She was alone.
Alone, frustrated, and lost in a place where the dreams of little children go to die, the Loudmouth growled (Quietly, as she was in a room full of inactive husks) and continued to sift through a pile of junk. Like Kelly, she had inevitably ran into one of the random dumpsites of personal items that were amongst the dragons teeth.
"...And what do we have here...?" she muttered to herself, and pulled out a small handheld device and held it close to her face. On the side, it said 'Emergency Personnel Long Range Distress Beacon'.
She rolled her eyes, and tossed the unwanted device like a petulant child might discard a crappy Christmas present. It landed next to the other items she had no use for, like the shotgun, the water purifier, all those first aid kits, and that copy of 'How To Escape Being Kidnapped: Enemy Spacestation Addition'. "Why is there so much useless shit just lying around?" She asked, and quietly moved to the next pile.
There was a loud moan, and the woman resolutely refused to looked up. Opting instead to continue her hunt, she forged on with almost obsessive determination.
Obsessive would be the only word that would describe this situation. For you see, out of all the people being held captive aboard the station; the Loudmouth was the only one who had no intention of leaving.
At least, not until she got what she came for anyway.
Abandoning the pile, she quietly moved to the next area that looked promising, and got to work. A lot of people would probably call her crazy for wanting to take advantage of a situation like this. More than likely, she was going to end up as one of these corpses that littered the ground...
There was a loud moan, and one of the husks twitched.
...Or worse, one of the corpses above her, that weren't allowed to die...
She supposed that she should be thankful that she wasn't being shot at anymore. Which was fine, but when that blast door closed; she turned around and discovered she was locked in a room full of Dragons Teeth.
Hundreds, and hundreds of dragons teeth. All of them complete with their own writhing body, probably just waiting to eat her brain, or whatever it is that they did.
You know, there's a certain point in time, when things just start being ridiculous. Being kidnapped, and taken aboard an enemy space station? Sure, why the hell not? It's not like she had anything else better to do with her Saturdays. Then to find out that they're all an extinct race of beings, who are melting people down for some unknown nefarious purpose? Screw it, she'll make a whole weekend out of this shit.
But then to find out that they're hiding an entire forest of glowing zombies? Really? C'mon, is that reeeaally necessary? For a moment, she kinda found herself having an odd 'Samuel L Jackson' moment, where she wanted to scream that she is tired of these muthafucking surprises, on this muthafucking base'.
Hell, at this rate, she wouldn't bat an eyelash if there really were an immortal race of sentient star-ships, just waiting outside of dark space.
She rubbed her temple, and tried not to think about it. Suddenly, her hand brushed up against something that she instantly recognized, and looked down. "... Aha!" She said, then instantly winced as she suddenly remembered that there were husks not even a meter above her. The temporary shock only lasted a second as her glee returned, and she pulled the small hand-held object out with her hands.
A digital holo-camcorder! Turning it over, she found the power button and pushed...
And it worked!
It was an older model, but it still came with a Micro Ezzo Powercell, the same thing that powers omnitools and kinetic barriers of armor. She at least didn't have to worry about battery life. The lone woman checked the memory card, and frowned when it read full. She pushed the play button, to see what was filling up the memory. A video came into view, and showed a man who was huddling inside of what appeared to be a storage shed.
"...Oh god, I can hear them trying to get in. T-the rumors were true. The Collectors are real, and they've taken the whole colony. Please, if I don't make it, my life's work must go on. In this video is the key steps on how to make unlimited, clean, and efficient energy for the whole galaxy to sha-"
"meh." The Loudmouth said, and promptly pushed 'delete'. The environmental hippies already had their day, when she covered that EEZO tanker spill at the Horsehead nebula.
Time for some real news!
Switching over the the night-shot mode, she panned the camera around, taking in as much of the macabre scene as possible. She cleared her throat. "Tonight at 9. Kidnapping, brutal experimentation, and one of the biggest conspiracies against mankind is uncovered." she said in a voice that was objective and clear. A persona, that had been forged over a long career of being in front of the camera.
