Shepard discovered within moments of her escape from the locked-down medbay that she had chewed through most of the security personnel while they'd waited for Object Rho to do whatever it did (her mind recoiled, wondering what nearly two days sedated in that thing's vicinity had done to her). This left her facing scientists with guns, scientists who were half-terrified of her, and grew more so as they watched their colleagues fall.
The only reason they didn't lay down their arms and get out of her way was the indoctrination. She supposed this had something to do with a failsafe way for the Reapers—Harbinger in particular—to wipe her out. She ought to feel flattered that she was such a thorn in their mechanical sides, but it was a compliment she could have lived without.
And Kenson was still out there, Kenson, through whose eyes Shepard witnessed Harbinger looking out at her. Hackett wouldn't like that Kenson had just become a priority target, but he'd take it more philosophically once he knew that she'd been Indoctrinated enough for a Reaper to manipulate her like a hand puppet.
It brought something home about Indoctrination that Shepard had previously not realized. Or maybe she had and just hadn't bothered to think about it: if you didn't know the person, you wouldn't see the symptoms.
Her skin crawled. She'd need a psych eval after this. She'd need to be sure the Reapers didn't have their mechanical tentacles wrapped around her mind. The true test would come when it came time to push the button, to launch this hunk of rock into the relay, to defer the invasion by…weeks? Months?
She wasn't lucky enough for 'years.'
She wasn't fool enough to believe 'forever.'
"Welcome to Project control," the VI announced as Shepard cued the console.
"I want to activate the Project." Her stomach went cold at the words, but the lack of visible options left her no alternatives. It was like with the Destiny Ascension: the lives present for the lives everywhere. The few for the many.
But that didn't make it easy or palatable.
"Warning: activating the Project will result in an estimated three hundred and five thousand casualties. Do you wish to continue?"
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two deaths, to be exact, and all Shepard's extremities went cold. No, she didn't 'wish to continue'!
But there were no other visible options…
Shepard clenched her teeth, thumping one hand on the console. Then, her eyes fixed on the screen, burning the number of people she was about to trade for an uncertain period of Reaper-free time into her memory, she cued the activation sequence.
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two people.
…but there was something she could do for them…
"Project activation in progress. Warning: collision with mass relay is imminent. Begin evacuation procedures."
Shepard was already hacked into the communication channels. "To all colonists living in the Bahak system. An asteroid is about to—" the channel suddenly flashed an alert: signal unavailable.
Before Shepard could make to disable the blackout, Kenson's shriek cut across the radios. "Shepard, no! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Shepard didn't answer. She knew what she'd done.
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two men, women, and children obliterated in a single instant.
"You leave me no choice! If we can't stop this asteroid it must be destroyed!" the scientist almost howled.
"Hang in there, Kenson. We'll discuss it in person." The words came out as if someone else spoke them. Shepard's actions all seemed mechanical, her mind still trying to count up to that fatal number.
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.
"VI: find Dr. Kenson."
"Dr. Kenson is currently traveling to the reactor core module."
"An eezo core meltdown should do it!" Dr. Kenson crowed.
Shepard turned to the console, her fingers working rapidly.
"What? No!" Kenson's shriek of protest sounded a moment later.
Shepard couldn't lock down the eezo core—it would take too much time—but she could lock down the cooling rods' stations. Without the new access codes—or a really good tech specialist—Kenson's overload would be limited to an actual physical interaction. It could be rigged in a short time, since Kenson's focus wasn't her own life or death, but it would hopefully be enough time for Shepard to get to her and put an end to the idea in the most final way possible.
"I told you: hang in there, doc."
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.
"Because of you everyone on this rock will be obliterated!" Kenson shouted, her voice grating.
"They would be anyway." She had to get to the main comm tower, but she could only do that once Kenson was neutralized. Procedures were very clear: contain the crisis as best she could. She could get a message out…even on short notice some people might escape the impending collision…
…and she wondered, for a moment, if she had a right to escape herself. After all, she'd signed the deaths of all those people…
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.
Shepard shut that part of her mind down. It had to be academic right now.
The mission objectives at this point were clear, so she clung to them in order to have something that was concrete, fixed, within her known sphere of ability. She had to get to Kenson. She had to get communications back up.
She had to know that the body count would be less than that horrible number.
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.
The number was burned into her mind as surely as the Prothean Beacon's message, as surely as the Cipher, as surely as the fear Object Rho's vision: three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.
She'd never escape it. She'd never be free of it.
Three hundred four thousand, nine hundred and forty two.