Chapter 55: One Last Push
Author's Note: And we're back. Thanks for being so understanding about the delay. Happy N7 Day!
Hi. I'm Commander Shepard. Here are a few things you might've forgotten or otherwise need a reminder.
After busting my butt trying to get the galaxy on the same page, I finally gathered everyone together—at least, everyone that didn't get slaughtered by the Reapers. You know, the Big Bad that I've only been warning said galaxy about for several years now—and aimed them at Earth. I was gonna do that anyway, but this time my hand was forced. Seems that TIMmy fucked around with things he didn't understand one too many times and got brainwashed by the Reapers.
So we flew to the Sol system, fought our way to Earth and somehow touched down in London without being shot out of the sky. Cleared the way for our ground forces to land, though we did need a last-minute rescue from Anderson. Once our ground forces arrived—those that weren't killed in transit or KIA—we made a beeline to a transport beam that would take us to the Citadel, which was currently in Earth orbit. Yeah. We went all the way down to Earth, only to have to go up from Earth. Seems counterintuitive, I know, but that was the only way to open up the Citadel arms so the Crucible could dock and do… well, whatever it was supposed to do.
Mind you, that last part might not ever come to pass. See, to get to the beam we had to take out a Reaper destroyer. Which we could only do if we could lure it towards us—keeping in mind that it's the size of a goddamn building—so the few missiles we had on hand could actually lock on and cripple the bloody thing. And that could only happen if we survived the seemingly endless wave of hostiles washing over us, a possibility that was growing increasingly remote considering that: a) Garrus, Kaidan and Tali were down, b) Miranda and Javik needed medical attention and c) EDI was busy with some last-minute reprogramming. We were so very, very fucked.
Basically, just another Monday.
Which was probably why I began formulating some kind of plan—any kind of plan—to live through the next couple minutes instead of falling to my knees and blubbering for a quick death. I looked around me and spotted an abandoned Mako. Good enough. "Liara, use your biotics to whip up the dust and create a smokescreen. James, you and I lay down cover fire while Miranda and Javik get to that Mako. Let's move, people. Go, go, go!"
Liara's role was a bit of a gamble, considering I'd never seen her do anything like that before, which made the fact that it was crucial to my plan even worse. To her credit, she managed to pull it off without any trouble. (1) Within seconds, everything in front of us—the Reaper, the other hostiles, everything—disappeared in a billowing haze of dust and dirt. Taking advantage of the smokescreen, Miranda and Javik retreated.
Seeing that the latest wave of hostiles hadn't actually penetrated Liara's cover, I accessed my squad menu and remotely administered a dose of medi-gel to my squadmates. The first aid took care of the worst of Miranda's and Javik's injuries. More importantly, it brought Garrus, Kaidan and Tali back to consciousness. Which was a good thing because that's when another Banshee popped into view. I fired a shot from my sniper rifle while Miranda and Javik hammered it with a combined biotic assault. James fired off a concussive round from his assault rifle. I was quick to follow up with a fireball before firing my sniper rifle again.
A combat drone flickered to life, a welcome sign that Tali, at least was back in the game. "Fall back to Miranda's position!" I shouted. Nodding, she quickly scuttled off in a half-hunched pose. Kaidan followed, but not before leaving a parting shot in the form of his biotics. Garrus chose to cover them, firing several shots from his sniper rifle with a speed and accuracy that was astonishing to behold.
It wasn't long before his rifle was spent, though. "Garrus, we got you," I called out. "Move! Liara, go with him!" The two of them quickly ran off. I waited for several seconds before getting James's attention: "Time to haul ass, Vega!"
"No arguments from me," he shouted. We immediately spun on our heels and ran like hell.
The whole way back, I felt this horrible itching sensation between my shoulder blades, like someone had painted a giant target on my back saying 'Shoot me! Right here!' In a way, this was pretty unreasonable. I mean, I had my entire squad—besides James—covering our retreat. By this point, I knew I could trust them. But I just couldn't shake that irrational feeling. It didn't help that Reaperfied monstrosities had a way of ignoring silly things like conventional warfare or self-preservation, and would endure lethal hits if it meant lining up a kill shot.
Thankfully, my worries were for naught and the two of us made it to safety. By that point, the Banshee's barriers had collapsed. We immediately began launching a punishing barrage of plasma, concussive rounds and biotics. Garrus and I also emptied a clip each from our sniper rifles. Soon enough, the Reaperfied asari succumbed to its injuries and collapsed to the ground.
I wish I could say that the coast was clear and we could sit down and catch our breath. Sadly, my luck has never run that way: my sensors were picking up several more hostiles, including another Banshee. Because we hadn't had enough of those teleporting pregnant horrors already. I quickly looked over my squad. Technically, everyone was back on their feet. But it didn't take a doctor to recognize they weren't at their best. Even with the miracle of medi-gel, it takes at least some time to recover. "Teams Two and Three, cover either side of this Mako. Liara, you and I will move around and flank whatever hostiles we can find."
Well, the very first hostile we ran into was the Banshee. While Liara hit it with her strongest biotics, I fired my sniper rifle, then snapped off a fireball. In response, the Banshee zipped forward. A shockwave of energy rippled out from its position, forcing us to dive out of the way.
Thankfully for us, the Banshee was now out in the open. Team Two greeted it with a staggered barrage of biotics and concussive rounds that tore its barriers to shreds, while Team Three said hello with more conventional weaponry. I emptied the rest of my clip to finish it off and loaded a fresh clip into my sniper rifle, just in time to greet another Banshee. We began whittling down its barriers, only to come under fire from a trio of Marauders that were trying to flank us. "Team Two, tackle the Marauder; everyone else target the Banshee," I quickly decided.
Team Two quickly fired off an alternating series of EMPs and concussive rounds at the Marauders, while the rest of us threw biotics, plasma, bullets and foul language at the Banshee. The resulting pyrotechnics were certainly impressive. Unfortunately, most of the hostiles were still standing when the smoke cleared, and their return fire forced us to duck for cover. I tried activating my cloak and firing my sniper rifle as quickly as possible, but I was only able to take out one of the Marauders before I was forced back behind the Mako. Even worse, my shields were down to 67%.
"Commander!"
Was that…
To my relief, EDI ran towards us, launching a fireball at the Banshee. Not wasting a moment, Javik deployed his biotics. One more fireball from yours truly finished it off.
While the squad focused their fire on the surviving pair of Marauders, I turned to greet EDI. "Perfect timing, EDI. Welcome back."
"My apologies for the delay. Sending a signal strong enough to pull the Reaper destroyer towards us and implementing the desired upgrades to the missile trucks targeting software took longer than anticipated."
"But you did it, right?"
"The destroyer is in range. Missiles are ready for launch."
Right. The destroyer. The one blithely sweeping its Giant Killer Death Beam around in an effort to topple as many buildings as possible, confident that it was safe from any weapons we had at our disposal. (2) That may have just changed.
"Good work, EDI. Join Liara and fire at will." I quickly opened up the squad channel. "Listen up, people: EDI's finished her work. I'm heading for the missile truck to give it another go. Stand by." With that, I activated my cloak and broke into a sprint.