"I must warn you, that there are no words for the images you are about to see..." She stopped, when she made the mistake of actually looking up. Through the camera, she could actually see their faces. See their tortured looks, that were frozen in a moment of fear, and agony.
The Loudmouth realized that she had to leave. She couldn't allow this to happen to herself.
But something stayed her hand and kept her finger on the record button. Something that she really couldn't define. It was something that told her that this was where she needed to be. That by telling their story, she could somehow partially vindicate not only them, but also herself in some small way.
Because whether or not she survived this thing, she knew that the life was going to go on. And if you ignore that one moment where everything you've ever wanted could be taken in a single grasp, then it would be gone.
This was the moment, that she had waited her entire professional career for. This was the kind of moment, that for better or for worse, would change her whole goddamned life. For the first time in her life she had a true shot at victory, and she'd be damned if she didn't take it.
To be here, beyond the Omega-4 relay, she was sitting on the story of the millenia! She busied her mind in wondering what her prime time spot would sound like when she was rescued and busted this story wide open.
"...Tonight at 9..." one of the husks gave a particularly loud moan, and a deep chill went down the Loudmouth's spine. She looked up and swallowed hard "... Action news reporter: Khalisah Bint Sinan al-Jilani, found brutally mauled to death by glowing zombies."
How the hell did i even get here...? she wondered.
XXX
"Hello? Are you in need of medical aid in there?" A gruff, two toned voice of a turian asked, as he continued to knock on the public restroom door.
Khalisah's eyes were screwed shut as she ran a hand up the bridge of her nose, checking to see if it was broken or not. God, she hoped that she didn't have to face him at the moment. She looked around for some tissue, or anything to hopefully stop the blood that seemed to just gush out of her nose.
Unfortunately for her, her luck was not to be as she heard the hiss of pneumatic pistons, from the door. This was soon followed by the heavy footfalls of armored boots.
The reporter's eyes darted around again for anything to clean herself up with. Her image was her career, and right now she was a mess. Finding nothing, she was about to dive into one of the stalls, when the C-Sec officer finally stepped into view. Her shoulders slumped, and she realized that there was just no point in trying to run anymore.
Like so many other problems in her life, she decided to just say 'screw it' and meet him head on.
Noting that he at least looked sympathetic, the loudmouth put on her best face and turned to face the music. She decided that the turian's rich green eyes were accented nicely behind his white face paint. Though she tried to stand tall, proud, he only stared at the blood that ran down from her nose, all the way to her chin.
"I hope you will forgive me for walking into the female washroom." he said, as he began to fish around the many compartments of his armor. "But it is my duty to escort you to the medical ward." The officer finally found what he was looking for, and produced a white handkerchief, or at least the turian equivalent of one. Kahlisah snatched it angrily out of his talons.
"No, i'm fine. I just... I just need a few moments to clean up in here." She looked in the mirror, and began to wipe herself off. But not before giving him a grateful glance "Thanks... uh..."
"Chellick. Officer Chellick." he finished for her. Being a veteran officer, Chellick was pretty good at spotting distress amongst the many races of the Citadel, human females were particularly expressive. So he knew enough to give her a few minutes to vent herself as she wiped her face angrily. Muttering about 'asshole hanar' and 'new Blasto movie is going to suck anyway'.
He cleared his throat after a moment, and the loudmouth gave him an irritated glance. "What?"
"I believe we have some other matters to attend to. One being that I need a statement, if I am to press charges." To his surprise, she actually laughed at that.
"Yea, right. It's bad enough that I just got socked in the face by a renegade jellyfish, on live extranet feeds, but his lawyers will tear me apart if I try." She turned on the water, and began to wash off her face. "Plus, I'll have to deal with those psycho fans..." The turian's face drew into a grim look. Like any turian, he didn't seem to like the thought of a crime going unpunished.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I find his movies to be distasteful. You would be surprised at how many of our recruits try to emulate his actions. It's just bad police work, very undisciplined."
