Reignite
Shepard's head was spinning. She lost more energy with every bit of blood that dribbled from her many wounds. Even more agonizing was the choice: Control, Destroy, or Synthesis. If what the catalyst said was true, then any of the three would guarantee the galaxy's survival. But... which would prolong it? Shepard was tired, and didn't quite understand why the future had to be her choice.
The commander allowed herself to sink to her knees. She set down her weapon, an act that was very much against her instincts, and tried to think straight. To her left was a glowing blue apparatus, which the catalyst said she could use to control the Reapers. She would die, but would still 'exist' to control the Reapers. The giant sentient machines that had been her worst enemy for the last several years would be her puppets. Her mind, a little hazy from the pain, processed the idea. She could use the Reapers to help rebuild and protect everyone.
A sudden wave of nausea enveloped her. Her hands went to the ground to support her as she fought back the sickness. Who am I to play God? Shepard wondered disdainfully. No one could decide the fate of an entire galaxy like that; isn't that what the catalyst had unsuccessfully tried to do?
I'd certainly do things differently than my predecessors, Shepard mused. But she couldn't trust herself enough to make all the right decisions. Her military career was proof enough.
Shepard's eyes went to the red tank-like object on the right. Destroy. She could end this all now. She could finally kill the enemy that had destroyed an unfathomable amount of families, the enemy that had picked away at her resolve and sanity since the day they met. The fact that it would also kill her received little consideration from Shepard. The commander's jaw clenched, and her hand gripped her pistol tightly. Her arm shakily rose, the barrel of her weapon pointed at the Reapers' demise in red.
The catalyst's warning resounded in her head. Destroying the Reapers would only be a temporary solution. Organics would inevitably cause their own destruction by machines sometime in the future, or so the catalyst said. He certainly could be wrong; Shepard had gained a new sense of faith in all the species of the world since she began her campaign against the Reapers. The fact that they were all on Earth at this very moment, fighting tooth and nail against a common enemy was proof enough that all the species could work together. This was fine reassurance to the commander that destroying the Reapers here and now was a good idea. It would be an easy and simple solution, unlike making herself into God of sentient machines or rewriting the galaxy's DNA.
Easy and simple: a notion tainted with doubt. Her aiming arm dropped. Shepard shook her head and fought back the agony that crashed over her. Since when were things simple or easy? Why should they be now? Sure, it was a comforting idea for things to be so black and white, but a reluctant Shepard knew that Destroying the Reapers would not work. Her eyes went to the burning planet in the distance. People used to call her home world the 'blue planet,' but now it was a ball of smog, gray and red. Earth was a conglomeration of every species' desperation. In fact, desperation was what had united the krogan, turians, salarians, and everyone else. Not trust, not faith. In the beginning, no one would help anyone until their own people were secured; only when that was deemed impossible was this cooperation ever possible.
It makes sense, Shepard admitted to herself. She knew that if it came down to her family or another, she would choose her own. She also realized, in that moment, that she would never have the chance to make her own family. Maybe it's easier that way.
A flare of red and orange flickered on the Earth. It was small from that distance, but the commander knew a catastrophic loss was just taken on her home world. Shepard decided that the catalyst spoke the truth: Destroying the Reapers would be a temporary solution. It ached her heart, but the commander knew that the galaxy wasn't ready for this kind of responsibility, the responsibility of their own existence.
So that left only Synthesis to be considered. Rewriting the galaxy's DNA? That, too, seemed like playing God, in some ways more so than the Control option. The catalyst boy's words returned to a draining Shepard. Synthesis would be the means of harmony between synthetics and organics; organics would gain the benefits of the synthetics' technology, and synthetics would finally be able to comprehend that which makes organics different. More importantly, the Reapers would cease all harvesting of organics. But why not control or destroy the Reapers instead?
They're all solutions to the Reaper threat, but what do you want for the future? Shepard asked herself. It was a heavy question; why did the future have to be Shepard's decision? She sighed and become even more aware of how weak she felt. She was gradually exsanguinating, and had finally lost some feeling in her hands.
"Focus," Shepard moaned, kneading her forehead anxiously. What will Synthesis do for the future?
She pondered it a while. An interesting notion came to light: had there been synthesis before, perhaps the Geth wouldn't have had to battle the Quarians in an effort to understand organics. At the same time, if the Quarians already possessed the technological advantages of synthetics, they would not have had to invent them in the first place. Harmony between synthetics and organics would, theoretically, extinguish conflict. There would still be petty wars between species over land, resources, or whatever... But the biggest needs- the need for technological advancement, and the need to be more than mere machines- would no longer clash. In the purest possible sense, the world would be at peace.
Shepard began to rise, a new sense of clarity giving her legs the strength to stand. The pistol in her hand clattered on the ground. Blood leaked from her wounds and the beaten armor weighed the commander down, and yet her limbs were strong. Arms and legs pumped fiercely as she charged toward the center beam. Toward synthesis.
Every bead of sweat that had poured from her pores- from this day and every day before- were not shed in vain as Shepard lunged into the center beam that she believed would be the world's salvation. She did not feel her skin disintegrate, could not feel her energy being processed and prepped for galactic dispersal. Shepard could not even feel the pain anymore. All she felt was the weight of all that had burdened her being released from her soldiers. No more battles. No more decisions. No more second guessing. No more fear. Only freedom.
Her body was enveloped by an incredibly bright and brilliant green, but her mind was elsewhere. Shepard knew Synthesis would end her time in this galaxy. Shepard found solace in knowing that the future was guaranteed: life was reignited. Her final recollections were of her friends and family. The most pleasant thoughts graced Shepard's mind until the moment she was finally set free.
AN: Thanks to those who read. I will continue to write some Mass Effect stuff, including some of Shepard's memories of her friends. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading this and more importantly, I hope you enjoyed the journey through the trilogy.
Oh, and one more note: Thanks to all of those who subscribe, favorite, review, etc. Also, I'd like to let all of you have read my other ME fic know that I will be rewriting "Erin Shepard: Her Story." The same concept will be there, just written differently.