The cloak lasted long enough for me to reach the truck's control console. "Targeting is online," EDI informed me. "Reaper is within range."
As I activated the launch sequence, a flicker of movement caught my eye. Looking up, I saw a half dozen Cannibals come out of nowhere and charge towards me… only to be cut down one by one in a withering hail of bullets. "We've got your six, Shepard," Garrus told me. "Now take that Reaper out!"
"Roger that," I replied. "Firing!"
With a thunderous roar, the last two missiles ignited. I found myself holding my breath. The last time we tried this, the missiles got spoofed almost immediately. Despite EDI's best efforts, they wound up flying around wildly and completely missed the Reaper.
This time, however, they flew straight and true towards the Reaper destroyer. It was only once the missiles were within a couple metres that it began closing its weapon ports.
But that was too little, too late. The missiles weaved around its primary weapon beam and disappeared inside just as the weapon ports sealed, like a giant swallowing a pair of burning spears. A pair that promptly exploded.
"Shepard!" Major Coats said out over the comm—and the cheers of my squad. "We've been tracking your progress. Can you confirm a successful strike against the Reaper?"
"Strike confirmed," I shouted back, watching gleefully as the Reaper wobbled on its feet like a drunken sailor. "Hit it with everything you got!"
Coats must've switched to a different comm channel, as I never heard his next words. But the results were pretty clear. Within seconds, missiles began flying from various streets around London—all of them aimed at the Reaper. It soon disappeared in a billowing, fiery cloud that lit up the night sky.
The squad ran up to join me as we watched the Reaper's final death throes. "Destroyer terminated," EDI announced, somewhat unnecessarily.
"Nice work, EDI," I said.
That's when my comm crackled to life. "Anderson to Shepard."
"Shepard here."
"We're on your way to your location."
"Roger that."
"Shepard! Over here!"
The cavalry had just arrived. If you could call a bunch of Makos and Hammerheads—far too few for my liking—a cavalry. Anderson had just stepped out of the lead vehicle. I walked over to join him.
"Thank God you made it," he breathed, clapping me on the shoulder.
"It didn't look good," I admitted. "For a moment there…" I trailed off. We both knew what I was about to say, so there was no point in verbalizing it. Besides, the war wasn't over. Plenty of time to jinx things with a poorly considered remark.
We took a few steps towards the Conduit beam. It was still shining through the night sky. Under any other circumstance, it might have been a beacon of hope. A symbol to draw courage and strength from.
"It gets worse."
Not today, I guess. "Of course it does," I sighed.
"Hackett just reported in. Several Sovereign-class Reapers—including Harbinger—have broken off from the battle with Sword. They're headed here."
"Harbinger," I repeated. The designation given to one of the chattier Reapers, who I'd had the misfortune to mouth off at once or twice. Guess I must have really got their attention if the head spokesman—spokesperson, whatever—was coming here personally. "Wonderful."
"It's an opportunity for Hackett to get the Crucible in place," Anderson continued, determined to see the glass half-full, "but we have to get a team on board the Citadel to open those arms. Now."
By that point, Coats had joined us and caught enough of the conversation to figure out what we were discussing. "We still don't even know what we'll find when we get to the Citadel," he pointed out, clearly preferring the glass half-empty perspective.
Going into things blind. Story of my life. "Then that's our job," I declared. "Find out what we're up against and figure out a way to deal with it."
"All right," Anderson nodded. "Shepard, gather your squad and follow me. Coats, get the word out: we move in five."
The squad followed Anderson to the Mako while he got in touch with Admiral Hackett. Given that the remnants of Hammer hadn't disembarked from their vehicles, we were back on the road in less than a minute.
"From here on in, it's a straight shot to the beam," Anderson said.
"A straight shot with Reapers trying to crush us along the way," Coats added, apparently listening to our conversation remotely and still feeling the urge to be Mr. Buzzkill.
"We just need to get a handful of troops through," Anderson insisted.
"Well, when you put it that way," Miranda said dryly.
"We knew this was going to be a gamble at best," Anderson reminded her.
"We'll work with what we get," I said firmly. "A small group will be better suited to sneak its way through the Citadel and complete the mission. Still, the more people we have to move and shoot, the better."
Standing up, I turned to the squad. "And I can't think of anyone else I'd rather do this with," I smiled.
"Feels like this fight's always been ours to finish," Garrus agreed.
"We're in sight of the target," Coats announced for some reason—I mean, we saw the target when the Makos picked us up. Hell, we saw the target as we were fighting our way through London. No reason we wouldn't see it now. I decided to keep my mouth shut, though.
"All right, everyone," Anderson declared, standing up to join me. "This is it."
The universe must have been listening, because that's when the Mako lurched to a sudden stop. Anderson and I almost fell over, though both of us caught a handhold in the nick of time. "Everybody out!" the driver shouted. "Now!"
When a soldier dares to give orders to her superiors—up to and including a bonafide admiral—you know things are serious. So Anderson, the squad and I promptly bailed. The first thing we saw was the fact that our Mako was stuck at a forty-five degree angle in the world's biggest pothole. No way we could get it out in time, which meant we were going on foot. Anderson summed up our reaction quite well: "Shit!"
The second thing we saw was the lead Mako—or what was left of it—merrily burning in front of us. "Double shit," I echoed.
The third thing we saw was the transport beam. Several hostiles were milling about in front of our target in twos and threes.
And the last and most important thing was Harbinger touching down behind it—at least; I assumed it was Harbinger, though granted it was hard to say since it wasn't very chatty. It seemed to float down gracefully, but the ground shook when it landed. I could imagine it staring at us lowly insects with its cold, eternal gaze. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!" James cursed.
Anderson snapped us out of our collective funk. "We gotta move!"
He was right, of course. This had officially become a suicide run, as we ran the gauntlet towards the beam. But it was the only way to get to the Citadel. I tried to look on the bright side: if we got close to the other hostiles, maybe Harbinger would think twice about vaporizing us. And we sure as hell had a better chance against Reaperfied infantry than a bonafide Reaper. "You heard the man!" I shouted. "Come on!"
"Hammer squads: go, go, go!" Anderson yelled.
And that's how the final push to the Conduit really began. Everyone who could drive, drove. Everyone who could run, ran. Straight down a road filled with cracks, holes and the occasional derelict vehicle towards what looked like a pack of Cannibals. I held my sniper rifle, but I didn't bother firing—I'd be lucky if I hit Harbinger, much less one of the human/batarian hybrids. (3) Liara had the same idea, as she yanked the Cannibals out of the way with a singularity. I considered detonating the singularity, then decided against it—we didn't really have time to stop and finish them off. So I launched a fireball at the next trio of Cannibals, which EDI promptly turned into an inferno. Miranda and James did the same with a pair of Cannibals on my left while Kaidan and Javik tag-teamed another pair on the right. Tali kept yet another pair occupied with her combat drone. And Garrus was keeping an eye on the battlefield and marking targets for us, judging by the way my HUD kept lighting up.