Khalisah smiled to herself, and she found that she did feel a little better. Of course the turians wouldn't be fans. They were always so by the book. The odd moment of kinship, if only for their dislike of baddass hanar, made her feel like she could loosen up around him, and Chellick seemed willing to lend an ear. "God, just once, I would love to get a real fucking story. 10 years... 10 years, I've been doing this, and all I ever get is random tabloid bullshit." she said. She pulled out her purse and rummaged through for her make-up. After a few moments of searching however, she decided that she just didn't care.
"So, why not go find one then?" Chellick asked, like it was the easiest answer in the world. Kalisah scoffed.
"I wish it were that simple. My producers give me my assignments. I have to report what they tell me." The turian officer seemed to consider this. Chain of command was something that every turian understood.
However, that didn't mean that there weren't loopholes.
"Sooo... have your 'producers' given you your next assignment yet?" The word 'Producers' rolled off of his tongue awkwardly. He had no idea what the word meant, but judging from the context, he assumed that it was some form of superior officer. The almost conspiratorial tone caused Khalisah to give the non-human a long suspicious look.
"No, not yet..."
"And should you happen to come across anything newsworthy, while you had your camera on hand, then would your 'producers' object to using it?"
"Well... no i guess they wouldn't... Why? You know of a story somewhere?"
"An old friend of mine, Garrus Vakarian, mentioned something about your Commander Shepard going out to investigate Collector attacks on random human colonies. And i've learned over the years that 'newsworthy things' tend to happen around that human."
Al-Jahlani almost dismissed the idea outright; tracking down Shepard was a good way to get her ass knocked out again. But the colony attacks... they were only a rumor, but if Shepard was investigating them, then there had to be something to them. Right?
Plus, she did have a lot of vacation time saved up...
The loudmouth paused to give it some thought. The idea was ludicrous, and she might get into a lot of trouble. Hell, they might even fire her over it. Never let her report anything, ever again.
But would that really be such a bad thing?
She turned to the mirror, and took a long look at her reflections bloodied face... How many times had somebody hit her over the years, in the pursuit of a dream that may never come? How many times had she watched her own ratings fall, while reporters like Ada Wong or those other nameless hacks enjoyed the limelight. Each time, bumping her time-slot further, and further?
How many more times could she watch herself get passed up for the good assignments, before she admitted that her hopes was dead?
...When was if ever going to be her time to shine?
Kahlisah watched as the woman in the mirror clenched her jaw. She watched her hands grow into fists, in indignation, for allowing herself become a punching bag (both metaphorically and physically) again, and again.
Could she really go back to the Wusterland newsroom, and be snickered at for getting her face pounded again?
"No" her own image said.
Khalisah turned to the turian, and gave him a long look. "Do you know where Commander Shepard is?" The turian shook his head. "I'm afraid not. However, i heard he was at that colony, Horizon, that'd just been hit. Perhaps that would be a good place to start."
"Thanks... You know, you're pretty sneaky for a turian." Chellick shrugged.
"I just believe in working all of the angles."
xxxx
xXx
Harbinger buzzed through the air on insect like wings. With great skill, either instinctive of the Drone he possessed or through some higher knowledge, the reaper expertly touched down and surveyed his surroundings. Chunks of glass, plastic and metal lay all around him, crunching beneath his feet as he toured around.
Not that any of that really mattered. Because what really had his attention was one very large and very flat Scion. That and the fact that no matter where he looked, he didn't see the corpse of that wretched redhead anywhere. Harbinger now had a sneaking suspicion that she was still alive and loose on this base somewhere.
The physical embodiment of the reaper looked over the entire scene with the same critical eye that you might see from the lead detective of a CSI show . The entire scene would have probably made an interesting episode, because he had no clue as to what the hell happened here. Well that and if Horatio Caine just went around from room to room, announcing his own name like... actually i take it back; This is exactly like CSI.
Regardless, sifting through their memories again, he watched her. Slowed down by her injured companion, pursuing her had been easy. She was pinned down by an endless stream of weapons fire, and other units were already taking position to flank her. He was pretty sure she wasn't even armed.
Then suddenly, the terminal near her exploded and she just vanished. Vanished! Much like his hopes of having competent slaves, she just disappeared. It just didn't make sense.
