Archive of Our Own ^beta

”Shepard?”
“Hm?”
“Can I ask about your name?”

A pair of scarred fingers wander up Liara’s side and she fights down a giggle as Shepard thinks through her answer before she just decides to be sarcastic as normal.
“Well, a Shepard is a person who herds sheep, and considering how combat goes with this entire team...”
“You’re hilarious.” Liara dead-pans. “But I meant your given name.”
“Pyrrhius?”
“Yes. I’ve never heard a human name that sounds like yours. Where’s it from?”

Shepard sighs.
“You know I grew up on the streets right?”
“I remember.” Liara hums, narrowing her eyes at the only scar on Shepard’s face not lit from within by the eerie glowing purple light of her implants, a rough and puckered line that, while reduced by Miranda’s rebuild, is still a noticeable mark dragging it’s way from under her left eye and across her nose.

“I don’t know my real name.” Shepard shrugs. “When I was very young and being bounced around London’s orphanages, someone assigned me the name Shepard out of convenience, it was the only thing I was known by for the first twelve or so years of my life.” Liara nods as she presses a minute but comforting kiss into her girlfriend’s neck and the spectre continues. “Once I ran away from the system and fell in with the gangs, the only place I got an education was the local public library. One day I picked up a history book and learned about this ancient human king named Pyrrus of Epirus. I liked it, so I made it sound a bit more female and kept it.”

“He must have been famous.” Liara says, and Shepard nods. “Very, he gave his name to the concept of the Pyrrhic Victory.”

“Shepard!” Admiral Anderson’s voice cuts through the flood of memories and Shepard starts with a gasp, coming to her senses as she shoves herself to her knees.
“Anderson?” She grunts, entire body screaming with pain as she gropes for her gun. “You up here too?”

She forces herself to stand and nearly screams her lungs out as even her cybernetically enhanced bone structure creaks under the strain. Her eyes, the one part Miranda couldn’t replace with true flesh, click and whirr minutely as they correct for the near-pitch blackness of her surroundings.

“Followed you up.” Anderson’s voice comes through her earpiece. “But we didn’t come out in the same place-” he cuts off with a sharp inhale and Shepard’s blood turns to ice for a split second before she shoves the concern down.
Keep moving. She tells herself, waiting for Anderson to resume talking. Focus on the mission.
“At least I don't think we did.” Comes the rest of his sentence. “What’s your surroundings look like?”

Shepard doesn’t answer immediately, taking a shuffling, limping step forwards and then gulping down a lungful of fetid air in an attempt to swallow her screech of pain as the bones in both of her legs splinter like glass. She grits her teeth.
“You okay?” Anderson sounds concerned and Shepard winces, evidently she hasn’t covered her pain well enough.
“Just gotta keep moving.” She grunts; as much to herself as to him.
One foot in front of the other. She tells herself. You’re a fucking Spectre. Act like one.”

“It’s dark.” She reports as she starts moving, eviscerated armour still clinging to her form after nearly taking a direct hit from Harbinger. “There’s human remains scattered.” She takes in another deep breath to focus on moving and tastes the warm coppery scent of fresh blood and the stink of rotting flesh hanging heavy in the still air.

“Sounds familiar.” Anderson whispers back, sounding strained. “I’m in a dark hallway... reminds me of your description of the Collector base.”
“That would make sense.” Shepard replies through gritted teeth, tightening her already white-knuckled grip on her pistol at the unpleasant reminder.
“You think they’re making a Reaper in here?” Anderson’s voice is shot through with pain and a touch of fear, and Shepard winces as her shoulder grinds.
“Sure. They round them up on Earth and then send the people up here to be processed.”

She takes another few shuffling steps, shattered boots slipping and sliding in the viscous layer of vital fluid that clings to the floor like heat to a drive core.
“Goddamn abomination.” Anderson grunts. “I’m going to keep moving. The sooner we blow these bastards back to hell, the better.”

Shepard does the same, the scrape and thump of her damaged legs her only companion aside from her laboured breathing as she focuses on getting out of the room.
One step at a time. She thinks; forcing as much steel into her spine as she can. You can rest when you’re dead, Spectre.

