Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its characters are property of Bioware/EA. I'm just a fan!

Author's Note: This story won't take the Citadel DLC's 'romance' between Shep and Samara into consideration.

I should warn everyone that I only began writing this to give my Shepard some closure. I'm not a writer by any stretch of the imagination and this is my first fic ever, therefore, please be patient with me. (But please do give feedback as I'm eager to improve!)

Also, it's always been a bit jarring for me to read fanfics where other Shepards' first names are prominently used (there are exceptions) so I'll do my best to leave my Shepard's first name out of this.

Ok, I'll shaddap now.

Prologue

Shepard grimaced and tried to push the pain from her mind.

The sensation of her injuries were no longer being dulled by the adrenaline she'd received from the initial charge towards the beam or from confronting the Illusive Man. Her attempts to ignore the slow dribble of blood trailing from stinging cuts along her face were somewhat successful, but the searing and mangled burns all over her body were much more difficult to tune out. The worst ache of all, however, was along her side—where she'd been shot. White hot agony lashed from the wound, causing her to grind her teeth.

Pain is good, she reminded herself. The fact that you can still feel it means you're still alive.

Cradling her arm to mitigate the throbbing, she tried once more to focus her attention on the three options in front of her.

Her gaze flitted to the station on the left.

Control? Had the Illusive Man been right? Was the best course of action for humanity and the galaxy to harness the power and technology of the Reapers?

The ghostly child-like construct had said that choosing this path would allow her conscience to guide the Reapers moving forward... but how infallible was it? What if she was eventually overridden by someone or something that could then seize control of the Reapers and restart all of this horror? Worst, what if one day, many generations and lifetimes down the line, her beliefs ended up so removed and alien from organics that she became a threat herself? Or, what if absolute power corrupted her conscience? While she had the utmost confidence in her own convictions and sense of justice, the entity in control would no longer really be her, would it?

No, she only had one shot at this. Which meant she could not risk the future of everyone on a choice that presented so many questions. The mere presence of the Reapers would be a threat. An eternity was simply too long for any number of things to go wrong. She could not allow the Reapers to exist intact. This meant that control was out of the question.

Her eyes moved to the pylon in the center.

This option would merge all organic and synthetic life into a hybrid. Into "perfection", as the AI child had called it.

Some instinct deep within her recoiled. While it was tempting to accept the amazing technology and erase that which divided, this option simply felt wrong. Not only would it remove diversity and the perspectives that came with it, it would also remove choice. Every single living being would be altered by this decision.

Altered without their consent.

Shepard shook her head. She could not—did not have the right to—make that decision for them.

Which... left her with destroy.

She turned to stare at the station on her right.

If chosen, this option would unleash a blast that would decimate the Reapers.

Along with all advanced technology, she thought grimly.

Due to all of her cybernetic implants, this decision would likely kill her. But she was a marine; she did not fear death if it meant saving the people she was sworn to protect. No, self-preservation was not her priority here. Her mind briefly wondered which technology would be affected and how much it would set civilization back.

But everything can be rebuilt, she reasoned. And they would have plenty of time to, once I removed the threat of extinction.

Nodding, her thoughts fell to her last and main concern: all the non-reaper synthetics out in the galaxy.

This option would wipe-out the Geth. Hell, it would kill EDI.

She hesitated as she thought of her friend. EDI had come such a long way in such a short period of time. Despite the pain she was under, a wistful grin appeared on her face as she remembered the endless queries the AI had peppered her with. EDI had wanted to understand human behavior so she could emulate it, but EDI had already possessed one of the most defining qualities of organic life: curiosity. Shepard would be condemning a friend's life with this choice.

The muscles of Shepard's jaw tightened as her contemplation turned to the Geth. She had just witnessed their "birth" what seemed like yesterday. She had just secured peace for them after so many centuries of fighting with the Quarians. They were the perfect example of how synthetics and organics could coexist in the universe. The ghostly child construct was wrong. Its solutions, such as the Reapers, were flawed. All the more reason to end the Reapers now, while she had the chance. Yes, the blood of an entire race would be on her hands, but—hey, she was N7 for a reason. She was no stranger to difficult decisions or to genocide. Aratoht had clearly illustrated that.

