Three choices stood before her, three impossible choices. All her hard work, all the building up, all the gathering led to this single point of failure. Her and her choice. Any choice she made now could save the galaxy or doom it, but regardless of what happened, she wouldn’t be around to see the results. The Catalyst had impressed that upon her. If she chose destruction, she would wipe out the Reaper threat for all time, but that had the downside of undoing two important things she had accomplished in her quest to get here. The geth were allied with their creators, the quarians. They were at peace, and her friend sacrificed himself to allow that to happen. In addition, there was the budding relationship between her ship and its pilot. Joker and EDI had started to get closer ever since she’d managed to obtain a body of her own, and she’d encouraged it. She wanted her crew to find happiness, and though it was strange, she’d heard of stranger relationships. If she chose destruction, these efforts of peace would be for naught. The geth would be gone, and EDI would be destroyed. The threat of the Reapers would be no more, nor would any synthetic life form. She couldn’t let that happen.
The second choice, as she looked to the left, was one that ate at her. Control. The Illusive Man wanted it; he’d wanted humans to stand atop the galactic scene and rule. He’d thought that humans deserved it. That they deserved the best. The power of the Reapers would allow much under the control of the right person. She could stop wars, enforce peace, prevent slavery. All she had to do was trust that by controlling the Reapers they were not controlling her. That she was not given over to indoctrination. The Catalyst said that the Illusive Man was too far under their control for him to successfully control them. While she wasn’t, that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t be if she joined them. Controlling an armada of Reapers was a tempting prospect, but not if it meant giving up whom she was in the process. She was willing to die for her beliefs, but not give up her identity.
The third choice was by far the strangest. Synthesis, the Catalyst had called it. Somehow due to the synthetic parts that Cerberus had put into her body, along with the biological parts, she was the perfect template for the Crucible to create a new form of life. To convert the peoples of the galaxy into a life form that was both synthetic and biological. She’d no clue how that was possible, and it would probably take years of study for someone to explain that to her. Years that she didn’t have. The longer that she took to make her decision, the smaller the window was to make it.
The final choice was to make no choice at all. To leave the situation unchanged. The races of the galaxy were outgunned by the Reapers, as she hadn’t had enough proof to get them prepared. The hopes of the galaxy rested here on this Crucible, and if Shepard failed to act, the Reapers would win, and the cycle would continue. The next cycle would be more prepared though, as Liara had set up information caches to pass on. They would be prepared. They would win.
She shook her head. The point of this was to break the cycle now. So she chose. The path that would not undo what she had worked toward. The path that would not cause her to lose who she was. She threw away her gun and ran along the middle path of the Crucible, ignoring her injuries. They didn’t matter anyway, not with what was going to happen. She leapt off the platform at the edge of the Crucible, and her body fell toward the gathering arc of energy.
I’m sorry, Liara. Guess I won’t be coming back after all. Thane, I’ll be seeing you soon...
As she hit the energy, she could have sworn she heard an echoing of mad laughter... and Andrea Shepard died.
The wind forced itself out of Shepard’s lungs as she struck the ground. Intense pain wracked itself through her as the fall aggravated her injuries, but she managed to force her way through it and climbed, ever so slowly to her feet. Initially, all she saw was darkness and her ears rung something fierce from the fall. Blinded and deafened, she waited for her senses to adjust, and as they did, she almost wished they hadn’t.
The ringing stopped first and agony replaced it. Not Shepard’s agony, but a chorus of tortured screams and yells that echoed out from around her. After thirty seconds the screams stopped as quickly as they began, and her eyes began to adjust. Gray was the first thing she noticed, a world of gray that surrounded her, but slowly her eyes began to add detail, and as they did, the screaming began anew.