She’s picking her way over an unlucky corpse when Anderson’s voice reaches her again.
“These tubes don’t go on forever… but where the hell are we?”
“Yeah.” Shepard grunts. Her legs are holding, but only just; she can feel the implants working overtime, just to hold her bones together. “Doesn’t look like any part of the Citadel I’ve ever been to.”

Her left shoulder suddenly flares with pain like she’s been hit with a meteor and Shepard screams through her clenched teeth, thankful her comm wasn’t keyed at that moment. With laboured difficulty she swaps her pistol to her less dominant right hand, leaning against the doorframe as the implants in her heart hammer like a forge and her lungs work like a bellows.

The local power cells in her remaining pieces of armour stutter even in their ultra conservative emergency mode and the sudden dead weight around her legs almost brings her crashing to the floor.

Keep it the fuck together soldier. She tells herself. You’re not dead, the mission keeps going.

A sudden exclamation of surprise in her ear makes her key back into the frequency with worry.
“Anderson?”
“One of the walls here just realigned itself.” He replies, sounding on edge. “This place is shifting. Changing. There’s a chasm down here… and more hallways like the one I was just in.”

The door she’s leaning against slides open suddenly with a pneumatic whisper and Shepard stumbles through it and into a more brightly lit room.
“I think I’m near an exit.” She says, eyes darting around her new open space to assess any threats. Wary, she checks her pistol. Bright electric-blue LEDs still glitter a full magazine at her in the half-light.

Hope I don’t encounter anything that requires more than six shots to be put down.

She starts to stumble down the ramp, her armour’s heavy, clunky profile making her life even more difficult.
“I see something up ahead, might be a way to cross over.” Anderson’s voice sounds in Shepard’s ear and she casts about herself for any identifying marks.
“Don’t get too far ahead of me.” She warns. The sooner they catch up, the sooner they can make better headway into solving the problem of the Citadel’s arms.
“Where do you think you’re at?” He asks. Shepard glances down the drop to her left, even her cybernetic eyes failing to penetrate it’s murky depths.
“Just found that chasm you were talking about…”

Her body is screaming at her to stop as she sets foot on the metal grating of the bridge, pain shooting through her nervous system like caged lightning as her muscles protest and her bones crunch like dry-wall.

You don’t get to rest, soldier. She thinks instead. The mission comes first. One foot in front of the other. That’s a bloody order.

“I see something.” Anderson’s voice again, sounding hopeful. “A control panel maybe. I’m just going to go on ahead to check--” A sudden burst of static has Shepard trying to flinch away from her own earbud, cutting Anderson’s words into an indecipherable mess.
“Anderson?” She tries, only to get more static in response. “Damn and blast!”

She sets foot on the ramp up and pushes onwards, every step feeling like she’s made of glass and hating the sensation. Her feet drag but she manages, the soles of her boots leaving a messy and indistinct smear of blood in her wake. It reminds her of the floors at Torfan, the cracked and broken concrete pock-marked with bullet holes and drenched in blood as she systematically ploughed through waves of Batarians.

The top of the rise brings with it the welcome sight of Anderson’s unmistakable silhouette, framed against the backdrop of the blazing orange grid that is the Citadel when lit up.
“Anderson!” Shepard exclaims, shuffling towards him with renewed vigour. He turns, but slowly, stiffly, as a whisper builds in Shepard’s head and some very expensive-sounding shoes give a crisp report on the metal behind her.

“I underestimated you Shepard.” The Illusive Man’s soft tones confirm the thought process before she can give voice to it, and the whispering builds in intensity before Shepard focuses on the present.

You underestimated me!?. She retorts, inner voice full of vitriolic spite. I stared down death and I won.

“What have--” She tries, but the words choke in her throat and her muscles refuse to respond, the gun in her hand feels like it’s made from depleted uranium, too heavy to move. Those obnoxiously expensive shoes circle her and she gets a good look at the man as he opens his mouth again.

“I warned you. Control is the means to survival. Control of the Reapers… and of you, if necessary.”
“They’re controlling you!” Anderson grunts, the corded muscles in his neck straining at the effort of turning to look at The Illusive Man’s scarred visage.
“I don’t think so, Admiral.” The Illusive Man responds, body language portraying utter confidence.

Look at you, you gormless bastard. Shepard thinks, narrowing her eyes as insidious tendrils of shadow creep in at the very edges of her vision. You’re fucking buggered and you don’t even realise. Arrogant prick, we’re not the enemy.

