Salvation: Episode I - The Taking of the Carmenta Illustria

Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is part of an episodic series taking place after Salvation: A Half-Life/Mass Effect Universe Fan Fiction, which will lead directly to its sequel, Salvation II: Project Prometheus. These episodes and sequel take place OUTSIDE of the Mass Effect 3 continuity. Characters property of their respective companies, Half-Life created by Valve and Mass Effect created by Bioware.

Chapter 25: Untouchable (Part II)

Only Human…

"Foreign contaminants detected. Foreign contaminants detected." A monotonous female voice announced, and a holographic sign at the back of the room flashed, in bold red letters, as a light, foggy mist, began to wash down on Davix and Gordon, from some sort of atomizing sprinkler system in the ceiling. The vaporous haze was accompanied by an intense, almost blinding, beam of white light, which cascaded back and forth across the room, like the glow from a copy machine. It was a process mirroring the sanitization ritual that occurred within the airlocks of most starships, when wayfaring crew members would return aboard from various, otherworldly treks, sojourns, and expeditions. "Decontamination in progress. All employees are requested to leave the area."

"You little piece of shit!" Davix shouted out, clearly no longer amused, as he pushed himself up, off the bed of glass shards.

Gordon wasted no time in following suit, trying to shake off the ache in his bones, and the sting in his flesh, as he scurried to beat the turian to his feet. This proved quite the racking task however, as despite being on the offensive end of the last attack, Gordon appeared to have suffered the blunt of the trauma, due to lacking the benefit of armor protection, which his nemesis was fortunate enough to be endowed with.

Regardless, as he rose up, he was the first to attack; incorporating a blind, wild, right swing. An offensive the seasoned mercenary easily countered, as he raised his left arm, like a boom gate against the blow, before retaliating with three stinging, pummeling shots of his own, into Gordon's gut.

With the maladroit physicist now hunched over, gasping for breath, after having the air rammed clean out of him, Davix raised his arm, and drilled a sharp, armored elbow straight down, between his shoulder blades.

"Uagh-Ack!" Gordon grunted, groaned, sputtered, and coughed - all with one frightfully dreadful rale, as he plopped down, stomach first, onto the bedding of glass debris.

"Come here, get up!" Davix snarled furiously, as he grabbed a handful of Gordon's hair from the back of his head, and jerked him up to his feet.

"And to think, I was trying to take it easy on you!" He exclaimed, as he raised the exhausted, enfeebled human up before him, almost dangling him by his hair, only to drill a fearsome right jab into his chin. The blow rattled Gordon's entire jaw, and caused him to slam backwards, against the sharp edge of the clean-room counter, before sliding down, and landing seated on the floor, with a bloody mouth, and a glazed over look in his eye.

Any sense of merriment and jest formerly prevalent in Davix' disposition had long since dissolved, as he bent down, and dug his talon-like fingers into Gordon's nostrils, like a fishhook. "Get up, I said!" He savagely berated, as he yanked up.

"ARRGHH!" The battered Freeman let forth a bellowing, agonizing wail, through his teeth, as he was dragged up to his feet, by his nose.

When he stood upright, Gordon tried lashing out again with a feral haymaker, straight away. But this attempt proved no more successful than his previous pursuits. Davix swung his arm up, intercepting Gordon's wild swing with his cast-iron forearm. And with the same motion and momentum, he twirled his arm about, locking Gordon's limb underneath his armpit, and wrenching his shoulder and elbow upwards, towards the ceiling, in a way that human limbs just aren't meant to bend. Just then, he reached out, locking a pincer-like grip around Gordon's throat, as he pulled him forward, less than an inch from his face, to peer into his pained, yet wrathful green eyes.

"You think you're tough, don't ya, you little prick?!" Davix barked in his face, spraying an insulting deluge of saliva onto him with every word.

Gordon grit his teeth, as he wrapped his one liberated hand around Davix' wrist, attempting to pry the petrified clutch off his throat, while his other arm was slowly bent up, further and further, like a twig on the verge of snapping. But whatever pain he, or any man should have been feeling, was somehow anesthetized by his own brewing rage and ire.