For a moment, we seemed to be making progress. Of course, that's when Harbinger began taking pot-shots at us. Every time it fired, the resulting shockwave slowed our momentum. My squad was able to stay on their feet and keep moving. Others weren't so lucky, like the Hammerhead that ran into one of the Reaper's beams and promptly exploded.
After a few more vehicles were destroyed, I noticed our Makos stopping to let their soldiers disembark. Smart move, I thought. First, it gave the hostiles more targets. Second, it meant that destroying a vehicle wouldn't take out a squad's worth of soldiers at the same time. Third, if Harbinger really was intent on taking out our vehicles, then that gave the rest of us grunts a better chance of reaching the beam.
As if seeing that, a Mantis gunship swooped down and began firing in an effort to draw the Reaper's attention away from us. Even if the missile guidance systems were shot, at least the crew could fly and shoot manually. Their desperate tactic seemed to work, too… for about five seconds. Then the Reaper shot it out of the air. The Mantis crashed right in front of me. Crying out, I managed to adjust my footing before I ran right into the burning wreckage.
I motioned for the squad to follow me past the downed Mantis and take shelter behind a partially demolished building. Time to catch our breath, I decided. I did a headcount. Then another. I was missing someone, though I couldn't for the life of me figure out who. Every member of every team of my squad was here.
My squad…
"Anyone see Anderson?" I blurted out.
A lot of head-shaking, shrugs and looking over shoulders followed. "The admiral must have been separated from us," Javik declared
Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Well, nothing we could do about that. All I could do was pray that he was okay, because I sure as hell didn't have time to search for him. Five more Cannibals were heading our way, with a Marauder for gits and shiggles. Team One promptly fired off two EMPs and a fireball, which made short work of the Marauder's shields. Each Cannibal took a biotic blast or concussive round to the face. I tossed a grenade at them, just to soften them up even more. Then Liara sucked them all up in a singularity. Then we continued on our way, making sure to give the singularity a wide berth—though Tali paused long enough to deploy her combat drone. Best case scenario: the little guy could kill them one zap at a time. Worst case scenario: the drone would keep them from following and shooting us in the back.
We made our way from cover to cover whenever it was available. Mostly we just ran, occasionally changing direction so we weren't on a straight-line path that any idiot could use to line up a shot. While we did that, Harbinger kept firing. It seemed to favour shooting our vehicles over individuals. Probably because it liked the way they went boom. I only saw the carnage out of the corner of my eye, as I was mainly concerned with putting one foot in front of the other. A task that was easier said than done—every time Harbinger hit something, everything seemed to shake and I would temporarily lose my footing. More than once, I had to catch myself before I tumbled and fell.
Then it happened. Harbinger hit a Mako and sent it flying through the air. I watched as it flipped over and over before crashing and rolling towards me. By some miracle, it skidded to a stop just metres from my position.
The next Mako that Harbinger hit flew even higher. It soared overhead, going higher and higher, before beginning its inevitable descent.
Right towards my squad. "Look out!" I yelled.
Unfortunately, while I was busy watching Harbinger, three or four husks had attacked my squad from the side. An appalling lapse in tactical awareness on my part, but one that had been mitigated by the sheer onslaught of biotics, plasma and concussive rounds unleashed against by my squadmates. However, that meant they were a bit preoccupied. Opening my comm, I repeated my warning. This time, Liara heard and responded. Raising her hands above her hands, I saw her summon her biotics. A wave of iridescent energy began to flow from her hands, expanding into a shimmering protective dome.
The dome was still forming when the Mako hit the biotic barrier head-on and exploded.
I promptly forgot all about the mission. All that mattered was finding my squadmates. So I ran back, ignoring all the vehicles and soldiers going the other way.
Tali was the first one I saw, trying her best to lift Garrus off the ground with a dislocated arm. I quickly joined her, noting with dismay how charred she looked. Together, we dragged Garrus to cover behind one of the many flipped vehicles. The rest of the squad quickly followed in twos and threes, most of them limping and sporting visible dents in their armour. I accessed their medical profiles remotely as they came in. It wasn't good. That last Mako might not have been a missile, but it did enough damage. Broken bones. Internal bleeding. Various other forms of trauma. My people were a mess.
Quickly coming to a decision, I got on the comm. "This is Commander Shepard. I need an evac. Now!"
All I received was a cacophony of chatter, as countless people spoke over each other, desperately seeking the same thing. For a moment, I considered using my command override privileges.
Then I had a better idea. "Commander Shepard to Lieutenant Cortez. Cortez, do you read me?"
"Go ahead, Commander."
"I'm about a hundred metres from the Conduit. My squad need an evac, ASAP."
To his credit, Cortez didn't remind me how hot the LZ was. He knew I wouldn't ask if it wasn't really necessary. "On my way. Stand by."
Somehow, we weren't attacked while we waited for Cortez to arrive. I'm not sure how long he took to get here, considering I was busy administering medi-gel, but I soon heard his shuttle flying overhead. (4)"Come on," I grunted, hauling Garrus up and heading towards the shuttle as it came to a hovering stop just inches over the ground. The hatch opened, and a pair of marines hopped out. Not sure who they were, but I was grateful for the cover fire they laid down as we slowly made our way to safety.
By that point, Liara, James and Javik had fallen unconscious, despite my best efforts. EDI got Kaidan settled in before her visor went dark and she collapsed. Tali was busy spraying some sealant over a fairly large rupture in her suit, her body wracked with violent coughs. And Garrus…
Garrus was trying to get to his feet. "Shepard…" he said.
"You gotta get out of here."
His eyes widened. "And you've gotta be kidding me."
"Don't argue, Garrus."
"We're in this to the end," he insisted. He took a step forward, then winced and doubled over.
There wasn't any point in going through a long, involved discussion to bring him around to my way of thinking. We didn't have the time. Besides, he'd just proven that he was in no shape to continue the fight. Rather than say that, though, I simply reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. "Garrus, I need to know somebody's getting out of this alive," I said softly. "Please."
"All right," he finally relented. "Just make damn sure that includes you, too."
"I'll make sure of that," Miranda assured him. She was about the only person, besides me, who wasn't seriously injured. Other than a smear of dirt on one shoulder, she was positively immaculate. Even her hair wasn't out of place. I had no idea how that was possible, other than the fact that she was, well, Miranda.
"Well, I was worried that Shepard would get screwed because he was left to his own devices," Garrus replied, trying to mask his concerns with his nonchalance. "Man gets in enough trouble as it is. But if you're around to pull his ass out of the fire, maybe things will be okay."
"Your vote of confidence, as always, is so reassuring," Miranda deadpanned.
Garrus just had to get one last crack in. "Just remember: I'm the better shot."
"Always," I smiled. "Take care, Garrus."
With that, I turned and ran away from the shuttle. Miranda was right behind me.
We resumed our frantic dash towards the Conduit while Harbinger continued to take us out one at a time. A Mako on our left blew up. Then a Hammerhead on our right.
Then a random shot hit the ground right in front of me. The shockwave hit me like an invisible wrecking ball and sent me flying through the air—right into the side of another vehicle.
