A/N: I have no idea how long it was since I updated. I only know that it was far too long.

If you want a run-down for the reasons of the late update, it was a mix of me being a lazy-ass and my life getting a bit more hectic than usual. I can't be sure whether or not I'll resume the one/two day updates, but I'll try my best.

Updates aside, thanks for all the hits and reviews!

Now, without further ado…

A Day in Life…

As consciousness once more returns to my mind, I am left to wonder why a week ago I didn't call dibs on the former bunk bed. Perhaps I didn't expect Herrmann to call dibs on anything ever? A justified position, as he often uses far more formal version of English than the rest of us, and therefore 'dibs' shouldn't have even been a part of his vocabulary.

Or perhaps I simply didn't use my tactical brilliance to plan ahead once I saw the bed in question? Knowing my tactical brilliance in its full shine, I can say that most likely it's a good thing that I didn't.

Then again, those events are so far back into the past that there isn't really any point to wondering this, if perhaps only to pass time until I find a good way to get out of the bed and get some food… That is, if I could even consider the paste food anymore. I can say that eating nothing but the paste since I got here hasn't improved my opinion of the thing. As a matter of fact, my opinion of it degrades by the meal. It most certainly won't become an acquired taste.

But none of that will be problem, really, if I don't figure out how to get out of this bed without waking Psycho, who's sleeping right above me, and as I found out doesn't take kindly to being woken up before her own time. Gah, my ribs still ache from that one.

Alright, let's take this slowly this time around… I still want to keep my bones as intact as possible, which is not saying much given the circumstances…

So far so good… No sounds of any sort besides my breathing. Alright… Steady, steady… Climbing out in three, two, one…

And I stumble, damn clumsily at that. If there wasn't any sound before, there is one now! Oh god, here it comes… Hopefully this time around she won't break my spine!

I hear a groan, a damn annoyed one at that, forming in the upper bed of the bunk. This is not good. Maybe I can still make a run for it? Who knows, this time around I ma-

And Psycho ever so kindly cuts my train of thought off, without any warning or pity. For a second I can feel the hit of her legs, descending from above and launching me forward beyond any hope for control. The only problem with this is that the table is right in front of me meaning that…

I hit it and my head takes the brunt of the impact and all the sudden it feels sort of numb and I feel dizzy… I can swear there's some sort of liquid going down my face… I clumsily turn so that I face Psycho… For what reason, I don't really know.

"Damn it, Pavlov." – She begins her scolding session. – "How many times did I tell ya not to wake me up?"

"I tried…" – I answer, not particularly feeling like forming complex thoughts… Argh, that damn headache, and I didn't even get to drink anything last night…

"Y'know that there's no 'try'. Just do or die." – She retorts.

Indeed, Psycho's training system, despite her cheerfulness, has proven itself to be rather draconic. Needless to say, my performance on the firing range has been improving rapidly. Nowadays I'm not shooting the gun out of my own hand, but occasionally hit the target. Still, I've got more than my share of bruises because of it.

As I slowly start recovering, I note another groan, this one belonging to Herrmann. I guess there's no sleeping to be had here any longer.

"Why do you have to be so damn cruel?" – I ask rhetorically.

Psycho, however, misses the 'rhetorically' part.

"I've had a batch of recruits before ya two, y'know." – She says, as if this explains everything.

"Oh?" – I ask, still sitting on the metal floor. – "And what happened to them?"

"They died." – She replies bluntly.

I jump a little at this.

"How did they die?" – I ask, hoping it's not what I think it is.

"Not from lack of training, rest assured." – She replies.

Oh great. Now there are two ways I could take that and right now, one seems more likely than the other.

"Schmitz!" – Psycho sounds off. – "Patch him up."

Yeah, ever since she discovered Herrmann's medical talents, Psycho's been using them to their fullest extent. Well, perhaps not that much, but close enough.

With yet another groan, Herrmann finally gets up and walks up to me, with his omni-tool open.

"Could you not ignore your urge to wake our resident psychopath up just one morning?" – He asks, annoyance obvious in his voice.

"Think of it like this, Herrmann." – I reply, as he scans my head with his omni-tool. – "You're not the one who just got kicked in the back and got his brain scrambled."