Shepard stood on the edge of a platform that seemed to float mid-air. Stone railings lined the edges, but she could see over; there was no support nor ground. A yawning chasm extended below the platform, infinitely deep yet she could see walls in the distance, leading up to an arched ceiling above her. The platform itself was lined with what looked and felt like marble, but upon closer examination, Shepard saw faces below her. She stood on the stone faces of people, and they moved. Their expressions matched the sounds of the echoing screams, and she almost swore that they pleaded with her. They wanted her to end their suffering. There were dozens in this area of the platform alone.
“Hell. I’m in Hell.†Shepard shuddered. You’d think that sacrificing yourself to save the galaxy merited Heaven, but she couldn’t deny what she saw. “No weapons, still injured and alone...â€
Ahead, the platform continued, and she could see statues that lined the edges. Despite her apprehension, Shepard pushed forward, each step bringing a note of change to the screams. Shepard refused to look down and see the source.
She approached the first statue and examined it. The workmanship must have been fine once, but now it stood at half the statue it used to be. The upper half was utterly destroyed, as if someone had intentionally taken a sledgehammer to it, but the bottom half was somewhat recognizable. The subject of the statue had been wearing some sort of classical armor and a set of sandals, and as Shepard’s eyes drifted lower, she saw that the statue had an engraving, “P. Augustus.†The second statue, on the opposite side of the platform from Augustus was more intact. A girl, dressed in the clothes of some tribal dancer, stood with a look of fear on her sculpted face. The statue was labeled “Ellia.†The next down the line was of a longhaired man in his twenties, also sculpted with a look of fear, “Anthony.†More statues lined the rest of the walkway: a heavy set man in Renaissance clothing, “R. Bianchi,†an Arabic-looking man with a turban, “Karim,†a man dressed as a Franciscan monk, “P. Luther,†a man in British colonial-era clothing, “M. Roivas,†and a man wearing a twentieth century suit, “E. Roivas.†Each statue had two things in common: they were perfectly sculpted, and each subject had a look of perfect fear sculpted into his or her face.
Shepard let her eyes flit to beyond the last statue and she saw what lay at the end of the platform. A pedestal shaped like a skeletal, desiccated hand reached out of the ground and the fingers closed tightly around what was in its grasp. Cautiously, Shepard approached the pedestal as she had nowhere else to go, and ever so slowly, with a moaning creak that could be heard over the screams, the fingers of the hand opened. A hidebound book laid on the pedestal, proffered by the hand for her taking. Shepard approached and examined the book. Shrunken bones decorated its sides, likely human, given her location. The clasp of the book laid prominent on its cover and etched into it was a black rune that she was certain that even if her translator was working right now, she wouldn’t be able to identify it.
Shepard stared at the book for a couple minutes, trying to drown out the cacophony of screams that surrounded her. There was no visible way out of wherever here was, Hell, or otherwise. She supposed she could chance the yawning chasm, but that didn’t seem too bright. However, there was this book. She could hardly call it a book with how old it looked and its size. This tome might be more accurate, offered to her by forces unknown in a place unknown. She should be dead.
“If I’m already dead, and there’s nothing else here...†Shepard psyched herself up a bit. “I might as well grab it. “
Shepard reached out and lifted the book from the pedestal. A familiar sensation overtook her, one like what she’d felt before on Eden Prime. Visions assaulted her mind.
*Flash*
Stone pillars drove themselves into the massive pulsating purple flesh of a beast made up of multiple eyes and sharp-toothed maws.
Shepard reeled at the image, somehow she felt for the beast. It didn’t deserve that.
*Flash*
Hundreds of humans were stacked upon each other, and cement was poured over them, a pillar of flesh and stone.
Shepard gagged. Who could be so cruel?
*Flash*
In the vacuum of space, a massive creature the size of a dreadnought floated. Its gaping maw glowed with bright red light. It had two claws... Shepard couldn’t even find words to describe the creature, her mind barely comprehended its presence. Twin beams of light lanced at it, shots from a Thanix cannon. Cephalopod shaped ships floated up to the abomination, some smaller, others larger... Reapers. Reapers were attacking it. Leading the attack was Harbinger.