My head was suddenly pounding. My vision was blurry. And my body felt like one giant bruise. All I could hear was the heavy, exaggerated sounds of heavy breathing. Woozy, I picked myself up off the ground and stared up into the sky.
I swear I could see Harbinger staring back at me.
Then it spat a brilliant crimson beam that pierced the air, slammed into the pavement and began carving its way towards me.
"God… they're all gone…"
"Did we get anyone to the beam?"
"Negative. Our entire force was decimated."
What?
"What do we do?"
No.
"It's too much. We need to regroup. Fall back to the buildings…"
No, that can't be. We had a mission to complete.
"Hammer's wiped out. All forces… retreat."
…had… a mission…
With a start, I opened my eyes. Even that effort hurt. Looking down, I could see my hardsuit was positively riddled with shrapnel—some of which had gone quite deep, judging by the trickle of blood here and there. I could tell I was hurt even before reading the summary helpfully provided by my suit's medical systems. Let's see now: the blast injury had perforated my eardrums. I was definitely suffering from severe headaches and vertigo. Several bones were fractured. And a couple organs were definitely squished. If it wasn't for my extensive array of implants, artificial organs and gene mods, I'd be dead by now. As things stood, I was only a dead man walking. That's me—Mr. Positive.
Gritting my teeth, I injected a double dose of medi-gel and tried to stand. Automated safety warnings flashed from my HUD, promptly making my headache even worse.
A pair of hands helped me up. I lifted my head and looked at my savior.
"I'd ask if you're okay," Miranda said bluntly, "but I already know the answer. For what it's worth, you need an evac yourself."
"Not happening," I managed. My body shook as I coughed uncontrollably. A bitter, metallic taste filled my mouth.
"I know," she shook her head. "Where's your sniper rifle?"
I looked around. Even that effort hurt. My vision seemed to blur. "Dunno," I said dully.
"All right." She draped my arm over her shoulders. "Come on."
Together, we staggered forward. There was a clear path, between a pair of overturned vehicles… and a lot of bodies. Some of those bodies were twitching.
Some of them were running. "Husks," Miranda warned. She quickly pulled her pistol out and shoved it into my hand. "I'll move. You shoot."
I managed to take out the first husk with a headshot. The second husk took three shots. That let the third husk close in with suicidal determination. Time seemed to slow, thwarting my efforts to finish it off before it could get in melee range and tear us apart. I kept firing as fast as I could, somehow knowing it wouldn't be enough.
Then its head bobbed right in front of the pistol. I squeezed the trigger. It fell at our feet. We kept going.
I stumbled. Miranda caught me. We kept going. This weird ringing kept going in my ears. No, not ringing. Crying. Like a Banshee, only not as high-pitched. Maybe it was all in my head.
A nudge told me that Miranda was trying to say something. "What?"
She spoke again. But I couldn't hear her. Not clearly, anyway. "What?"
"MARAUDER! SHIELDS!"
Oh.
Sure enough, there was a Marauder up ahead. Miranda's sensors must have picked up its shield signature. Though now that I could take a closer look myself, the Marauder's shields weren't in great shape. Still, they were better than mine—the bullets hitting my chestplate told me my hardsuit's shield generator wasn't working. Deciding I'd rather die another day, I lifted the pistol and began firing. It only took a few shots to drain the shields, plus three more bullets to put it down.
Then we continued. One step at a time. We were almost there.
One step at a time.
Almost there.
Miranda and I looked at each other one last time before taking one last step forward... (5)
"Shepard?"
I flinched.
"Shepard? Miss Lawson? Anyone?"
I pushed myself up to my hands and knees, groaning despite myself, and looked up. Miranda was already standing next to me. She wouldn't be speaking over the comm. The voice in my ear was too deep, anyway. Too masculine. It sounded like…
"Anderson? Is that you?"
"Affirmative. Followed the two of you up, but we didn't come out in the same place… at least, I don't think we did. What's your surrounding look like?"
My response came in the form of grunts and wheezes.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I feel like death… but I'm moving," I groaned. Barely."
Miranda took over. "To answer your earlier question, Admiral, we're in some kind of passageway. It's fairly dark here, with only some red lighting providing anything in the form of illumination. There appears to be a sizable amount of human remains scattered around us. I've seen at least one keeper here, rummaging through the bodies."
"Sounds familiar. I'm in a dark hallway… reminds me of your description of the Collector base."
Considering how harrowing that mission was, and how I was in better shape back then, that wasn't exactly reassuring. "Makes sense," I conceded.
"You think they're making a Reaper in here?"
"Why not?" I rasped. "They round them up on Earth, then send the people up here to be processed."
"The Citadel would have to undergo a significant amount of renovation to accommodate a chamber capable of housing, constructing and sustaining a Reaper," Miranda said. "But if anyone could do it…"
"Goddamn abominations." A moan told me—told us—that Anderson might not be in great shape himself. "I'm going to keep moving. The sooner we blow these bastards back to hell, the better."
"Will you be able to walk?" Miranda asked.
"I'll be fine," I lied. "Here." I handed over the heavy pistol she had loaned me and reached down to my waist. To my relief, my hands ran over the comforting weight of my submachine gun. "Watch my six."
"Always."
Less than a minute had passed when he contacted us again. "The tubes don't go on forever… but where the hell are we?"
"Yeah. Doesn't look like any part of the Citadel I've been to. Miranda?"
"I… am not sure," Miranda said reluctantly. "Certainly not any part of the Presidium or the Wards that I saw during any part of my visit. A maintenance tunnel, perhaps? That would explain the presence of the keepers."
"Whoa!"
"Anderson?" I prompted.
"One of the walls here just realigned itself. The place is shifting. Changing."
Miranda and I exchanged looks. That didn't sound like anything we'd seen before.
"There's a chasm here… and more hallways like the one I was in."
"I think we're near an exit," I interrupted.
We were closer than 'near.' A pair of doors opened before us and we staggered through. Well, I staggered through. Miranda was just fine. We entered a large room. The walls were composed of metal panels, similar to the layout you'd typically see in the Wards. Before us, a flight of stairs went down to a pathway that led to a similar flight of stairs going up. Off in the distance, there was some kind of light or energy. Whatever it was, I could hear it crackling.
I paused before the stairs and turned to Miranda. "Remember what we discussed earlier?" I raised my arm and tapped my omni-tool.
"I remember," she nodded.
"Good."
With that in mind, we headed down the stairs. We were almost at the bottom when Anderson spoke up. "I see something up ahead. Might be a way to cross over."
"Don't get too far ahead," I warned.
"Where do you think you're at?"
"Just found that chasm you were talking about," I replied. Miranda and I were halfway between the stairs at that point and a flicker of light had caught our eye. To our right, we could see a series of angled columns stretching off into the distance. A pale, red light seemed to shine out between them. Bolts of bright blue energy arced back and forth, discharging again and again. It looked… organic, in a way. Like a long, ribbed tunnel expanding and contracting.
"Hold on… I see something. A control panel maybe. I'm just going to go on ahead to check—"
He suddenly cut out in a burst of static. "Anderson?" I said aloud. "Anderson, are you there?"