But again, it didn't matter, as all at once Davix released his arm-bar hold and locked Gordon up in a fleeting bear hug. With lightning quickness, the turian instantaneously spun himself around and, utilizing a hip throw, forcefully sent Gordon flying and smashing, with a bone rattling percussion, back into the main section of the galley, through what remained of the clean room's glass pane window...

"Teshya!" A coarse, commanding voice snapped in the Blood Pack asari's ear, as she stood at the center of the dining hall, radiating like a star, with three tables orbiting around her, like planets. "Teshya, come in! Do you read me?! Respond!"

The belligerent mercenary rolled her flaming eyes, as she brought a hand up to her communicator.

"Teshya, what's your situation?! Davix isn't responding to my comms! Where are you?! What's happ-"

Rather than pressing against the small earbud communicator, she turned a tiny dial on it, effectively silencing the bellowing in her ear, as she switched it off.

"Not now, krogan…" She muttered to herself, as she watched the pained, hampered movements of her victim with vile anticipation. "I'm working here…"

Miranda slowly rolled onto her stomach, and began trying to push herself up off the ground once more, with the guise of a quivering, decrepit, old woman. She looked to be utterly spent…

Suddenly and without warning, she dispensed with the ruse, and sprang up, off the ground, making a b-line for her asari adversary. Charging full tilt with her head reared, Miranda scanned the area around her with her arms extended to her sides - snatching up a mishmash assortment of glass, ceramic, and silver plates, platters, and cutlery, with her biotics. The makeshift munitions gravitated towards Miranda, as she stopped a few feet away from Teshya, and unfurled the entire arsenal, full force, directly at her.

Teshya rolled her eyes, indifferent and unimpressed, as two of her tables suddenly flew out, in front of her, on their sides, creating a protective rampart wall, just as the volley of dinnerware came smashing, and crashing against the tabletop surfaces.

Suddenly, and at her command, the third of her three tables whipped over from her left-hand side to her right, and found its mark.

"Uagh!" Miranda cried out, in pain, as she was swatted away to the floor, like a bothersome mosquito, and the knife she wielded, with murderous intent, was sent flying out of her hands. The salvo of tableware was doubtless intended to be a mere diversion, while she'd rush in, around the asari's defenses, and blindside her with a fatal strike. This, of course, did not transpire as she premeditated.

As Miranda rolled onto all fours and obstinately began pushing herself up again, another of the tables gravitating around the asari whipped out, and was sent flying towards the enfeebled brunette. Miranda looked up and instantly raised a glowing hand against the attack, successfully deflecting the projectile, and protecting herself behind a thin, wavering barricade of rippling energy.

By that time, a second table was already veering straight towards her, in rapid succession. It was perhaps purely a reflex action that allowed her to channel all the energy from her previously generated barrier into a concentrated biotic pulse, which she fired straight through the table, causing it crumble and burst into a rainfall of tiny, wooden splinters.

But through the ensuing eruption, the third and final table was already on its way; tumbling through the previous table's fragmentation end over end, like a punted football.

"Arrgh…!" Miranda respired a tormented sound, that was part cry and part scream, as the table crashed down against her, sprawling her across the floor, flat on her back. She wasn't quick to stir, this time. She simply laid there, writhing languidly, in a tormented dazed, like a mortally wounded rabbit, twitching in the throes of death…

Gordon lurched forward off of the bed of crackling glass shards - dragging himself across the floor, on his stomach, until he finally reached the nearest counter. A newly opened lesion oozed with blood from somewhere under his frayed, auburn colored head of hair. The fine, crimson stream ran down from above his hairline, and permeated into and around his left eyebrow. His right arm, which was peppered and flecked with grated abrasions, quivered, as he reached up and latched his fingers onto the countertop ledge.

