A/N: This is merely the first of many chapters. After the Reapers is going to be a long story, but in all fairness, it can warrant a fair bit o' time to re-establish the events of the Mass Effect series, post-canon. The plot is original, but the characters and locations remain entirely in the hands of the folks up at Bioware, with whom I have no affiliation. Please note that there are also a number of occasions where this story takes on a much darker tone than that commonly found in the Mass Effect games themselves. I hope you enjoy, and please, feel free to read and review as you see fit. Thank you.

Chapter 1

Fallout

"Shepard is dead, Miss Lawson."

"We brought him back once, we can do it again."

"We've taken that gamble already, and I watched as he betrayed Cerberus at our most crucial moment!"

"But he accomplished the objective in spite of it."

"And therein lies the heart of the matter, Miss Lawson. The reapers are destroyed; the galaxy no longer needs Shepard. His purpose is served."

"No. The galaxy will always need Shepard."

He watched Miranda Lawson as she turned and left the room. He could admit she was beautiful. He allowed himself to admit that, had he the leisure to listen to his own interests, he would very likely be attracted to her perfectly engineered form. However, The Illusive Man had shut down these feelings years ago. You didn't rise to the top of a galaxy wide organization by chasing after women.

As she finally made her exit, glowing faintly in orange light from the planet that slowly rotated behind him, its atmosphere swirling in gentle, pulsing waves, the Illusive Man retrieved the cigarette from its tray on the chair's armrest. The soft glow at its tip could only be faintly distinguished against such a beautifully imposing backdrop.

His thoughts once again turned to business matters. Operative Lawson's focus had lessened marginally ever since his refusal to allow her to accompany Shepard further following his abandonment of Cerberus. He could barely hold her focus after the news of his second death reached her.

Shepard. Even in death he was causing problems for The Illusive Man. It was times like this that the Lazarus project seemed like the greatest, and admittedly only, mistake he had made since Cerberus' inception. However, his ever working mind wasted no time in rationalizing that, had it not been for Shepard, the reapers would almost have certainly destroyed everything that had been created over the past several millennia. But that threat was gone now. No sense now in bringing back all these problems. Shepard's purpose had been served. And the galaxy was about to enter the era of humanity.

"Shepard has become an even greater legend in his death. This is our chance to establish humanity as the rightful holders of the council!"

Captain Anderson groaned inwardly. He had had this conversation many times. Udina was becoming more trouble than he was worth. Anderson once again responded with the reply that he had said seemingly returned to hundreds of times, one still yet to make an impression.

"Or with Shepard gone, humanity's greatest hero, the other species may lose all faith in our species permanently, and revolt. I believe it's time we put aliens back on the council, Udina."

"My condition is worsening. It is becoming difficult to breathe, and I am exhausted. It doesn't matter what I do, I can feel it in my body. I am nearing my end."

Thane Krios's breathing was shallow, his chest quickly moving in out, trying to drink in the air that is atrophying lungs would not take.

Kolyat looked down at his father, hunched over, pathetic. He still harbored a deep anger for the man who had abandoned him, left him to a violent world, left him to fend for himself. Kolyat only felt sympathy for the shell before him. He held no regrets that he had only met his father a year ago. Thane was a filthy hypocrite, stopping his son from following his own chosen path, trying to fill in the gaping hole that had been left in his life.

None of that mattered any more. In a matter of weeks, maybe even days, the man who Kolyat could not bring himself to think of as a father would be gone, leaving his life as quickly as he had entered into it.

Thane looked back into his son's eyes. Their gazes met, Thane's full of pain and regret, Kolyat's only cold and blank. Thane looked away again, and spoke softly, so softly that Kolyat had to strain to hear what was said.

"Tell Shepard I have passed on. May the Gods forgive my sins."

Kolyat looked away, suddenly saddened. It was heartbreaking to watch someone slowly lose their mind, no matter who they were, or had been. Thane was even closer to death than Kolyat had guessed.

He had heard of Shepard after the destruction of Sovereign, the death of the Council. Kolyat even had the opportunity to speak with him for a few moments on the Citadel, although in admittedly not the best of circumstances, the conversation spoken between drawn weapons.

Kolyat also knew that that man was dead, killed outside the Citadel in a desperate suicide run against the final reaper, alone in his ship, with the drive cores failing, and all comm arrays down.

The young drell was about to leave behind the frail man who had played his father, but found himself instead slowing to a stop. This was not the same man who had left him behind on Kahje, condemned to live alone, with no choice but to follow in his footsteps. He turned back to the empty room, furnished with only a hard-backed chair and a bed. Fixing his eyes on a small knot in the wooden floor, he spoke softly. "Good-bye, Father. I will tell Shepard what it is you have said."

With that, Kolyat left the room, leaving Thane as trapped and alone as if he were in a prison cell. He sat on his bed, and reflected on his life, lost in ancient memories.

Garrus Vakarian slowly paced back in forth. He longed for the quiet of the Normandy main battery, but the Normandy was gone, along with Shepard. Burned out in one final blaze of glory. Garrus smiled sadly. The Commander always did enjoy showing off, and nothing had ever gotten more press coverage, at least, nothing as far as he could recall, than the explosion of the Normandy barreling into the main engine of Harbinger. Assuming, of course, it even really was an engine. Just because they looked like ships didn't mean they were. A heart would probably be nearer to reality.