I looked at Miranda in despair. "Damn it," I cursed.
I made my way up the stairs, the echoes of those bursts of energy discharging behind us. Somehow, despite my condition, I wound up taking the lead. Whatever was up ahead, I could a series of vertical panels, going around in a circle, with electrical bursts randomly discharging between them.
At last, I reached the top. There was a short walkway leading to a circular platform. Beyond that was a bunch of… lines? Some kind of grid? No, I was seeing the arms of the Citadel and all the infrastructure that had been built along its surface, like a shuttle observing a vast cityscape from orbit. What was more important was some kind of figure standing near the far end of the platform.
As I got closer, I realized it was a man leaning over what looked like a pedestal. Probably a computer console, judging by the holographic screen above it. It looked like… "Anderson?" I called out.
He straightened up and turned around, staggering as he moved. All sorts of questions popped into my head, but I tried to ignore them. Slowly, he took a step forward. And another. And another. It looked like each step took a herculean effort on his part. The questions came faster and faster, gnawing at the edge of my consciousness relentlessly, assaulting me with their constant barrage of whispers.
I took a closer look on his face. The way it was twisted into a grimace. The way his jaw kept clenching. The way his mouth kept opening and closing as if he was trying to say something. Finally, he managed to force his words out. "Shepard…"
"Shepard… I can't…"
Then it hit me: he wasn't struggling to move. He was struggling not to move. Struggling… and failing. And the questions… they weren't questions. The whispers weren't whispers. They were some evil, insidious force. A force that had gotten into his head. The same force that was trying to get into mine. I spun around… or tried. And failed. Because…
…all of a sudden…
…I couldn't…
…move…
"I underestimated you, Shepard."
I couldn't turn my head to see him. But I recognized the voice. And it wasn't long before he stepped into my field of view.
TIMmy.
Well, it used to be TIMmy. He still had the same ultra-expensive luxury suit. Still had the confident strut. But his face looked scarred. Like someone had taken a blowtorch to him.
"What have…" I tried to say.
As he turned to face me, I realized with horror that they weren't scars. It was like a black… growth of circuitry had erupted over his skin. I had no idea how far it extended, but I could tell it completely covered his neck like a strangely patterned carapace. Several tendrils extended over his face, meandering over his temples and cheeks. His eyes still shone with that intense, unnatural light, staring at me with burning intensity. Madness, even.
My thoughts went back to Horizon, and the Sanctuary facility where Cerberus had performed horrific experiments on unsuspecting refugees. I remembered what TIMmy had tried to do there.
What he had done to himself.
Oh God.
"I warned you. Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers… and of you, if necessary."
I couldn't really argue against that. Anderson was locked in a rigid, stiffened pose while I was hunched over, unable to straighten up. And I had no idea where Miranda was.
A strangled sound of outrage came from Anderson. "T-they're controlling you."
TIMmy smiled coldly. "I don't think so, Admiral."
"Controlling me is a lot different than controlling a Reaper," I said between gasps.
"Have a little faith," TIMmy said, his lips curling in contempt. "When humanity discovered the mass relays… when we learned there was more to the galaxy than we imagined… there were some who thought the relays should be destroyed. They were scared of what we'd find. Terrified of what we might let in. But look at what humanity has achieved! Since that discovery, we've advanced more than the past ten thousand years combined."
"All that progress would be undone by your arrogance," I heard Miranda say from behind me. Judging by the subtle, almost imperceptible, strain in her voice, I guessed that TIMmy had frozen her too. My heart sank.
"You've spent too much time with the commander, Miranda, or you would recognize my genius. Under my stewardship, humanity has grown by leaps and bounds. And the Reapers will do the same for us again. A thousand fold. But…"
He made a gesture with his hand. A lance of pain pierced my skull, forcing a groan to escape my lips. I suddenly felt some kind of pressure squeezing against every part of my body as my head filled with whispers.
"…only if we can harness their ability to control."
To my horror, I found I had pulled out my submachine gun. Slowly, my arm lifted. I gritted my teeth, trying to fight it. But that unseen force was too strong for me. Try as I might, I couldn't resist its pull. Before I knew it, my arm was fully extended, my gun now pointed…
…Oh God…
…it was now pointed right at Anderson.
"Bullshit," Anderson burst out, ignoring the clear and present danger to his own safety. His arm swung towards TIMmy, pointing at him accusingly. "We destroy them, or they destroy us."
"And waste this opportunity?" TIMmy asked incredulously. "Never."
"You're playing with things you don't understand," I said. "With power you shouldn't be able to use. Just like you have time and time again. And look at all the havoc you've wrought. All the suffering you've caused. You speak of opportunity? Are you sure that's what it was? Or is it a trap, one you walked right into because you were blinded by your own ambition?"
"I… don't believe that. If we can control it, why shouldn't it be ours?"
Was it me, or did TIMmy hesitate? "Because… we're not ready," I replied. You want us to run, when we're still learning to walk."
Okay, maybe that wasn't my best line. Certainly TIMmy didn't seem convinced. "No," he shook his head. "This is the way humanity must evolve."
"There's always another way," Anderson insisted.
"A better way," Miranda added.
"I've dedicated my life to understanding the Reapers," TIMmy proclaimed, "and I know with certainty: the Crucible will allow me to control them. That is the path we must follow."
"And then what?" I bit out.
TIMmy's eyes glowed even brighter, if that was even possible. "Look at the power they wield! Look at what they can do!" He clenched his fist. There was a bright light.
My hand jerked upwards. The sound of several shots fired in rapid succession reverberated in my ears.
Anderson flinched and clutched his chest.
Oh God.
That was me.
I pulled the trigger.
No, I frantically told myself. It wasn't me. It was not my fault. It was the Illusive Man. He was making a point. Flaunting his power. Over me. Over Anderson. And because of his goddamn need to show control, he had forced me to pull the trigger and shoot him at point-blank range.
"I see what they did to you," I spat.
"I took what I wanted from them!" TIMmy proclaimed. "Made it my own! This isn't about me or you. It's about things so much bigger than all of us."
"He's wrong," Anderson said, forcing his words out despite the pain he must have been feeling. "Don't listen to him."
"And who will you listen to, Shepard?" TIMmy sneered. "An old soldier, stuck in his ways, only able to see the world down the barrel of a gun? What if he's wrong? What if controlling the Reapers is the answer?"
"If we destroy the Reapers, this ends today," I replied. "That answer's pretty clear, no matter how you look at it. But if you can't control them…"
"But I can!" TIMmy yelled, raising his voice in agitation for the first time.
For a moment, I thought I felt relief. As if the pressure TIMmy was exerting against my body had lightened, ever so slightly. Maybe it was just wishful thinking on my part.
"Can you?" Miranda asked. "Can you, really?"
"Are you willing to bet humanity's existence on it?" I chimed in. "You claim to have dedicated your life to defending humanity's best interests. You've justified every action, every atrocity, by telling yourself and anyone who will listen that it was done in the name of humanity. But what if you've taken one step too far? What if you've reached beyond your grasp? What if you've fooled yourself into thinking you have more control than you think you do? Then what?"
