She could see it all so clearly, as the generator began to let off puffs of smoke while slugs buried themselves in it.

She couldn't bear the thought of collaborating with the Reapers. The idea of being anything like them, of having any part in them…it made her ill almost to the point of retching. She'd come so far, fought so hard…they didn't get to walk away from this fight because they finally realized they were matched.

She couldn't bear the idea that she could hybridize the galaxy. Legion had been brave enough to face dissolution for the betterment of his people. In the end he was the better man: she couldn't bring herself to do it. Not even to save everyone. If a thing sounded too good to be true it probably was—but the price gave the choice realism.

She could see Anderson's face, lined but proud. Proud of her, even at the end when she couldn't save him. She hadn't known him well…but it had always felt as if she did. He'd been in her corner when she seemed her most insane, her most unstable. He'd done more than stay in her corner: he'd believed in her. Always. Unflinchingly.

And EDI, inquisitive, loyal, and above all more human than many organics could claim to be. EDI's life was part of a gamble she, Shepard, had been willing to make…but Shepard could not shake the feeling that she was acting out of cowardice. She was afraid that the Reapers were lying, that the choice to control them would do more than destroy her: it would destroy everyone else.

The Reapers were not constrained by software that forced them to give accurate information.

So she had to risk it, had to risk that they were lying to her in order to spare their miserable synthetic lives, hanging everything she cared about, everything she'd fought for on a tenuous string.

…but if she was wrong…

Kaidan—her Kaidan—the warmth and vitality in her life. Her strength. Tears slipped down her face; knowing that her death here would benefit him in the long run was…not comforting. Because she was leaving him again. It stabbed deep, made her close her eyes even as her finger continued to squeeze the trigger.

But she could see it, through the smoke: she could see the Citadel with its arms spread open wide like a murderous, Reaper-killing flower.

Could they feel fear? Did they even know what was happening? Could those arrogant, malfunctioning mountains of scrap metal even conceive the idea that they were finite…and about to be dead?

She could see it so clearly. All the forces trapped on Earth or dying in the skies and space above; this could save them from the worst of the threat. Husks of all varieties could be mopped up without the Reapers themselves. The slaughter would stop, recede to mere ground battle with enemy shock troops who no longer had replacement value.

The energy released by the Catalyst, by the instability caused by the broken generator would gather, massing in a vivid red tide of energy, racing through the Citadel's inner workings, bubbling up until it left the Citadel in a massive burst. It would shock the inner workings of the Reapers, it would purge their programming, turn them into true corpses.

Even their dreams wouldn't persist.

And the Allied Fleets, they would be all right, could cut into the Reapers like knives into butter.

But the effect of the Citadel's release of energy wouldn't stop on the Sol System where the fighting was thickest.

She could see it.

The mass relays, the constructs that united the galaxy: the signal would bounce off of them, each in turn until every system with a relay in it was touched, sending out the killing signal until not one Reaper scuttled for cover, until not one Reaper persisted in a delusion that had gone on for far too long.

She could see it: the Allied Fleets realizing that the pulse of energy would hit them. They wouldn't understand it, would try to run.

Except Joker. He wouldn't leave her. She hadn't left him and he carried the guilt for it. But she wanted him to go: Garrus, closer than a brother, would make him. Now, as ever, she wanted her crew to be safe.

They would be safe—the Citadel's outburst wouldn't hurt them—but they had no way of knowing that.

And the Normandy would cut and run with the other ships, speed towards the relay and away from the Sol System.

But they'd come back. They might even find her corpse, here, where no one ever came.

But if they hit the Relay at the same time of the signal…that could cause problems. System overloads. Malfunctions…

…and if EDI really, truly was affected by the signal…had she actually condemned the very people she'd wanted to save? No…no, even if they crash-landed there were enough techs on that ship to get her up and running.

Even if EDI…even if…

A single intake of breath, not quite a sob, punctuated what should have been momentary silence—the ringing in her ears was back, and worse than ever.

A pulse of moving air slammed against Shepard's sinuses. She didn't register it before the brunt of the generator exploding hit her. It caught her in its hot embrace, acrid smells of burning and smoke assaulting her nose, carrying her back, flinging her away. Her wounds stung, her body ached as if she was being ripped apart.

Could Reapers scream? Was that their scream she was hearing?

She closed her eyes as she fell, tears still running down her cheeks. She loved so many people…and leaving them again was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do.

Fortunately death was easy. It was the act of dying that was hard.

She hit the ground hard, a bone-jarring impact that made her flinch.

But the pain didn't stop.

She wasn't dead.

Somehow, she wasn't—

-J-

Author's Note: if you really loved the original in-game endings and will go down with that ship—and I respect that point of view—you might want to stop reading now. All others… please proceed.