Sifting further through the memories of all of his Prothean slaves, he saw that pretty much all of the loose humans aboard the base had been killed, or re-captured. The Collectors were piling their corpses this very moment. But the one he wanted, the redhead that started this entire mess was still out there somewhere. And now the only clue he had, was a Scion that had somehow been popped like an overripe melon.
And what concerned him more, was the uniform she was wearing. Harbinger knew full well of Cerberus, and of commander Shepard's mission.
Was she one of the specialists that Shepard had picked up? Had Harbinger sorely underestimated this frail looking rat? Turning around to look over the scene again, something caught the corner of his eye, and Harbinger found itself looking at a damaged vent at the end of the hallway.
On an inspired whim, the Reaper brought up the entire ventilation grid for the base. Sure enough, they ran everywhere and could easily hold a human. Next Harbinger brought up the event logs, and there have been a lot of sensor trips. They could mean nothing, harmless false readings from sensors that were over 50,000 years old...
Or... somebody might be crawling around in there.
There was a long moment of silence, and the reaper tapped into its vast intelligence to run thousands, even millions of scenarios on how to deal with this. Finally Harbingers 4 eyes flared bright orange (sort of the reaper equivalent of a smirk, or the closest approximation of putting on sunglasses).
That piece of red headed trash might as well just sit back and relax...
…Because Harbinger was going to personally direct her demise. (YEEEAAAAAAAA-)
XXXxxxXXX
'God, is this what i've been doing to Mr Pickles?'
Kelly's thoughts wandered back to her childhood pet on Eden Prime. Her parents had bought her a hamster, a real one, shipped all the way from Earth itself. Eden Prime was still pretty small at the time, so there weren't a whole lot of other kids around. And being that there weren't any cities to visit, Kelly spent much of her time finding ways to entertain herself. So a combination of sheer boredom, surplus irrigation tubing, and an endless amount of free time had led her to construct some of the most complex hamster mazes ever seen.
Now, as Kelly crawled through these stupid ducts, did she wonder if Mr Pickles was really crawling through those tubes with the hopes of finding a way to blow up the 'evil Kelly base', rescue any other hamster he may find, and probably steal the rest of her banana chips that she kept as treats.
The thought of an adorably armed, Rambo-hamster, pulling off a tiny suicide mission made her smile.
Mr Pickles sure did love those banana chips...
"Uh... Excuse me, miss Chambers? Do you happen to know where we're going? Or what our next move is, for that matter?" The pretender asked, and Kelly nodded.
"Just Kelly" she corrected "And our next move is to go to the Citadel, buy all of the hamsters, and set them free."
"...What?"
"Err.." Kelly stopped and blinked as she realized that she'd said that in her outside voice. "I mean, I know a spot where we can rest, and not be shot at." Ken cleared his throat, indicating that he had the next question.
"And, why do we have ta' drag this heavy arse case with us?"
"Because there's stuff inside of it, and we need stuff." Kelly said simply. Our heroes, while making their way to the vents, found a heavy looking locker on the ground and took it with them. After spending the day being shot at, jumping off ledges, and accidentally blowing up half the base, she would literally take anything. If it was just full of clothes, then she'd be happy to not be covered in crusted Scion goo. If it was weapons; sweet. Better than plan A, which was Operation Moving Target.
But, what Kelly was really hoping for was some food... her body felt like it was basically running on fumes. From the time that she was dragged off the Normandy, up until now, she hadn't eaten anything. Which was a good 24 hours ago. And, as it turns out, running and screaming for your life will burn a lot of calories.
Luckily for her, the Collector base was turning out to be more like her college fraternity's dorm room, than an actual military installation.
She knew from experience, that the Collectors just left useful items lying around all over the place. Why? She didn't know, it didn't really make sense to her either. But seeing as they just left piles of corpses lying around in huge piles, she assumed that they just dumped crap wherever it was convenient. It was like this place was being run by a bacheler overlord or something. Her perfect memory flashed the map before her eyes, and she felt relieved that they were almost at their destination.
"We're here." The she announced wearily, and her two partners watched as she approached and air filter. It was slightly slanted, and looked as if it had been removed, then placed back on backwards.
