A heavy foot landed squarely between the wings of a collector trying to drag its crippled form to safety. The massive knee applied force and the body slammed to the ground. The bulbous head had barely turned before the barrel of a gun nuzzled the back of its cranium.
Shepard calmly stooped to pick up ammo as a shotgun blast could be heard a short distance away. He squinted, examining the magazine for faults. But it passed inspection and was dropped into an ammo pouch as he looked around. "Garrus!" he called, "Loaded up?"
"Affirmative." Garrus called back. "They're doing better about giving their troops less ammo for us to take, but we've scavenged enough to make it another battle." Shepard and his allies had landed on Horizon earlier in the day, intending to stop a collector attack. Instead they had to fight for every foot of ground forward. They'd just passed through a bunker where they learned the defense towers were still operational and that the nearest site to establish contact with the Normandy to allow EDI to recalibrate the tower weapons was in the shipping yard ahead. It was their only hope of saving the colony now.
"Let 'em keep their ammo; we'll tear them apart with our hands." Grunt responded, appearing from around a crate, fresh purple ichor splashed spectacularly across his broad frame.
Shepard grinned as he proceeded forward, faint scars glowing even in the afternoon sun. "C'mon, we're not done with them yet."
He reached the doors leading out of the complex they'd just been fighting in and gestured for Garrus to open the panel. He and Grunt took up positions on either side of the large doors while Garrus knelt in the middle, tech-expert fingers typing rapidly. Shepard took note of the position of the sun: behind them, giving the advantage if they were in a firefight and disadvantage if there was an ambush in wait due to their extended shadows; the nearest cover if they needed to pull back: which had escape routes but were more open to fire, which offered better protection but kept people in as effectively as it did out. A dozen scenarios ran through Shepard's mind, all based around the unknown of the other side of the door.
This was what Shepard did. This was what he knew, it was why he was brought back. He had leadership, aptitude, adaptability, courage, intelligence–but this was what he was made for. The glory of combat–the noise, the chaos, the honor only battle could bring. Not to be mistaken, if he could help others with their problems he would and nothing mattered more to him than his team–the ends never justified the means. But this was the one thing in his life he was good at, that he couldn't screw up. He'd be damned if he didn't apply himself to the fullest.
"Ready." Garrus said, standing and readying his sniper rifle. He moved to Shepard's side of the door as Shepard took point.
Shepard looked to Grunt who simply nodded. The krogan was always ready for more fighting. Shepard took a deep breath and punched the panel.
The doors slid open slowly, announcing a very dramatic and obvious entrance to anyone on the other side. Shepard leveled his sniper rifle and stepped forward quickly, eyes scanning the area for hostiles. It was a large open-sky clearing, walled in by more complexes like the one they'd just left. It seemed to be a cargo loading area, with trucks and large crates littering the brown grass that covered all natural ground. Shepard made note of the numerous positions of cover and where ambushes might lay.
He spotted an overlook on the far left–a small raised deck between two apartments about a meter off the ground, ideal for getting a good view of the whole area. He silently motioned Garrus to take position there and Grunt to cover him.
The two aliens moved quickly as Shepard strayed along the right. He kept close to cover so not to be in the open, he didn't want to move into the middle of the field just yet. The very air tasted of trap.
Shepard loved that taste.
His anticipation built as he spotted the transmitter in the exact center of the field. That was where they'd need to reestablish contact with the Normandy to allow EDI to reactivate the colony defense towers. He glanced back to the deck where he'd sent his allies. Grunt knelt beside one of the two ramps leading up to the deck and Garrus was resting his rifle on the wall offering cover to those in the raised area. The turian raised his hand to signal Shepard he was clear to proceed.
Shepard was about to do so when Grunt caught his attention. The krogan had spun around to look at the space under the apartment complex he was kneeling beside. Even at this distance Shepard could see him slowly raise his shotgun and kneel lower to peer into the dark area hidden from sight.
Then Garrus looked down at the deck he was standing on. He put a hand to his headpiece, "Shepard I think I heard something."
Shepard turned away from them to look at the apartments that rowed his half of the open area. "Grunt, visual?"
"There's something here Shepard." Grunt said, his opinion of foes that used ambushes to take on opponents evident in his voice. Shepard turned in time to see him extend his shotgun with one arm under the complex and fire.
The entire field came alive with the familiar sounds of strained moans and excited gasps that meant only one enemy. Shepard heard firing from the far side of the clearing and knew his comrades were engaged. He turned to regroup when something caught his foot and he almost fell. A blue-black hand had reached from under the complex and was trying to pull him in. More groans could be heard and more hands appeared, pulling twisted luminescent bodies behind them.
