Editorial Note: In this personnel report, Shepard examines his relationship with Grunt, one notable for a particular aspect that sets it apart from his interactions with other squad members—past and present.

Personnel Report—Grunt

I've never had to babysit anyone. Growing up as a spacer kid, I got shuttled from station to ship to ship to station to ship. Hard to build up the babysitting credentials when you're here one month, gone the next.

So I was a little worried about what to do with Grunt. Wrex gave me some experience in dealing with people who were head and shoulders above everyone else on the Normandy. But Grunt? I practically popped the guy out of the womb—albeit a steel and glass one. I didn't know whether I had to teach him anything, how to teach a krogan to be a krogan or whether to force my own kleptomaniac-skewed human beliefs down his throat. (1) At least I didn't suffer any pain—the birthing kind, that is; I can still feel all that weight pressing down on me when he rammed me into the wall. Besides, from what I could see, Okeer had done a pretty thorough job on the whole Krogan 101 thing.

Of course, that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

I remember one time when I saw him. He was chuckling. So I asked what the big joke was.

"Heh... I was just... heh... just sitting here thinking," Grunt chortled. "The picture. I'm finally starting to get it. There's a tank imprint—the battle at Canrum. A dead turian. Stripped. You don't see them out of their armour much. A krogan boot on his head. And a claw hammer—under the brow plate, pulling it back, right? Eyes have gone black and you can see tension in the muscle. You can feel it ready to snap. I get it."

"Canrum isn't ringing a bell," I confessed.

"Death of Shiagur, female warlord," Grunt elaborated. "Turians killed her, so they were hunted down and made examples. Even if they won the war. It was the last push before the rebellions ended."

I was still drawing a blank. "Maybe it's one of those things where you had to be there, but I don't get the joke."

"There's no joke—it's just... great," he beamed. "It—it's a turian and he's being torn apart for what they did. I felt nothing before, but now I get it—it was a good fight. The enemy was destroyed to punish them all and send a message. I get it. I hate turians. I thought you'd be glad."

The part about a good fight, destroying the enemy, winning—that, I could relate to. It feels good to win a battle. Especially after a long, trying struggle. The rest... did I really need a krogan super-soldier who thoroughly embraced such stereotypes? Was that really what being krogan was all about—mindless fighting and hating? Oh boy. Yet another headache to toss on the pile. "Have you forgotten that Garrus is a turian? 'Cause the last thing I need is for you to start something with him. I won't have trouble on my ship just because of some memory."

Grunt looked at me in confusion. "I don't hate Garrus. I hate the turians."

Huh?

"Garrus is just one turian and he's your clan. No point in ripping his face off unless he turns on me."

So turians in general are bad, but individual turians are okay? Because their affiliation with me supersedes their identity of turians-equals-bad? Okay, maybe it was still prejudice but, in the grand scheme of things, it was a remarkably sophisticated and nuanced prejudice. I guess I could live with it. So could Garrus, I'd wager, and I said as much.

"It's hate," Grunt admitted, "but it's mine. Okeer was blind and he tried to make me the same. But thanks to you, I have a clan. I'm starting to see why I should care."

I suppose that made sense. Grunt was still figuring out who he was, but he knew enough that he didn't want to blindly accept Okeer's teachings. He wanted to embrace beliefs and values because they rang true to him, not because someone else said so.

"Anyway, I'm still figuring out where I fit, but it made me laugh. Nothing else really on my mind, Shepard."

I made a mental note not to ask him any jokes in the future.

During missions, Grunt poured his heart and soul into each and every fight. Thankfully, he kept the berserk suicidal charges to a minimum, and never at any point that threatened the safety of the squad. Thinking back, I do remember him glancing at me several times during our first couple combat situations. In hindsight, he was probably a bit surprised by my passive—by krogan standards—approach to combat. He may have also pondered whether it was a mistake to follow my lead. Luckily, the success rate—which still surprised me to this day—seemed to have satisfied him. At the very least, doing things my way kept everyone alive for the next fight—and with a surplus of ammo, to boot. Plus, he seemed to enjoy the numerous occasions when an adversary took a biotic blast, a fireball or a concussive round—especially his concussive round—in the face. (2)

In between missions, he spent the majority of his time in solitude. Without any company to stir up his territorial instincts—my visits notwithstanding—he was free to sift through all the memories and information Okeer downloaded. To choose what to accept, what to wrestle into submission and what to ignore. On his terms. Anything else just wouldn't be krogan, I suppose.

Of course, letting him stew over things without someone to help blow off steam wasn't necessarily a good thing.

It was Kelly who alerted me that Grunt was getting a bit restless. Which in his case meant making a mess of the Port Cargo Area instead of driving Gardner to tears with the amount of food he packed away. I didn't know whether she'd discovered that firsthand or observed via the surveillance systems scattered throughout the ship. All I knew was that she suggested—firmly—that I pay him a visit ASAP before that mess spilled out to the rest of the ship.

Sure enough, when I saw him, he was pacing back and forth restlessly. "Chambers said you're tearing up the place. Something wrong?"

"Something... is wrong, Shepard. I feel wrong. Tense. I just want to kill something. With my hands."

Grunt walked over to the window, which overlooked the hangar. I mentally calculated how long it would take for me to sprint to the exit, shut the door and seal it.

"More so than usual," Grunt continued, trembling as he tried to contain something inside, "like it's not my choice. Like I just want to... I don't know..."

He gave in to whatever urges he was feeling, lurching forward with a roar and ramming his head into the window. I suppose I wasn't surprised that it cracked. Hell, I was more surprised that it didn't break.

"See?" he said, marching up to me in frustration. "Why do that? What's wrong?"

I spread my arms out helplessly. "Okeer didn't imprint anything to help you figure this out?"

Grunt shook his head. "I see pictures of old battles, voices of warlords. But this is... a blood haze in my head. I want control. When we're moving, fighting, I focus. But here, my blood screams, my plates itch and even you are just noise! I'm tank-born. What is this?"

Some part of me—a very small, often ignored part—was still worried about his behaviour. Part of me was... well, was proud that he was trying to make sense of and control whatever was bugging him, rather than letting it turn him into a raving who-knows-how-many-tonnes of fury. Most of me, though, was curious.

"EDI," I called out, knowing it had heard the entire conversation. "Anything in your files about krogan diseases that could cause this?"

"Cerberus has a number of autopsies on file, but nothing on a living krogan of this age and situation," EDI replied. "Krogan are reluctant to share medical records."

"My people were defeated by doctors and labs," Grunt growled. "They will never let stuff like that leave the homeworld, Tuchanka."

"If we can't get them to send that info to us, then we'll just have to go to them," I replied. "Joker can get us to Tuchanka. Don't look surprised," I added when I saw Grunt's face. "I need everyone at their best. Besides, you're part of my crew."

Grunt almost sighed in relief. "Thank you, Shepard. I don't like this. Fury should be my choice, not some sickness."

Amen to that.

I've been to several planets throughout my life. Even more once I became a Spectre. But I've never been to Tuchanka. Not until now.

Wrex once described it as "Nothing but rocks, dirt and lava." Well I didn't see any lava, but I definitely saw the rocks and dirt. Krogan being who they were, they'd merrily nuked each other four thousand years ago. As a result, every single city had been reduced to ruins, mercilessly pounded and scoured by the harsh winds. At least the radiation had died down, aside from a few pockets here and there.

You'd think that the krogan camped out amongst the buildings. Well, some of them did. But not the ones we were going to see. Most of the krogan clans had ignored our hails or answered with insults. Only one of them had deigned to be helpful. Their directions led us down a large chute—whose cover was already during our initial approach—into an underground complex. While it was clearly artificial—and industrial—in design, there was an awful lot of rubble lying around. Maybe it made the krogan feel at home.

Speaking of home, we'd scarcely stepped out of the shuttle and saw that there were a couple krogan scattered around when one of them noticed me. "Stop right there," he barked, as a pair of krogan guards yanked out their pistols and pointed them at us. Krogan hospitality, no doubt. "You're Shepard," the krogan who spoke said, "of the Normandy."