In truth, Garrus was lost. He had been in this position once before, about a year ago, after the destruction of Sovereign. Then, he simply went out to seek his vigilante justice against gangs and other crime organizations on Omega. But he couldn't bring himself to do that again, not after Sidonis's betrayal. Sidonis. Garrus almost never second guessed himself, never felt regret, but Sidonis was haunting him. He could no longer content himself by saying that he was only seeking redemption for his fallen comrades. He had murdered the man, a simple revenge killing. He had seen it many times, even back when he was still working with C-Sec on the Citadel, so many years ago.

Garrus pounded his head into his fists. God, he needed to stop being so damn sentimental. He walked into a bathroom nearby. Dirt and grime covered the floor, but the entire Citadel was falling apart. An army of janitors and maintenance workers couldn't do the work one keeper had done. Not to mention all the system calibrations that had fallen by the wayside. Entire sections of the Citadel had been completely sealed closed, the air supply shut off. Most of the residents within had escaped before the permanent seals locked in place, but a few remained confined to their choking grave, waiting helplessly as they felt their lungs struggle to take in oxygen that no longer existed. The lakes in the Presidium were draining, the artificial ecosystems slowly dying. It was amazing how the single greatest threat to all organic existence was the very same that allowed the preservation of arguably the most beautiful and imposing sight ever seen across the traverse.

Garrus turned on the faucet, splashing ice cold water on his face, trying to get rid of the headache he had been developing since that morning. He looked at the mirror, wiping away a month's worse of grime to see his reflection. His own face stared back, a mammoth scar stretching from under his eye down to his right mandible. It was certainly an imposing feature, he thought dryly. He had noticed that he ended arguments much more quickly ever since that day where he took a gunship blast square to the jaw. It was a good thing Shepard had been there to pull his ass out of the fire. He would never be there again. Garrus angrily punched the mirror, the glass shattering, forming a picturesque mosaic against the filthy floor of the room, the dim light from overheard refracting across the room in rainbows that illuminated the dreary, long neglected walls.

He stormed angrily out of the bathroom, clenching his fist which was slowly beginning to swell from the contact. What could he do? He was lost.

The days blended together like ripples on a calm lake. She had never sought out seclusion before; but now, she didn't think she could face anyone, not the sympathetic voices or placating words. Especially not her own people, faces without any known expression, hidden behind masks.

How could Shepard have thrown her away like that? She knew that he knew she would have stayed by his side until the very end. Instead, he had left her on this small, desolate colony; behind, alone. Tali had never loved anyone before, and she didn't think she ever could again.

At first she had cried herself to sleep at night, the pain fresh in her mind. But then she detached, isolated herself from the world. She wanted solitude for her thoughts, didn't want to share the all-encompassing pain. It was all Shepard had left for her.

Jacob Taylor laid his datapad on the table in his quarters. One of the perks of working with Cerberus was the living conditions. He had served in the cramped barracks of the Alliance military, sharing a room, sometimes with five different men. When one died, his spot in the room was quickly filled by someone else, a nameless face. Every soldier in the Alliance military was expendable. There seemed to be an endless flood of young recruits eager to further humanity's status as a galactic power by having their asses blasted off in the middle of a battle with the geth, or Batarian pirates, or whatever crap the bigwigs of the military decided to send them. Opinions didn't matter to superior officers; everyone was merely a statistic, a name in a book of records. It was like the Industrial revolution back on Earth over 400 years ago. Centuries pass, and we're still the exact same cutthroat society we were back then. So much for social evolution, he thought.

Cerberus was different. Jacob had a name, he had a face. His input was considered, at least, if not always acted upon. That was the benefit of working in a private organization. Numbers were small, and everybody mattered. Jacob didn't always agree on their methods, of course, which ranged from bribery to instances of full blown terrorism. But still, he was never asked to be the one to put a gun against someone's head and pull the trigger in the name of humanity. He just shot at people who shot back at him. Wild horses couldn't drag him back to the alliance.

Cerberus. The Alliance. Shepard had also worked extensively with the two. He had understood what Jacob did, although with an admittedly different conclusion. Shepard had, essentially, spit in the face of the Illusive Man and walked away. Jacob was amazed the Illusive Man hadn't even attempted to kill Shepard before he went and blew himself up. But the Illusive Man wasn't stupid. He knew about the reapers, that Shepard was the only one who even had the slightest chance at stopping the genocide of every intelligent species in existence. The fact that Shepard died in the process was just an added bonus.

Jacob himself regretted Shepard's early demise, but he didn't let it eat away at him. Shepard was a friend and a comrade. He had plenty of friends and comrades slaughtered on Eden Prime, and countless other times before and since. You didn't make it on the front line by losing it over someone else's death.

Suddenly, there was a knock at his door. Jacob walked over, wondering who could possibly be interested in speaking to him. He was just a jarhead, the guy who pulled the trigger and didn't ask why.

The door opened to reveal a Turian, one Jacob didn't recognize. He was about to ask what the hell the alien was doing knocking at his door so early in the morning when he noticed the alien's hand reaching for a pistol at his side.

Cursing, Jacob sprinted back into the room. Crouching down to make as little a target as possible, he fumbled for the pistol stored in a drawer behind his bed. Just as his fingers closed around the familiar grip, a shot rang out, and Jacob's hand released its hold on the small firearm. He slumped to the floor, his blood pouring onto the wooden surface around him and his breathing shuddered, finally coming to a stop. His eyes glazed over, and Jacob Taylor was dead.