He rolls his eyes at this.

"It is just a minor concussion, nothing really worth complaining about." – He says. – "As for the head wound…"

And with a few pushed buttons, I feel a cold and tingling sensation pretty much all over my head. I preferred when it was very rare for me to experience this, but Psycho blew all that straight to hell. They don't call her Psycho for no reason.

"… And there goes that." – Herrmann finishes his statement.

As he stands up, he extends his arm in order to help me get up. I gladly take him up on that offer, grab his arm and help myself up. I guess it's time for the miserable excuse for a breakfast we have here.

As I turn towards the dispenser, I see Psycho merely fiddling with her omni-tool as if nothing happened just a few seconds ago. I don't think I'll ever understand her – Though I hope she gets understand me enough not to break my bones. I don't doubt Herrmann's abilities, but there's a limit to how far I'm willing to test them.

As I order a fresh batch of paste, I hear Psycho order:
"Ya better don't get an urge to eat that breakfast forever. I wanna see ya both outside, fully armored in ten minutes." – She orders.

I merely silently nod, and I'm not sure what Herrmann does, as I'm too busy getting my breakfast. Wordlessly, then, Psycho turns towards the ladders and proceeds to exit the shelter. I, on the other hand, merely proceed back to the table, leaving the dispenser to Herrmann.

I sit on the already familiar chair and put the plate down. As I once more look upon the pseudo-food in front of me I can't help but think that this is certainly not the best way to start off a day, but it was none the less the only way.

After a few minutes of silence, I finally speak up, though what comes out of my mouth could be, perhaps, better branded as a grunt:

"I hate this paste."

"You should, instead, be glad that you have anything to eat at all." – Herrmann retorts, semi-offended. Damn, he's not in a good mood today.

I, instead of immediately noting this, keep silent for a few seconds, taking his advice and being glad that all I have for food is this poor replica.

"What's up with you today?" – I finally ask after a while.

He in response initially just sighs, preferring to keep eating his paste rather than voice any particular answer or opinion.

"I have just been noting how much time has passed." – He finally says.

"It's barely been over a week." – I reply, figuring he is referring to the time of our employment in the Blue Suns.

"It has been an entire week and I have yet to earn a single credit." – He replies. – "And I still have a family to feed."

And I give myself a mental self-punch for not recognizing what he has been talking about. I guess I have enough problems of my own in order to forget someone else's.

And somehow, I find myself thinking as to what happened with me back home. Have I just disappeared? Or have I, like in that one SI fanfic, actually died? The latter option is actually, for some reason, a bit comforting. At least it means that I have left no loose ends that I should've tied.

"We'll get some work soon enough." – I assure him, finishing the paste.

"I certainly do hope so." – He replies.

And then I get up from the chair and turn back to where two of our self-shockers lay, just waiting to stab us in the back and kill the entire purpose of an armor.

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I hate this self-shocking piece of shit armor! It somehow managed to prove itself even worse than my omni-tool, which was in Ramirez's words a piece of shit!

"That's some lazy runnin' right there, Pavlov!" – I hear Psycho yell over comm. Oh, thanks for reminding me that I'm running, you goddamned asari psychopath!

As I run around the clearing for the umpteenth damned time I withdraw my previous statement that the clearing is small. On the contrary, once you run the hundred meters lap that the edge of it provides for as many times as I have, it provides a whole new perspective on just how ridiculously huge this place is. And I am many things, but in the fittest condition is something I am not.

Why can't everything be small?

"Attack from the left!" – Psycho informs.

As I was taught to do, I immediately drop down to a crouch position and come to a halt. I raise the M-8 Avenger assault rifle I carry in my hands and take my best aim at the nearest target, and from what I can tell Herrmann's doing the same.

Now comes the tricky bit. I squeeze the trigger and few moments later I release it. Damn it that was four rounds! I repeat the process, but release the trigger a few moments earlier. Two rounds! Gah!

The trick is in this: The Avenger lacks any other firing mode from full-auto. Many mistake this for an advantage, and waste their rounds into overheating in mere seconds. Now, as Psycho taught us, the 'pro' thing to do is to pull of a three-round burst, with preferably all bullets impacting your targets.