He stared at me. "Yeah," I challenged, staring back. "So what?"

"The clan leader wants to speak with you," he stated at last. He looked like he was about to say something else, but then he noticed Grunt. "Keep your rutting pet on a short leash," he sneered. "Get him the Rite soon or put him down."

The what? "You know what's wrong with him?" I asked. "What he needs?"

"There's nothing wrong with him," he snorted. "Just go speak with the clan leader."

He refused to say anything else, so we left him and his buddies, went down some stairs and down into a T-shaped corridor. The right turn led to a dead end, where two krogan were hanging out. "Someday we'll get off this rock and show those turians who's boss," one boasted.

"Damn right," the other one chimed in. "Tear their scales off and let the pyjaks feast on them while they're still alive."

Turning left before they started yapping about how the salarians had wronged them too, I pretended not to notice when Garrus picked up a bit more speed. "I have been unsuccessful in accessing local medical records," EDI abruptly informed us. "I suggest asking the local clan leader for assistance with Grunt's problem."

"Got it," I replied as we went through a door. We clambered up an incline of rocky rubble and entered a huge cavern. It looked like a building complex that had partially collapsed, and the krogan had adapted their home to work with the resulting layout rather than investing the effort to rebuild it. Everything had a raw, primal vibe to it, but it looked awfully... I dunno, crude.

I could tell Grunt was a bit disappointed. "This is the great krogan homeworld?" he whispered. "This is the land of Kredak, Shiagur and Veeoll? This chunk of rock is barely worth standing on. Never thought I'd miss the tank."

Speaking of rock, I spotted a rocky incline that led up to a stone platform. A krogan was sitting on a crude throne or dais while another krogan walked back and forth yapping his mouth off. Several more krogan were scattered around—obviously guards, judging by their movements.

One of them stopped me when I led the squad up the slope and attempted to approach the head honcho—who, now that I was closer, looked familiar for some reason. "Halt!" the guard said in a gravelly voice. "You must wait until the clan leader summons you. He is... in talks."

He said the last words slowly, like they were unfamiliar to him. Probably because they were.

"You know what tradition demands," the krogan I spotted talking his mouth off complained in a tone that was both indignant and pompous at the same time. He was wearing a light grey hardsuit with blue piping, similar to one of the hardsuits Wrex had considered buying back in the day—just for a brief moment, mind you—before bursting into laughter. It was black with neon green piping. I still remember how much effort it took to drag him away, mostly because Wrex was too busy laughing at the sight to bother about silly things like watching where he was going.

Anyway, back to the Giant Pompous Windbag. (3)

"Clan Urdnot must respond," he was saying. "Your reforms will not go unopposed. You risk appearing weak at a critical time."

The clan leader, who looked awfully familiar, was hardly concerned. In fact, he looked bored out of his skull. In fact...

...in fact, he did look like...

I leaned closer to get a better look, attracting his attention. He took one look and jumped to his feet.

It was him!

"Shepard," Wrex breathed.

"Good enough?" I asked the guard sarcastically. The dope didn't hear me; too busy giving himself whiplash by alternating looks of disbelief between me and Wrex.

Wrex shoved GPW out of the way. Not having nearly enough muscle to accomplish the same feat, I squeezed between the guard who'd blocked my path and another guard. Politely, of course.

I watched with a mixture of joy and dread as Wrex approached me. Joy because, well, it was Wrex. Dread because he was moving with such enthusiasm, I was afraid he'd try to give me a hug. Or a backslap. Either of which would probably snap my spine—reinforcements or not. So I had another reason to grin like an idiot as he positively grunted with happiness and pumped my hand instead. "Shepard!" he cried out in joy, sounding almost overcome with emotion as he clasped my shoulder. "My friend!"

He took a step back, calmed down and gave me a quick once-over. "You look well for a dead man, Shepard," he said approvingly, sounding a bit more like himself. "Should have known the void couldn't hold you."

"Wrex," I beamed. "Looks like you've done well for yourself. Clan leader? Again?" (4)

"No one else wanted the job," Wrex snorted.

"That and the fact that helping me destroy Saren and the geth gave you bragging rights," I added. "Now aren't you glad we didn't have to kill each other on Virmire?"

He laughed. "You made the rise of Urdnot possible. Virmire was a turning point for the krogan, though not everyone was happy about it." That last point was with a pointed glare to GPW as he walked back to his throne. "Destroying Saren's genophage cure freed us from his manipulation," he continued. "I used that to spur the clans to unify under Urdnot. When I'm done, we will be one people again."

"You abandoned many traditions to get your way," GPW interjected. "Dangerous."

Wrex wheeled towards him, narrowing his eyes. Then he head butted him, knocking the big lug over on his ass.

"Speak when spoken to, Uvenk," he rumbled, looming over GPW. "I'll drag your clan to glory whether it likes it or not."

As Wrex resumed his seat on his throne, I couldn't resist smirking at GPW. He glared at me. Hee, hee.

"Now, Shepard," Wrex said. "What brings you here? How's the Normandy?"

My reply was short and concise: "Destroyed in a Collector surprise attack. I ended up spaced."

"Well, you look good. Ah, the benefits of a redundant nervous system."

"Um... yeah," I said slowly. "Humans don't have that."

"Oh," Wrex realized. "It must have been painful, then."

Ya think?

"But you're standing here and you've got a strong new ship," he continued. Takes me back to the old days. Us against the unknown, killing it with big guns. Good times."

I gave Wrex a moment to look back on all those ridiculous situations that I remembered with dismay and he obviously remembered with nostalgia. Then I cleared my throat. "Yeah, I've been a bit busy, what with being brought back from the grave and figuring out how to give the Collectors a bloody nose. But enough about me: sounds like you've got big changes ahead for the krogan."

"We are making a neutral ground where all clans are welcome," Wrex nodded. "Fertile females can be shared among clans. We will strengthen the race as a whole."

"You threaten everything that makes us strong," GPW grumbled. "It will not last."

"Maybe," Wrex glared. I felt sorry for him, having to deal with this ass day in and day out. "Until then, you're lucky to be a part of it."

"How do you maintain security with so many different clans in one place?" I asked sceptically. If Wrex and Grunt were any indication, forcing so many krogan to hang out together should have led to disaster ages ago.

"Any clan willing to send in hostages can come in," Wrex explained. "No fighting inside the camp. Each clan punishes its own criminals. We stop conflicts before anyone dies. Then we present a simple choice: pay a fine and deal with your problems... or your clan is no longer welcome."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow. "That's it? Doesn't sound very harsh by krogan standards."

"Allies from other clans like what I'm doing. They help deal with sceptics. Many are eager for an outlet. Every time I've declared a clan unwelcome, my allies have destroyed them. Word gets around."

That was more like it.

"What do the women of Clan Urdnot think about this plan?" I wondered.

"It was our female clan leader's idea. The neutral area is safe and it encourages more female clans to ally with us. Attacks on Urdnot now endanger the females of all clans. Even clans that want to see me dead will defend Clan Urdnot."

"Your women have their own clan structure?"

"Nothing is more valuable than a fertile female," Wrex said firmly. "We know it. They know it. They isolate themselves for their own protection. We work together to set up breeding alliances. I can hardly do anything without Clan Leader Uta's approval."

"Sounds ambitious," I noted. "How's it gone so far?"

"Better than I'd feared, worse than I'd hoped," Wrex admitted.

"It can't continue," GPW grumbled. "You are going against what makes us strong."

"I get the feeling you're not making friends," I observed, motioning towards GPW with my eyes. "Would that be the better or worse part?"

Wrex snorted. "Maybe both. Traditionalists like Uvenk are chained varren. Always fighting, guarding their pathetic stick in the mud. Doesn't matter: when the smoke clears, I will plant the flag on their corpses and rally the remaining clans around a new krogan hub."

"Sounds like you're counting on a lot of bloodshed, even after you unite."

"It will be slow," Wrex conceded, "but I won't change who we are. Krogan are judged by the strength of their enemies, no matter what clan they belong to. Our worst insult is to say someone's not worth killing."

