished into the abyss.
"Shepard, this is Normandy, come in, please."
It was becoming harder now. Steeper. Shepard gritted his teeth and groaned as he pushed down on his right foot.
"Normandy to Shepard, please respond."
He let out a cry of pain and tumbled forward, face-first on to an open platform—he'd made it. End of the ramp.
"Shepard, please report. Are you injured?"
"I've had better days," he slurred, tasting iron.
"I am dispatching medical assistance," EDI announced. "Are you any closer to being able to fire the Crucible?"
"Um…" Shepard hauled his torso upright using his good arm, and peered around. "I think…"
All that was here was a vast transparent platform, stretching in all directions for what seemed like forever, with a white spot in the centre where that column of energy met the glass.
For some reason, that spot, a circle around a metre in diameter, seemed immediately inviting. Demanding to be touched, to have something placed upon it.
"I think I can see—" Shepard began, as he recalled that moment from the beacon where he imagined being stood upon a pillar of light.
It was then that realisation dawned.
"Oh."
"I'm sorry, say again?"
Shepard blinked, looked down, looked up, and began thinking about getting back on his feet. "I think," he coughed into his radio, "I understand what we're missing now."
That child wasn't the Catalyst—there was no way it could've been. Why would the Protheans build their arch-nemesis into the design for a super weapon designed to destroy it? They'd known more about the Reapers, about the star-child, than the Council could have dreamed of. They had understood the Crucible's ancient designs, iterated, improved them, and been so close to firing it, and Shepard could remember exactly how, and precisely why. He understood the design of the Crucible, its elegance, in minute detail.
Shepard now understood. He understood everything from that beacon on Eden Prime, the reason it exploded immediately afterwards, the knowledge it had planted in him, visceral and subliminal.
"It's me," Shepard said, painfully pushing himself to his feet. "I'm the template. I am the Catalyst."
EDI paused for two seconds. An age in computer time. "Please clarify."
"The Prothean beacon… I was…"
"There is no need to clarify further, Commander," EDI interrupted, suddenly. "I believe I understand now."
Shepard stumbled ahead, and found himself yelping in agony as he approached the target.
"I have no idea what'll happen when I… um…"
"Nor do I," EDI chirped. "I believe you are right, though."
"If I don't make it," Shepard gurgled, "please—"
"I believe you'll make it." EDI's voice was in 'serious' mode—this was not one of her jokes. "You are quite the expert at defying death, Shepard."
He inhaled deeply, and thought carefully about what he was going to say next.
"I'm not so sure, this time," Shepard croaked. He was directly on the edge, now—one step from that bright white circle. Part of him felt fear, and part felt longing for blessed relief from the agony of a human body. "But thank you, anyway."
"You're welcome," EDI said—did he detect a tint of solemnity in her voice? "Good luck, Commander."
Shepard blinked, and found his eyes stinging, vaguely aware of a single tear rolling down his cheek. At once, he was glad he hadn't taken up the Catalyst's—no, the Reapers'—offer of genocide. He was glad for every damn decision in his life, for every person he'd helped, for every friend he'd made.
And he was glad he was here now. Glad that he had surety—finally—that the cyclical rape of life in this galaxy would be brought to an end.
As he looked upward one final time at the Earth, at the continents, the weather systems, Shepard remembered the sense of wonder he'd had upon seeing it from space for the first time.
And, as he basked in its beauty, with one final push, Commander Shepard stepped over the threshold.
The change was immediately noticeable, but gradual. Shepard felt warmer; there was a vaguely electrical feeling that caused his hair to stand on end.
His fingers tingled. Looking down at them, he saw the skin on his palms begin to glow. First a pale yellow, then bright orange, then piercing red: the warmth was now almost unbearable, but he remained stood still, his legs slightly apart.
The heat rose in his face, and Shepard heard a squealing noise over the silence: the Crucible was activating, charging.
Feeling pressure soaring in his throat, he clasped his hands together instinctively. It was as if he needed to sneeze: an unbearable, painful, pent-up explosion was building in Shepard's body.
He felt himself hyperventilating, bursting, taking pained breaths. And he was unable to hold it any longer.
With one last, deep breath, Commander Shepard pointed his clenched hands skyward, and exploded in a blaze of crimson light.