All he wanted to do at that moment - all he felt he COULD do - was to just lie there, seeking assuagement for his pain stricken body. But something inside kept refusing to give in. Something kept driving him on, as it had on so many occasions in the past. Knowing full well that it was only a matter of time before the next impending offensive would come, he bolstered his grip on the countertop ledge, and began using it to pull himself up.

That's when heard the all too expected sound of glass crunching beneath a hard soled boot, behind him. Davix made a slow, methodical approach, observing the wounded physicist's rare show of tenacity, as he tottered up again. And when Gordon's eyes rose up over the horizon of the countertop edge, he noticed a large, upright, butcher's knife, with its razor tip buried deep into a wooden cutting board, besides a half-diced onion bulb.

Gordon listened for the encroaching footsteps behind him to get just a tiny bit closer… When all of a sudden, rejuvenated by an adrenaline fueled rage, the physicist exploded onto his feet, snatched the knife up by the handle, and swung himself around, in a hundred and eighty degree spin - lashing the knife out with him, as if it were a helicopter blade.

The quick-witted, agile turian jumped back, just as the surgically sharpened steel came slicing towards him - digging a deep, downward, horizontal slash into the chest plate of his burgundy Blood Pack Armor. Gordon brandished the blade defensively, panting, palpitating, and trying to keep his legs from giving out, as he readied himself for another attack.

Davix raised a casual eyebrow, as he looked down at his breastplate and ran his fingers along the newly cut groove in his armor, from his right chest, down to his left hip. Figuring his assailant distracted, Gordon seized the opportunity and rushed in again - this time trying for a forceful, dead-center lunge.

Davix shuffled to one side, with supernatural quickness, letting the inept physicist impale nothing but the air, and bumble ahead forward. Gordon screeched to a stop, and hunkered over; touching one hand to the floor to stabilize himself, recover, and immediately redirect his movements. As he stood back up, he lashed out again, swinging the knife back around, the other way, like a pendulum aimed at the turian face. But this time, as he did so, his arm was suddenly stopped cold. Davix arrested the attack by sidestepping the swipe, and simultaneously clasping both his hands around the back of Gordon's armed wrist and forearm. In the very next instant, the versed combatant clamped his hand around Gordon's knuckles, painfully crunching his digits in, and forcibly prying his grip off of the knife.

"MRRGH!" Freeman roared in pain, through his throat, with a look of agony etched on his face. But just before the knife could hit the floor, Gordon clenched his one free fist - the one attached to the end of his left forearm, which was still encased in a silver, metallic cast. With an indignant look on his face and a daunting rapidity, Gordon swung his left arm up and careened, not his fist, but his cast, straight into the side of the turian's smug face. This action, however, was surprisingly met with a greater and opposite reaction, as the blow suddenly spun Davix around, as if he were a roulette wheel. He came back, full-circle and full force, like an Olympic discus thrower, requiting Gordon's strike with a savage, spinning, back-handed punch of his own.

The next thing Gordon knew, he was flat on his back again, dazed and riddled with pain, with his eyes glazed over in a benumbed, half-conscious, stupor. As the room seemed to spin and pulsate with the beat of his own heart, he starred up at the bright ceiling lights, and at the tall, shadowy figure looming over him, like the fourth pale rider.

As Davix looked down, shaking his head with a look of pity and distaste for his stubborn opponent, he unexpectedly felt something warm running down the side of his chin. He reached his hand up towards his throbbing jaw, and lightly touched the tips of his fingers to the bottom of his mouth. When he pulled his hand away, his armored glove was glazed with the dark-blue blots of his own blood.

Davix sneered, and rubbed his fingers together, evanescing the fluid on his fingers, as he looked down and spat a thick, viscous globule of bloody saliva onto the floor, next to Gordon's face.

"…Didn't hurt."

"Damn it!" Shepard exclaimed, grinding his teeth, and pounding a riled fist into his palm, as he looked at the screen. "He has no idea how to fight!"