That wasn't the first time he'd emphasized the existence of multiple clans. "Is maintaining individual clans that important?" I asked. "Not just male and female clans, but, well, you know."

"Every clan has different customs," Wrex replied. "Rites of Passage, rules of behaviour, battle songs—all unique. That diversity makes us great. No clan, not even mine, was meant to survive on its own."

"But Urdnot is the leading clan," I pointed out. "Doesn't that make your culture primary?"

Wrex shook his head. "For now. But every clan has its unique assets. The best tacticians are Urdnot. Jorgal has the longest breeding lines. Gatatog holds the oldest settlement. Others have their own strengths. We keep going how we are; the clans will end up as craters under nuclear haze. Even Urdnot. We need to rethink. Restart. Renew."

And that was why I missed having Wrex around. He tempered his overwhelming battle prowess with experience, foresight and a willingness to try new things. Hopefully some of that would rub off on Grunt. If he didn't get himself—or me—killed first.

That reminded me: "I hope that works well for your people. But to be honest, I'm not exactly here for pleasure."

"I figured as much," Wrex nodded. "We don't often allow aliens to do business on Tuchanka, but you're an exception."

I knew a compliment when I heard one and I decided to show my appreciation it by getting to the point instead of blushing. "I have a krogan on my crew. He has some kind of sickness and needs treatment."

Wrex leaned towards him and looked him straight in the eye. Instinctively, Grunt took a step forward and stared back. "Where are you from, whelp?" Wrex finally asked. "Was your clan destroyed before you could learn what is expected of you?"

"I have no clan," Grunt replied. "I was tank-bred by Warlord Okeer, my line distilled from Kredak, Moro, Shiagur—"

"You recite warlords," GPW interrupted, "but you are the offspring of a syringe!"

"I am pure krogan," Grunt growled back, quietly but defiantly. "You should be in awe."

"Okeer is a very old name," Wrex rumbled. "A very hated name."

"He is dead," Grunt told him.

"Or course," Wrex snorted, stepping down from his throne. "You're with Shepard. How could he be alive?"

Um... thanks? "I need Grunt back up to speed," I said, setting that puzzle aside for the time being. "What's wrong with him?"

"There's nothing wrong with him," Wrex shook his head. "He is becoming a full adult."

"Wait, so this is a Pilgrimage?" Tali asked, scratching her head... helmet... whatever.

"Ah, puberty ritual," Mordin nodded. "Common among species with hormone-driven reproductive urges."

Garrus raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean we can solve this by taking him to Omega and, I dunno, buy him a few dances?"

"I don't care what aliens call it," Wrex replied. "Krogan undergo the Rite of Passage."

GPW couldn't take it anymore. Either that, or he couldn't stand being ignored any more. "Too far, Wrex!" he burst out. "Your clan may rule, but this thing is not krogan." With that, he stormed off.

"Idiot," Wrex dismissed. "So, Grunt? Do you wish to stand with Urdnot?"

"I'm guessing you're not worried about a 'tank-bred' krogan join Urdnot," I observed. "You don't think Clan Urdnot will share Uvenk's concerns?" I asked.

"I'm not worried about Grunt's origins, but only because he's with you," Wrex admitted. "After all, you and I killed thousands like him. Not quite as big, but many."

I glimpsed Grunt stand up a little taller as Wrex said that last bit.

"As for Clan Urdnot, they will do as I say," Wrex said confidently. "They see the benefit of my vision."

"What does the Rite of Passage require?"

Wrex shook his head. "Not for me to say, Shepard. The shaman will discuss that."

"Well, what happens if he doesn't do the Rite of Passage?"

The reply was predictably blunt. "If he was left here, he would be killed. The clanless are not respected. A tank-bred, probably more so. (5) His disposition is what it is, rite or no. That's just him being a krogan." Wrex turned his head towards Grunt and raised any eyebrow. "Okeer didn't tell you that in the tank, did he, boy?"

Grunt didn't answer.

"This is your choice, Grunt," I told him at last.

He turned wordlessly away and walked towards the edge of the dais. For several minutes he stared across the cavern. It still looked like a disaster zone. Still, I saw the way his eyes darted back and forth, occasionally pausing at certain points. I saw him noting the fortifications that seemed imbued with an impossible strength despite their crude construction—or, perhaps, because of it. I saw him gazing at each and every krogan. The ones standing guard, sitting around fires, marching back and forth. All of them going about their lives. All of them content with who they were and where they belonged.

"It is in my blood," Grunt finally said. He turned around and looked Wrex straight in the eye. "It is what I am for."

"Good boy," Wrex approved. He turned and pointed towards a balcony that I hadn't seen earlier. "Speak with the shaman—he's over on the second level." Give him a good show and he'll set you on the path.

"You too, Shepard," Wrex advised before he returned to his throne. "How many times have you stepped in a mess for your crew, hmm?"

I grinned ruefully. He knew me too well.

"We'd better go," I told Wrex. "Talk to you later?"

Wrex nodded. "Watch yourself, Shepard. Tuchanka isn't safe and homey, like Feros or Ilos."

Clearly we had different definitions of 'safe' and 'homey.' Wouldn't have it any other way.

Grunt was getting more and more antsy, practically quivering with anticipation as we left Wrex. For once, I decided to curb my usually insatiable curiosity and find this shaman ASAP.

Unfortunately, someone had beaten me to him.

"You go beyond yourself, Gatatog Uvenk!" the shaman growled. "The rites of Urdnot are dominant!"

"How do we know they will challenge him?" GPW protested. "He's unnatural! The beasts of the Rite could ignore him like a lump of plastic!"

"They know blood, no matter the womb," the shaman replied. "Your barking does not help your case."

"I'll speak for myself!" Grunt interrupted, taking a step forward.

The shaman immediately surged forward, getting right into Grunt's face. "This is the tank-bred? It is very life-like." He took a sniff. "Smells correct as well."

The shaman turned to glare at GPW. "Your protests ring hollow, Uvenk."

I gave GPW a glare of my own. That was my lump of plastic he was insulting. "I don't care what this idiot says. Grunt has the right to be here."

"There's some fire—and from an alien!" The shaman looked scornfully at GPW. "Oh, the shame this heaps on those who whine like pups."

"If this must stand on ritual, then I invoke a denial!" GPW announced, seemingly oblivious to the slight. "My krantt stands against him! He has no one!"

I'm pretty sure the noise I heard next was the shaman grinding his teeth. "My patience is tested, but Uvenk invokes correctly," the shaman admitted grudgingly. "Grunt, who is your krantt? Your allies willing to kill and die on your behalf?"

"How is a candidate tested if he brings backup on his Rite of Passage?" I asked.

"Not every krogan can be the strongest warrior," the shaman explained, "but each must inspire his peers to battle at his side." He turned to address Grunt, who was hanging on his every word. "If the ones who know you best can find nothing worthy in you, you should wander the wastes and die alone before you weaken my clan."

"We stand with Grunt," I said firmly, replying to the shaman's earlier question, "as shipmates and comrades."

"Shipmates are not the same thing," the shaman corrected, "but I grant you aliens your simple interpretation."

GPW looked at him in disbelief. "Aliens don't know strength!" he protested. "My followers are true krogan. Everything about Grunt is a lie!"

All that krogan testosterone floating around must have gotten to me. That's the only explanation I can offer for why I tilted my head back, lurched forward and rammed my skull into GPW's.

I managed to turn my stagger into a couple casual steps back, rubbing my suddenly sore head. The three or four GPWs who suddenly stood before me gawked in shock. "You... you dare?" they sputtered.

The shaman and his identical twin howled in laughter. "I like this human!" they roared. "He understands!"

By this point, my vision had recovered enough that I was only seeing one of everyone—including GPW. "I withdraw my denial," he grumbled. "This will be decided elsewhere!"

With that, he left. With typical krogan subtlety, he glared at me as he departed and 'bumped' my shoulder accidentally. I wish I could say that I didn't budge an inch, but I'm only human.