She’s acutely aware of her un-healed facial scars twisting and warping as she speaks her mind, thanks to the flood of implants struggling to keep her alive throughout her body.
“Why waste your time with us if you can control the Reapers?” She spits, the nail on her right thumb unconsciously worrying at the casing of her weapon in irritation.

“Because…” The Illusive Man stalls as he tries to reconcile his indoctrination with the strength of his intellect, and then both with his colossal ego. “I need you to believe.”

Believe… right. Shepard rolls her eyes as flamboyantly as she can given her muscles being locked up. Can’t have anything to do with the fact that you look like you’ve inhaled a set of Christmas LEDs. Because God alone knows you didn’t remind me enough of Saren before.

“When Humanity discovered the Mass Relays… when we learned there was more to the galaxy than we imagined…” The Illusive Man paces as he talks and Shepard heaves an internal sigh.

How much can one self-important wanker love the sound of his own voice?

“...there were some who thought the relays should be destroyed. They were scared of what we might find. Terrified of what we might let in.” He pauses to take in the brilliant, burning vista of the Citadel before continuing. “But look at what humanity has achieved! Since that discovery, we’ve advanced more than the past ten thousand years combined! And the Reapers will do the same for us again. A thousand fold.” He levels a mild glare at Shepard and she feels pain bloom behind her eyes like a bullet wound as blackness encroaches on her vision and she reflexively tries to shuck his gaze.

“But…” He walks over and Shepard feels herself straighten against her will, arm extending to point her gun at Anderson. “...only if we can harness their ability to control.”
You’re such a prick Shepard thinks spitefully, even as it takes all of her willpower to resist pulling the trigger.

“Bullshit.” Anderson grits out. “We destroy them or they destroy us.”
“And waste this opportunity?” The Illusive Man counters, gaze flickering between the two soldiers in front of him. “Never.”

You don’t get to spin that shit when you’re as altruistic as a fox in a hen house. Shepard reflects bitterly.

“Maybe you’re just so hungry for power that it’s clouded your vision.” She spits.
“It’s not that simple.” The Illusive Man denies, voice laced with the slightest waiver of uncertainty, so Shepard presses her advantage.
“Isn’t it? You’re willing to give up anything for control.”
“Yes!” He exclaims, and for a heartbeat Shepard thinks she may have gotten through to him, before he opens his mouth again. “If not me, then who? Are you going to control the Reapers?”

Why can’t you be like Saren and just eat a fucking bullet already.

“There’s always another way.” Anderson grunts.
“I’ve dedicated my life to understanding the Reapers,” The Illusive Man says, “and I know with certainty: the Crucible will allow me to control them.”
“And then what?” Shepard grunts out with a snarl.

Blue cybernetic eyes meet her lavender ones and dark tendrils seep a miniscule touch closer to the centre of Shepard’s vision.
“Look at the power they wield!” He says, the shredded skin moving un-naturally over his patchwork of internal Reaper modifications. “Look at what they can do!”

He clenches his fist suddenly, and Shepard is powerless to resist pulling the trigger.

The pistol in her hand barks like choked thunder and Anderson starts with the impact of a bullet.

Shepard hangs her head in annoyance before turning a burning gaze on her one-time saviour.
“I see what they did to you.” She growls like a prowling tiger.

“I took what I wanted from them!” The Cerberus leader proclaims confidently. “Made it my own!” He glares more intensely at Shepard. “This isn’t about me or you, it’s about things so much bigger than all of us.”
“He’s wrong!” Anderson implores, sounding desperate. “Don’t listen to him!”

Yeah, because there’s a huge chance of that happening. Shepard thinks wryly.

“And who will you listen to, Shepard?” Comes the soft-spoken question. “An old soldier, stuck in his ways, only able to see the world down the barrel of a gun?” He pauses to let that sink in. “And what if he’s wrong? What if controlling the Reaper’s is the answer.”

Why are you waiting I wonder? Shepard muses sarcastically to herself. Put your obnoxious amounts of money where your mouth is.

“Then open the arms, let the Crucible dock, and use it to end this.” She challenges him.
“I… I will…” The Illusive Man stutters, Shepard narrows her eyes at his tone, sounding confused as he tries to find a way to think around his indoctrination.