"John, what are you talking about…?!" Tali queried, utterly perplex, as she sat in the next seat over, keeping Matty company, and trying to keep him distracted from the grisly images on the neighboring screen. "I don't understand. He fought the vorcha and the Reapers with us… He beat those pirates at Exo-Geni. Saved Garrus from the Blue Suns. Not to mention all the stuff you say he did bef-"

"Yes, when he had a gun with him…!" John agitatedly put forth, cutting Tali off, as he continued to watch - wincing more and more, with each passing second. "He's smart, Tali… He's quick, he's adaptable, and he's proficient with firearms... But I don't think the man's ever been in a fist fight in his life. He just… takes wild, aimless swings…! And he's got too many tells. He's way too easy to predict…"

"…What do we do?" Tali beckoned, with a growing sense of ugency in her voice, as she lightly patted the boy's back, trying to keep him reassured, and at ease. But Matty was smart enough to know that something was terribly wrong - the frightened grimace on his face was evidence enough of that.

Just then, Shepard looked down to the second half of the split screen, watching as Miranda slowly started to stir again. The inexorable woman quivered turbulently, as she pushed herself away from the floor. Still huddled over on her hands and knees, she looked up at the supercilious mercenary, and raised a debilitated arm. A faint, almost imperceptible glow washed over her palm briefly, when a tiny, ebbing wisp of an attack was breathed out, and wafted over toward the asari, floating like so much trash in the breeze. As the diminutive glowing speck lightly kissed the side of the asari's cheek, it quickly dissipated into thin air, like a popped bubble.

The asari shook her head and smirked, as her own hand began radiating with energy, which she then channeled out as a torrential pulse on a collision course with Miranda. The tenacious beauty was instantly swept up, and sent tumbling across the floor like a twill ragdoll, before finally rolling to an inert, paralytic stop.

"My god…!" Shepard whispered to himself, in a hushed, horror-stricken voice, as he cringed and shook his head in dismay. "We gotta go. Now…!" He asserted, as he switched off the screen, and turned towards the door. Tali nodded, and was quick to follow, swiftly scooping the boy up in her arms, and rushing up beside him.

"They won't last much longer. Neither of them…" John explained, with a determined acrimony on his expression. The couple breezed through the cargo ship at a quickened pace, as Shepard drew his weapon, and checked it - making sure the thermal clip was fresh, and properly loaded into the chamber.

"We need help them." He continued, looking to Tali, as they stepped into the umbilical leading to the neighboring ship. "But, remember… I'M doing the dirty work!"

Gordon rolled onto his side, with his back to the turian, and his head still somewhat mired and muddled in a dizzy stupor. But as his cognitive faculties began to return, he realized that nothing he was doing was yielding any sort of favorable outcome. His every attack was futile. His every defense, penetrated. Every last tactic he attempted to employ was quickly undone and outmatched by the much more skilled and proficient turian fighter.

"You know, I don't get you, human…" He heard Davix say, just then, with an addled and curious tone. "You got the eyes of a killer. But you fight like a guy who's never thrown a punch in his life."

Gordon tuned his ears to the sounds behind him. He could hear the turian breathing, but nothing more. He wasn't arming himself, he wasn't moving in for the kill, or even for another attack. He was simply waiting… And as the physicist rested there, huddled over on the ground, in pain, his pupils began to flicker, as an idea suddenly crept into his mind. Or perhaps, it was more a memory, than an idea. A memory of an instance when he nearly rammed a certain other veteran turian's head straight into a certain physician's desk...

"…That the best you can do?" Gordon mocked, in a raspy, creaky voice, as he rolled onto his stomach, and began pushing himself up once more.

Davix' eyes narrowed, infuriated, as he watched this pitiful little wretch of a human staggering to his feet again, in a defiant show of aspersion, like a blatant slap to the face.