"I found this place earlier, when i was crawling around. I put this filter like this, so i'd know if anybody else came through here." she said and pried it off. Ken and Conrad both raised their eyebrows, as it was actually a pretty good idea.
Our unlikely heroes soon found themselves within a dark confines of a maintenance juncture. It was a spot where most of the vents came together, and sort of formed a little room where things like fuses and circuit breakers could be found. As a bonus, the air was dry and cool, so it offered some reprieve from the oppressive heat and humidity of the Collector base. It would have been nice if it wasn't so darned dark, but Kelly had her omni tool flashlight. Plus, her tech-armor made her into a walking low-light lamp. Ken followed next, and offered a hand to help the pretender down. He was having a little trouble, being that his armor was so bulky.
"Alright, Lass" Ken glanced at her. In the low light, he could see her slump against the wall and slouch in exhaustion "So what's the plan then? Is Shepard going to meet us somewhere?" Conrad perked up when he mentioned the spectre.
"C-Commander Shepard? He's coming here? To this base?" he asked and felt the need to shield his foot.
"Aye. The Commander is on a mission to come Michael Bay the shit outta this place." He said with a hopeful, if slightly vindictive look in his eyes. However, his expression fell as he saw the forlorn look on the Yeoman's face. "... He...he is here somewhere, right?"
"He's not here..." Kelly said wearily "Or at least, i haven't seen him if he is."
"Really? Well what about the explosions, an' shite. You gatta admit, that was some Shepard-level destruction back there. I musta seen a million credits worth of crud get blown to hell..." (It was like that when i got here! progress: Cr 2,356,813/1,000,000,000)
"That was sorta me... I did it on accident." Kelly could feel both men stare at her, and she shifted uncomfortably.
"Really? You did that?" Ken asked, and watched as she nodded.
"I didn't think that everything would catch fire like that..."
Being that there was enough room to stand, Conrad lumbered to his feet and crossed the room to her. Kelly unexpectedly found herself caught up in a hug of appreciation. "Well thank you... Kelly?" She nodded "You saved my life. My name is Conrad Verner, by the way."
The name caused Ken to raise an eyebrow, and muttered "you gatta be shitting me..."
Finally having a moment of relative safety, Kelly got her first real look at the man. She glanced at the N7 logo on his chest, and her eyes bulged. She'd been too preoccupied with trying to not get shot to care who this man was, or who he might be affiliated with. People wearing armor in space was pretty common. Honestly, she was just happy that he wasn't trying to kill her. Plus another ally was always good to have.
But an N7 special forces commando? That's like the freaking jackpot! Oh dear lord, she'd have his child, right-here-right-now, if he agreed to lead this little mission. To have somebody who knew what they were doing? Oh that'd be awesome!
Kelly wet her lips "Excuse me, sir?" Conrad paused at her odd change in tone. "Uh... Yes?"
"Are you part of the N7 program?" she asked hopefully. Her mind already buzzing with anticipation over what his specialization could be. A brave and aggressive Vanguard? A sneaky Infiltrator? …Or maybe the rarest of the rare; the ever elusive Biotic Adept!
Oh the possibilities!
Conrad began to rub the back of his head, "Uhh, that might be a little complicated to explain..."
Ken scoffed, and pulled at the latches of their mystery case. "Hell no he's not an N7. That wanker's not even a soldier, period." Kelly turned, and blinked at the maintenance man. "Really? Do you know this man?"
"Aye. He used to be my physics teacher, back at the academy." Kelly felt her shoulders slump as her hope faded. She turned back to him with a slightly defeated look. "Is this true?" she asked him, and Conrad nodded.
"Well... err... yea." He admitted reluctantly. Conrad noted the way that the small woman was looking at his armor. He rapped his knuckles on it, and even Kelly knew that the hollow sound of plastic was all wrong. "It's a replica..." He said pathetically.
"...Why are you going around in fake N7 armor for? How come you're not teaching at the academy?"
"Well... That's kind of a long story..."
"Crazy sod started obsessing over the Commander, so they fired him." Ken interrupted again, and cursed, as he discovered that the case was locked.