"You have provoked them," the shaman said. "Reason enough for me to like you. They're your problem now."

Hoo boy. I jabbed a thumb over my shoulder in the direction GPW stormed off. "Is he gonna be a problem?"

"He is forbidden to interfere. Will he?" The shaman shrugged. "During the Rite of Passage, you must be ready for anything, Shepard. From what you've shown me, you will not disappoint."

Wonderful. "Do we need any special equipment?" I asked.

"To begin the Rite, only the candidate and his krantt are required," the shaman replied. "You love battle, don't you Shepard? The last gasp of a dying opponent?"

I plead the Fifth. (6)

"Bring your love of the fight to Grunt's trial and he will succeed."

"Fine," I sighed. "Tell us how this works."

Apparently, the shaman was still belabouring under the impression that I was a bloodthirsty whack job. "Still your impatience, Shepard," he chuckled. "For now, know that Grunt will be tested... and that you must adapt."

Well that was helpful. "We're ready," I said. "Let's do this."

"Excellent," the shaman grinned.

Maybe the shaman was right, I reflected as he led us away. Maybe all we had to do was go somewhere and get through some big mysterious trial.

I mean, how hard could it be?

The shaman led us to a giant six-wheeled vehicle, one that could easily hold him, me and the entire squad. I suspect the roominess was part of the reason why we all stepped forward when the shaman asked us who would fight alongside Grunt. That and volunteering to be part of his krantt, of course. His eyes showed both surprise and approval that aliens—including turians and salarians—would hold a krogan in such high regard. All he said, though, was that our support of Grunt was noted. However, bringing that many people along would defeat the purpose of the Rite. He was willing to allow up to three of us to accompany Grunt, but that was all.

In the end, Zaeed, Thane and I joined Grunt and the shaman in clambering aboard the transport. (7) It drove us along a long stretch of tunnels and up a road onto the surface of Tuchanka. We drove down a long freeway for what seemed like hours, passing through the scorched and crumbling wreckage of city after city, the winds howling away even through the thick plating of the vehicle and the rattling of the engines. At last, we came to a shuddering halt. We jumped out of the vehicle and surveyed the terrain.

The shaman led us up a steep slope. "This is Tuchanka's most recent scar," he told us, "the last surface city to fall in the rebellions. The keystone was at its heart. It has survived wars and the passage of centuries. It endures—like the krogan."

Grunt pushed past the rest of us and ran to the top. He looked around, turning from side to side, head whipping around as his eyes and snout and ears drank in everything. Catching up to him, I saw we were standing on a large square platform, smack dab in the midst of another ruined city. In front of us and on either side lay a small set of stone steps that led down to the streets. The winds were still shrieking away, sending clouds racing through the skies. Tuchanka's sun pierced the clouds, glaring down on us like a baleful, uncaring eye. Behind us was a large stone and metal tower. It was surrounded by a set of concentric rings and a simple set of controls at its base.

"If you wish to join Clan Urdnot, you must contemplate the keystone and its trials," the shaman said, nodding towards the monolith.

"What will happen?" Grunt asked.

The reply came almost immediately. "Who knows? You must thrive, no matter the situation. Any true krogan will."

With that, the shaman retreated down the slope. Grunt looked at me eagerly. "Let's get started, Shepard. Hit the keystone!"

"Just like that?" I challenged.

"Why not?" Grunt asked.

"You tell me," I replied.

Grunt stared at me for a moment, looked around, then glanced back at me. "Scout around," he said at last. "Look for supplies, avenues of approach, cover."

"Good," I nodded. "Let's do that."

A quick round uncovered a lot of thermal clips, power cells and med-kits—all of which we brought back to the base of the keystone. The square might be a bit too open and had multiple ways for an enemy to hit us, but it provided a fair bit of cover and unparalleled height with which to spot incoming trouble. If we had to replenish our supplies, it would be easier and safer if they were in a central location rather than scattered as caches around the area. Besides, if we had to move elsewhere, we were probably screwed. I also took the opportunity to loot a couple krogan corpses and salvage some turbine parts for creds. Just because I could.

At last, I got tired of Grunt urging me to activate the keystone—it was like some kid whining 'Are we there yet?'—and whacked the controls. Part of the tower retracted upwards, like a giant piston. As it ascended, we heard the shaman's voice boomed over hidden loudspeakers. "First the krogan conquered Tuchanka... and mastered a natural world only we are fit to hold."

With that, the piston dropped down into the base. A deep BONG echoed out as the rock hit bottom, sending ripples across the city and out into the wasteland beyond. We all pulled out our weapons and prepared ourselves.

"Here they come," Grunt growled, lifting his assault rifle. "I'm ready."

When the varren loped up the steps, I thought I was ready, too. I sent a bolt of plasma flying towards it, burning through its natural scaly armour. Grunt planted a concussive round to send it flying into a nearby pillar, then fired several rounds into its scaly hide. Zaeed yelled out a warning about the next varren as he lobbed an inferno grenade towards the mutt. Turning to my left, I saw the varren charge towards me. He was moving too erratically for me to get a bead on him, so I waited until he got close and punched and kicked away. After a couple hits, I heard a loud crack and saw the varren slump to the ground.

By then, more varren were on the way, trying to flank us from the right. Noting that the closest one was sporting several wounds and cracked scales, I told Grunt to handle it while I let off a fireball at another varren on our right. Zaeed was quick to follow up with a burst of gunfire. Satisfied that he could handle the situation, I consulted my HUD and quickly swivelled to my left. Sure enough, there were two more varren. Thane hurled a bolt of biotics into one of them and finished it off with his submachine gun. I waited until my omni-tool recharged and fired off another fireball at the other. Fire was better than bullets when it came to these guys, I'd figured.

Unfortunately, I paid the price for my stinginess. The varren kept coming, despite the fact that flames were licking away at his scales, got a good grip on my leg and started chewing. With alarm, I watched as my shields started to drain under the pressure of his vice-like grip. I pounded away at his hide until I had enough leverage to plant a bullet in his head.

Then I got knocked over.

Rolling around, I spotted the varren who'd just jumped me. He had just enough time to growl before Grunt blew his ugly mug away with a concussive round.

"So many fleshy things to kill!" Grunt howled gleefully. "This is glorious!"

I stared at him for a moment, then stared ruefully as another pack of fleshy things trotted down a flight of stairs and out of another building.

Deciding to try something new, I led the team to the base of the centre set of stairs, the ones closest to the varren. Crazy, I know, but I was hoping that the varren would take the most direct route towards us rather than splitting up and pouncing on us from all sides. If so, we could concentrate our firepower.

The plan seemed to work. Using a combination of plasma and gunfire, we managed to kill several varren long before their buddies reached us. I dropped another plasma burst on a varren and turned towards another. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Grunt tackle that one—literally. Satisfied that I only had one varren to deal with—for now—my finger tightened on the trigger.

Then Zaeed tossed an inferno grenade. It landed right on top of the varren and exploded, engulfing it in superheated shrapnel and plasma. I jumped aside, but not before some of the backwash hit my shields. I watched as my shield strength dipped a bit, but not as much as they would have if the varren had its way with me.

Looking around, I saw we were in the clear, so I nodded my thanks to Zaeed. He nodded back absently, his eyes already sweeping back and forth for more varren. Taking a cue, I started looking around myself. Thankfully, my shields regenerated before the next pack arrived. And the one after that. And the one after that. It all became a blur—Zaeed, Thane and I took turns unleashing plasma streams, inferno grenades or biotics on varren, then sitting back and firing carefully-timed bursts of weapons fire. With the occasional concussive round from Grunt, of course.

Then there was a minute's peace. Which stretched out into two, then three. I guess that was it. It couldn't be that easy, though.

"The keystone," Grunt realized. "We must have to trigger it again for the next part of the Rite."

He was right. As soon as I tapped the controls, that plunger thing lifted up. "Then the krogan were lifted to the stars to destroy the fears of a galaxy," the shaman intoned, "an enemy only we could chase to their lair."

Once again the rod dropped, sending a loud tone echoing through the air and the ground. It sounded slightly different than the last time, I noted. Everyone lifted their weapons and started looking around.

