--No Time--
--
O'Conner knew it was over. The sounds of gunfire overhead, raucous batarian voices, the screams of trapped slaves, all mingled in her ears. Worse, she couldn't see Shepard. If she was having trouble, pinned with Bryce and Edinburg…
Getting pinned by batarians was not going to do any wonders for Shepard…
On the other side of the room, crouching behind a crate, Shepard coolly reloaded her weapon. The first major piece of action, and it brought her face to face with the enemy. It didn't matter if this particular group ever set foot on Mindoir or not. They had four eyes, distinctive leers, nasty weapons and promoted slavery. That was all that mattered—that and having enough ammo for all of them.
Thoughts of vendetta versus duty never crossed her mind. They were the same. Alone as she was, no one could see something in Shepard disconnecting. As if part of her soul switched off, in light of the present situation. She was afraid, but she was angry, too. So angry she felt cold, so cold everything seemed clear.
She had no time.
No. She could wait them out, she had reinforcements. O'Conner and the others were here somewhere.
The slaves penned up, crated up, boxed up like cattle did not have the luxury of time. The batarians would kill every one of them, if it looked as though the Alliance had the upper hand.
Batarians were cowards. Crafty cowards, not to be underestimated…but they had no fortitude.
Shepard took a slow breath, leaning out from behind her safe haven. Bang. Bang. Two shots raced across the room, catching a cluster of batarians in their flank. Two went down, injured. Swearing silently, Shepard threw herself flat, scuttling forward on her belly to a new position, counting on the answering bangs of assault rifles from the others.
O'Conner knew the single weapon off on its own had to be Shepard's. If Shepard wasn't freaking out, she, O'Conner, certainly had no right to. O'Conner popped up, unloaded several rounds—picking off one of the batarians Shepard winged—before ducking down again.
Shepard exhaled and reloaded, her heart beating strong in her chest. Each beat seemed to say, no time.
Motion caught Shepard's eye. Boom-boom! The double tap caught the batarian on the balcony overlooking the warehouse like bunker. Catching both rounds full in the chest, the batarian slouched, flipped over the railing, and landed with a crunch. Two other batarians hit the poured-concrete floor, caught off-guard by Shepard as they watched the falling slaver's progress.
Suddenly, that distressed part of Shepard was less distressed: she could move around, whereas the others, apparently could not.
And all three kills were those closest to the slave pens. The slaves were her priority.
Assault rifles began firing with renewed vigor, allowing Shepard to continue her stealthy maneuvers, picking off one or two here and there as she worked single-mindedly towards the prisoners, all of whom were still screaming, taking what cover their positions allowed.
The batarians were falling into disarray, as Shepard finally got close enough to the crates to pepper those remaining without shooting the civilians as well. The batarians found themselves broadsided by Bryce and O'Conner, driven towards them by Shepard, the four of them driving the batarians away from the slaves, away from any chance of escape. The crates of other supplies and cargo gave the marines all the cover they needed.
Behind the line of fire, Edinburg and Garza made for the crates, disabling cheap locking mechanisms, then herding the terrified onlookers towards the back of the bunker.
Shepard could only surmise, as she drilled another batarian, that someone had come up with a plan during those few very tense moments.
O'Conner knew something was wrong.
Shepard had never given the impression of having a reckless bone in her body. Now, however, she refused to stop, to slow down. Hers was a constant push towards the rapidly backing into a corner batarians, mindlessly pushing the aliens towards her fellow humans. Systematically Shepard moved forward, paused behind a crate to fire on the enemy before continuing on. The more cornered the batarians got, the less they thought about when to shoot, reacting with desperation instead of acting with a clear head.
The more cornered the batarians got, the better Shepard's shooting got.
Shepard darted to the next point of safety. She could not see Bryce and O'Conner, nor did she see the worried looks she received from the later. She noticed nothing but the enemy, and her proximity to them.
Now, after who knew how many raids, how many scattered ashes of lives destroyed, the drifting, curling tatters of families ripped asunder, now they had no time. Now they knew what it was like to cower and cringe, and feel the inevitable slip towards them unseen in the darkness.
How did they like a taste of their own medicine? Too bad they wouldn't live long enough to learn from it…
"Shepard!" O'Conner sprinted to join Shepard, giving the batarians a single moment of clear shooting.
Shepard reacted, stepping free of her hiding place, unloading rounds into the retreating batarians, giving them something to shoot at apart from her fellow marine. O'Conner dropped to the ground, and opened up, praying for her aim.
For a few moments the air was full of gunfire. As if someone pressed a mute button on the scene, the noise stopped.
Shepard pulled O'Conner to her feet before stalking over to the batarians, weapon at the ready.
"What happened to you?" O'Conner snapped, catching the ice behind Shepard's eyes.
Shepard blinked, and the ice was gone. "There wasn't any time. Why are you upset? Your plan worked: They're dead, they're free." She motioned to the batarians and the slaves as appropriate.
O'Conner's face went chalky. "Plan? My plan was to keep you from getting your face blown off!"
"Oh. Well…don't tell the people in charge that."
O'Conner could have smacked Shepard upside the helmet.
With her rifle butt.