Anything more than three rounds more often than not misses its target and anything under that is giving your enemy the precious time to recharge their kinetic barriers.

And since the Avenger appears to be a bit better-hitting than its counterpart in the game, this appears to be a good and sensible tactic for using the rifle. The only problem is I suck at it.

So, I see no other options other than keep firing and missing like an idiot or trying the good old 'fire a hundred times and you'll hit something' principle. And given that I'm too breathless for anything like the accuracy Psycho's been teaching us, it's hardly a choice.

Abandoning all accuracy I simply squeeze the trigger and feel the gunstock hitting my shoulder like a sledgehammer, and the rifle trying manically to escape my grip. I hold out for some three seconds before being forced to stop firing, since I'm not risking shooting the gun out of my own hand again.

Hmm… I wonder, was that a cringe I felt coming from Psycho? That won't end well. I can tell.

"Resume sprinting, one lap left!" – Psycho informs us over the comm., her voice visibly annoyed at my unparalleled display of military prowess.

And so we resume running, much to my dismay.

Come to think of it, this self-shock armor is quite heavy. One would think that in the future they wouldn't need anything this clumsy and big to electrically shock someone.

Hmph… Knowing Psycho's punitive measures for something such as my dismissal of her training, I'll probably get to use the self-shocker again.

Alright… Few more meters and I come to a halt, finally! I take one deep breath after another, trying to get my breathing under control once again. Herrmann, on the other hand seems to be far more in control than me.

"'Kay," – Psycho begins, apparently completely oblivious to the breathing struggle. – "Let's review today's trainin'."

Only it's far from only training today. It's barely past dawn and if past experience means anything, there's no way Psycho will let us get away with just this.

"It took ya two some thirty minutes to run two'n'half kilometers." – She informs us. – "Pathetic, but I guess it's better than your original hour."

"Now, Schmitz, your reflexes're good enough." – She continues her monologue. – "As for yours, Pavlov, not so much."

"Movin' onto accuracy and three-rounders…" – She continues. – "Schmitz, you pass, not with flyin' colors, but you still pass.

"As for ya Pavlov…" – She begins the dreaded sentence. – "I won't even comment."

Instead, she opens up her omni-tool and… Oh god, here it comes!

She presses a button and my muscles begin to spasm beyond my control, as for the god-knows-what time, the electric current coming from the self-shocking armor runs through my body, leaving me to collapse a few moments later.

Psycho positions herself over me and says:

"Now, pick up your rifle and practice three-rounders 'til ya figure out you don't have a super-accurate super-durable rifle in your hands but a really shitty standard issue one!"

As my muscles still reek with pain, I can't help but think just how much it would be easier if she hadn't just practically stunned my entire body!

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I remember the days when I used to think of shooting guns as a fun thing to do for a living. Certainly, that was while I was still a bit of a kid, but I always had a soft spot for guns.

The past four hours annihilated that soft spot forever and left me hating the gun for the years to come.

But at least I apparently managed to get a somewhat reasonable chance of pulling off the famed three-round burst. And so, looking at the surprisingly-intact target, I collapse the rifle and reach for the suitcase, which housed my remaining firearms.

I slide the rifle into its designated spot and close the suitcase. Right now, I'm tired and my shoulder hurts like hell, and it isn't even noon.

I guess I'll have to go and see Herrmann for the shoulder. Hopefully he has something for the pain.

Speaking of Herrmann, where the hell is he? I look around and see no sign of him. Huh. I guess he went back into the shelter.

And so the shelter becomes my destination. As the overall clearing wasn't that large – A statement at which I would cringe at tomorrow's exercises – It only takes me a short time to reach the hatch.

From there, it is a mere slide down the ladder – As I have learned to avoid wasting time by climbing down the same. In the shelter I am greeted by the same old shelter and its occupants. Minus Herrmann.

Whereas I am certain that Psycho couldn't have missed my arrival, she just ignores me like usual, instead preferring the sight of her omni-tool.

"Psycho," – I begin. – "Have you seen Herrmann?"

Finally she looks up from her omni-tool and replies:

"Yep. He wanted to take a walk in the woods." – She replies.