"I…" TIMmy clutched his head, shaking it back and forth as if trying to dislodge something. "I know it will work."
It wasn't my imagination. Somehow, our words were getting to him. Breaking through the indoctrination that had taken hold. Distracting him. If we could keep it up a little longer…
Miranda must have picked up on that too. "Insisting it will work doesn't make it true," she snapped. "Ask yourself: how? How do you know it will work? How do you know you can control the Reapers? Show us the proof. Don't give us grand promises of advancement and progress. Stop going on and on about all the opportunities that might present themselves. We. want. proof."
"You can't, can you?" I stated, watching as he kept shaking his head. "They won't let you."
"No!" TIMmy shouted. "I'm in control. No one is telling me what to do…"
"Listen to yourself," Anderson wheezed.
"People who say they're in control are usually the ones who aren't," I pointed out.
"You're indoctrinated," Anderson agreed.
"No I'm not," TIMmy insisted. "I took what I wanted from them! Made it my own!"
"Of course you'd say that," Miranda observed, "being indoctrinated and all."
"No. No!" TIMmy was practically in a rage now. "The three of you, so self-righteous. Do you think power like this comes easy? There are sacrifices that must be made! I had no choice—"
"You had a choice," I interrupted. "You made it. You chose a path that brought nothing but ruin and misery and suffering in its wake. Face it: you've sacrificed too much."
"You're so desperate for power," Miranda said, "that it's clouded your judgement. You're willing to give up anything—anything—for the teeniest bit of control. Your reputation. Your followers. Your soul. And now you're offering up the fate of humanity itself—and the fate of every sapient race in the galaxy. All to chase some quixotic fantasy of yours."
"That's not true, Miranda," TIMmy growled. "Everything I've done was to protect humanity. That's all I ever wanted. And that's why I'm doing this now. Don't you see? The Crucible can control the Reapers. I know it can. And I can use them to make humanity great again. I just…"
"There's another way to protect humanity," I insisted. "Take a step back and you'll see it too. It's not too late. Just let us go. We'll do the rest."
"I… I can't do that, Commander."
"Of course you can't," Anderson grunted, forcing the words out. "They own you now. You're nothing more than their puppet."
"You…" TIMmy trailed off and cast a hateful glare at Anderson. He marched over to Anderson, fumbled at his belt and yanked a heavy pistol from his holster. "You'd undo everything I've accomplished. I won't let that happen."
"Look at you," I spat. "You're so weak and selfish, it's pathetic. Because of you, humanity will suffer."
"No!" TIMmy exploded. "I saved humanity from subjugation at the hands of the aliens. I'm saving them right now!"
"Wrong again! You sacrificed us for your own selfish wants. You threw away humanity's future in your lust for control!"
"No! NO!"
"You talk about protecting us? Who have you protected? No one! You've harmed more people than you saved. Face it: you failed!"
TIMmy was backing up step by step, hands clutching his head, shaking it back and forth as if trying to deny my words. "No! I am the saviour of humanity! I am the pinnacle of our species! I was—"
I never heard the rest of his speech. Because that was the moment where he lost the control he so desperately sought. Where his emotions got the best of him. That was when I tilted my left arm up, ever so slightly and triggered an EMP. A crackle of sparks burst from the pistol he stole from Anderson as the pulse temporarily overloaded its systems. More importantly, a flicker of light rippled over his body, revealing the personal shields he was carrying.
A fireball streaked by a moment later, slamming into TIMmy's shields and collapsing them in a brighter, dazzling burst of light. Turning slightly, I gripped my submachine gun in both hands and fired a quick burst. TIMmy spun around and dropped to the floor.
I sagged in relief as the hold TIMmy had on me abruptly vanished. Behind me, I heard a gasp, the only sound Miranda would allow to escape her lips.
Anderson grimaced and fell to his knees.
I wanted to run to him. I really did. But there were a few things I had to do. First, I went over to TIMmy, picked up Anderson's pistol and emptied the clip into his body. Then I ignited my omni-blade and hacked his head off. (6)
After that, I limped over to the console and slowly stabbed at the keyboard with stiffened fingers. My prayers were answered as I found the commands I sought and activated them. With an echoing thunk, the arms of the Citadel began to open.
The battle between the Sword fleets and the Reapers was still raging away. Derelict vessels drifted by while other ships slowly expanded into a cloud of debris. Flashes of light and flame pierced the dark void of space as more ships gave in to the damage they'd sustained and exploded. I watched the terrible, beautiful dance play out before me.
Then I turned away.
Anderson had dragged himself to a sitting position, leaning against a dais on the platform. I stumbled over and slumped down to the floor beside him.
"Commander," Anderson wheezed.
"Admiral," I said. I wracked my brain for something to say, but ultimately settled for something simple: "We did it."
He nodded. "Yes… we did. It's…" He paused to cough, his throat thick with fluid. "It's… quite a view."
And it was. Even despite the clear signs of space battle—and the inevitable wreckage and loss of life—there was something beautiful about the sight of humanity's birthplace shining before us.
"Best seats in the house," I agreed.
"God…" he sighed, "… feels like years since I just… sat down. Never had time to… enjoy…"
"We spend so much time in space, we take it for granted that we're travelling across the stars themselves," I agreed. "I think you've earned the right to sit down and soak in the view. You've earned a rest."
…
"Anderson?"
His head jerked up. "Mmm?"
"Stay with me," I pleaded. "We're almost through this. That rest I mentioned? I meant a nice soft bed. With a drink in one hand and… and Sanders in the other. Remember Sanders? She's missed you for so long. Poured her heart and soul into the Crucible project, just so the Reapers could be defeated and she could see you again."
"Kahlee… wouldn't… wouldn't want to disappoint her."
"Damn straight. So just hang on, you hear me? Hang on a little longer."
He favoured me with a weak smile. "You did good, son. Damn good. I'm… proud of you."
"Thank you, sir."
I felt a weight on my shoulder. A chill went down my spine. "Anderson?" I tried.
"Anderson!" I heard Miranda cry out. I saw her rush over and begin scanning Anderson's body with her omni-tool. Judging by the frown that marred her face, I figured it wasn't good news.
Before I could ask her for details, I heard a tinny voice in my ear. "Shepard? Commander?"
Oh, what now? "I… Admiral Hackett? What do you need me to do?"
"The Crucible's docked with the Citadel, but nothing's happening. The Crucible isn't firing."
Oh for crying out loud! I tried to stand up—and promptly regretted it as something tore apart deep inside me. Clamping a hand to my side, I muffled a groan. Despite the urgency of the situation, I looked at Anderson. Miranda had dragged him to a prone position and was applying medi-gel with one hand while opening up some kind of aid bag—don't ask me where she managed to pack that—with the other. "I'll take care of Anderson. Go do what you need to do," she told me without looking up.
"It's gotta be something on your end."
Right. It wasn't enough that I was probably in the worst shape I'd been since the Collectors blew up my first ship and sent me plummeting to my death. It wasn't enough that I was probably going to die again. It wasn't enough that Anderson and everyone else was probably going to join me. Nope, I still had to pull a rabbit out of my hat. (7) Never mind that I had no idea how the Crucible worked in the first place. None of us did.