The ground suddenly shook beneath our feet. Swivelling on the spot, I gaped at the creature in front of me. It looked like a huge snake with two pairs of wings and four large, insectile legs. The thing—which I later learned was called a 'harvester'—shrieked at us before lifting off and swooping away. I stared at it dumbly, wondering what the catch was.

"Crawlers!" Grunt called out, pointing to our left. "Come to your death!" he challenged.

There's the catch.

Turning back, I glimpsed the backs of two large bugs—klixen, as I later found out—crawling towards us. They were close enough that my plasma fire melted holes in both of their carapaces. Then we hosed them down with gunfire. As they shuddered under the impact, I felt the ground shake again. Taking a moment to glance behind me, I saw another one of those snake-like harvesters land. No doubt to drop off more creepy-crawlies. Wonderful.

I returned my attention to the bugs just as Zaeed planted a concussive round into one of them. With a flash of light, the thing exploded into flame, taking out the other bug. So sticking around as they writhed in their death throes wasn't a bright idea. Good to know.

Zaeed, Grunt and I whirled about as Thane cried out. Another pair of klixen was attacking us. A combination of my plasma fire, Thane's biotics and Grunt's concussive round killed one of them, but the other one got through unscathed. With a shriek, it opened its mandibles. A fiery stream gushed out and poured all over Thane. He lurched back, slapping at the flames that were licking away at his body, tripped over a piece of debris and toppled over a rail to the ground below. Quickly accessing his hardsuit's medical sensors, I breathed a sigh of relief: Thane was all right. Worst-case scenario: he might have some first-degree burns. He was just knocked out cold from the fall.

Another thud heralded the arrival of another harvester and, with it, another pair of fire-breathing combustible klixen. Clearly, staying put wasn't cutting it. Time for Plan B. I launched another wave of plasma fire at the klixen who had attacked Thane and emptied a full clip into the sucker. "Follow me!" I yelled as the bug exploded, running past its blackened remnants.

The three of us ran down the stairs and past Thane's crumpled body. Looked like he'd been knocked out by the fall. Judging by the loud shrieks and the ever-helpful sensors, there were two or three klixen following us. They were still several metres away, though, which gave me time to outline what one could laughingly call a plan: "We stay on the move. Run, turn to throw grenades or fire off plasma, maybe squeeze off a couple shots or a concussive round, then run again. Repeat as needed until they're all toast. Got it?"

"As long as we squash them, I don't care how we do it," Grunt growled.

"Then we better get moving," Zaeed warned. "Those buggers are gettin' awful close."

We immediately darted around the corner. Then we paused long enough for them to show up, fired off a merry ball of plasma, ran around a corner, planted a concussive round in the kisser, ran up the stairs, tossed an inferno grenade, ran to the other set of stairs, sent some more plasma and ran down the stairs to begin the whole cycle all over again. We'd ironed out the kinks of running and gunning by that point, so we mutually agreed to refine it by concentrating on one klixen at a time. That way, we could steadily whittle them down one by one instead of having several wounded, but still dangerous—even more so, probably—klixen nipping away at our heels.

Thankfully, the buggers weren't quite as fast as the varren. Don't get me wrong, they pursued us with a relentless single-mindedness. But as long as we kept our distance, they didn't feel the need to sprint after us. So we kept running and stopping and firing and so on, taking down one klixen. Then another.

Naturally another harvester plopped down and deposited another trio of scuttling horrors. Zaeed hurled another inferno grenade, which soared in a parabolic arc to land perfectly on one of the buggers. We waited long enough to ensure that they were chasing us, then ran around the square and started to climb the stairs.

I abruptly brought Grunt and Zaeed to a halt. According to my sensors, there was another klixen at the top of the stairs, smack in the middle of the square. Going forward would mean running right into the maw of the beast.

My instincts told me to double back. Unfortunately, they were thwarted by the pair of klixen who had just been dropped off. We were boxed in. I looked at my two squad mates.

"Head first," Grunt said.

"Huh?" I replied with all the wit I could muster.

"Head first," he repeated, tilting his head towards the square.

Consulting my sensors, I figured out what Grunt meant: the terrain limited us to two options—up the stairs or back the way we came. The former would lead us towards a lone, heavily injured klixen; the latter meant a close encounter with two fresh, relatively unscathed klixen. Not that hard a choice, given the circumstances.

Giving Grunt a decisive nod, I ran up the stairs, firing a bolt of plasma as soon as I had a line of sight. The plasma burned through its carapace, causing it to quiver momentarily before exploding. Then we ran to the other side of the square and waited for the remaining pair of klixen. As soon as they showed up, Grunt and Zaeed fired two concussive rounds in unison at the same target. I finished that one off with a quick burst from my submachine gun, then motioned for my teammates to follow me—

I briefly froze as I saw another harvester take off—having apparently missed its landing in all the excitement—leaving another two klixen in its wake. I gauged how far they were from the stairs and made a snap decision.

"Run!"

We sprinted down the stairs, hoping to dodge their flamethrower attacks. Grunt made it unscathed. So did Zaeed. Unfortunately, I wasn't so lucky.

They say two out of three ain't bad. 'They' have never had their shields drained and their bodies overheated by ultra-hot flames spewed by a giant six-legged critter.

Ignoring the stars and veins that suddenly obscured my vision and the pounding that filled my ears with equal abruptness, I stumbled after my teammates. They must have realized what had happened, because they came to a halt—stepping aside so I had a clear path to weave drunkily along—and fired a couple double-taps to slow the pursuing klixen. By then, I had recovered my bearing, not to mention a second wind, so I led them around the square to the stairs. We waited until the first pair of klixen lumbered along before sending several rounds of gunfire, a concussive round, a fireball, an inferno grenade and a lot of harsh language their way. Not necessarily in that order.

"There!" Grunt cried out as he opened fire on the klixen. "Now these beasts will know I am worthy!"

The barrage successfully immolated that pair, but also bought enough time for the second pair of klixen to catch up. We immediately engaged in a tactical withdrawal across the square to the other set of stairs. By the time they made their way up the stairs, my omni-tool had charged up another round of plasma, so I sent it flying towards one of them. Undaunted, they continued lumbering our way, so we retreated down the stairs and waited. As soon as one of the klixen showed up, Grunt and Zaeed were ready with a pair of concussive rounds. The klixen shuddered under the impact, swayed and then toppled down the stairs. We hastily got out of the way as it rolled to the bottom and exploded.

There was only one more klixen left, which we finished off at our leisure. Then we ran back towards Thane, who had recovered by that point. After helping him to his feet, we started replenishing our ammo.

"Ready for another round, Shepard," Grunt grinned. "Tag the keystone."

I stared at him for a moment, shook my head, then stomped over to the damn thing and slammed my palm into the controls.

"Now all krogan bear the genophage," the shaman's voice thundered as the summoning device rose up into the air. "Our reward. Our curse. It is a fight where the only goal is survival!"

When the rod plummeted this time and sent ripples outward, they didn't stop. The ground kept rattling and quaking beneath our feet long after it should have stopped. "Feel that?" Grunt asked excitedly. "Everything is... shaking! Whatever is coming, I am ready."

Our first hint of the latest beastie was a pair of light blue tendrils that poked out of the ground and weaved around, slithering through the air. Maybe it was something like a thresher maw, I mused.

Then the ground exploded.

Aw, crap.

I watched in horror as the thresher maw burst out of the ground. Why did the universe have such selective hearing? I said like a thresher maw, not an actual thresher maw, goddamnit!

My arm automatically extended to fire off a bolt of plasma, which naturally dealt an infinitesimal amount of damage to its armoured hide. I looked around for a Mako—or a really big gun—hoping against hope that I'd somehow missed one. Failing to find any, I spat out a stream of swear words that would make Mom proud.

"Finally," Grunt exulted. "An enemy worth fighting!"

Glad one of us was happy.