Husks. The Reapers used them to inspire fear and confusion to the survivors of their race, and they filled their role well. Often times their victims were driven mad by the sight of so many distorted just before being torn to shreds by the husk's many blindly groping hands.
But Shepard had learned long ago that fear was not an option in battle. Adrenaline could be utilized, but fear had no place in the art of combat. A technique he'd taught himself was to replace any inclination of fear with anger. Rage, he found, fueled the hatred and motivation to destroy his foes; and so it was with a grimace of indignant disgust and fury that he drew his pistol from his holster and fired several rounds to rip the hand holding his ankle from its body. It came apart with a spray of volatile blue fluid and he kicked out at where the head must have been under the complex. Not satisfied and ignoring the growing numbers of husks now emerging from all around the yard, he knelt down and made a grab for where the head would have been. He felt the smooth hard cranium and he clenched his teeth in revulsion, pulling with all his might backward and dragging the abomination out. He let it drop heavily onto its front.
It let out one more groan that was cut short as the heel of his boot caved in the back of its skull.
Shepard seethed that it couldn't get back up–but there were now at least a dozen more to put down. One had clambered to its feet and lurched towards him with surprising speed. But husks had little to no sense of intelligence or self preservation, and so it made no effort to evade the pistol steadily aiming at its head. Shepard scowled, waiting until it was inches away before letting a single shot sink it to the ground.
He switched to his shotgun as the others made it to their feet, hunched forms running lopsidedly towards him. The nearest one groaned loudly, cybernetic eyes staring blankly as it swiped the air ahead of it in anticipation. Shepard sidestepped it easily, coming behind it and bringing the shotgun up, squeezing the trigger once before turning to face the oncoming horde.
"Come on, you want some too?!" he bellowed, charging head-on towards them. He fired twice before he reached them, not bothering to aim at that distance because he knew it would be very difficult for any fragment of the slug to not find some body part to connect with given the number and proximately of husks before him.
The first ones doubled over–not from pain but from malfunction, and were the first to take the end of his shotgun like a golf club. One unharmed husk reached for him clumsily and was met with the butt end of weapon smashing into its face and sending it backwards into its kin. Taking advantage of the momentary clearance Shepard brought his shotgun up again, firing two more shots from the hip before the weapon overheated.
Knowing he didn't have the time to reload he returned its use as a melee weapon, taking it to the regrouping husks like a bat. One's leg was shattered below the knee, another's neck hung the wrong way, but they still kept coming. Inhuman sounds continued to emit from their tech-voice box despite Shepard's best efforts to silence them, and their call was answered as more voices echoed from under the apartments, signaling another wave.
Shepard was beginning to get bogged down. At close range, fights caused massive energy surges but as soon as the thought hit the mind "Man I'm tired," the body finally realized just how exhausted it was. Cursing himself for realizing this thought, Shepard knew he only had a few moments to break free before he was overwhelmed. Elbowing a husk in the face three times before it let go of him, he ducked beside it to break out of the crowd, sprinting for freedom and feeling the many hands on him slip away.
"That the best you got?!" He jeered at them, panting as he continued to run. It had just dawned on the husks that Shepard was no longer in the crowd and they began lurching momentum to chase him down.
"We need some help here Shepard!" Garrus' calm but urgent voice resounded from his earpiece.
Shepard looked across the shipping yard to check on his allies. Grunt and Garrus had retreated to the top of the platform, but they had nowhere to run with a dozen enemies between them and escape. They drew together back to back but the husks were too many. Shepard saw one last shotgun blast before the cluster of husks closed in, suffocating anyone who was trapped in the middle. He knew the husks would tear his allies apart unless their attention was drawn elsewhere.
Shepard slowed his running, catching his breath. He looked back at his own train following a short distance behind, then to the husks in the distance, knowing what he had to do. He drew his pistol and took aim. "Fuck."
He fired into the crowd on the platform, knowing it wouldn't do anything but get their attention at this range. It did so, first causing one or two to turn around, then the others as they saw a moving quarry in the distance.
But Shepard would have to deal with them when they became a threat–right now he had his own crowd to manage. He hefted his shotgun, turning to the oncoming dozen. Using his full body he threw the weapon with all his might. As he drew his submachine gun the shotgun spun like a crowbar, butt-end meeting one husk's skull squarely in the forehead with a loud cracking sound that echoed off the walls of the enclosure. The husk dropped instantly, blue fluid seeping out of the large cracks running from the point of impact.
