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fallout-4-reactions · 3 months

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My Commander Shepard. I know her surname is spelled wrong everywhere. My docs won’t have it. Please heed the warning and tags. Under a “keep reading” due to long post.

“…Rudimentary creatures of flesh and bone—,” The cold glare of Sovereign’s voice invaded, unexpectedly, awakening Shepherd with a start.

Sovereign still disregarded her as if he found her very presence to be an insult, as if she was still there, right in front of it.

The last remnants of its echo whispered to her fear as she tried to remember where she was.

“…touch my mind.”

As her breathing eased, her muggy brow frowned, her mind confused.

She was dead. She shouldn’t be anywhere. A shiver ran down her spine as she froze, waiting… waiting, wait—

Then she heard it—a shaken but unmistakable beat of her heart. As it broke through her eyes widened and when she finally felt it, she could have just sobbed. It couldn’t be…

Thump, thump, thump. How could she have forgotten that she was alive again? Fuck, again? She shouldn’t be saying that.

But against all odds, the legend known as Commander Shepherd did indeed die—and that meant the end—until it wasn’t. Learning the hard way that the laws of death could now be broken, as if its importance meant nothing.

Well, a matter of fact, it does.

For it gives peace to tired, tortured souls, just like hers.

It is one of the few things that all species in this galaxy actually share, a universal and unspoken rule—that life is hard, but there’s always an end. No one needed a translator to understand peace.

And whether that is seen by some as a curse, or maybe a little bit of kindness, death comes for us all.

“…No one’s getting out alive.” She muttered bitterly to the room. And she had made peace with that a long time ago.

The promise of its permanence, however, was now in question. Because a once dead woman was now alive, listening to her own mind repeat a warning she thought she’d forgotten.

But despite the shitty cards life had dealt her, she wouldn’t. Not when there were people she cared about.

Careful not to make a sound, she steadied herself to make the long journey from her bed to the bathroom. Well, it wasn’t that long. But she couldn’t quite believe it just yet—and her doubt made it hard to move.

And then she heard it again, in a new kind of silence. Her now steady heartbeat. It almost scared her.

Fuck. She really was alive.

Breathing out slowly, Raven had to remind herself of this as she reluctantly approached her reflection in the mirror.

The bathroom's dim light just bright enough to reveal it was indeed her staring back. And while most of the galaxy saw the perfect image of a hero, she saw herself for what she truly was… a mere human.

A human who had outlived her mistakes. A human who was not supposed to exist anymore. For she had died two years ago… and that’s where her story should have ended. Whether she was needed or not.

Dying wasn't so unexpected, given her role in life. The unexpected part was having to face those flaws again, through no choice of her own.

It just all seemed pretty fucked up to her.

And yet that was almost overpowered by the memory of Virmire and its warnings. Where she learned of Sovereign—of the reapers.

The consequences of that day could still be felt.

To the Reapers, she was apparently nothing. And yet, according to Cerberus, she was the answer to everything.

The truth was Shepherd didn’t know what to believe. All she could hope for was that she found the strength to fight the reality that monster had promised. She just couldn’t lose herself getting there. So as much as she knew she couldn’t—or rather shouldn’t—abide by terrorists, she knew they didn’t matter in comparison to such a future.

Because for all its flaws, her home was worth saving.

Her, on the other hand, she wasn’t so sure about.

Then Shepherd noticed it. The scar that ruled the left side of her temple. It continued down her neck and eventually ended at the base of her spine.

Remembering the lead of the Lazarus Project’s words, they had built her completely as she once was.

She flinched. Of all the scars to keep, why keep just this one?

Its only purpose was to seemingly forever remind her of her origins—and why she had to leave it all behind. Shepard reached up, hesitant at first, but eventually laced a single finger over it.

Then it clicked. This scar… it defined her. It was her journey. From beginning to end.

Well, shit.

Her eyes fell—a mirror does not lie. Here she was. And the reapers were coming.

She looked back up to see her reflection slowly reveal her realisation as the dread settled in.

After all, who else could claim they had played death's game, lost, and brought their way back out anyway?

No one. Because that's not how things worked. Death was supposed to be permanent! Despite this, she was here, proven wrong, and all she could feel was resentment. For death had done little to heal her insecurities it would seem, and nor had Cerberus. Because here she was, billions of credits later and still broken. This much was evident as she contemplated what she hated more: finding herself here, or knowing she was back at square one.