Shepard couldn’t... no. This vision...
We are your salvation by your destruction.
*Flash*
In the ruins of an ancient city, a blonde woman dressed in jeans and a tank top fought a skeletal creature dressed in Roman centurion armor. As she goes to make the final blow, he blasts her back.
“The Darkness... shall be... Eternal!â€
Andrea Shepard blacked out.
The second choice, as she looked to the left, was one that ate at her. Control. The Illusive Man wanted it; he’d wanted humans to stand atop the galactic scene and rule. He’d thought that humans deserved it. That they deserved the best. The power of the Reapers would allow much under the control of the right person. She could stop wars, enforce peace, prevent slavery. All she had to do was trust that by controlling the Reapers they were not controlling her. That she was not given over to indoctrination. The Catalyst said that the Illusive Man was too far under their control for him to successfully control them. While she wasn’t, that didn’t mean that she wouldn’t be if she joined them. Controlling an armada of Reapers was a tempting prospect, but not if it meant giving up whom she was in the process. She was willing to die for her beliefs, but not give up her identity.
The third choice was by far the strangest. Synthesis, the Catalyst had called it. Somehow due to the synthetic parts that Cerberus had put into her body, along with the biological parts, she was the perfect template for the Crucible to create a new form of life. To convert the peoples of the galaxy into a life form that was both synthetic and biological. She’d no clue how that was possible, and it would probably take years of study for someone to explain that to her. Years that she didn’t have. The longer that she took to make her decision, the smaller the window was to make it.
The final choice was to make no choice at all. To leave the situation unchanged. The races of the galaxy were outgunned by the Reapers, as she hadn’t had enough proof to get them prepared. The hopes of the galaxy rested here on this Crucible, and if Shepard failed to act, the Reapers would win, and the cycle would continue. The next cycle would be more prepared though, as Liara had set up information caches to pass on. They would be prepared. They would win.
She shook her head. The point of this was to break the cycle now. So she chose. The path that would not undo what she had worked toward. The path that would not cause her to lose who she was. She threw away her gun and ran along the middle path of the Crucible, ignoring her injuries. They didn’t matter anyway, not with what was going to happen. She leapt off the platform at the edge of the Crucible, and her body fell toward the gathering arc of energy.
I’m sorry, Liara. Guess I won’t be coming back after all. Thane, I’ll be seeing you soon...
As she hit the energy, she could have sworn she heard an echoing of mad laughter... and Andrea Shepard died.
The wind forced itself out of Shepard’s lungs as she struck the ground. Intense pain wracked itself through her as the fall aggravated her injuries, but she managed to force her way through it and climbed, ever so slowly to her feet. Initially, all she saw was darkness and her ears rung something fierce from the fall. Blinded and deafened, she waited for her senses to adjust, and as they did, she almost wished they hadn’t.
The ringing stopped first and agony replaced it. Not Shepard’s agony, but a chorus of tortured screams and yells that echoed out from around her. After thirty seconds the screams stopped as quickly as they began, and her eyes began to adjust. Gray was the first thing she noticed, a world of gray that surrounded her, but slowly her eyes began to add detail, and as they did, the screaming began anew.
Shepard stood on the edge of a platform that seemed to float mid-air. Stone railings lined the edges, but she could see over; there was no support nor ground. A yawning chasm extended below the platform, infinitely deep yet she could see walls in the distance, leading up to an arched ceiling above her. The platform itself was lined with what looked and felt like marble, but upon closer examination, Shepard saw faces below her. She stood on the stone faces of people, and they moved. Their expressions matched the sounds of the echoing screams, and she almost swore that they pleaded with her. They wanted her to end their suffering. There were dozens in this area of the platform alone.