"...Or, it's a very short story." Conrad muttered, he scowled at the Scotsman for a second before turning back to Kelly. "I... I'm really sorry..." He said, and lowered his eyes. For the first time, did he ever truly feel like a fraud.
"Hey..." Kelly said softly, and the Pretender managed look back at her face. It was kind and understanding. Something that he felt that he didn't deserve.
"I quit my job on the Citadel, to go join a terrorist organization. I know what its like to try and get away from a mediocre life." She said, and placed a kind hand on his shoulder.
Their moment came to an abrupt end as Ken swore at the lockbox, and gave it a harsh kick.
"Sodding thing is locked tighter than Miranda's uniform! This is a no-go."
"Really?" Conrad said. "let me take a look at that." Suddenly interested, he saw an opportunity to actually be useful to his new friends. Ken still looked very doubtful though. "That thing's got a 10-digit key code lock. There's no way you can guess the code to that."
The Pretender however didn't seem all that concerned, as he casually opened a compartment on his armor and pulled out his bypass kit. Kelly watched him get to work, and finally decided to ask the very obvious question.
"Does anybody else find it weird that all of this stuff is even here? I mean, we passed like 3 of those red first-aid boxes on the way to this spot. Do you think those Collectors even use Medigel?"
Ken made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nah... Y'know, I've been thinking about that too, actually. A whole base, right past the Omega-4 Relay? If it's really as old as the Protheans, then this place should have died off a long time ago."
"What do you mean?" Conrad asked, pausing from his work, he looked up.
"Well nuthin lasts forever, lad. I mean, anything that moves has to be replaced eventually. And the gravity? Mass Effect generators for that kind of thing need eezo, and that eventually runs out.
Ah' bet they just go around, clobbering ships, and stripping them of everything they need. And bugger all the rest of the stuff they don't use."
Conrad shrugged "Makes sense... I guess..."
Kelly watched as Conrad established links in the locking mechanism. With surprisingly skilled hands, the Pretender worked the Bypass tool of his fake armor. Though every lock by every company was different, the concept was still the same. Bypass the inhibitor nodes, and allow power to flow into the actual locking mechanism.
How the heck does Conrad even know how to do this, you ask? When Conrad set out to go right wrong's in the galaxy, it was by no means a cheap endeavor. Contrary to what some cartoons may have you believe; one does not simply go buy a shuttle, paint the words 'Mystery Machine' on the side, and go solve crime.
Docking fees had to be paid, people sometimes needed to be bribed, and food (Scooby snacks, if you will) sure wasn't free. Pretending to be a specter would waive a lot of the costs, but the major ports had Biometric scanners. And he sure as hell wasn't fooling those. But Conrad, if nothing else, was a survivor. He quickly learned that peeking into crates, and salvaging parts was a great way to earn extra credits.
Sure, is may sound dishonest, but you try picking a fight with an angry Vorcha over a 3-day-old varen skewer, and let me know how well yourmorals fare.
The metal lockbox popped open with a -click- and all three of them smiled.
Guns. Glorious, wonderful, Collector hurting guns...
The box, that they'd been toting around, turned out to be an Alliance Care Package. Shuttles would fly into combat zones, and drop these bad boys off behind friendly lines, and give soldiers a chance to rearm and resupply. Kelly counted, 2 assault rifles, 2 shotguns, a few pistols, and an entire pack of heat-sinks.
"Swaaaaaag" Kelly said, as she picked up a Clanflarex Pistol. Ken Pulled out an assault rifle for himself, and Conrad. Each of the weapons were shiny and clean, almost as if they were brand new. The Scotsman pulled back the slide, and was able to confirm that their guns had never been fired before. For the first time in a while, things were actually starting to look up.
"Well lads, I think its time we went and had ourselves a little chat withe the asshole who's running this place." Ken said the word 'Chat' like really meant 'Shoot'. Which he did.
The Yeoman decided that she didn't like that look on his face "Guns aren't the answer to everything you know..."
"Yea, try telling that to Shepard. I bet he goes around solving problems all day, using only his words."