It had to be destroy.

Mind made, she took a step towards the station to her right and promptly bit back a grunt of pain as the sensation of a thousand burning needles speared her side. The suffering was so brutally intense that she nearly passed out.

No, damn it!

She had not come this far to fail now.

Move it, soldier!

The thought was her own, though the voice she heard in her head was that of her first boot camp instructor from all those years ago. The Alliance had done its job in conditioning her to push past all of her limits. During times of great distress, or, when she thought she could not go on, she would automatically hear the voice of her former drill sergeant. It always succeeded in moving her ass forward.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move towards her destination.

After what felt like an eternity but was actually only moments later, she limped to a halt within range of the cylindrical structure. She stared intently ahead. Was she sure?

Only your actions will be remembered. May you choose them well. The smooth lyrical voice that played through her mind was one that never failed to simultaneously hearten and ground her. She took a second to consider Samara's wise words and the choice before her.

Yes. She was positive.

When she had first learned of the existence of the Reapers all those years ago, she'd set out on a mission to stop them. And now, here she was, with a chance to put a stop to them once and for all.

She lifted her pistol and sighted down its barrel. Resolve lined her face as she pulled the trigger. She steadied her arm and pulled the trigger again. And again. And again.

Shards of glass ricocheted in every direction and the threatening rumble of an incoming explosion filled the air. Shepard, however, saw and heard none of it. Her mind had transported her deep into her memories, showing her flash after flash of her deepest regrets, like some morbid slideshow.

A keen sense of sorrow filled her as she saw her parents. They'd been killed by batarian raiders while she'd been too young and inadequate to help them. They were the reason she'd joined the military; the reason she'd strove to be strong and vowed to protect the weak.

As they slowly faded away, she saw Corporal Jenkins, one of the very few soldiers to die under her command. Though she had not known him well, his death had made her feel incredibly powerless at the time. She had resolved to become a better leader from that point on. She hoped she'd done his memory proud.

Kaidan Alenko appeared next. One of the kindest, gentlest souls she had ever met. He'd been a model soldier, a good friend, and the most difficult decision of her life. Up until now, anyway.

Her throat caught as Mordin and then Thane coalesced into form. She couldn't help but wonder if things would have turned out differently for them if she'd been faster, better, stronger.

She watched as the next figure solidified. Legion.

I'm so sorry, Legion, she thought while guilt and resolve coiled in her gut. I'm so sorry. But this must be done. I hope you can understand.

As Legion echoed off, Anderson appeared.

She drew in a deep breath. The man had been like a surrogate father to her and the fresh pain of losing him still stung sharply. Of all the people she'd hoped would make it out of this mess alive, he'd been among the top of the list.

Then, at last, the one who was at the top of said list manifested in front of her.

Majestically regal features and impossibly striking pale-blue eyes filled her vision.

In another time... another life, she heard Samara say, her lips mere inches away as they stood aboard the Starboard Observation lounge.

Another type of regret filled her. She traced every memorized curve and angle of Samara's face as she pondered over what could have been but never was.

Over the past several months as the galaxy had crumbled around her, Shepard had clung to the idea that she was working towards a safe future for Samara and her daughters. Mordin had said it best. It was hard to imagine saving a galaxy. Too many people. They turned into faceless statistics. Shepard had needed a personal connection. A reason to keep pushing. And Samara had been it.

Maybe once the Reapers are gone, she can finally find some peace with Falere.

Shepard wasn't a religious woman, nor was she in the habit of praying, but she pleaded fervently to every deity or power willing to listen. Please. Just give Samara some happiness.

The sound of thundering explosions were getting too deafening to tune out now. Shepard felt the ground lurch as a deep tremor shook it, shattering her mind's illusions, and bringing her back into her rapidly deteriorating reality.

As an intense heat enguled all of her senses, the five words she'd heard thousands of times in her head replayed one final time:

In another time... another life.

An odd sense of calm overtook her as she listened to the promise.

