Focus.

That's what they taught me; they taught it in biotic training, boot, OCS.

To stay focused.

I focused as I flexed my muscles, my element zero nodules, my implant, and threw the batarian squad across the square.

I focused as I overloaded my shotgun and fired into a separate unit.

I focused as I hurled a grenade towards the onslaught of slavers.

I knew my job, and I gave it all I had. My dad would always say, "take your job and own it", so I did. But it wasn't all I focused on.

I focused on the settlers that fought alongside me; skill-less but full of heart.

I focused on the families that cowered around.

I focused on the people that I couldn't save, hadn't saved, and gave all I had to the rest.

Slaver after wicked slaver fell in front of me. The militia fought hard, but I could feel that they fought hard when I was around, harder when they were wounded, and hardest when I got hit. They rallied around me, and I could see it.

Unfortunately, the batarians saw it, too.

They tried to put me down, throw me out, but they were too eager. Too unfocused.

My shotgun overheated, prompting me to duck behind a low wall. A young man, one of the settlers I had grown to like, crouched beside me.

"How you doin', Ike?" I asked him, noting the haunted expression on his face.

He didn't respond but for a nodding of his head; he thought he was fine, wanted me to think it, but he was bad off. I had seen soldiers who snapped in a fight, and Ike was approaching that limit.

I placed a hand on his shoulder after wiping someone's blood off it, and gave a quick squeeze.

Ike looked at me, and I asked him again, "Are you alright?"

He shook his head, keeping contact with my eyes like they were the only thing left in the 'verse.

"Lieutenant!" a farmer called to me, a blood-soaked bandana covering his right forearm.

I nodded to the breaking boy in front of me, and turned to the man.

"We've got the women and kids in the bunker," he reported, his breathing already heavy and ragged, "we should get out of here."

"Supplies, too?" I queried.

He replied with a nod, trying to calm himself.

"Alright, send the word; we're heading to the administration building," I ordered, giving these people the leader they wanted and needed. "We just gotta keep the shelter and com tower safe and we'll make it through. Go."

The militia man nodded and left to spread the word. I knew that, although some would try to stay back and fight, I would be the last to head to safety; it was part of my nature, and most of how I had led this long.

I turned back around to find that Ike had resumed fighting, firing poorly with his assault rifle. It wasn't Alliance issue, and he shouldn't even have been fighting, but a lot of things that shouldn't have happened were going down all around us.

I popped out from cover, and saw a fresh wave of assailants coming at us. I concentrated again, and the unit's shields started to fail, and then their bodies were shredded by my warp field.

I saw a merc draw back to throw a grenade, and I instinctually pushed Ike out of the way.

I felt as if someone had punched me directly in the shoulder, and looked down to see the grenade stuck to me.

I looked up at the merc who had thrown it, and saw him grin devilishly. I shot him in the head.

Now I was guaranteed at least a few more seconds to figure out what to do about the explosive on my shoulder.

Looking around at the less-than a militia fighting beside me, I created a barrier around myself. Inverting it, I ensured that I could lock the explosion in around me; the only point of concern was whether I could hold it after the detonation long enough for the force of it to die down.