Gordon's legs trembled, as he fought against his knees' insistence to buckle. He tottered a bit, wobbling like a branch in the breeze, when he finally managed an upright footing. He looked up, locking eyes with the turian, and challenging him over with a cold, hard gaze. Freeman took a step back with one foot, planting it firm and perpendicular to the other, as he raised his clenched fists, and fortified his stance. "Come on… I'm still standing…"

An indignant, scornful, sneer overtook the provoked turian's countenance, as he balled his hands into fists, and immediately moved towards Gordon. The keen-eyed physicist watched his movements very carefully - his hands, his legs, his feet - when all of a sudden, it came! Davix swung a rapid, rigid, right out at Gordon, but one doesn't become a legend of human history without having lightning fast reflexes of their own. Gordon swatted at the oncoming arm, unexpectedly snatching the aggressor's wrist, twisting it, and wrenching it backwards, hard, behind the turian's back.

"Argh!" Davix cried out, partially from pain, and partially from surprise, as Gordon shuffled around behind him, with his arm firmly locked back in a painful hold. Suddenly, the physicist swung the turian around, spinning him towards the nearby counter, as he took hold of the back of Davix' armor, at the brim that surrounds his neck and shoulders. Gordon reeled the turian back, by his collar, and proceeded to forcibly thrust his head down, towards the metallic countertop, with all the strength his could muster.

Only… Contact was never made. No matter how hard Gordon pushed, Davix' head refused to budge, as he had planted his free hand on the countertop, using it to ballast himself and block the intended collision. Refusing to give up, Gordon yanked back on the turian's collar again, and once more tried to drive his face straight down, through the metal surface. But the outcome was no different. On the valiant physicist's third attempt, Davix immediately drilled his sharp, pointed elbow back into Gordon's gut repeatedly, while at the same time managing to slip under and out of Gordon's arm lock, reversing the hold in the process.

An excruciating twinge of pain shot into Gordon's entire arm, as the next thing he knew, the turian was behind him. Suddenly, his vision zoomed and blurred as his face was driven down hard, onto the countertop surface. His forehead bounced off, with a chilling thud and unforgiving force, before immediately being drilled in again second time. Then a third, forth, and fifth time, all in rapid succession, for good measure. Gordon seemed to go limp, with a blank, glassy-eyed stare, as Davix released his hold on the back of his collar, allowing him to drop the floor, like a large, dead weight.

As soon as he collapsed, a tiny spark of life shone again, as he immediately clutched his face in his hands, and writhed around weakly, moaning and groaning incoherently, through his throat.

Davix looked down at him, listening to him mutter something profane into his palms, like a babbling drunkard.

"Nice try…"

Teshya raised her illuminated hand out at the incapacitated Miranda. A shimmering, cerulean glow washed over the rapidly fading brunette, completely wrapping her in a biotic cocoon, and gradually lifting her off the ground. She was propped upright, and brought floating high above Teshya's head, with her arms fully extended to the sides, spread eagle, like some sort of effigy.

With Miranda hovering helplessly above her, Teshya turned to look out at the vast, cavernous, and utterly vacant dining hall.

"Races of the galaxy!" She shouted out, projecting her voice as if she were addressing a crowd of millions. "Tremble, and behold…! For the great advent of humanity is come…!" Teshya looked out at the barren dining room, as if awaiting some sort of ovation. Just then, the sides of her lips began to quiver and curl up, as if she couldn't hold back a smile. And all of a sudden, it came. "Pfft-Hahahahahahaha!" Teshya blurted through her lips, and broke out into an unrestrained, tumultuous cackle. She huddled over, holding her stomach, as she laughed, and turned back towards the defenseless floating woman.

"Gimme a break…!" She continued, addressing Miranda directly with traces of laughter still in her voice, as she lowered the suspended brunette down to her eyelevel.

"You humans… What makes you so special, huh?" She questioned, as Miranda's half-closed eyes looked up, in a dreary, drowsy daze. "What makes you worthless pack of pyjaks worthy of Council representation so soon…? I mean, look at you!" "AHHH!" Miranda cried out in pain at the asari's exclamation, as she fanned her glowing fingers out, causing the biotic field around Miranda to tighten and stretch her out a little further.