Looks like I'm going ahead, Samara. See you on the flip side.

Then, all thoughts ceased to exist as the darkness claimed her.

•°•¤•°•

"Two incoming!"

Samara planted a bullet between a charging husk's eyes and watched it crumble to the ground before she turned towards her left flank. The Alliance soldier who had yelled out the warning was crouched behind a giant slab of broken concrete, trying to make himself small in order to avoid the stream of bullets peppering his position.

She reached within to gather her power. A split second later, she unleashed the buildup of energy in a powerful biotic throw. The bolt soared through the crisp night air and landed squarely in the chest of one of the large bulbous abominations. The force of the throw hefted it off its feet and slammed it into the side of a nearby building. It made a sickening wet crunch and remained where it fell.

Satisfied that it was no longer a threat, Samara aimed her assault rifle at the second cannibal and squeezed the trigger. The first several well-aimed rounds tore away its armor plating and exposed its grotesque flesh. The next round sunk deep into its shoulder, causing a foul liquid to ooze out. The final three rounds connected with its head. It collapsed in a gurgle of alien ichor.

The Alliance soldier looked her way and signaled his gratitude. Samara nodded once, then took advantage of the rare lull in combat to assess their situation.

A couple of soldiers had taken the opportunity to do some quick gear repairs but she noted that the majority of them simply opted to rest and catch their breath. She could not blame them; she had found this group of Alliance soldiers around midday and they had been entrenched in round after round of brutal ground combat ever since. Nightfall had arrived several hours ago and based on their battered expressions, it was clear that most of the soldiers were well beyond the point of exhaustion.

She glanced past the empty area directly behind them towards the large structure about fifty yards in the distance. The building had once been a bank but had been converted into a refugee shelter several weeks ago as survivors scurried from foxhole to foxhole. It was now home to several dozen civilians—most of them children.

The Alliance had sent three platoons, each consisting of four 5-man squads, to secure and defend the facility. From what she'd gathered, they'd done a remarkable job of holding their position until a day ago. That was when a bright beam had appeared at the far edge of the southeastern horizon—off in the direction of London—and the amount of Reapers had increased tenfold.

Down to half their numbers, they would have already lost their hold had she not arrived when she did. Tired, hungry and cornered, Samara knew they would not be able to last much longer, even with her assistance. She estimated that they would be overrun by morning—perhaps midday, at the latest.

The sound of skittering footsteps alerted the unit to more incoming hostiles. A handful of insectile creatures scampered into view just as they regained their position behind cover. Bright blue sighting lasers filled the air. Three beams hovered around Samara's vicinity, but she ignored them—she knew her shields were full. Without preamble, she aimed at the large protruding sac in the center of one of the ravagers and fired.

The sac burst open and several small creatures dropped to the ground. She disregarded the new targets and focused on the green fleshy area that had become exposed. Several well placed shots later, the ravager collapsed into itself, its legs kicking in its final death throes. Picking out another ravager, she repeated her tactic. A marine to her left mimicked her strategy and focused one of the three lingering ravagers. A couple of privates to her right swept their weapons along the ground to clean up the tiny swarmers.

Suddenly, an unnatural scream sliced through air; so loud it could clearly be heard through the din of gunfire. The sound was grating—like metal on metal—and she felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl.

Banshee.

Another shriek filled the air.

Two banshees.

She searched the field for the source of the wails only to see another wave of husks and cannibals weaving through the rubble towards them.

"Shit! They are endless!" the female private to her right groaned.

Samara pursed her lips. It was looking grim indeed but they could not give up. The innocents in the shelter depended on them. She pooled her energy and thrust her hand in an upward motion. Several husks within several meters of each other were lifted and thrown off their feet. A soldier lobbed a grenade to finish them off while Samara reoriented her rifle on a cannibal that had wandered out of cover.

