Garrus Vakarian was not having a good day.

With a growing sense of alarm, he listened as Shepard said, 'We have to go through. Please get out of our way.'

Up in front of them, a hulking krogan was glaring at her. 'Who the hell are you, human?' the alien said. 'And who are your pets?'

Next to Garrus, Mordin said, 'Diagnosis, rudeness. Prognosis? Not optimistic.' He shook his head, as if saddened by the vagaries of the world.

'Thanks, Doctor,' Garrus said. 'I'm sure they didn't hear that.'

Shepard was glaring at the krogan. She didn't look pleased. Her eyes had that murderous glint that appeared every now and then. To the krogan, she said, 'I could say the same about you.'

Shepard, Garrus and Mordin were stood at one end of a corridor somewhere in the bowels of Omega. Overhead some pipes groaned and little puffs of steam hissed out of a chink in one of them. A lighting panel was flickering in the middle of the ceiling, releasing an annoying buzz. The sound reminded Garrus a bit of the noise the Collectors' wings had made. It was a not a welcome reminder.

Behind the three of them was a door. It had locked itself moments after they'd entered – the hacking worm Garrus had dropped into its VI had been purged within seconds. There hadn't been time for anything more thorough. In front of the trio were no less than four Blood Pack warriors, and this guy. He wasn't wearing a Blood Pack uniform, or a helmet, but he was holding what looked like some sort of hammer.

The krogan's eyes locked onto Shepard. He growled, 'I am Jorgal Scjior, Battlemaster and warlord! You will know my name!'

Mordin said, sotto voce, 'New diagnosis – melodrama.' He sniffed. 'Condition could be terminal.'

The krogan offered them a poisonous glower. His upper lip curled.

Garrus's hands tightened on the grips of his sniper rifle. 'Thank you for provoking him, Doctor.'

'No charge,' Mordin said.

This was a bad situation. Stood in the middle of a linear corridor, bare metres from the enemy, with no cover, no surprise and no high-ground advantage was arguably about the worst situation possible for a sniper. Garrus had a Mattock rifle folded up on his back, but it might as well have been on Palaven. By the time he could get to it, the krogan would have charged. The only thing he could think of was that maybe – just maybe – he could get a quick headshot lined up. It would need a lot of luck and perfect timing –

As ever, Shepard ruined the moment.

She was frowning and looking a little confused. 'Jorgal … Skewer?' she said. She glanced down at her omnitool. 'Did that even translate right?' She looked back at the krogan. 'So, do you like skewering people, then?'

Multiple expressions rolled over the krogan's face. Some of them Garrus couldn't read. He did definitely recognise anger, surprise, offence, and then something completely unexpected.

The krogan leaned back and made a weird hacking noise.

Mordin looked baffled. 'Laughter? Or an allergy? Hard to tell.'

Scjior lowered his hammer, resting it on the ground. 'Jorgal Skewer,' he said. He shook his head. 'You know what, human? I think I like that.' He waved a hand at his troops. 'Stand down. Let them through.'

As they walked past the krogan guards, Mordin merely said, 'Unexpected.'

Garrus turned to Shepard. 'Shepard, I'm grateful, but – how do you do that?'

She just shrugged. 'I guess I'm just lucky, Vakarian.'