"You're nothing…!" The ruthless asari continued to berate, while somewhat loosening her biotic hold. "You've got no longevity... No skill, no finesses… You're not as tough as krogan. You're not as disciplined as turians, or as smart as salarians… I mean, don't get me wrong. Asari have got 'em all trumped." She declared, with a cocksure snicker. "We've got the best scientists, the best doctors, the best soldiers…" When she said it, a sly, nefarious look crept onto Teshya's face, as she raised her hand up against Miranda, again.

"Ahh-AHHHH!" The drained, powerless operative screamed in agony, as the force around her tightened again, like a torture rack, causing her to feel as if she were being ripped apart from the inside out. But as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

"Best biotics…" Teshya added, with an odious smile, as Miranda's head drooped lax over her chest.

"Shit, you humans don't even possess any natural biotic ability!" The mercenary continued to disparage, in a hate fueled, bigoted rant. "The only way a human becomes a biotic is through implants, or freak eezo exposures. But yet here come the lot of you, switching on every Mass Relay you find, acting as if the galaxy's yours, and everyone else owes you something."

When Teshya finished her spiel, she looked up at Miranda, hoping to incite some sort of reaction. A word to the contrary, a gesture of rebellion, something… But Miranda simply floated there, with her head hung down over her chest. The asari wrinkled her nose in contempt, as she reached in to her biotic envelop, grabbing Miranda by the chin, and lifting her head up, forcing her to make eye contact.

"Your kind makes me sick…" She professed, with utter disgust, as she squeezed the sides of Miranda's jaw. "We asari… We're the thoroughbreds of this galaxy. The alpha-race… Do you know what that makes you? Hmm?" She patronizingly asked, as she forcibly swiveled the drowsy eyed human's head from side to side, to mimic a head shake. "That makes you the mongrels... The mutts… It makes you the most putrid layer of prehistoric kakliosaur shit sitting at the bottom of the deepest, darkest scum pit on Tuchanka…"

"That's what a human is." She emphatically reaffirmed, as she pulled her hand away. When she did so, she expected Miranda's head to fall limp again. But surprisingly it didn't… Miranda inhaled and exhaled a series of deep breaths, burning an indignant look straight through the armored merc, as she spoke.

"I'm… going… to KILL… you…!"

Teshya stood there for a moment, silently and pensively eyeing the insolent human with a countenance void of all emotion. Suddenly, her nose shriveled with anger and contempt, as she thrust her hand forward, sending Miranda flying backwards yet again. A thunderous clamor of glass, metal, and wood beating together and breaking apart resonated throughout the dining room, as Miranda crashed straight through the late Captain's refectory table, where she and the rest of Shepard's stalwart crew had dined at a little over twenty-four hours ago. Her impact snapped the long table in twain, like a wafer, causing it to buckle at the center, and forcing all the left-behind dishes and tableware to slide down, on top of her, like a waterfall.

Teshya sneered and shook her head, as she looked on.

"Pathetic…"

"You ready to stay down yet?! Huh?!" Davix chided with a swift, infuriated kick into Gordon's side.

"Oof!" Gordon grunted, trying to cover up, as he squirmed languidly on the floor.

"You fuckin' little shit!" Davix scolded. "Who do you think you're messin' with?!"

"Ackhm!" Gordon coughed from another rigid punt, this time into his stomach.

"I've taken down commandos, and battlemasters, and bounty hunters!" He continued to trounce, while Gordon simply writhed around, sapped of strength, and stunned with pain. "I fought my way out of the Detruro Military Outpost before they could fucking court martial me! What is it you thought you were gonna do, huh!?"

"Umph!" Davix' final piercing kick, which was drilled straight into the center of the defenseless Freeman's chest, left him laid out and utterly immobile.

"You little human shit stain…!"

Quickly growing weary of this game, the seething, veteran mercenary turned his attention away from his incapacitated prey and took a brief, panning glance around the kitchen - looking for an interesting and gratifying way to end this laughably one sided fight. And that's when he spotted one… Leaving the broken-down scientist behind, Davix quickly strolled over to the long, rear counter, jutting out from the back wall, behind the massive spice shelf.