The double spine-grating shrieks carved through the air again. She squinted her eyes slightly as she finally spotted one of the banshees about fifty yards away, seemingly materializing out of the smoke, dust and darkness. The other one appeared twenty yards to the right of it, just as foreboding as its twin. They began advancing slowly; their movements so languid that they appeared to be gliding. Their limbs were twisted into grotesque stalks—like the dried branches of a dead tree—and their mouths were gaped open in an ugly snarl. Instead of eyes, empty abysses stared out from hollows in their skulls.

Goddess have mercy.

Samara aimed at the asari abomination on the left and unleashed several rounds at its head. She quickly threw up a biotic shield as it retaliated by hurling a bolt of energy towards her. Returning the favor, she slung a biotic throw of her own. Feeling the familiar tick-tick-tick of gunfire on her barrier, she ducked behind the low wall in front of her. Then, leaning out the side, she took out the cannibal that was still firing stupidly at the spot where she'd disappeared behind the wall.

Straightening, she refocused her attention on the banshee to find that it had teleported forward and was now less than twenty-five yards away. She redoubled her efforts by sending a reave at it.

Samara noted that the second banshee on the right was still largely untouched. The Alliance soldiers were too busy clearing out the other ground units: A ravager, two cannibals and a handful of husks still remained.

Realizing that they would have to focus their fire for any chance of survival, she drew from the pool deep within and swiped her arm upwards again. Her pull managed to knock several husks out of the equation. She quickly joined her shots with the soldier to her left and together they eliminated the last ravager. As she reoriented her rifle, she found that the rest of the husks had been slain while she'd been occupied and so she sighted down one of the two remaining cannibals.

As her target died, the two banshees completed another biotic charge. They were now less than ten yards away.

Samara signaled for the soldiers to fall back; they needed to put as much distance between themselves and the banshees as possible. They would not be able to retreat far, however, as only about fifteen yards of cover remained—the rest of the path leading to the bank was wide open and offered zero protection.

The soldiers took turns laying down cover fire on the last cannibal as they strategically fell back. Samara split her focus as she hurled a reave at the banshee on the right and then used gunfire to attempt to finish off the one on her left. It shrieked in anger as her bullets peppered its head and swiped one of its gnarled hand upwards, as though to swat at an annoying fly.

At last, she heard her shots successfully break through its defenses and find purchase. Four rounds sunk into the banshee's malformed skull in a loud succession of thud-thud-thud-thud and the creature let out one final ear-piercing parting gift before it disintegrated into the ground.

Samara had no time for relief. She quickly turned her attention to the second banshee. Its sight was set on the female private several yards to her right. Samara gathered her energy and unleashed the buildup at it, hoping to draw its attention but it stubbornly remained focused on the private. The other Alliance soldiers had begun spraying their shots into the banshee to no avail; its barrier was still too strong and all of their bullets ricocheted harmlessly off of it.

The telltale patter of approaching footsteps signaled yet another wave of incoming hostiles and the sound momentarily distracted the soldiers. In the split second they surveyed the field for the new arrivals, the banshee blinked forward and closed off the remaining distance between it and its target.

Samara's eyes widened as she watched the female private get hefted into the air, the banshee's gnarled fingers wrapped around the soldier's throat. Inhaling sharply, she anticipated the sight of flesh being impaled and the sound of blood squirting into the air. Instead, as the banshee wound back one of its arms in preparation to strike, a flash of light, crimson in color and traveling so fast it passed through them in the breadth of a heartbeat, engulfed the entire area.

Instantly, all of their foes disintegrated into piles of ashes.

The private's boots hit the ground with a thud and she slumped forward, desperately gasping for air. All of the soldiers began to tentatively lower their weapons, shock and confusion evident on their faces.

Samara swiftly turned her head in search of the source of the light. Her eyes settled on the brightness off in the southeastern horizon. It had turned crimson, like blood. The beam seemed to shine down from the heavens itself; a blinding ray of plasma that penetrated through the clouds and pierced into the earth.

In the distance, the giant forms of the reapers could be seen collapsed on the ground. They thrashed their overturned legs helplessly, reminding Samara of dying insects.

Could it be over? Has Shepard succeeded? she wondered.

Slowly, she let out a weary breath as the mingled cries of joy and relief began to fill the night around her.