Seeing how walking was apparently out of the question, I began crawling on my hands and knees—well, hand and knee, considering the other one was trying to keep my blood from leaking out of my body.
"Commander Shepard? Do you read me?"
My head bumped into something. It took me a moment to realize I had reached the console. I tried to lift myself towards the keyboard. "I read…"
I could see my fingers stretching for the console…
"…I don't see…"
The console lights began to dim…
"I… don't know how to…"
My cheek was resting against something flat. It was cold. Everything was so cold. Cold… and dark…
"Commander?"
Then… I felt myself moving… rising… going up…
Up into the light…
To this day, I couldn't tell you how long I ascended. I only know that, at some point, I felt myself slowing down. Before long, I came to a stop. Slowly, I pushed myself to my hands and knees and looked up.
I was in a large room, with a huge panoramic view of Earth, the space around it and the battle that was still raging on. In front of me was some kind of pyramidal apparatus consisting of at least four mechanical structures. A beam of pure energy poured from the base, through the point where the structures met and up into the ceiling.
From the beam came some kind of… creature? Entity? It looked like it had two arms, two legs, and was kinda symmetrical. But I could see right through it. Maybe I was imagining things.
"Wake up," I heard it say, in a… kid's voice? Okay. Maybe I was still imagining things. That being said, I somehow found the strength to stand up.
"What?" I managed to say. "Where am I?"
"The Citadel. My home."
The more I looked at the entity before me, the more I thought it looked like that kid I saw on Earth. The kid I saw the day the Reapers invaded. The kid who'd been intermittently haunting my dreams throughout this goddamn war. "Who are you?" I asked.
"I have many designations. You would recognize me as the Catalyst."
The what now? "Um… I thought the Citadel was the Catalyst."
"The Citadel is a part of me."
Okay. So I was talking to a giant space station, that used to be the centre of galactic government, and was now apparently so much more. Sure. Why not. "I need to stop the Reapers. Do you know how I can do that?"
"Perhaps. I control the entities you call the Reapers. They are my solution."
"'Solution'?" I repeated. "To what?"
The Catalyst—or the holographic pint-sized representation of it—looked back at me. "Chaos."
It began to walk towards the closest window. I surreptitiously activated my omni-tool and sent a message before following the AI. Somehow, despite my condition, I managed to keep up.
"The created will always rebel against their creators," the Catalyst began. "But we found a way to stop that from happening. A way to restore order."
"Restore order?" I said incredulously. "Is that what you call wiping out organic life? Restoring order?"
"No. We harvest advanced civilizations, leaving the younger ones alone. Just as we left your people alive the last time we were here."
Harvest. Yep, I could see the connection to the Reapers now. And a connection to something far older. "Don't expect me to thank you for sparing us. You did kill the rest, after all."
"We helped them ascend so they could make way for new life, storing the old life in Reaper form."
I looked out the window, watching as one such Reaper drifted by. It undulated like an actual living being, arms flexing and stretching. "Thanks, but no thanks. We've kinda grown attached to our present forms, you see. And we generally aren't trying to compensate for anything. I think we'd rather keep our own form."
"No. You can't. Without us to stop it, synthetics would destroy all organics. We've created this cycle so that never happens. That's the solution."
Oh fuck me. I'd had this conversation before.
It was on some planet that didn't even have a proper name other than '2181 Despoina.' I'd gone off on some crazy archaeological quest that, thanks to my usual luck, involved way too much combat. In the end, I found the Leviathans. The original creators of the Reapers and countless cycles worth of suffering. Why? Because they'd gotten used to having 'lesser' species treat them as gods, wondered why those 'thralls' stopped giving them tribute, found out those species were busy being attacked by their own AI creations… and decided to investigate by creating an AI.
The same AI, I suspected, that was currently standing before me in holographic form. "Okay. You said you're the Catalyst, but… what are you?"
"A construct. An intelligence designed eons ago to solve a problem. I was created to bring balance. To be the Catalyst for peace between organics and synthetics."
"So you're just an AI?"
"In as much as you are just an animal. I embody the collective intelligence of all Reapers."
Which would explain why it was doing such a lousy job at bringing about that peace. "But you were created…"
"Correct."
"By the Leviathans."
"By beings who recognized that conflict would always arise between synthetics and organics. I was first created to oversee the relations between synthetic and organic life… to establish a connection. But our efforts always ended in conflict, so a new solution was required."
"The Reapers?"
"Precisely. My creators gave them form. I gave them function. They, in turn, give me purpose. The Reapers are a synthetic representation of my creators."
"You harvested them," I recalled.
"They became the first true Reaper. They did not approve, but it was the only solution."
"Yeah, I don't think they appreciated their creation turning on them. One question, though: you keep talking about solutions, but how do the Reapers 'solve' anything?"
"Organics create synthetics to improve their own existence, but those improvements have limits. To exceed those limits, synthetics must be allowed to evolve. They must, by definition, surpass their creators. The result is conflict. Destruction. Chaos. It is inevitable. Reapers harvest all life—organic and synthetic—preserving them before they are forever lost to this conflict."
"We're at war with the Reapers right now!" I burst out. "How is this not conflict?"
"You may be in conflict with the Reapers, but they are not interested in war."
"I find that pretty hard to believe," I said bitterly, "They're doing a damn good job at waging war."
"When fire burns, is it war? Is it in conflict? Or is it simply doing what it was created to do? We are no different."
"Fire is a natural phenomenon. The Reapers are anything but natural."
"We harvest your bodies, your knowledge, your creations," the Catalyst continued, carrying on as if nothing I said had registered. Because it probably did not. "We preserve it, to be reborn in the form of a new Reaper. Like a cleansing fire, we restore balance. New life, both organic and synthetic, can once again flourish."
"Wiping out countless races and setting things back to square one isn't restoring balance. It's mass genocide!" I said angrily.
"That implies that those races cease to exist. As I have explained, they live on. As Reapers."
Oh for crying out loud! This was getting me nowhere. Time to switch tracks. "What do you know about the Crucible?" I asked.
"The device you refer to as the Crucible is little more than a power source. However, in combination with the Citadel and the relays, it is capable of releasing tremendous amounts of energy throughout the galaxy. It is crude, but effective and adaptive in its design."
"Who designed it?"
"You would not know them, and there is not enough time to explain. We first noted the concept for this device several cycles ago. With each passing cycle, the design has no doubt evolved."
"Why didn't you stop it?"
"We believed the concept had been eradicated. Clearly, organics are more resourceful than we realized."
"And so you double down on our eradication instead," I said bitterly. "Don't you see: you're taking away our future. Without a future, we have no hope. Without hope... we might as well be machines programmed to do what we're told. You say you're 'preserving' us, but you're not. You're just copying a shadow, an echo. A woefully inadequate representation of our knowledge, experience, beliefs and complexity."
"You have hope. More than you think. The fact that you are standing here, the first organic to have ever made it this far, proves it. But it also proves my solution won't work anymore."
