(Author's Note: For reference, this story assumes that Shepard fell on his way to the beam. No 'ending' has been selected, as he never got up from the blast that severely wounded him in the game. Thanks so much for the support!)
A lithe silhouette, outlined by the spectral flames and crematorium smoke of a dying city, sprang from the makeshift bulwark of the Alliance line. For a beat, the form seemed suspended above the deconstructed city, and with the momentary defiance of gravity, the being appeared otherworldly…divine.
But, as was the way with moments, time slogged on.
Combat boots blasted ancient London's history-laden dust with her landing. Sending particles that had seen the births and deaths of monarchs and poets swirling into an atmosphere hot with murder. Before her stretched a wide lane littered with the shattered remnants of the Alliance's Hammer Squad; while just beyond the field of fallen heroes, glowed a column of light that blasted toward a Heaven she knew didn't exist.
It wasn't a lack of faith that tempered her expectations for a life after this one…it was the presence of the three monstrous death machines flanking the beam. For if Heaven, and by default God, existed, how could a supreme being allow such horrors to walk and rape the Universe?
In an auto-response to the scene, blue energy rippled along her tattooed arms, up her neck, and lifted the still foreign feeling hair off her scalp. As her eyes narrowed, her power sparked and flickered between the two orbs, lending a black magic quality to the science dominated scene. Slowly she rolled her neck, loosening the tension housed beneath her painted flesh and popping a few compliant vertebrae.
Behind her a powerful 'thud' marked the arrival of her running mate in the upcoming race.
'This is crazy, Jack. As much as I want to be wrong, Shepard's dead. No one could've lived through that."
'He's alive,' she stated simply, 'and I'm going to get him.'
Turning to face the Turian, she hissed.
'If you don't have the sack, Vakarian, go back and send me someone that does.'
Mandibles flickered in what Jack had learned was Garrus's species' equivalent of a sly smile.
'Two things you should know about me: one, I'm a fan of 'crazy' that's why I walk beside your man, and two, I got enough sack to shame Tuchanka."
Turning back to the killing field, Jack allowed a smirk of her own to briefly ghost across her rage filled face.
'He lives, Garrus.'
It wasn't a statement designed to comfort or convince her large companion.
It was a statement of certainty absolute.
'Stay close and keep the little shit off of me.'
Sniper rifle at the ready, Garrus mandibles flickered again, and even though Jack wasn't looking, he nodded.
'Lets go get him.'
With Garrus's support, the groan of war was pushed to the periphery, and Jack's eyes settled on the three Reapers guarding the beam. London paused its wail of agony long enough for a whisper to slip from her lips, a whisper possessed of the same strength and endurance of the singular woman that birthed it.
'Here comes the wicked.'
First Jack started to march down the broad avenue of holocaust, but soon her boots blurred, and the woman known as Subject Zero raced toward three giants…and the man that she loved above all others.