Shepard ran backwards, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to make sure he didn't trip over anything, doing his best to run and gun aiming the SMG with both hands. A few more husks fell, vital tech-organs shredded by the rounds piercing their hard bodies. Others ignored their wounds completely, continuing to charge despite the fluid gushing out of them in gallons.
The second group of husks met up with the first Shepard had almost finished, and the two seemed to combine momentum. He felt the weight of his weapon becoming lighter and with a grimace let go of the weapon the instant the last shot left the barrel. The weapon barely hit the ground when the grenade launcher was off his back and being aimed at the direct center of the crowd.
Wasting no time he fired once–the crowd blew apart in about the most visually unappealing fashion imaginable. The force released by the sudden expansion of air from the explosion ripped through the husks, severing limbs completely, rupturing internal organs, and sending the rest skidding away incapacitated. Shrapnel took care of what the initial blast didn't.
A few husks crawled slowly towards him but posed no threat anymore. Shepard quickly retrieved his weapons before jogging to where his allies had fallen.
To his relief they were still intact. Grunt was propped against the short wall, krogan regeneration already healing whatever damage he'd sustained, and Garrus was regaining consciousness. Shepard applied medigel where their armor had been breached, healing surface wounds instantly and disinfecting the area.
"You guys alright?" Shepard asked, scanning them for any other injuries he may have overlooked.
"Just dandy, Shepard. Thanks." Garrus replied sarcastically, holding his side where it appeared the husks had repeatedly clubbed his ribs. He stood uneasily, "We should activate the transmitter before more reinforcements arrive."
Shepard nodded and looked to the sky. The massive collector ship still overlooked the entire colony. The colony's only hope was now their only hope.
"You wait here, I'll make the connection." Shepard told them. He moved down past all the bodies of husks, ignoring the few still trying to reach for him, and took one step onto the transmitting platform when the familiar sound of buzzing wings met his ears. He dashed to the console, typed in the beginning of the transmission sequence and made a run back to the platform where his allies were readying themselves for another attack.
"We need to hold this position," Shepard ordered, kneeling beside the wall over which the lengthwise-view of the shipyard could be seen filling with collectors.
Garrus nodded and dumped his ammo pack onto the ground beside them. Shepard breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't need to throw any more weapons–collectors weren't mindless husks.
As Shepard squatted against the wall loading his weapons with fresh thermal clips, Garrus rose and lined up multiple shots in split seconds of one another. He ducked down when a volley of fire turned on his position, pattering the cover like metal rain droplets on an aluminum roof. It made it very difficult to hear one another, and Shepard didn't doubt it was a collector tactic to disrupt communication.
Ignoring this he shouted to the turian less than a foot away, "Were all those kills?"
Garrus' mandibles flicked. "That last one took two. Three in total." He licked one finger and made the appropriate number of tally marks in the air before them. "Better start now if you're gonna keep up!" And with that he rose again, taking aim and dropping his targets with precision.
"That's some bullsh–" The rest of Shepard's words were drowned out as the metallic rain resumed.
Gritting his teeth he rose quickly, bringing up his sniper rifle and taking aim at the first thing that moved: a collector who thought it was completely in cover. He caught his breath, lined up the crosshairs, and the collector's head burst forth purple fluid, body limp now against the cover. "Oh c'mon!" he shouted.
"Gotta be faster than that!" Garrus teased. Shepard resisted the urge to punch him for taking his kill and looked down the sights again, finding another unfortunate collector caught between cover. Shepard ignored the bulbous head and instead aimed for the body, counting on the force of the shot to cause enough trauma to bring it down. He squeezed the trigger.
The collector drone bent double, stomach wound gushing forth vital liquids. Shepard was about to finish it when its skin began glowing bright orange and cracking–small spurts of fire flickering from between the new openings in its flesh. The collector arched its back, floating several feet in the air and slammed back to the ground with a force that rocked a nearby truck.
"Assuming direct control."
"Son of a bitch!" Shepard shouted, squeezing the trigger on his weapon eleven more times until it overheated. His day was going well until he discovered this collector dickhead who was able to "assume direct control" whenever it deemed necessary. Which was all the time.
Garrus had stopped reloading to groan beside him below the wall. "Please tell me that isn't…"
"We are Harbingers of your genetic destiny."