Everyone was already scattering for cover, so all I had to do was relay orders over the comm. "Same tactics as the varren and the other guys we've faced," I hollered. "Just keep some cover between you and—"

I was interrupted as some acid hit me square in the face. To my surprise—and delight—my shields actually took the brunt of it. Looking up, I noticed that my chosen cover was actually a girder, which had a few holes in it. "Oh, and watch out for the acid," I added belatedly.

Zaeed tossed an inferno grenade, which landed at the same time Thane's biotics exploded against the thresher maw. It let out a thunderous roar, then burrowed back into the ground. We felt the earth shake beneath our feet. A second later, it burst out of the ground again—this time on our right.

"Now this is a test!" Grunt howled, turning towards the behemoth and planting a concussive round into its hide.

The rest of us were too busy scrambling for cover—including yours truly, who was now caught in the open thanks to the thresher maw's change of position—and firing blindly to respond. Thankfully for us, the thresher maw was large enough that even poorly-aimed shots stood a good chance of hitting home.

I managed to get off two plasma bursts before the thresher maw dove underground again. Frantically, I looked around, hoping to get a brief hint of where it might pop up next. The burst of gunfire behind me clued me in. Whirling around, I saw Zaeed fire off several quick shots before diving and rolling—just in time to dodge an acid spray.

Naturally, I was stupid enough to gawk like a civvie and got drenched in thresher maw spit.

As I scurried for cover, ignoring the alarms regarding my shields—or lack thereof—Thane jumped out, whipped off a bolt of biotic energy, fired a shot from his sniper rifle and back flipped behind a pillar. Not to be outdone, I leaned out, groped for my sniper rifle, missed, cursed, sent a fireball flying instead, stumbled back behind cover and almost twisted an ankle over a piece of debris the size of my fist.

Yeah. I'm that good. Go ahead and feel jealous if you want.

It felt like we'd been fighting this latest threat for hours, but the chronometer indicated that only a couple minutes had passed. To my surprise, we'd inflicted a surprising amount of damage during that time. Either that or my sensors were playing a cruel trick on me.

Assuming the former, I made my plans accordingly. The next time the thresher maw reared its ugly head, it met a fireball of plasma, an inferno grenade, and a biotic explosion right in the kisser. It shrieked and dove back underground. I tried to track its movements and extrapolate where it would emerge next.

Unfortunately, my guess was a bit off. I managed to snap off another fireball when it burst out, but not before it scored another hit of acid. This time, my shields drained and my hardsuit started sizzling.

Grunt glanced at me before looking at the thresher maw as if he was assessing it. Coming to a decision, he lifted his assault rifle and emptied the rest of his clip into the thresher maw before charging towards it, roaring all the way. Since I was a bit overwhelmed by the acid fumes, all I could do was cough uncontrollably and tear up.

As I watched through blurred eyes, Grunt sprinted straight towards the thresher maw. Not questioning its good fortune, it took the bait and promptly dove towards him. As it descended, jaws opening up, Grunt dropped his assault rifle and yanked out his shotgun. I managed to see him fiddling with the shotgun controls just before the thresher maw closed its jaws around him.

A second later, part of the thresher maw's head exploded.

The thresher maw instinctively lurched upwards, but the damage was done. It swayed back and forth, then plummeted down with a thunderous crash.

Gasping for air, I ran towards the thresher maw, Zaeed and Thane close on my heels. We sprinted down the stairs and towards the giant corpse. There was a large pulp of pink fleshy tendrils protruding from a small hole at the top of its head. It was quivering.

"Grunt?" I called out.

A pinkish blob popped out from the thresher maw and hopped down. It landed with a squish, rose to its feet and walked towards us, slurping noises accompanying every step. As it approached, flesh and juices dripped off it, revealing a very messy and dirty Grunt.

"Grunt?" I repeated. "You okay?"

He stopped. Looked off into the distance, eyes not focusing on anything in particular.

Then he pumped his arms up, thrusting his shotgun into the air and roared:

"I.

"AM.

"KROGAN!"

Zaeed glanced at me. "I think he's okay," he offered.

"Indeed," Thane agreed.

While the rest of us searched for ammo to replenish the clips we'd used up, Grunt cleaned himself up. He'd finally gotten all the thresher maw bits off when a shuttle flew by overhead and touched down behind one of the surrounding buildings.

"We have company," Grunt smiled. "Good. I want more."

He might have been jumping the gun, but the tingling at the back of my neck suggested otherwise. Sure enough, when we went around the building, we saw GPW and a couple of his cronies. Naturally, GPW was strutting around on the base of a tower, which put him a good metre above everyone else.

"You live," GPW said.

I guess being the leader of Clan Gatatog doesn't require keen observation skills.

"And you brought down the thresher maw," he marvelled. "No one has done that in generations. Urdnot Wrex was the last."

I thought back to all those times when Wrex and I bumped into thresher maws chasing after Saren. Not once did he ever mention taking one down on foot. Awfully modest of him. I filed that thought away for the time being, along the mischievous idea of ragging him mercilessly about it.

"My krantt gave me strength beyond my genes," Grunt declared. "Which are damn good."

I'm blushing. Really.

"This will cause discussion," GPW said, hopping down from his soapbox. "I wonder... you say you are pure? No alien meddling in your construction? Just the warlord Okeer?"

I rolled my eyes. "Subtle, much? What's your game, Uvenk?"

"Grunt will command much respect now," GPW replied shrewdly. "His strength may be artificial, but it is a tolerable loophole."

Grunt's eyes narrowed. "A what?" he asked suspiciously.

"A reason to accept you into my clan," GPW explained. "You are a mistake, but your potential could tip the current balance of the clans."

"You spit on my father's name!" Grunt growled. "On Shepard's name! But now you stop ranting because I'm strong?"

Wrex was right: he was too busy guarding his stick in the mud to see what might be in front of him. Not to mention incredibly stupid: instead of seeing what might be in front of him, he insulted Grunt and tried to prevent him from performing the Rite, praised Grunt after completing the Rite with flying colours and continued to insult him. I guess being the leader of Clan Gatatog doesn't require smarts, either.

"With restrictions," GPW amended. "You could not breed, of course. Or serve on an alien ship. But you'd be clan in name."

I was pretty sure where this was going, but I wasn't sure how many thugs GPW brought with him. Two, at least, but I thought I saw a third one skulking around. I decided to buy some time. "You talk like he's a thing," I scowled. "You're after his power. You don't really want him in your clan."

"Of course not," GPW snorted. "I didn't really want to cooperate with Clan Urdnot either, but I had to. Clan Gatatog is on the verge—either of greatness or of joining the dust. I can get traditionalist support if I fight you or reformer support if I back you. Your Rite of Passage tipped that balance, too."

Three—wait, four. There were definitely four of them. I loaded up a program using my HUD, looked at Grunt, looked back at GPW and smirked. "If I know Grunt, your answer's coming at muzzle velocity."

Grunt nodded at me. "You do know Grunt. This varren is dead." With that, he banged his fists together, charged at GPW and sent him toppling on his pompous ass. GPW's cronies immediately lifted their weapons. I exchanged a wordless look at my teammates and dove for cover.

As I huddled behind a broken pillar, I hacked the comm systems of everyone in the vicinity—friend and foe—and started playing an old Earth tune. As we exchanged fire, the words started to blare through our helmets:

"We're not gonna take it.
No, we ain't gonna take it."

Grunt fired a concussive round at GPW, which rippled off a biotic barrier—just my luck that he was a biotic as well as a pain in the ass.

"We're not gonna take it anymore!"

Thane ripped a hole in one of the lackey's armour plating with his biotics.

"We've got the right to choose and..."

Zaeed sent another inferno grenade flying at another lackey.

"...there ain't no way we'll lose it."

And me? I was busy swiping medi-gel and looting a corpse.

"This is our life, this is our song!"

What? They were a couple metres from my position. What did you expect me to do?

"We'll fight a thousand legions!"

Okay, they weren't exactly a thousand, but Zaeed and Thane did gang up on one of the enemy krogan, firing burst after burst from their weapons into his hide. I decided to join them with a fireball, mostly because I couldn't get a clear lock on anyone else—including the krogan who had somehow volunteered himself as a punching bag for Grunt.