Just like Saren. She thinks contemptuously.

“Do it!” She pressures him, watching as his movement becomes frantic.
“I know it will work!”
“You can’t, can you?” Shepard grunts. “They won’t let you do it.”
“No!” He yells. “I’m in control! No-one is telling me what to do!”
“Listen to yourself.” Anderson wheezes, movement jerky and unnatural under the Reapers’ control. “You’re indoctrinated!”

“No. No!” The Illusive Man shouts, composure cracking slightly. “The two of you, so self-righteous. Do you think power like this comes easy? There are sacrifices…”

Who are you trying to convince? Shepard wonders. Us? Or yourself.

“You’ve sacrificed too much.” She mutters.
“Shepard. I… I only wanted to protect humanity.” He sounds confused, almost manic, and Shepard can feel a feral grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

Come on you bastard, you can do it. Break free long enough to let me put a bullet in you.

“The Crucible can control them! I know it can! I just…” His hands wring and Shepard watches his body language change from confident to stressed.
“It’s not too late.” She says. “Let us go, we’ll do the rest.”

Saren managed it. She thinks contemptuously. Come on you arrogant prick.

“I…” The Illusive Man pauses, seeming to weigh his options. “I can’t do that, Commander.”
“Of course you can’t.” Anderson seethes. “They own you now.”

The tycoon pauses and seems to collect himself, then calmly walks behind Anderson and removes the Admiral’s pistol.
“You…” He sighs resignedly. “You’d undo everything I’ve accomplished. I won’t let that happen.”

You’ve already done it to yourself. You’ve failed humanity. Shepard thinks, and since he appears to be too far gone, she decides to just run her mouth.

“You’re weak, and you're selfish. Because of you humanity will suffer.”

“No!” He whirls on his heel, mania returning in full force. “I… I saved humanity!”
“No,” Shepard counters, capitalising on his lack of focus to try and aim her gun towards him, “you sacrificed us for your own selfish wants, your lust for control!”

The Illusive Man grows more unhinged by the second, yelling denials at her as he paces and gestures violently.

“You were supposed to protect us.” Shepard spits. “And you failed.

“I am the saviour of humanity! I am the pinnacle of our species!” He yells violently, shoving Anderson aside in his rage-fueled tantrum.

Shepard doesn’t waste any time on pulling the trigger.

The perfectly tailored black suit doesn’t do much to stand up to a high calibre round, and he crumples to the floor like a ton of bricks, landing with a series of thuds as his blood starts to seep out of him and into the ground. Shepard takes a few more halting steps forwards and staggers up to the console, watching in relief as the arms of the Citadel peel open to reveal Earth.

“I wish you could see it like I do… Shepard.” A wheezing voice sounds behind her and the Spectre turns with a grimace. The Illusive Man’s face is turned towards the view of the planet, wishing for his final sight to be that cloud-swept vista. “It’s so… perfect.”

“Didn’t I kill you already?” She grunts rhetorically, watching his eyes flutter closed again. A weak, wet laugh sounds from his shredded throat as viscous fluid bubbles between his lips.
“Not quite yet, Shepard.”
“Best make sure then.” She says dispassionately, turning the pistol on his head. “Nothing personal, but you already remind me too much of Saren.”

The Illusive Man says nothing, staring her in the eye until Shepard pulls the trigger and the high-calibre pistol turns his skull into a shattered mess. She pops the heat-sink. Loads a new one scavenged from his body into the gun with a muffled screech when her bad arm lifts, and then sinks to the floor beside Anderson.

“Quite a view.” He grunts,taking a wheezing, laboured breath.
“Best seats in the house.” She replies, a smile lifting at the corners of her mouth. “You remember… after I graduated boot?”
“I took you to that play.” Anderson smiles. “I was so proud of you for getting clean and signing up.”
“I said, when I saw our seats.” Shepard gives a hacking, tortured cough and slouches as much as her wrecked armour will allow. “I said I wanted to be up in the gods for real some day.”
“Well…” Anderson tries to laugh, but it turns into a horrible retching sound. “I’d…” He cuts off again, another tortured breath. “I’d say you managed, kid.”

Below them, an Everest-class Dreadnought, Shepard thinks it might be the Fuji, fires a clean slug through a Reaper. The ancient machine flares like a new sun for a brief second as the round hits it’s drive core, and then the pieces of dark metal that weren’t vaporized in the flashpoint of the blast start to simply drift through the void.

