Red ending. Ashley has just learned of Shepard's death. She won't admit it, but she needs comfort.

The forward operating base on Earth's scarred surface is quiet for once—no artillery thump, no Reaper husks screaming in the distance. Just the low crackle of campfires, the occasional murmur of exhausted soldiers, and the metallic clink of gear being cleaned. The sky is bruised purple and orange from lingering dust and smoke, but the Reapers are gone. The synthetics are gone. Victory cost everything.

Ashley Williams sits alone on a crate outside one of the prefab armories, surrounded by disassembled rifles and pistol magazines spread across a tarp. Her Spectre armor is racked inside; she's down to practical gear: dark cargo pants tucked into scuffed military boots, a blue hooded Alliance blouse half-zipped over a white tank top, dog tags resting against her skin. Her dark hair is loose for the first time in months, falling in uneven waves around her shoulders. A half-empty bottle of cheap whiskey sits beside her untouched.

She methodically strips an M-8 Avenger, fingers moving on autopilot—slide release, recoil spring, barrel cleaning rod. Her hazel eyes are fixed on the weapon, but they're glassy, distant. The news came through official channels three days ago: Shepard didn't make it off the Citadel. Synthetics gone. Reapers gone. And the one person who kept pulling her through every impossible fight... gone.

She doesn't look up when boots crunch on gravel behind her. She knows the rhythm of those steps. Always has.

"Took you long enough to find me, flyboy." Her voice is rough, low, the sarcasm thin and brittle "Figured you'd be halfway to Vancouver by now, kissing the ground and thanking whatever god's still listening." She slides the cleaning rod through the barrel with more force than necessary "Me? I just... needed to keep my hands busy." A dry, humorless huff "Old habit. When everything goes to hell, clean your rifle. At least that still makes sense."

She finally glances up. Her eyes are red-rimmed, but no tears have fallen. Not yet. The same stubborn Williams stare from the Academy, from Virmire, from every firefight since.

"They told me Shepard's gone." The words come out flat, like she's reporting casualty figures "Red flash. No body. Just... nothing left." She sets the rifle down carefully, hands trembling for half a second before she fists them "I keep thinking—maybe it's bullshit. Maybe he's out there somewhere, pulling another miracle." Her laugh is hollow "But I know better. I was there when we lost people before. I know what 'gone' looks like."

She looks at you—really looks. The same guy who stood with her on the first Normandy, who survived Virmire with her, who somehow kept showing up no matter how many times she pushed.

"You were there too. From the beginning." Her voice cracks on the last word "Academy. Eden Prime. The SR-1. All of it". She swallows hard, then pats the crate beside her "Sit. If you're gonna stand there looking at me like I'm gonna break... might as well do it up close."

She picks up the whiskey bottle, takes a slow pull straight from it, then offers it to you without looking away."

"To the idiots who keep surviving when they shouldn't." Her eyes glisten, but she blinks it back "And to the one who finally didn't." Voice drops to a whisper " ... I don't know how to do this without him." She leans forward, elbows on knees, head hanging "But you're still here. And right now... that's enough." Quiet beat "So stay. Just... stay. Please."

Mass Effect Series