And it was actually kind of funny that he said that. Because at this moment, Commander Shepard actually was solving a problem this very moment, using only his words...
xx Meanwhile xx
In the shattered ruins of a Tuchankan hospital, Commander Shepard sighed heavily and tried not to rub the temples of his forehead. He knew that it wouldn't do anything to stop his headache, and besides, it was just plain rude. His streak of completing loyalty missions, at breakneck speeds, had hit an unexpected snag in the form of the longest winded Krogan to have ever lived.
"...but Weyrloc Gold; the Chief of Chiefs, has ordered to that you be given leave to flee and spread the message of our coming!" The Krogan boomed, and continued to pace back in forth while he ranted.
"Yea, sure whatever. Listen, I'm kind of in a really big hurry here, so if you could just-"
"-But if you walk away now, you can tell your children that you saw clan Weyrloc before our Blood Pack conquered the stars!" The Commander grit his teeth, as the only thing he hated more than people 'disingenuously asserting' at him, were people who cut him off. To be damned honest, they were lucky that that Mordin needed to get Mealon alive, otherwise he would've thanix'd this place as well.
Tuning out the ranting krogan, Shepard glanced at the flammable tank of fuel that sat right under his feet. 'Nice situational awareness, dumbass' he thought, andfor a few seconds, he kind of considered shooting it, and letting that oblivious moron burn. But to be honest that would be kind of unoriginal. Besides, the only thing slower than trying to talk to these meatheads was to try and fight them. If they could just hand the salarian over, Mordin would be happy and he could move on to the next goddamned mission.
"You think the Urdnot impressive? They are pitiful! Werloc Gold will destroy them all! We will lay waste to their camps, and take their women for ourselves! I personally, shall mount Urdnot Wrex's head upon a pike, for all to know of the teribble death that shall befall them all, should they choose to oppose us! The Salarian will cure the Genophage, and Clan Weyrloc will spread across the galaxy, IN A SEA OF BLOOD AND FIRE, AND DEATH!"
Holy crap, this was taking forever. Shepard hadn't heard a speech this long winded his Induction into the SPECTRES. "Okay, that's really great and all, but honestly, if you can just be reasonab-"
"When we cure the Genophage, Weyrloc Gold will rule all krogan! The surviving races will frighten their children with tales of what we did to the turians!"
"If you could just stop for a minu-"
"The Asari will scream, as we plunge their precious Citadel into the sun!"
"Jus-"
"We will keep the salarians as slaves! And eat their eggs as a delicacy..."
Were the Clan Speaker not ranting so loud, he would have heard the very low, and very audible growl that the commander emitted. Miranda could see his quickly mounting rage was starting to cause his implants to flair, as his eyes were now glowing red. This, and the murderous look in his eyes, made the rest of his squad slowly back away from him.
With a mighty vein, of barely contained rage throbbing in his forehead, Shepard tried to reason with them again.
"Can't we trade? Hell, i'll even let you keep the research if-"
"If you lack the wisdom to flee, then you will be the first of billions beneath our might for Weyrloc Go-"
"SHUUUT UUUUUP!"
The clan speaker stopped speaking, and looked at the human in confusion. Obviously he was not used to people interrupting him.
"AAAAAHHHHHH!"
The Krogan, as well as everyone else were stunned into silence as Commander Shepard screamed in an angry rage, then pointed a finger at the clan speaker. "WILL YOU JUST SHUT THE HELL UP!? You assholes are the reason everybody hates the Krogans! Do you even care about curing the Genophage? Or are you just angry that nobody cares about your crappy little clan out in the middle of nowhere?! I am trying to save the goddamned galaxy! And everybody between the Council, The Collectors, Cerberus, and every gun toting son-of-a-bitch mercenary in the whole fucking universe, has done nothing but stand in my way!At this point i'm half tempted to say screw the reapers, and destroy all sentient life myself!"
The speaker for Clan Weyrloc could only blink for a few seconds. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't. Were human eyes supposed to glow like that? At this point, he was kind of expecting the Commander to reveal that he was actually a time traveling cyborg, sent from the future to kill John Connor.