She couldn't help but stare at the emptiness the mirror offered her, distracting the issue, both Shepard's sneering at how pointless her problem was.

Nothing changed as the walls that she'd helped her mind build over the years repelled her command with ease. Raven’s expression eventually fell, showing her despair as her cold gaze searched her features one last time. Realising in her haste to protect others, she had forgotten about herself. And shame eventually showed itself the victor. She forced herself to look away. Frustration pulling at her edges. How could she be this daunting woman of pure courage again if she couldn't even look at her own reflection anymore? Let alone convince a sceptical galaxy the reapers' threat was real.

After all, they were the reason she was back, and ever since, Raven had been suffering from a rare phobia called Eisoptrophobia. Its cause—and even knowledge of it—wasn't known to her; it was almost as mysterious as the organisation that had brought her back. And like with them, Shepard had no answers. And yet everyone—minus the odd few—expected her to.

Eisoptrophobia is an irrational fear of mirrors and what they hold. And in this case, as in all others, this one held her. Just her. A reminder of how alone she truly was; a reminder that meant she was indeed alive again.

Or maybe she just hated the reflection that stared back. It was broken and scarred and not some perfect, enduring soldier who could weather any storm. She was as fucked up by her mistakes as any other and here was the proof staring right back at her. Even rebuilding her entirely had not been enough for her to escape that painful truth.

Oh, how she wished a certain someone was here. Pulling her away when she couldn't find the strength to do it herself.

That was her downfall. Until she found the courage to let someone in, she could never truly walk away.

Her body was rigid; an uneasy feeling sweeping over it, tingling her toes. Foresight would have been a beautiful thing! It could have made her look away while she still had the chance and yet, her mind was a million miles away and completely unreachable.

Raven clenched her fingers into her palms, her long nails digging into the damp skin. In the tension, she felt one of her eyebrows obviously twitch. Unexpectedly, her reflections’ did not. Her eyes hardened with suspicion but her reflection never glared back. It remained as motionless and as cold as before. Almost as if death had claimed her once again. This softened her features as she waited to see, but when nothing changed and time marched on, she eventually rubbed her weary eyes, fed up. She looked again and blinked, and this time, the "other her" matched the action without hesitation. A sense of disappointment returned almost immediately, nevertheless she retreated back, somewhat satisfied. Transfixed by the newly found urge to look away and get on with her day….

The sudden and ear-shattering slam of her reflection's hand against the glass made her recoil back in absolute terror. The "other her" held no such emotion. But Raven could have sworn she saw shame as she fell backwards, hitting the cold tiled floor with an effective and lung shattering thud, stopping her from screaming out. In the silence of her shock, she could hear her heart pounding deep within her chest and it frightened her more than Saren’s delusions ever had.

Truthfully, it wasn’t real, “the other her” being a simple hallucination of her trauma. Fragments of tortured memories that still plagued her. Some recent, like the visions from the beacons; others less so, dating back all the way to her fathers’ death, years ago.

She still missed him as if a day hadn’t gone by, and to Shepard, that felt more real than her sudden presence; more realistic than her return from the dead because of some warnings about mythological AI bent on harvesting all life in the galaxy.

Eventually, Shepard's body tried to get her lungs out of their lost rhythm, rapidly allowing the filtered air to return. Out of breath and reluctant to make a sound, Raven simply laid motionless on the floor for some time. The only sounds that remained was that of the artificial light above her and the occasional dripping of the tap. Neither in that moment did anything to comfort her however. She didn't feel safe.

It's just you, she tried telling herself.

The arid silence was broken in two by the sudden metallic voice of EDI.

"Shepherd!” A long pause. “Are you hurt?" Before Raven could respond, EDI somewhat assumed the answer—unfortunately—it was the right one. "Should I inform Dr Chakwas you'll be—".

“—I'm fine!” Raven snapped, finally cutting the AI off. The AI’s concern shouldn't have sounded so real, surely not with all her restrictions. As a former Spectre at the time, she should have been questioning that, and yet, Shepard couldn't find the energy, intervening, a little too desperate not to have to talk about this with anyone. Not yet.

"Tell no one.” The AI’s commander ordered, “—please leave me be." It was hard not to inwardly cringe at her own lack of confidence then.

"Yes, Commander... Logging you out.".

Shepard frowned.