"Don't pick our destiny 'cause..."

Zaeed and I must have had the same idea, because we both pulled out our sniper rifles and pointed them at another krogan henchman. The dope was smart enough to duck, but not smart enough to realize he'd moved right into a crouching Thane's sights. Thane's biotic attack sent him staggering to his feet, just in time to receive two headshots.

"You don't know us, you don't belong!"

Grunt was still enthusiastically pounding away at 'his' krogan. Deciding that he was pretty much done for, I casually lifted my arm at the last krogan stooge and set him on fire.

"We're not gonna take it.
No, we ain't gonna take it.
We're not gonna take it anymore!"

Now it was just us and GPW. Zaeed started things off with a concussive round from his sniper rifle. As GPW whirled towards him, Thane somersaulted over a boulder, hurled a sizzling sphere of biotics into GPW's barrier and hopped into a nearby crevasse.

"Oh you're so condescending,
Your goal is never ending.
We don't want nothin', not a thing from you!"

"Fear the battlemast—," GPW howled, or started to before Grunt fired a concussive round of his own into his helmet. There really wasn't much to fear from this guy. By this point, we'd pretty much surrounded him. Like a pack of wolves taking down a big stupid hunk of prey, we took turns popping out of cover and attacking him. Every time one of us hit him, he'd whirl towards that direction, giving someone else a clear shot.

"Your life is trite and jaded,
Boring and confiscated.
If that's your best, your best won't do!"

Before long, GPW's barrier was toast. Grunt and Zaeed kept him more or less in place by spraying cover fire. Zaeed and I ran in circles around him, tossing inferno grenades and sparkling torrents of hot plasma at his armour. I swear I could actually see his armour starting to melt under that relentless onslaught. Accessing my HUD, I ordered everyone to concentrate on an area between his left heart and his left shoulder. It wasn't long before that section of armour succumbed to the onslaught. Grunt's concussive round brought GPW to his knees. Then he charged at him and knocked him over.

That's when I had an idea. "Grunt! Lift him up!"

"We're right (yeah!)!
We're free (yeah!)!
We'll fight (yeah!)!
You'll see! (yeah!)!"

He looked at me questioningly, but grabbed GPW by the collar and hoisted him into the air like one of those wrestlers you always see vids of on the extranet.

"On my mark, throw him up in the air. Thane, prep your biotics. Zaeed, help him out."

At that point, they figured it out. "Three, two..."

On "one," Grunt tossed him skyward.

"We're not gonna take it."

At the exact point where Grunt's herculean feat was cancelled out by gravity, Thane and Zaeed hit him with a biotic pulse and concussive round, respectively, that sent him rocketing through the air.

"No, we ain't gonna take it."

GPW hit a large column with enough force to crack his hardsuit and break his bones, then plummeted to the ground.

"We're not gonna take it anymore!"

I casually walked over and waited until GPW's eyes focused. Then I waved cheerfully at him, pulled his pistol from its holster, and emptied the clip into his head at point-blank range.

Grunt walked over to me and spat on GPW. "Uvenk is meat," he said. "Let's send a signal at the keystone to get out of here. We can leave his corpse to rot."

"We're not gonna take it.
No, we ain't gonna take it
We're not gonna take it anymore!" (8)

Wrex himself greeted us at the keystone and escorted us back underground to Urdnot territory. He led us to the shaman and then departed, explaining that word of GPW's downfall had spread like wildfire. Clan Gatatog was under assault left, right and centre. Wrex wanted to see if he could absorb their warriors into his clan while there was still something worth salvaging.

As soon as Wrex left, the shaman stepped forward. Grunt instinctively fell to his knees.

"You have passed the Rite of Passage," the shaman proclaimed, "earning the honour of clan and name.

"Many survive," he added, "but it has been years since a thresher maw fell! Your names shall live in glory!"

I didn't tell the shaman that I'd rather take a pass on the glory if it meant scraping acid residue off my hardsuit.

"Grunt, you are Urdnot. You may now own property, join the army and apply to serve under a battlemaster."

"Shepard is my battlemaster," Grunt said, still kneeling on the ground. "He has no match." (9)

The shaman regarded me with something that looked like respect—scary as that might sound. "Indeed," he said. "Wrex says you took down a Spectre. No small task, that—we have learned the strength of those who bear that title. You yourself once held that title, did you not?"

"Still do," I shrugged modestly, "though reinstatement of that title was given on the condition that I stay out of Citadel space. The Council prefer that Spectres keep a low profile when exercising their strength and prowess."

"Understood," the shaman nodded, a knowing—and approving—glint in his eye. "Congratulations, Urdnot Grunt," he said, changing the subject. He pulled out a datapad from his back and offered it to Grunt. Peering under Grunt's arm—there was no way I was peeking over his shoulder—I saw it contained schematics for some sort of shotgun upgrade. "Accept this token from Fortack. (10) His weapons are the finest we have."

"Shaman—" I stopped myself. "You know, everyone just calls you 'shaman.' Don't you have a name? What were you called before you became shaman?"

"I gave up my name when I became the shaman," he replied. "I am a conduit for the rage and bloodlust of my people. It would be wrong to retain my old identity. My life belongs to the clan."

Interesting—discarding your personal name and identity so there could be no personal pride or glory, thereby focusing your efforts and life on something greater than yourself. Something... purer.

"All right, Shaman: I want to know more about Tuchanka's past" I said.

The shaman smiled. "Tuchanka is a place of great gifts. It kills the weak, torments the slow and destroys the stupid. Survival is an honour, and here, krogan thrive! We cover this planet with our civilization, only to burn it to the ground a dozen times over. Each time we grow stronger. When we are wise and powerful enough, we will tame the planet forever."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I've never heard anyone say that wiping out their own civilization was a good thing."

"I'd have thought you, of all aliens, would understand, Shepard," the shaman responded in surprise. "The krogan empires and clans of the past were glorious, built in great battles and conquests. But their cores were weak. How else could they have fallen? When krogan civilization achieves its apex, there will be no stopping it. No stopping us."

"At which point, your rites and ceremonies will echo for eternity," I nodded gravely. "Which are what, exactly?"

"You have seen the Rite of Passage," the shaman said. "Krogan suffer the Rite of Life at birth... and the Rite of Honour when they wish to be considered for breeding. The Rite of Firsts is suffered before a krogan faces a new enemy. A clan leader also undergoes many rites in service to the clan."

"What rites did you go through to become chief shaman?" I asked curiously. I could make a fair guess given what we'd discussed so far, but I wanted to hear it in his words.

"Becoming the shaman is excruciating. I passed through rites that made me want to die. I carry the scars on my soul. I must perform rites each dawn and dusk to keep me bound into our krogan nature. Our spirit is one of violence and death, I must be attuned to that."

"Your job is awful," Grunt said reverently.

"Indeed," the shaman agreed in a similar tone.

Okay, this was starting to get a bit much. "I have to go," I blurted out.

"May your foes be strong enough to keep you sharp," the shaman replied formally.

The adrenaline was starting to wear off, so you can imagine that I was getting pretty tired. My business on Tuchanka wasn't over, though—I still had another squad member to help and a couple shops to visit. But that could wait.

Before I left, though, I decided to say farewell to Wrex. As we passed a pair of krogan, I heard one of them whisper "You hear that the tank-bred and that human killed a thresher maw?"

I pretended not to hear them, but cranked up the audio sensors in my hardsuit to listen.

"Everybody's heard. Hasn't been done since Wrex himself."

"I barely survived the maw during my Rite."

"Guess that human's got a quad."

I tried to keep that comment from inflating my ego and succeeded. Mostly.

"Still, I can't believe he took part in the Rite. You ever hear of a human serving as part of someone else's krantt?"

"Nope. Can't argue with the results, though. We'll be eating thresher steaks for months!"

Grunt's stomach growled. Mine had a similar response.

I told my stomach to settle down, as we were just about to head up towards the dais. Wrex was shaking his head by the time we'd reached his throne. "You just can't help making trouble," he said.