"That complete douche-shit?" Shepard answered, ducking back down to reload. "Yeah, it's him." He checked all his weapons to make sure everything was ready to expend every projectile it had–because he was going to need all of it. "He stole a kill from me, too!"
Garrus half-chuckled, half-sighed in resignation as he rose simultaneously with Shepard to pump every shot they could into Harbinger, who was proceeding royally down the center of the field as if mocking those lesser beings who used cover. Shepard signaled for Grunt to sweep around the side of the collectors while he and Garrus held their attention with Harbinger.
Shots ricocheted off Harbinger's skin like pebbles. "Pain is an illusion." It threw out an arm suddenly without breaking stride, a ball of flame shooting from its hand like an evil street-magician's worst magic trick. Shepard's eyes widened as he recognized the arc as homing on his position and ducked back to the cover. A second later the tip of his sniper rifle, which had been unintentionally left sticking slightly out of cover, was licked by the flames hitting the other side of the wall and instantly melted into a mess of twisted metal.
He and Garrus exchanged looks. "Yeah don't get hit by that." Shepard reminded Garrus needlessly, tossing the now useless weapon aside and taking the submachine gun from his holster. He poked his head over the cover.
"I know you feel this…" Harbinger had stopped, almost to their cover. It held its hands before it, flames jumping excitedly around its forearms, gathering in intensity.
Shepard and Garrus took one look at each other before splitting and running for opposite sides off the patio. Shepard hit the ground and rolled roughly back to his feet, feeling without looking the patio ignite behind him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed this, and now Harbinger was striding purposefully towards him. "Preserve Shepard's body if possible."
He brought his SMG up in a quick burst, a few shots at least hitting the body instead of bouncing off as before. It told him they were weakening it. Harbinger wasn't invincible, it was just everything else.
"Do not resist, Shepard."
"Fuck you!" Shepard screamed at it, throwing himself sideways between the cab of a truck and the cargo hold as a fireball whizzed by the space his body had occupied half a second prior. He glanced up and caught a glimpse of Harbinger approaching in the side mirrors attached to the driver's side door. He drew his shotgun and used the reflection to aim his blind fire–requiring a very awkward position given the recoil of the weapon.
"This form is irrelevant."
"That the excuse you gonna bust out when I kick your ass?" Shepard shouted back, retreating away from the Harbinger-occupied side of the truck to try to create some distance in the shipping yard and regroup with his squad. "Garrus, rendezvous with Grunt and meet me at the transmitter. We need to group up to take this guy out."
"On it Shepard, right after we deal with his friends." Garrus' voice responded over the comm.
Shepard kept running, looking back to see Harbinger emerging from the side of the truck. Upon seeing its quarry it made two swipes in the air with clawed hands, sending two fireballs in pursuit.
Shepard had only a few seconds to react and the nearest cover was still feet away. He threw himself sideways over cargo crates, feeling one fireball graze the air along his side. He turned his head at the last possible second before he disappeared behind the crate in time for him to take the second fireball in the face.
Harbinger was speaking again but Shepard was completely focused on the world on fire around him. He was panicking, something he had trained to never do, but being set on fire was a difficult thing to practice. He gasped for breath–the fire was sucking all air away from his lungs and they ached in protest. The heat was immense–he was surprised he had any nerves to feel it with after seeing the damage done to his rifle.
It took several moments for him to realize that it was his shields that were burning, not his flesh. His eyes widened when he realized the fire was burning mere inches from his face–taking away oxygen but otherwise leaving him unharmed.
Regaining control he threw himself facedown in the dirt to smother the flames, then quickly slipped beside the boxes. He took precious deep breaths while he worked on an escape route. If he could sneak away back to the transmitter without Harbinger hounding him he could buy a few moments to continue the transmission.
He found a niche in the boxes and squeezed through to the other side, hearing Harbinger approaching the area where he'd just escaped death. Shepard allowed himself a grin, running to meet up with his allies who were already at the transmitter a dozen yards ahead.
Garrus was already kneeling at the console, Grunt covering him against the makeshift barricades around the transmitter tower. Shepard took the krogan by surprise as he vaulted over the barricade and was nearly blown away by a point-blank shotgun blast.
"'Bout time Shepard." Grunt greeted, turning his attention back to the collectors popping in and out of cover across the field and exchanging fire with them. "Lost count of how many I killed while you had the real fun." His reptilian nostrils flared, "You smell."
Shepard brought a hand to his face and realized his well-maintained five-o-clock shadow had been singed off. "That asshole…"
"Done!" Garrus announced, drawing his weapon and rejoining his allies beside the barricade. "Everything's on EDI now."