It soon didn't matter as the silence reclaimed the room, and Shepard was once again alone. But not entirely as EDI had reminded her. This allowed Shepard to face her greatest fear. She slowly reached up and gripped onto the basin, pulling herself off the floor and stalled herself. However, she wasn't ready to look in the mirror. Her jaw clenched and her pupils shook as she tried to focus on the rhythmic dripping of the tap instead. Her knuckles turned white from the pressure as she tried her hardest to remain as she was.

Finally closing her eyes, she braced herself, snapping her head up. But her courage was short-lived as her anxiety panicked her heart and seized up her once fearless mind. The echoes of her frantic breathing soon became too loud in the enclosed space.

She was trapped, in more ways than one. And all she could do was step back in shock; her shaking hands imitating how they once held onto the sink.

Raven suddenly wanted EDI's concern again. A fake, emotionless AI was better than crippling silence! So why didn't she just call out to her?

Turns out, she couldn't, not when she was the one asking.

Despite just having a shower, she wanted another. Cold sweat lined her brow and covered most of her back, dampening her clothes.

Here she was facing her worst enemy since awakening: and it turned out to be herself. It would seem her rebuilding had only been a reset button, of sorts. Shepard wasn't blind to the approaching conflict, and could see the cracks starting to show already.

Despite this, there was no escape from her daunting duty, none that she could see. A commander could be both fearless in the face of overwhelming odds and yet, still be smart enough to know when to fear… and knowing there was something out there; an almost invulnerable foe she could never defeat alone in a galaxy that made her stand alone, honestly terrified her. She knew it was because she was the only one alive who had seen the visions but it didn’t change the reality; she was only one human.

But that was only one side of the coin. There was a reason the Illusive Man had brought her back after all. She was, despite her flaws, one hell of a soldier, an incredibly skilled vanguard who inspired hope where there truly should be none.

And there were people that believed in her.

And she believed in them. Even if her anxieties made it hard for her to tell them, those odd few were the ones she couldn't find it in herself to let down.

Shepherd couldn't bear to lose them. Not without one hell of a fight.

The galaxy owed them more than they'd ever give them.

That, however, wasn't enough to stop her from questioning her resolve as the fear of losing more cracked deep. As a result, her reflection showed her a hidden truth.

Silent tears on a horrified face.

They spoke a million words. Words her mind would never allow her to voice to another.

What if I'm not enough?

When will we run out of time?

What if I'm wrong?!

What now? What now? What now?!

Her mind wouldn't shut up and she almost prayed for the peace of death to take her again.

The Reapers would never allow such a thing, she theorised, even if it could possibly lead to their defeat.

To her, the risk, no matter how small, was still a risk. That came with being a soldier. But these things didn’t think like organics—like her. When they comprehended organics they didn’t see risk, they simply saw their victory. For they were the “order” to the chaos of organic evolution; and Sovereign's words were a haunting shadow over any hope Shepherd may have once promised.

It all meant nothing, as Shepherd’s threats barely touched that monster's mind. An organics primal and evolutionary urge to fight for one's existence was not even a consideration to its warning. Its existence was simply beyond any comprehension of understanding. It did not matter how much she or anyone else questioned it—mercy was irrelevant—for there would be none. They would impose and force order. The cycle could not be broken.

Vigil, on Ilos, had eventually told her of Sovereign’s purpose: a vanguard who had laid in wait for centuries to send a signal to the thousands of its kind; who simply lay in wait to bring forth the extinction of the next cycle. And as outlandish as it had all sounded, Shepard had believed it just long enough to think—what if?

However… in the end, that thing’s threats had run hollow. For Sovereign did eventually fall. It was devastating… yet not impossible. Unity that day had been enough… against one.

To most, it was over.

No, it couldn’t have been over, Shepherd had tried to argue.

These things were apparently sentient machines of utter destruction, forged for that purpose alone. If Sovereign and Vigil were to be believed, they had earned their overconfidence, born from centuries upon centuries of apparent victories.

And if that sinister thing hadn't turned out to be a liar with an ego of all things and the Reapers truly were masterminds of extinction—cruel and utterly smart; calculated without remorse—surely they knew one would never be enough.

Nevertheless, the Hero of the Citadel had led the combined Citadel and Alliance fleet to victory. (Along with the countless brave souls who saved not only the Destiny Ascension, but also the Council. She would have killed me if I didn’t add that part.) But it was her call. So, why hadn't the reapers intervened with her reconstruction then? She had shuddered at a guess. They wanted her alive. This was no gamble or risk either. This was a fucked up game created out of spite!