“Shepard! Commander!” Comes crackling through her earpiece in Hackett’s voice and Shepard grunts as she tries to sit up and answer.
“What do you need me to do?”
“Nothing’s happening.” Hackett says. “The Crucible’s not firing.”

Shepard groans as she tries to stand and her ribs give a sharp twinge of pain, ending up on her knees with her blood-soaked hands slipping gently on the floor.

Mission. Comes. First.

She grits her teeth and crawls her way towards the control panel, clambering her way up to the interface.
“I don’t see…” She tries, the fight finally leaving her. “I’m not sure how to.” She chokes on a wad of blood and collapses, still reaching up towards the console.

She’s vaguely aware of Hackett’s urgent shout of “Commander!” before she blacks out.

When she wakes up, it’s under a dome of stars and light.

“Wake up.” Comes a childish voice, and Shepard levers herself into a standing position before rolling her eyes so hard it feels like they’ll drop out.

Oh you have got to be fucking kidding me.

“What?” She asks, flat and filled with as much irritation as she can manage. “Where am I?”
“The Citadel.” Says the tiny childish figure composed of light. “It’s my home.”
“If my bones weren’t on fire I’d say this was a really shit dream.” Shepard dead-pans, taking a good look at her surroundings.

A huge, pulsing beam of raw energy dominates a huge chasm, flanked by a blue-lit nest of wires and a red-lit bank of what look like capacitors, protected by a sheet of thin-looking glass.

“What are you supposed to be?” She asks contemptuously, levelling a glare at the child-figure standing next to her waist.
“I am the Catalyst.” Says the interface, and Shepard sighs heavily.
“God help me I must have taken a knock to the head.”
“The Citadel is part of me.” Says the child-shaped AI interface.
“If you’re the Catalyst, tell me how to stop the Reapers.” She challenges.

The interface adopts a faux-puzzled look.
“Perhaps I could. I control them, they are my solution.”
“You’re the AI Leviathan created.” Shepard says, remembering her ‘conversation’ with the ancient entity on Desponia.
“Yes.” It says, and Shepard closes her eyes for a second and takes a centering breath.
“Why are you appearing as a child?”
“It seemed appropriate.” Comes the response. Shepard shrugs.

“Ok I don’t know what I expected. Can you change?”
“I could.” The AI acknowledges. When it becomes clear it has no intention of doing so Shepard heaves another sigh and moves on.
“So the Reapers were your solution, great. Where’s the off switch?”
“You cannot stop us.” The AI says.
“Why?” Shepard grunts, suddenly feeling very tired.
“We are the perfect solution to chaos, we bring order with the cycles. Harvesting civilisations before they can be destroyed, storing the old life in Reaper form.”
“I’m not having a philosophy debate with a 5 year-old child.” Shepard snaps. “I know the Crucible can wipe you out somehow, tell me how.”

The AI’s interface dissolves from the child into a random pattern of flashing lights and Shepard gives it a grin.
“That wasn’t so hard now was it?”
“Solution still provides maximum reward.” The AI says, monotone.
“Your solution is unnecessary!” Shepard snaps harshly, straightening up instinctively and then wishing she hasn’t as pain screams down her spine like fire. “Synthetics can live with organics, look at this war! The Quarians and Geth in harmony, sharing Rannoch after brokering peace.”

The AI is silent for a long moment, before it’s monotone voice sounds again.
“Acknowledged. Updated parameters conclusive; solution requires replacement. Input replacement.”
“How do I destroy the Reapers?” Shepard asks without preamble.
“Current solution may be terminated by disrupting energy flow.” Comes the response. “Warning: Destabilising energy flow will result in mass synthetic termination.”

A whisper of hydraulics heralds a ramp to her left and Shepard sees the walkway leads to the red-lit bank of capacitors.
“I probably should have figured that out myself.” She mutters, limping her way towards the structure.
“Warning:” The AI says again. “Destabilising energy flow will result in mass synthetic termination.”

“Acceptable casualties.” Shepard grunts, raising her pistol and firing into the glass. She feels the cybernetics in her fingers that replace the delicate bones in her hands contract as she pulls the trigger and grimaces.

I hate living up to my namesake.