"What? You didn't expect me to slap Uvenk down?" I asked. "Maybe throw in a few choice words here and there to nudge things along?"

"Leave that sneakiness for the Council or the asari," Wrex scowled. "I didn't plan for your arrival when Uvenk and I were in talks. I didn't plan for him to react to you like that. And I certainly didn't plan for you to take him out."

"I believe you," I reassured him. "Though I'm sure you won't be shedding any tears over Uvenk's demise."

"Hell no," Wrex chortled.

"Just one question: when you sent us over to talk to the shaman, did you have any suspicions that Uvenk might be over there as well? Any at all?"

The scowl returned on Wrex's face.

"I dunno," I grinned. "Seems kinda sneaky to me."

Wrex's scowl deepened.

"All good," I said cheekily.

Wrex shook his head and moved on: "You know, no one has killed a maw since my turn in the Rite."

"So everybody keeps saying," I agreed, casually shuffling on my feet. "I get the feeling it's kind of a big deal."

Wrex chuckled. "Next you'll tell me he's a quint and craps dark matter."

"Can't say about the first," I replied with a straight face. "Never checked. And I hope you're wrong about the second—the Normandy's pipes aren't designed to handle that."

Wrex smiled, then leaned forward and stared intently at Grunt. "Still, it's damn impressive," he admitted, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Guess that's what it takes to replace me."

I hadn't thought about that possibility. Not that Grunt would consider that as a challenge or take him seriously, of cour—

Grunt took a step forward and stared back.

Oh for crying out loud. Really? Now?

Thankfully, the pissing contest only lasted a couple seconds before Wrex straightened up. "You are Urdnot Grunt," he pronounced. "Welcome."

I nodded in satisfaction—and relief. "I have a couple more things to do before we leave, Wrex. Don't suppose you'd be interested in coming with us?"

Wrex sighed mournfully. "Wish I could, but I need to keep these short-sighted fools in line," he grumbled.

"Figured as much," I shrugged. "Had to ask, though."

Wrex sighed again before regarding me with something that looked like respect. "Hunt well, Shepard." (11)

"You, too."

We passed another pair of gossiping krogan on our way to the shuttle. Or possibly the same pair we'd passed earlier. "Heard the human's going after the Collectors," one said.

"Damn," the other one chuckled in admiration. "If I killed a thresher maw on foot, I might sit and bask for a while. That human must love a good battle."

Oh for crying out loud.

There was quite the celebration when we got back. Everybody was happy to hear that Grunt was now a man—er, well, krogan. Probably because Wrex was kind enough to send a shipment of thresher steaks to the Normandy. Mostly 'low-grade' steaks, meaning they were far from the thresher maw's salivary glands and thus weren't soaked in acid spit, but there were a few 'higher quality' steaks for Grunt.

Wrex wasn't the only one thinking of the newest member of Clan Urdnot. I got a message from the shaman shortly after returning to the Normandy:

Damn it, I hate these things. But you need to hear this.

You're part of Grunt's krannt, and you're his leader. So keep him alive. Here, I have to stay polite, play the role. But our people are dying. Krogan have always valued survival over tradition. If we're going to survive as a people, we need your vat-grown Grunt. Okeer was a madman, but he was a madman with a plan, and that's more than most have on this ball of rock.

So bring him back from your damn mission. My people need him. And if you all get killed, I'll piss on your graves.

Shaman Urdnot

Believe it or not, I got distracted with other matters, so I didn't have a chance to see how Grunt was adjusting to his new identity until the next time I did my rounds. When I saw him bouncing up and down inside the Port Cargo Area, I started to wonder if I should have checked in on him sooner.

"Urdnot Grunt," he growled with enthusiasm. "I have a clan. That makes me... it makes me want to fight—not just able to or needing to! And Uvenk! Killing him was wonderful! Though I wish you'd let me finish him off. I wanted to disembowel him! To tear out his spine like a trophy!"

"I thought we did this to help you control your violent urges," I said, feeling a sudden migraine coming on. "Now it sounds like it's even worse."

"No, it's not worse. It's just... I get it now," Grunt exclaimed. "My bloodlust. My battle fury—it's part of who I am, just like Wrex said! It was just delayed because I was tank-bred. Now that I know it belongs to me, and I have a place as a krogan, I like it."

Hoo boy.

"Our enemies are in trouble, Shepard," Grunt grinned. "We better not run out of targets."

"There's no danger of that," I replied ruefully. "They're practically lining up."

"Everyone gets a turn," Grunt chortled, clapping his hands in excitement. "Ha! Wouldn't want it any other way. Hey, that means I can start working through my list!"

"What list?" I asked warily.

"Didn't I tell you? I got a list of enemies now," Grunt told me proudly. "They all give me joy when I picture cutting them or crushing them. Or both. There's this one imprint, a salarian with the—what are they? Horns?—the things on his head being pulled apart. Bet it caused a generation of revenge. What is that, a few weeks for them?"

"You know," I sighed, "I kind of thought connecting with your past and discovering your roots would bring you some kind of stability."

Grunt found this hilarious. "See," he chortled, "now we're having fun! Me remembering good deaths; you with your... funny human thing you're doing. My job is to hurt things. Direction, control—that's your job, battlemaster. You're why I'm a soldier, not dead or crazed like an animal."

Regardless of what Grunt said, it was suddenly occurring to me that I might have accidentally created a monster. I decided to leave before I made matters even worse. Just as I was turning around, EDI opened a comm channel to the Port Cargo Area. "I have intercepted reports regarding a substantial loss of political influence from Clan Gatatog following the death of Gatatog Uvenk," the AI reported.

Gee. What a shame. Really.

"In addition, killing the thresher maw has produced several breeding requests for Grunt..."

Grunt was grinning from ear to ear again. Good for him, I thought. At least one of us might have a chance of getting some action—

"...and one for Shepard," EDI added.

...

The hell?

"Ha!" Grunt laughed.

Clearly the universe was enjoying a joke at my expense. Again.

(1): At least Shepard was aware of the potential for imposing his own values on someone else; most people, sadly, wouldn't think twice.

(2): Indeed, Grunt was apparently won over by Shepard's tactical prowess in successfully executing his preferred style of combat.

(3): Gatatog Uvenk, leader of Clan Gatatog. Yet another instance of a less-than-flattering nickname for Shepard's private use—and, no doubt, amusement.

(4): Before meeting Shepard, Wrex was once the leader of his clan, the youngest ever to achieve that honour.

(5): The familiarity with which krogan use this term suggests that they were no strangers to krogan clones, no doubt resulting from their previous efforts to replenish their numbers despite the genophage. (6): The Fifth Amendment of the Constitution of the United States of America, which protects citizens against self-incrimination.

(7): Shepard never explains the rationale behind this team arrangement, though analysis of their talents suggests that those team members were best equipped for the challenges they would likely face on the surface of Tuchanka. Additional insights come from a log entry by Grunt—one of the few he ever submitted—concerning his opinion on the various squad mates Shepard recruited. In his opinion, Zaeed and Thane were the toughest warriors onboard the Normandy—after himself and Shepard.

(8): 'We're Not Gonna Take It,' released by Twisted Sister in 1984.

(9): Traditionally, the term 'battlemaster' was reserved for krogan biotics, who were renowned for their willingness to achieve their goals at any cost, no matter how reprehensible. However, battlemasters are also renowned for being an equal match for ten other soldiers of any other species, something that definitely describes Shepard and his prowess.

(10): Shepard would later learned that Fortack was the current—he killed his predecessor—Lord High Researcher of Clan Urdnot. Wrex ordered him to research "things that don't explode"—such as crop genetics and medical improvements, which could be bought from the salarians—much to Fortack's dismay. When Shepard expressed surprise that he would consider accepting such technologies from the salarians, considering their role in creating the genophage, Fortack retorted that 'It's not as if they can make us more infertile. He quickly recanted that upon further consideration, not realizing that that had indeed happened.

(11): Once again, Shepard fails—or refuses—to recognize the fact that he had earned the respect of his colleagues and friends.