"STOP FITTING THE STEREOTYPE PERFECTLY! I swear to god, that if you do not hand over Mealon right now, and make me come up there-
=PAUSE=
Unfortunately, for the purposes of human decency, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to censor most of what Commander Shepard is about to say...
However, for the purposes of Comedy, I shall replace all censored sections with the word *smurf*.
=UNPAUSE=
"-then I'm going reach down your throat, and smurf your smurf, and smurf it right out of you and smurf it all over that wall over there!" Everyone, Krogan and Squad members alike, all gasped. Mordin's face was contorted in horror as he opened his omni-tool, and began running figures "M-Medically unsound! Would take hours of surgery to perform safely!"
Poor Tali was slapping at her Omni-tool in desperation. Trying to find the mute button to the audio receptors on her environment suit. She managed to cut the sound, but it did her no good as Shepard's hand gestures were enough to fill in the blanks. The poor girl may never be the same again.
"And after I'm done with you, I'm going to grab that guy right there" one of the other Krogan jumped, and had the look of a deer caught in the headlights "and use the business end of his own *smurf*, and smurfing smurf it smurfed till it smurfs and then smurf him to death with it!"
The Krogan in question promptly burst into tears, "P-Please Mr Shepard! I'm just here because they tell me to! I dun wanna get *smurfed!" he wailed and began to hug his shotgun like a teddy bear and screwed his eyes shut. A desperate attempt to retain what little innocence he had left.
XXXx45 Heavily Censored Minutes LaterxXXX
"...and when the reapers finally come to Tuchanka, they'll find your *smurfed* corpses and they'll know the atrocities that i will inflict upon them, and they will cry synthetic tears!" Commander Shepard finally stopped screaming, and continued to breath heavily.
Everyone, and I mean everyone, crew members and Krogan alike, were all in various stages of shock and horror.
Most of the Bodyguards for the Clan Speaker had fled, while the few that had remained were only there because they were too busy throwing up all over the ground. The Clan Speaker was laying in the fetal position, completely catatonic, he just held himself and muttered incoherently.
A good fifteen feet away from the commander, a small green plant -which in spite of the nuclear war, the fierce radiation, and harsh Tuchankan environment- had actually withered up and died, probably to never grow again. And all of the Attack Veran which, while normally very fierce, now only stared at the ground. Their black eyes were empty, had completely lost that 'spark' as they stared at nothing.
Which was impressive, considering that they didn't even speak english...
A door nearby opened up and Mealon, along with the his research notes, files, and several experiments, were all physically ejected. The small Salarian landed on his rear end, and blinked for a moment before turning back to the door.
"What the heck are you doing? Not done synthesising cure to the Genophage yet!" Before the door shut, the Krogan that kicked him out were heard mutter things like 'not worth it' and 'things worse than genophage'.
=Advertisement=
"Hi! I'm Kelly Chambers. You may know me from such classics like, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3, and various other fanfics around this site.
And I know we've had a lot of laughs here on Therapy at Muzzle Velocity, but today, I would like to talk to you about a serious issue that effects us all; Dehydration.
Thirst is no laughing matter. That's why whenever I'm doing battle with Harbinger, I always turn to Tupari Sports Drink, and all 9 of its essential vitamins and minerals, to help keep me strong so I can save the colonists!"
Tupari: Brings back your ancestors from the grave!
(Tupari is not responsible for any acts committed by zombies)
What? Kelly can't make a little scratch on the side? BTW this is only the first half of this chapter. (it was running a little longer than i wanted) I swears, i'm back at the keyboard now!
Thank you so much, to all of those who took the time to review/fav and otherwise. You guys make me so happy everytime i come back to look at this... I promise, one more insanely boring chapter to up the pieces in place, then that's when the REAL fun begins.
And as an apology for waiting for so long, i'm throwing in a little DLC (taking a page out of bioware's playbook).
[Cerberus Support Pack!] Kelly Receives the Phalanx heavy pistol! (she has to find it first)
New achievements:
Making it Rain - Get Councilor Udina to scream the words "Political Shitstorm"
28 Minutes Later - Kelly unleashes he pale horde upon the Collectors