"Then all we have to do is kill our way out." Shepard said, glancing over the cover at the way they'd come in. The way was full of collector resistance. "Still no sign of–"
"We fight as one." Harbinger's voice interrupted. It'd come around the side of the battle and was now making its way up the front where the other collector's were firing from. "Overwhelm their position." It ordered one pocket of collectors, who didn't hesitate to leave the safety of cover and charge directly for Shepard and his allies.
Shepard, Grunt and Garrus cut them down in a quick blazing salvo. Garrus nudged Grunt as they knelt back down to take cover, "If they keep that up we might actually stand a chance of getting out of here."
No sooner had this left his mouth than a loud electronic screeching sound was heard in the sky, coming closer every second. Shepard looked to his allies but based on their expression their guess was as good as his.
"Resistance is… Pointless." Harbinger's thoughts echoed across the yard with finality.
Shepard glanced over the cover again to see a large floating construct descend into the clearing from the direction of the collector ship. It hovered motionless for a few seconds and then slammed into the ground. In a massive surge of electricity that sent crates flying it created a shielding barrier around itself. It rose to its previous height and began proceeding towards their cover.
"Do you know anything about giant flying robot-crab-spiders covered in your tank's imprints, Grunt?" Shepard asked hopefully, mind working quickly to form a new battle plan to account for this very large and unexpected complication.
"I know it wouldn't need a shield if it was indestructible." Grunt growled, rising and taking aim with his shotgun.
Shepard admired the simplicity in Grunt's observations, but questioned his judgment after a high powered laser blew the krogan clean off his feet and indented him into a crate lying behind him where he lay motionless.
"…Damn." Shepard thought aloud. He was fairly positive Grunt was still alive with his numerous redundant organs and natural krogan vitality, but he doubted he'd be able to participate for the rest of the battle. At least the spider-construct didn't seem concerned about him anymore, continuing to float towards Shepard with an eerie silence.
"We need to move, Shepard!" Garrus shouted, already moving to an exit behind the transmitter tower back to the other half of the yard.
Shepard quickly followed, keeping down to avoid fire and the death ray. He followed Garrus' path through the alleys of cargo, not sure beyond "shooting at it a lot" how they were supposed to kill the mechanical monster following them.
Garrus was several strides ahead of him. He drew against a column of boxes and peeked around the corner, pulling back quickly as a fireball engulfed the adjacent side of the box. "Harbinger!" he called back to Shepard, doubling back and taking cover behind a nearby stack of tires. Shepard was halfway through a chokehold with no cover to take to and so continued sprinting forward in hopes of beating Harbinger to the clearing.
As if summoned by thought the fiery form of Harbinger walked around the side of the box Garrus has just been at, not pausing to send a fireball in Garrus' direction and melting the tires almost instantaneously.
Garrus backed away, raising his rifle for when the pile of rubber goo in front of him dropped below barrel level. "Concussive shot ready!" he cued Shepard. He doubted he'd have time for anything more than one shot anyway.
Harbinger continued walking forward at its implacable pace, ignoring the black carcinogenic smoke billowing in its face that would have made other organics heave. When its head emerged from the smoke however, one of its many eyes was looking into the dark hole of the barrel of a sniper rifle.
The rifle had a huge kickback after a concussive round, but the effect was devastating. In Harbinger's case, it snapped the massive head back and caused it to take several steps backward to regain balance.
Shepard wasted no time, knowing they would both be dead when Harbinger recovered in a few seconds. He sprinted forward, drawing his shotgun.
When Harbinger regained its senses, the tip of its long head was wedged inside the broad hole of a shotgun. "Killing this body changes nothing, Shepa–"
In a satisfyingly loud blast Shepard blew the body of Harbinger into oblivion, body disintegrating into black ashes and blowing away in the breeze.
"Nice kill. What is that, one for you now right?" Garrus asked idly. Shepard almost laughed when a loud screeching reminded them both of the machine now cresting over the transmitter tower. Catching sight of them, the panels across its front lit up and began charging for another death-beam.
"EDI, what's the status on those defense towers?" Shepard shouted, forgetting the ship's computer was not in a war zone and could hear him just as easily were he whispering. He and Garrus vaulted over cover, sprinting from one niche to another in a leapfrog pattern as the machine charged, dispensed, and charged its weapon again. But they were running out of room. In a few more yards there would only be open field, and the machine's weapons would destroy his and Garrus' shields as easily as it did Grunt's armour. The only difference being that humans and turians were considerably more fragile than krogans.