Probably for defeating their vanguard—subtle proof that there was more—and if so, this was her only warning. A warning they wanted her to heed. To not interfere further and for that, as a consequence she had to suffer through it; she had to be alive.

That’s why.

Where the galaxy now stood, her death would have been the answer to the reapers’ victory and yet, none of that mattered to them. It didn't matter that they had already won when she died.

They wanted everyone to know that their coming was unstoppable and she was the only one left who could tell them.

She was their pawn in an already rigged game. Although it didn’t really matter. The galaxy's disbelief might just be enough to ensure that promised, catastrophic end.

A part of her couldn’t fully blame the Council. Denial felt safe. And they had many to keep “safe.” Utter panic would do nothing. Riots would give no answers, and if she turned out to be delusional of all things… It wasn’t worth thinking about.

But after all she went through, they were still too frightened to see the truth, even secretly.

That there was a puppet master behind those long strings of corruption and cruelty. That Saren was not the mastermind behind it all. Even if it was over and she was crazy, from Sovereign’s brutal description, only a “Reaper” could be behind this! What Saren had turned into... The former legend of a Spectre had become so scared when it finally clicked—it was like he was being eaten alive by his own mistakes—that she actually fought for him. And yet, it was too late. And the only escape for him was a terrible truth.

It wasn’t going to be ok.

He had to die. They just simply came to the same conclusion at different moments. And as much as she’d wanted to save even him—from Sovereign—she knew his mercy had been his suicide. A final decision that was his, and his alone. An end he had to fight for with everything he had and despite everything, she couldn’t even begin to imagine what that took. Never before had her enemy thanked her for their death.

Because it wasn’t about going back on everything—nothing could make it right—it was about him finding himself long enough to do the right thing. His killing blow still echoed in her mind late at night sometimes. But she had long learned that was pointless.

So she simply showed it through her report to the council— a personal note at the end, in honour of who she’d fought for:

—“…as good intentions go, Saren’s were long gone, but, honestly, so was he. And while I truly do believe whatever Saren was doing started in service to his people, in the end, that never truly matters.

I knew little about him, but my intuition tells me that the Saren you once knew—the honourable Spectre that was a legend to his people—was long forgotten.

However, that wasn’t him under the chambers. It was Sovereign.

There was nothing left to save and I doubt it would have been a kindness to. And as the Turian councillor would know, his people would not have forgiven his betrayal. And I believe, despite everything, neither would he. But he did right in the end… and that shouldn’t easily be forgotten.”.

A heavy sigh escaped her; so heavy she thought it threatened to pull her soul out with it. The task ahead of her… The undertaking almost seemed as impossible as her warnings.

The first step was getting enough of the galaxy to believe her in the first place, let alone "unite them." There was so much hatred and resentment to contend with first, and that was if there were no other problems after the fact. Even this far in, very few had heeded her warnings; fewer still were vocal about it. Would the "united" galaxy she managed to get even be enough?

She felt herself becoming overwhelmed as her mind raced to find answers. Answers she could not possibly have. As a result, it felt as if her heart was pounding the life out of her; she could hear it exploding in her ears as it turned her body into a shaking mess of adrenaline that was soon gasping for air.

Shepard went into autopilot, at least trying to calm herself through her panic attack. Shutting her eyes yet again she reached for her father's last words deep in her mind. She hesitated as she hated relying on such an old tactic. But she was at a loss. She didn't know what else she could do.

"Be good…" Her mind halted; frowning as she tried to remember her fathers voice. It had been a long time since she last heard it.

It troubled her still, and she would forever doubt herself. The cure?

She wasn’t even sure there was one. After all, rebuilding her entirely hadn't done it. But she knew better than to ask for such reassurance; that he'd ever reply. She couldn’t even remember if death had given her that chance.

Shit—maybe it had. She couldn’t remember.

The trauma of his death was fragmented this far into her life, but the memory of her father desperately trying to save her did indeed come flooding back to the forefront of her mind.

It would always be bittersweet. She couldn’t remember her hero without the rest, after all. Becoming lost to her own mind was the easy part—this wouldn’t be the first time.

Raven still remembered how he had to gasp for air after every word.

Pushing down the burning lump that had formed in her throat—she stopped the threat of more tears.