"The woods?" – I ask surprised. – "I thought you said that the woods were filled with predators?"

"He has his gun." – Psycho replies. – "And unlike ya, he can actually use it!"

Oh, not this talk again…

"Hey, I improved since my initial shot!" – I reply.

"Sure ya did, but ya're nowhere as accurate as Schmitz!" – She retorts.

"And I haven't trained to be a surgeon either!" – I reply. – "You're hardly making a fair measurement here!"

She snorts at the word 'fair'.

"In battle the enemy won't be fair, Pavlov." – She replies. – "Ya're still an idealist, but you'll learn soon enough. Or maybe you'll die before that. Either way, it's all the same for me."

Well, that was surprisingly profound when you take into account that it's Psycho saying it.

"Perhaps if there were more 'idealists', this galaxy would be less shitty of a place." – I retort.

"Still livin' in the world of shoulds, I see." – She replies before turning her gaze back to her omni-tool, indicating that discussion was over.

I merely sigh. Herrmann's out of town, so my shoulder's unfortunately staying the way it is. What is left for me to do? I fired off my share of bullets today. Perhaps get an early lunch?

No thank you. I had enough of that paste to last a lifetime. And that's not because of its nutritional value.

So… I guess the only thing to do is to continue discussions with Psycho. In spite of her apparent wishes I speak up again.

"Why do we have to have paste for food?" – I groan after looking at the dispenser.

"'Cause it's portable." – She replies.

"Portable or not, I am sick of eating the thing for over ten days." – I respond.

"Ya don't like it?" – She finally says with annoyance in her voice, despite her grin. – "Then do somethin' 'bout it!"

"Like…?" – I ask. – "I'm open to suggestions."

"Ya have a rifle, don't cha?" – She asks. – "Use it!"

"For hunting, you mean?" – I ask, hoping that's what she meant.

"Yep, genius, that's what I meant!" – She replies, all with a sarcastic compliment.

"I think you forgot that I don't have surgeon's hands." – I say.

She lets out a long and annoyed sigh. Hopefully this doesn't mean I'll be on the receiving end of another punch.

"'Kay." – She says. – "I'll come with ya!"

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Alright, if someone told me that I would be hunting with a psychopathic asari on Bekenstein just a month ago, I would've most likely punched them for their idiocy. Actually, no I wouldn't, but it felt like the right thing to think.

Still, there was one burning question I felt the need to ask…

"Not that I doubt your hunting skills, Psycho, but…" – I begin, only to be cut off by Psycho herself.

"If ya don't doubt them, there's no 'but'." – She says.

"It's just that…" – I begin once more.

"It's just nothin'." – She replies. – "Now keep quiet! We don't wanna any prey knowin' we're here!"

"Won't any animals just smell us from like a kilometer away?" – I ask.

"Nuh-uh." – She replies. – "The wind's blowin' the wrong way."

"Yeah, come to think of it, if the animals actually caught the smell of our little 'bait', they'd run off into the distance." – I state.

"They're animals!" – Psycho retorts. – "They're dumb enough to eat just 'bout anythin'!"

Yeah, there go her hunting skills.

"How is bait supposed to work without the animals smelling it?" – I ask.

"Ya ask too many questions!" – She retorts. – "Keep quiet!"

Yep, she doesn't know the first thing about hunting. Animals, anyway. I wouldn't want her hunting me any of these days. Those are completely different rules of combat.

And so we're almost pointlessly lying in this bush. Nothing worth killing is even going to come anywhere near that paste. Goddamit, why can't we have any appropriate baits in the shelter, just lying and waiting for us?

Still, I guess I could make this pointless exercise somewhat pointful – Is that even a word, really? – Still, I guess I had some differences to work out with Psycho.

"Psycho," – I begin. – "We need to work out some differences."

"I told ya to shut it!" – She retorts. – "Plus, what differences?"

Argh, you mean she hasn't noticed it?

"Well for starters," – I reply. – "The fact I get a kick, a punch or get thrown around like a rag-doll every morning."

"There's nothin' I can work out there." – She says. – "I already told ya that ya shouldn't wake me up."

"I tried, Psycho, but I can't really be quiet if I have to fear getting beat down if I fail." – I reply.