“Hell. I’m in Hell.†Shepard shuddered. You’d think that sacrificing yourself to save the galaxy merited Heaven, but she couldn’t deny what she saw. “No weapons, still injured and alone...â€
Ahead, the platform continued, and she could see statues that lined the edges. Despite her apprehension, Shepard pushed forward, each step bringing a note of change to the screams. Shepard refused to look down and see the source.
She approached the first statue and examined it. The workmanship must have been fine once, but now it stood at half the statue it used to be. The upper half was utterly destroyed, as if someone had intentionally taken a sledgehammer to it, but the bottom half was somewhat recognizable. The subject of the statue had been wearing some sort of classical armor and a set of sandals, and as Shepard’s eyes drifted lower, she saw that the statue had an engraving, “P. Augustus.†The second statue, on the opposite side of the platform from Augustus was more intact. A girl, dressed in the clothes of some tribal dancer, stood with a look of fear on her sculpted face. The statue was labeled “Ellia.†The next down the line was of a longhaired man in his twenties, also sculpted with a look of fear, “Anthony.†More statues lined the rest of the walkway: a heavy set man in Renaissance clothing, “R. Bianchi,†an Arabic-looking man with a turban, “Karim,†a man dressed as a Franciscan monk, “P. Luther,†a man in British colonial-era clothing, “M. Roivas,†and a man wearing a twentieth century suit, “E. Roivas.†Each statue had two things in common: they were perfectly sculpted, and each subject had a look of perfect fear sculpted into his or her face.
Shepard let her eyes flit to beyond the last statue and she saw what lay at the end of the platform. A pedestal shaped like a skeletal, desiccated hand reached out of the ground and the fingers closed tightly around what was in its grasp. Cautiously, Shepard approached the pedestal as she had nowhere else to go, and ever so slowly, with a moaning creak that could be heard over the screams, the fingers of the hand opened. A hidebound book laid on the pedestal, proffered by the hand for her taking. Shepard approached and examined the book. Shrunken bones decorated its sides, likely human, given her location. The clasp of the book laid prominent on its cover and etched into it was a black rune that she was certain that even if her translator was working right now, she wouldn’t be able to identify it.
Shepard stared at the book for a couple minutes, trying to drown out the cacophony of screams that surrounded her. There was no visible way out of wherever here was, Hell, or otherwise. She supposed she could chance the yawning chasm, but that didn’t seem too bright. However, there was this book. She could hardly call it a book with how old it looked and its size. This tome might be more accurate, offered to her by forces unknown in a place unknown. She should be dead.
“If I’m already dead, and there’s nothing else here...†Shepard psyched herself up a bit. “I might as well grab it. “
Shepard reached out and lifted the book from the pedestal. A familiar sensation overtook her, one like what she’d felt before on Eden Prime. Visions assaulted her mind.
*Flash*
Stone pillars drove themselves into the massive pulsating purple flesh of a beast made up of multiple eyes and sharp-toothed maws.
Shepard reeled at the image, somehow she felt for the beast. It didn’t deserve that.
*Flash*
Hundreds of humans were stacked upon each other, and cement was poured over them, a pillar of flesh and stone.
Shepard gagged. Who could be so cruel?
*Flash*
In the vacuum of space, a massive creature the size of a dreadnought floated. Its gaping maw glowed with bright red light. It had two claws... Shepard couldn’t even find words to describe the creature, her mind barely comprehended its presence. Twin beams of light lanced at it, shots from a Thanix cannon. Cephalopod shaped ships floated up to the abomination, some smaller, others larger... Reapers. Reapers were attacking it. Leading the attack was Harbinger.
Shepard couldn’t... no. This vision...
We are your salvation by your destruction.
*Flash*
In the ruins of an ancient city, a blonde woman dressed in jeans and a tank top fought a skeletal creature dressed in Roman centurion armor. As she goes to make the final blow, he blasts her back.
“The Darkness... shall be... Eternal!â€
Andrea Shepard blacked out.