The wound on the side of his neck was fatal. His once tight grip weakened as he began to accept the inevitable, letting his body rest. No help was coming.

He had made it look so easy. He simply let go so he could reassure his daughter.

Because that was enough for him. So, it was already decided. He would die to keep her here. She would make a life for herself. And if dying was the cost—he’d happily pay the fee.

It was a sacrifice he made without hesitation. A decision she had no say in and could not accept until much later.

It… it was never the same.

Nothing was.

And she envied him.

And while the Alliance helped her find her feet, Anderson was the one that helped her feel a redemption of sorts after Elysium. But it still hadn't been enough. So she stayed with the Alliance—and eventually found a new home amongst the stars as she served upon the Normandy SR1.

The events of Elysium were supposed to be her last stand—her redemption. A way to finally let go of her anger and find peace in it.

She hadn’t planned on making it out alive. And yet, she held them off until help arrived, making sure everyone got out—including herself—and it was more than she could have hoped for.

This time, she had a say. And back then, the not-yet Commander kept her word. She made sure Elysium held—despite hours of brutal fighting, alone.

The Alliance declared her a hero and later that night Anderson had told her that her father would have been proud of his sacrifice that day, and every moment since.

And before her own death, she would find herself staring at the stars, wondering if Anderson was right and if her father truly was watching over her. She would find the biggest, brightest star and smile. It would twinkle in her eyes—almost feeling like a smile returned.

Since coming back, that too, no longer brought her any comfort.

For the stars had simply watched as she had died alone. It was a stupid thought but it crushed her nevertheless. The stars had seemed so lifeless as she drifted amongst them—gasping for breath—and they still did, every day since.

The commander flinched as her death made her recall how her father had done the same. He had tried to comfort her; he had fought so hard.

No amount of comfort had stopped her chest from heaving with fear as he began to choke. All she could do was sob into his chest, hoping, if anything, that she would be enough to save him.

"...You'll always be, my little Raven." He’d rasped, his grip no longer trying to keep himself alive. Choosing to wrap his arms protectively around her instead. That little girl had wished she could have done more. And yet all she did was close her eyes so tight, pleading over and over,

“Please don’t go…” He couldn’t leave her. What would she do without him?

His chest eventually stilled as his suffering stopped. Her pleas had echoed for hours after, refusing to let go.

An older Raven closed her eyes again, breathing easier, letting her father's words ease her mind, and in turn, her body began to slowly follow.

It was difficult to find solace in such a tainted memory. And yet, it gave Raven the courage to look away. Unfortunately, despite all of her achievements, she didn't feel proud. Regardless of the fact, she refused to change. At this point in her career, she couldn't falter and let the galaxy see that she wasn't even close to perfect, as some thought she was.

Distracting herself away from the mirror, she lifted her shaking fingers and forced them to find a purpose. From memory alone, she pulled her long white hair into a high top bun, covering her scar. Tedious as it was, she pushed herself through it every day.

When she was finished, black eyeshadow lightly adorned her eyes and long eyelashes, bringing out her high cheekbones and attractive blue gaze.

The Commander hit her hand across her eyes, stopping the threat of more tears. Her cheeks were already sore, and they stung as she wiped the evidence of her crying away.

It did matter, but deep down, she'd had enough.

This is just profound and simplistic professionalism, she told herself, reassuring her lifelong lie. She was an expert at pretending, if for a little while. But Shepard was experienced enough to know she couldn't avoid it forever.

She faced herself again, going against her better judgement, finding some courage in the sudden calmness surrounding her. She gazed at her reflection—and she almost looked sombre—yet deep down, she was still afraid;.

“I love you,” echoed as she couldn’t stop herself from remembering her father’s final words. They were once so quiet and loving that she almost hadn’t heard them. And the moment she realised what he said was a moment too late.

And she would never hear those words again. Hearing them now from herself, she didn’t quite believe them. Somehow she never imagined he would ever leave her.

And yet, he did. And as a consequence, there were things that were left unsaid. Like a reply she wished he got to hear.

She wouldn’t pretend that she should say it, but at least it distracted her enough to leave her fear behind so she could walk away.

#mass effect #mass effect trilogy #mass effect 3 #mass effect 2 #commander shepard #my shepard #anixtey #trigger warning #mental health #tw death #tw thobias #this gets dark #please heed the warnings #my Shepard’s background #long post #creative writing

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