"Fear is a good motivator." – She says.

"Is it really, now?" – I ask. – "In my case it has proven counterproductive."

"'Kay, so according to your logic, if I stopped kicking you every mornin', you'd actually go quiet for once?" – She asks.

"It'd be step in the right direction." – I reply.

"What a pile of crap." – She dismisses it.

Not the answer I expected, really, but one that somehow suits Psycho anyway – Which is not a good thing at all.

"You could at least try…" – I suggest.

She chuckles at this:

"For the longest time in my life I tried…" – She answers, once again not willing to go any deeper.

I keep quiet for a while, trying to discern the deeper meaning – If there is any – Of what she told me. However, thanks to her vagueness and unwillingness to tell me anything, I am unable to progress here.

"How about we try to sort out why you're picking on me?" – I ask, if a bit more aggressively than I intended. – "Your aggressive tendencies seem focused on me a bit too much for my liking."

She just stares at me for a second, but I'm unable to discern the meaning of this – Primarily because her face is practically dominated by her ever-present grin.

She then returns her gaze to the bait, and speaks up:

"Ya're takin' it way too personally." – She says.

"What do you mean?" – I ask, again unsure what she's referring to.

"I plan to kill ya." – She admits. – "But I also plan to kill everyone I've ever met eventually."

I must say I jump at her first sentence. When someone called Psycho says they're planning to kill you, it's usually a bad, bad thing. It probably means you should start figuring out what your last words are going to be.

Then again, I joined the Blue Suns, a merc criminal organization. This was to be expected.

"Why?" – I ask. – "What have I ever done to you?"

"'Cause life feeds on death." – She replies. – "And while there are two people alive, one will want the other dead."

There goes that sentence again. I most certainly won't ever understand Psycho. And she'll kill me regardless. Damn.

"I don't understand you." – I admit.

"Ya will soon enough." – She replies. – "The life of us mercs will teach ya."

"What do you mean?" – I ask once more, for once fearing the answer.

She grins once more.

"Not all our employers will have your moralistic ideals." – She answers.

And that is precisely what I fear. There rises the question, how far am I willing to go for my own survival? Can I even answer that in this peaceful – Ironic, given that I am right next to Psycho – Situation? I guess I'll know when the hard choices come.

"Hey, ya heard that?" – Psycho suddenly asks, breaking the silence.

"No, actually, I didn't." – I answer.

"Shut it!" – Psycho orders, and the tone actually makes me comply.

And suddenly I hear what appear to be… Footsteps? This far away from the city?

"Ready your rifle'n'surgeon's hands…" – I hear her whisper. Could it be that our prey has actually arrived?

Off in the distance, as if exiting camouflage, I see a brownish skinned varren-like creature walk towards us. The only difference is that unlike a varren, this thing had a much more prominent and massive jaw, as well as no visible eyes.

"A wrook." – Psycho says. – "They say they once were varren. Ready your rifle."

So she does, apparently, know a thing or two about wilderness.

The wrook turns towards the paste we have lying out in the open and starts walking towards it, as if to inspect it. I bring my rifle's scope into my sight and take the wrook in sights. Psycho apparently does the same.

The wrook takes the paste into its mouth – Or rather, jaw – And after a few seconds spits it out. Heh, I guess I can agree with that sentiment.

"Fire!" – Psycho suddenly yells out.

The wrook turns towards the source of the sound, inspecting it with newfound curiosity, perhaps looking for its true dinner. Oh no, you don't!

Psycho's rifle starts spitting out lead, in precise three-round bursts, and my own shoots in far less precise or deliberate three-rounders, occasionally skipping into two and four-round bursts.

The creature, after initial shock, shrugs off these wounds and starts charging towards us. We keep up the fire, but this berserking son-of-a-chernobylized-varren doesn't seem to care for anything except tearing us apart!

As it is mere half a dozen meters from us, I raise my rifle and take an aim for its head, firing off a single burst. The wrook immediately halts, and if it were a sapient creature, I'd swear it looks like it is in deep thought. Then, suddenly it collapses back onto the floor.

Holy shit! I actually just killed something with a single precise shot!