When he reached it, he approached the large, metallic column, extending from the countertop, all the way into the ceiling, with a small, metal door on its side. This was obviously one of the miniature elevators used to send goods, drinks, and ingredients back and forth between the various decks. In an exhibition of near atlas-like strength, Davix dug his long, sharp fingers into the edge of the doorway, and began prying away the metal panel door. Under his power, the metallic door began to fold back like cardboard, before being ripped clean off of the elevator. Davix discarded the bent metal panel, and hunched over, sticking his head into the newly revealed, darkened cavity. He swiveled his head around, and looked up, spotting a large, dark mass about four or five floors above.

"Heh…" He snickered to himself, as he pulled his head back out, and returned his attention towards the writhing physicist. "This'll do nicely."

Wasting no time, Davix marched over to Gordon, bent down, grabbed him by the throat, and yanked him to his feet.

"Come here!" He shouted, with a sense of foreboding in his voice, and a look of insidious glee beaming on his face, as he hauled the unruly scientist towards the back of the galley. Barely even able to stand, Gordon's feet scraped along the ground, as he was carted over to the elongated counter at a point opposite of the elevator. The lengthy, stainless steel countertop led straight into the dark, opened elevator shaft, like a road leading to a tunnel.

"I've ALWAYS wanted to do this!" Davix exclaimed with a morbid, yet child-like enthusiasm about him, as he hoisted Gordon up and laid him out flat on his back, on the countertop. Sensing something malicious was afoot, Gordon desperately tried to summon a flurry of strength and fight against his assailant. He punched, and pushed, and thrashed in any way that he could, but this was only met with a cruel series of pacifying body shots. With his victim more or less neutralized, Davix took a firm hold of Gordon's collar and belt and charged forward, at full-speed, sliding Gordon across the countertop with him, like a bulldozer, and using his head to plow into a myriad of various bottles, containers, and assorted cookware.

"Ahh!" Freeman cried out, as a sharp, throbbing pain shot into each of his collar bones, when his shoulders collided against the outside edges of the elevator, bringing him to an abrupt halt. The white fluorescence of the bright kitchen lighting quickly faded to darkness, as his head was rammed into the small, shadowy shaft, leaving the indigo glow radiating from his targeting visor the only remaining illumination.

Davix pulled one hand off of Gordon's throat, and used it to quickly press the down button on the small elevator control panel, before immediately returning it to his neck, and forcibly pinning him down. As a whirring hum began to resonate within the narrow shaft, Gordon eyes widened with dread, when he suddenly noticed the large, square shaped mass descending straight down, on top of his head - A mass that would surely decapitate him, if he could not escape this precarious ordeal in a matter of seconds…

Teshya circled around the felled Miranda with the semblance of a vulture, or a hungry shark, as she looked down with disgust, though admittedly pleased with her handy work. Just then, she stopped, pressed the edges of her blazing hands together, side by side, and performed a prying, separating motion. As if she were parting the Red Sea, her gesture split the two snapped table halves apart, and propelled them away, along with the remnant table clutter. The only thing left there now, where the Captain's Table used to sit, was a vulnerable and exposed Miranda, lying helplessly on the floor, in a benumbed state of consciousness.

"Hmph…" The asari chortled under her breath, as a sinister idea popped into her demented head. She took a quick glance around, and spotted an ivory-handled, serrated steak knife on the floor, a few feet to her right. Without even having to move towards it, she simply extended her hand, summoning it over with a blue wave of energy. When it flew into her grasp, Teshya kicked Miranda off her back, and rolled her onto her stomach. She then stepped over Miranda, planting both her feet, on either side of the human's hips, before squatting down on top of her, knife in hand.

"Ahhh!" Miranda cried out, in pain, as the asari grabbed a handful of her silky, raven hair, and yanked back hard - pulling her head up, off the floor, and arching her neck and spine back.

"You got a real pretty head'a hair, insect." Teshya leaned forward and whispered into her ear, as she drew the knife before Miranda's eyes. "It's gonna look even prettier once I've carved it off your skull..."