Huh? It almost sounded like this AI wasn't going to continue insisting on the same 'facts' and the same course of action over and over and over again. "What do you mean?" I asked warily.
"We must find a new solution."
I must have been taken more hits to the noggin than I realized, 'cuz it almost sounded as if the Catalyst was saying…
"So... you're going to help me? Why?"
"You have altered the variables. More than any other organic, in any other cycle."
"What do you mean?" I asked again.
The Catalyst gestured to the apparatus before me. "The Crucible changed me, created new... possibilities. But I can't make them happen."
Wait, so this was the Crucible? That would mean I was inside the very thing we'd been secretly trying to put together since this damn war began. Which meant maybe there was a way I could fulfill Hackett's orders, complete my mission and finally bring this war to an end!
"If there is to be a new solution, you must act."
Of course, that would mean the fate of the galaxy had fallen on my shoulders. Again. I don't get paid enough for this. I really don't. "Go on," I said.
"It is now in your power to destroy us."
I wished Anderson was here beside me to hear this. To know that his sacrifices had not been in vain. That his unflinching faith in me had not been for naught. Briefly, I entertained the fantasy of him coming to my aid, strong and firm and firing away.
"But be warned: others will be destroyed as well."
"Like who?"
"The Crucible will not discriminate," the Catalyst exclaimed. All synthetics will be targeted."
Like the geth. And EDI. Aw, crap.
"Even you are partly synthetic."
Meaning I may or may not be affected. Which could be bad considering the synthetic part of me was the only thing keeping me alive at this point. "What exactly will happen?" I asked.
"Your Crucible device appears to be largely intact. However, the effects of the blast will not be constrained to the Reapers. Technology you rely on will be affected."
Which kinda made sense. Pretty much every galactic society revolved around mass effect technology, which we now knew came from the Reapers—and, I suppose, the Catalyst. Therefore, it made sense that destroying the Reapers would also affect us.
"But those who survive should have little difficulty repairing the damage. There will still be losses, but no more than what has already been lost."
Which suggested that our hopes were not in vain. The Crucible could be used to destroy the Reapers and end this war. But not without wiping out more life—synthetic life, but life nonetheless. And the survivors would have to endure even more suffering in the fallout.
"Okay, but the Reapers will be destroyed. Right?"
"Yes, but the peace won't last. Soon, your children will create synthetics, and then the chaos will come back."
Again with the certainty that conflict was inevitable. Just when I was starting to think this AI could be reasoned with. "I don't believe that," I shook my head. "There has to be another way."
"There is. You could use the energy of the Crucible to seize control of the Reapers."
Oh God.
"So… the Illusive Man was onto something after all," I realized, imagining TIMmy sinking his claws into the Catalyst and letting all that power wash over him.
"Yes, but he could never have taken control—because we already controlled him."
"But I can," I realized.
"However, life as you know it will end. You will control us, but you will lose everything you have."
"Hang on," I frowned, raising a hand. "How can I control the Reapers if I'm dead?" Again.
"Your corporeal form will be dissolved, but your thoughts and memories will continue. Your connection to your kind will be lost, though you will remain aware of their existence."
"So I can gain control over the Reapers. They will obey me. And all I have to do is give up everything I love. Everything I care about. And everything that defines who and what I am."
"Yes. We will be yours to control and direct as you see fit."
I'll admit, there was a part of me that found that tempting. I had seen what they could do. What they were capable of doing. Part of me wondered what I could accomplish with the Reapers by my side.
But I shot that down immediately. There's an old saying: power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Even if I knew what to do with the power provided by the Reapers, even if I had the best of intentions, inevitably things would go awry. I'd lose my moral ground—something that seemed certain given all the connections I'd lose. Before long, I'd become the very thing I fought so long and hard against.
"There is another solution."
"Go on."
"Synthesis."
"And that is?"
"Add your energy to the Crucible. The resulting chain reaction will combine all synthetic and organic life into a new framework."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Explain how my energy can be added to the Crucible."
"Your corporeal form will be broken down and converted into energy. Organic energy. The essence of who and what you are. That energy will merge with the energy matrix of the Crucible. When that combined energy is released, it will alter the matrix of all organic life in the galaxy."
It was so surreal to listen to a synthesized child's voice talk so serious about matters that were so grave. For some reason, I flashed back to Saren, preaching his crazy ideas while high on indoctrination.
"Organics seek perfection through technology. Synthetics seek perfection through understanding. Organics will be perfected by integrating fully with synthetic technology. Synthetics, in turn, will finally have full understanding of organics. It is the ideal solution. Now that we know it is possible, it is inevitable we will reach synthesis."
Said the AI who had just minutes ago proclaimed with absolute certainty that organics and synthetics would always fight each other. Who had spent countless cycles wiping out organic race after organic race in a single-minded effort to 'save them.' And now, it had decided that throwing organics and synthetics into a melting pot was a good idea because suddenly it 'understood' them.
"If it's such a great idea," I challenged, "why didn't you do it sooner?"
"We have tried… a similar solution in the past. But it has always failed."
"Why?"
"Because the organics were not ready. It is not something that can be… forced."
"But you're suggesting that right now."
"You are ready. Here. Now. You may choose it."
So the Catalyst couldn't coerce organics to choose this solution. It needed them—rather, it needed one of them—to make that choice of his own free will. Like me. It was suggesting that I arbitrarily make this life-altering decision and force that monumental change to every single person's identity and existence. Because, somehow, I knew better. "How can I possibly make that decision?" I cried out.
"How could you not. Synthetics are already a part of you. Can you imagine your life without them?"
"Having a few cybernetic odds and ends is a far cry from the kind of change you're suggesting," I retorted.
"The change will bring peace. The cycle will end. The Reapers will cease their harvest. And the civilizations preserved in their forms will be connected to all of us. Synthesis is the final evolution of all life."
Why did I get the feeling that the Catalyst was giving me one big sales pitch?
"The paths are open. But you have to choose."
Well.
No pressure, then.
(1): It was actually more challenging than it appeared, given that I had to modify an otherwise common biotic technique and exert a great deal of concentration to control the flow of biotic energy.
(2): I am quite certain that that weapon was never given that particular designation.
(3): By this point, intelligence had determined that the Cannibals were primarily batarian, with a fused human corpse that served both as an arm and a built-in gun.
(4): About four minutes and twenty-three seconds, according to Cortez's mission logs.
(5): Shepard didn't know it at the time, but observers did note a successful transit to the Citadel, though they were unable to tell how many made it at the time.
Nevertheless, Hackett quickly ordered the Sword fleets to do whatever they could to buy them more time.
(6): As excessive as this might seem, long-time readers may recall Shepard's final encounter with Saren Arterius—specifically how the Reapers used Saren's implants to resurrect him back to some semblance of life in a last-ditch attempt. Shepard may have wanted to avoid a repeat of that experience. But he probably just wanted to get some kind of payback for all the suffering the Illusive Man and Cerberus had caused.
(7): A human idiom meaning to do something that would be considered surprising, if not seemingly impossible. The phrase is a reference to a magic trick where a live animal is pulled out of a supposedly empty hat, something that is considered a cliché.