"Boom, headshot!" – I sound off, getting an odd look from Psycho.

I rise from the bush to inspect my kill. It is just a few steps away from where we were, and it is therefore just a few steps away.

As I approach it, I can't help but admire how toughly (brutishly, even), it is built. I especially take note of the armor-like plates it has for skin. One could mistake this thing for an evolutionary ancestor of the krogan.

I give the thing a kick for the good measure. Perhaps it is for the sake of mocking its defeat, or perhaps I'm trying to make sure its dead. Who knows? Eithe-

The creature suddenly leaps off the floor and its massive paws hit me, knocking me off balance completely. I fall down onto the ground, and the thing pins me onto it, apparently find me to be far more appealing of a dinner than the paste. I never thought I'd want anything dead for agreeing with me.

The things jaws close in to my head, readying to end it all for me. Psycho is nowhere to be seen. Figures. She did say she wanted me dead.

As I see the darkness of the wrook's jaws slowly closing in on me, I try to scream for help, but I'm far too terrified for this. Instead all that exits my mouth is a pathetic and pitiful whimper – But the thing isn't about to pity me. I don't know whether or not I am thankful for this – After all, this way I'll die with some dignity.

As the jaw moves in for the finishing blow, a strange sense of peace fills my mind. I'm still terrified, yes, but at a strange peace. I even smirk as I realize just how it ends: With a whimper, not a bang. I guess that poet, Eliot, was right all along. How oddly appropriate.

Then, out in the edges of my fading vision, I see a small speck of light, followed by a powerful flash and equally indomitable bang. The wrook simply collapses on me.

"Boom," – Psycho announces with a huge grin and shameless pride in her voice. – "Headshot."

I simply stare at her for a few odd seconds as my mind processes what just happened, apparently having trouble coping with the fact that it still exists. What a dumbass mind.

"I thought you said you wanted me dead?" – I asked, with a certain amount of incredulousness in my voice.

She gives me a scolding look, coupled with her ever-present grin and finally says:
"I said I planned to kill you." – She answers. – "Not that I planned havin' someone else do my dirty work for me."

"That was too close…" – I state the obvious.

"The wrook are highly intelligence prey." – Psycho notes. – "It's always dangerous to approach them while they still have their head on."

"Either way, can you get this damned thing off me?" – I de facto order.

"Sure thing." – She answer, before flaring her left hand in the blue aura of biotics and throwing the wrook off me. I stare a few seconds at the biotic manifestations. The wrook might have hit my head a bit too hard, but for some reason, they appear strangely… Beautiful, for the lack of better term.

"Ya never seen a biotic before, eh Pavlov?" – Psycho sarcastically asks. – "Now get up! We have a lunch to carry!"

Oh god, how are we supposed to carry that thing?

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"… but you have to admit, my accuracy's improving!" – I retort to Psycho's inherently anti-me argument.

"Yep, as proved by the deadness of this wrook back there." – She agrees sarcastically. – "Oh wait, I had to kill it, not ya!"

"But compared to what my accuracy was a few days ago, it's far better." – I note, ignoring her sarcasm.

"No kidding." – She says. – "Ya're no longer shootin' the gun outta your hand!"

I simply groan at the memory of the incident. That groan is followed by yet another one which is as the weight of this wrook thing.

The familiar clearing soon appears, revealing, among other things, Herrmann who apparently returned from his walk through the woods.

"Where were you two?" – He asks. – "And what in the name of everything holy is that?"

Through groans I explain:

"We were hunting for better food." – I say. – "And this is our lunch."

"No more paste?" – He asks with a renewed enthusiasm.

"No more paste." – I answer.

"Great!" – He asks with sincere joy in his voice. – "Now, who is going to cook this thing?"

Well… Come to think of it, I don't really know how to cook.

"Psycho, you know how to cook, right?" – I ask – "'Cause I don't."

"And why would I know how to cook?" – She asks before replying. – "I don't work for a restaurant, I kill!"

And thus all eyes fall on Herrmann.

After a few seconds he speaks up:
"Damn it, people! I'm a doctor, not a cook!"

A/N: And there you have the second part of the training arc. I hope you enjoyed it!

Thanks for reading!