David Anderson walked briskly down the civilised streets of his home planet. Humanity's place in the galaxy may be improving but on Earth the gap between the haves and have-nots was only getting worse. Despite the apparent peace and prosperity he walked through he knew that less than 30 miles away was the urban wasteland, a vast desolation outside the protection of local authorities. Streets carved up by various gangs, the people who were forced to survive out there made the vorcha seem enlightened and batarians look like saints. Someone bumped into him, he glanced quickly at the people around him but no-one apologised, unusual for this part of town, then he saw her. The teenager was taking care not to appear suspicious, not running despite an apparent desire to, but she still walked faster than average and slid between the gaps in the pedestrians to move along quicker. Her eyes were continuously roaming, searching for something and he'd just started to tail her when signs of less stealthy pursuit reached him.
"There! Get her!" A shot rang out and as members of the public started screaming and running in all directions Anderson ducked into a side street and reached for his sidearm. His hand came away empty. Cursing he glanced out and caught site of the girl crouched behind a bin in the middle of the street, his pistol in her hands. Five armed men and a woman strolling casually up the centre of the road towards her.
"Come on out baby doll. I promise we won't kill you." Any chance the words had of being reassuring was lost when another of the gunmen let slip "yeah, Kray's got a much better fate waiting for you." The way the thief paled suggested she had some idea of the sort of things that fate could entail and she took a pot shot in their direction before hurrying out to the other end of the street, a hail of weapons fire following in her wake, one of the shots hitting her in the leg. Pulling the bloody limb into the relative safety of a shop doorway she tried to stand but the wounded leg wouldn't hold the weight and she collapsed against the limited cover of the doorframe. With escape no longer an option the girl's features hardened and she resumed firing with intent, one of her assailants fell screaming with a shoulder wound. Anderson cursed the child yet again, if he still had his gun he could have taken out all of them quickly and cleanly, instead he had to watch and wait for an opportunity where an unarmed marine might stand a chance of turning the tide. It was then his ears picked up on a pattern to the sounds around him that had been common to the training ranges and battlefields of a decade ago. While one would expect a scared or enthusiastic amateur to keep firing and overheat the weapon the teenager was firing and pausing in an optimum pattern of efficiency for getting the most shots with the lowest cooldown times, except it was the wrong pattern, the N7 knew you could get another 2 shots off with his pistol, but the pattern was perfect for the gun that had stopped being standard issue 8 years ago. Whoever this kid was she had weapons experience. That thought was solidified in his mind a moment later when the woman who had managed to sneak much closer, went down to a perfect headshot.
The surviving gunmen were all fully focused on the girl and as the last one passed his position Anderson saw his chance and slipped out, putting the man down hard. Dodging between cover, the soldier zeroed in on his next target but just as he popped up behind him, arm wrapped around his neck in a choke hold, the child leant out of cover aiming at the same target. He saw her eyes widen in shock at the unexpected help and then her aim quickly slid over to the other side of the battleground, taking care of the gunman furthest from his position. Working together it took just over a minute and a half to finish clearing the street, all 6 hostiles dead or subdued without further injury to themselves. Then Anderson cautiously approached the teen, knowing it was the most dangerous part of his day so far. His pistol snapped onto him and while she didn't shoot, her aim never faltered as she warily tracked his movements.
"That's close enough." He stopped and raised his empty hands slightly, her eyes darting in all directions trying to find an escape route but never leaving him alone long enough for him to make a move.
"You're injured let me help." She shook her head, grip tightening on the gun as he attempted a half step closer.
"Back off." Dark rings surrounded her eyes and it was clear she hadn't been sleeping properly. Between the exhaustion and the leg wound she was struggling to stay upright but still she tried to back away, leaning against the wall for support. Any remaining hope of a way out faded as armed response police cars finally started to land at the scene. Cops spreading out with their weapons raised. Anderson found himself feeling immensely glad he was in uniform but his job wasn't over yet.
"Come on kid, put it down. You got a name?"
"Why? You wanna know what to put on the tombstone?"
"No... Come on kid it doesn't have to be this way. Put down the gun and let me help you."
"Too late. No-one can help me now." She finally looked him straight in the eye and the image of hopeless resignation in her gaze was mixed with something else that he couldn't identify. Whatever it was burned deep inside her and seared the memory into his brain. Even years later he couldn't decipher it, nor could he ever forget. The pistol raised back up and he fully expected it to be him or her, but instead she defied logic, bypassing the obvious targets in favour of aiming at the police, a battle she could never hope to win. Before she could fire she collapsed, tranquiliser dart exuding from her neck.