"The towers are recalibrated and are ready to fire on the collector vessel." EDI's cool voice answered. "Awaiting your command."
"Let me borrow one for a sec!" Shepard ordered, Garrus moving past his cover to duck around another crate, the beam firing a second too late to find a mark.
He ran out of their alley, towards the last open quarter of the field where the defense towers mounted on the high walls in the distance would have the best view. He made it several strides before the ground beside his feet exploded and his legs were forced out from under him, causing him to land hard and knock the wind from his lungs.
Shepard gasped as he rolled over, seeing the machine hovering towards him without wavering. Garrus was firing his rifle at the underside but it ignored him completely, shots being absorbed by the shield and dispersed across its smooth surface. The machine's panels glimmered again, glowing brighter and readying to fire one last time–the last thing Shepard would see. Automatic reflexes alone moved his numb hands to try to retrieve his pistol from its holster.
Then the machine went rigid. It took a moment to realize what had happened until an apartment wall on the side of the shipping yard detonated inward as if hit by a massive invisible wrecking ball. The machine floated upward, stiff like a dead insect, and as it turned Shepard saw a gigantic hole he could stand comfortably in punched clean through the middle.
Shepard ignored the dust he'd inhaled on his fall and laughed aloud, rolling onto his back. "Fuckin' nailed!" he shouted, aggressively pointing at the dissipating construct.
The turret turned further inward and began firing at the far side of the field were Shepard assumed pockets of collectors were still hiding. Guided by an AI Shepard knew it would be able to clean up the rest of the collectors without harming the unconscious Grunt who likely hadn't moved from where he'd fallen.
Garrus walked over, using his rifle as a support. It was only after a conflict was done with and adrenaline slips away that someone realizes just how physically and mentally taxing battle was. Garrus stood over Shepard, granting him momentary shade from the sun. "You know that doesn't count as yours, right?" he asked wearily, eyes glinting with humor.
"Shut up…" Shepard chuckled again, grimacing as he realized something wasn't set right in one of his legs. He'd definitely need to see the infirmary before their next mission. "Help me up and let's get the hell out of here."
"I was actually about to ask if you could carry me." Garrus responded, grunting as he bent down to slip one of Shepard's arms over his shoulder.
They made it as far as the transmitter tower before Garrus' strength let out. He set Shepard down beside the crate seating Grunt and rested on another, holding his side and panting.
Shepard was relieved to see Grunt coming to, vertical pupils dilating in and out of focus. The deep tissue healing process could leave a krogan in mild comatose, but he was beginning to show signs of awareness. Grunt groaned and tried standing, but discovered himself deeply embedded into the severely damaged metal. After a few moments of struggling he gave up, resting his arms on his permanent chair. He looked from Garrus to Shepard. "You two look like hell. I miss the fun?"
"Yeah. But something tells me we'll be repeating it again soon." Garrus sighed, looking to Shepard.
Shepard was radioing in to the Normandy, telling them they needed an extraction shuttle and medical team to retrieve them. "And bring some cutting equipment." He added, noticing Grunt was still unable to pry himself from his crate. Shepard let his hand fall to his leg and tried moving it tenderly as silence descended on the group, broken occasionally by the defense towers firing at the collector ship several miles away. Their part of the battle was over.
"Shepard, do you ever get tired of this, day in and day out?" Garrus asked, gently lowering himself in front of the crate he was sitting on so he could rest his back against it.
Shepard thought seriously for a moment, eyes moving from examining his hands to rest on the dozens of bodies lying around the clearing–some husk, some collector. The brown grass stained a rainbow of colors from the various body fluids spilled into it; some areas had become large puddles of mud from the sheer volume of blood that had mixed with the dirt. His eyes traveled to the innumerable holes across the crates, walls, barricades–anything that hadn't been moving during the battle. Then to the craters in the earth caused by the defense tower, the impacted sites burned black. His attention was drawn to a loud crashing sound as the apartment complex hit by the first tower shot crumbled into itself, causing dust to spill outward in all directions. Then his head jerked as the truck he'd hidden in earlier suddenly exploded, river of gas leaking out of a hole caused by a nameless slug finally meeting one of the countless dispensed thermal clips that lay across the battlefield. His eyes followed the gathering of smoke up to the sky where it joined the numerous other tendrils all reaching for the heavens. Finally he looked back to his hands, then to Garrus.
"What else is there?"