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Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.
The training room is a flight of stairs from the engineering deck, an open area that—according to Ferox—has a place sectioned off for target practice. The temperature shifts as they make it down to engineering, becoming noticeably cooler. Turians keep their ships warm, around 80 degrees compared to the standard 70 on most human ships.
"Ready for this?" Ferox asked, as they crossed the hall leading to a stairwell. Below them, through tinted windows, Shepard could see a few soldiers standing around the open gymnasium. She paused in quiet contemplation, and found a head turning up to watch her from below. She held the steely gaze for a moment before turning back to Ferox, his prior question not forgotten.
"Please," she emphasized, "remember who you're talking to."
Ferox gave a throaty chuckle and led her through the door.
Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that she was under scrutiny. The turian she had seen just moments ago must have called attention to her sudden appearance here, because six pairs of eyes were watching her.
"It's all over now," Ferox teased as she came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, "they've seen you."
"Who are they?"
"Wanna meet them?"
The group had relieved their attention, turning back to a lively sparring match. One particular turian—the one whose gaze had held hers—stalked around the pair exchanging measured blows, mediating.
"Maybe later," her eyes turned away, back to Ferox, "wouldn't want to interrupt."
"You wouldn't be," he said, "it's just standard practice. But if you're eager to show me how the Great Commander Shepard handles a gun, I wouldn't mind seeing it upfront."
"I wouldn't say great," she mumbled as they entered the room a few yards away, the closest thing to the stairs, "but I get the job done."
He stepped in after her, giving her a moment to take in the room. It was spacious, walls lined with a respectable assortment of weapons; pistols, assault rifles, shotguns—there was even a newer classification of the Widow rifle mounted on a shelf. The target lineup was more than halfway decent, considering they were on a more compact ship.
"This is…wow."
Ferox leaned against the weapons bench, "Figured you'd like it."
Shepard looked over the weapons with marked enthusiasm. "I could have used one of these back on the Normandy," she commented, "you know, for the stress relief."
"Really?" he teased, "I thought Garrus had that covered."
Shepard crossed her arms, "You trying to make me blush there?"
He shrugged, "What if I was?"
"You'd have to do better than that," she said plainly, turning away from him and picking up a handgun.
"Well now," he said with renewed interest, "I can't help but feel that was a thinly veiled challenge." He watched her load a thermal clip into her chosen weapon with delight. She gave him an objecting glance as she moved to the lineup.
"Don't even think about it," she warned, ignoring his conspiring grin. "Besides, I don't blush."
He chuckled, "Doubtful. But sure, we'll pretend for your sake that you lack the ability," he shrugged and joined her in the lineup. "I'd still like a challenge."
Shepard lifted a brow inquisitively, "Yeah? What's on your mind?" she asked, and then regretted voicing the question because it was very likely that she wanted no part of it.
"If you can hit your target five times consecutively," he began with a relish, "I'll give you full access to our databases."
"Why would I want full access to turian databases?"
"So you're not the least bit curious about what we've been up to? There's only so much you can learn from him," his head tilted upwards, hinting at Garrus. "And there are the reports on your condition…"
That last part perked her interest. "And if I lose?"
"You give me a straight answer about you and Garrus."
She frowned. "You're willing to trade sensitive information for that?"
"Curiosity isn't a trait unique to humans," he said simply, "and I'm interested—should we shake on it?"
"Forget it," Shepard muttered, taking aim. A single bullet tore through the metallic target, making a perfect round indentation a few inches from the center. It wasn't her best, but had room for error since she was out of practice.
Ferox followed suit, quiet for once. After their thermal clips were depleted, Shepard stepped away from the lineup, putting the pistol back in its place.
"Did I offend you?" Ferox asked, putting his own weapon away.
She folded her arms across her chest, looking directly at him. He seemed to absorb her expression, trying to decipher the thoughts gathering in her mind.
"You didn't. But I don't make it a habit to discuss personal matters."
"Understood—and I apologize," he motioned toward the door. "Care to continue the tour?"
She nodded, "Sure."
It was a different pair sparring this time. Shepard was amazed at the agility displayed by the duo, a mixture of kicks and jabs thrown in with a respect for form and effectiveness.
The turian rounding the pair lifted his eyes from the duo, mandibles fixing to his face grimly as he saw Shepard and Ferox nearing his group.
"Clovis," Ferox greeted with a courteous nod. "Sir, I'd like to introduce Commander Shepard."
The duo halted their training, straightening up as they heard the name. Even the small group behind the grim-faced turian seemed to pay special heed to the woman. Clovis, however, seemed less than impressed as they stepped up to meet him.
"Good to meet you, Sir," Shepard offered, extending a hand.
He glanced down at it curtly before looking back at Ferox. Shepard pocketed her hand awkwardly.
"She looks weak," Clovis said, his gravelly voice edging towards disdain. Shepard shifted slightly, feeling a tinge of contempt at his words.
"Have some respect," Ferox's clipped reply was a silent warning. Clovis, not one to be challenged, stepped forward, and Shepard could practically taste the tension. She was convinced this would boil over into a fight—an actual full-on brawl—as they stood with their faces mirroring, their eyes locked. She was going to have to get in the way before it scaled any further.
The standoff, thankfully, came to an abrupt end. Shepard felt nearly breathless when they both mutually backed off, as if she'd been holding her breath this whole time.
"You'll have to excuse him," Ferox said, his voice returning to its normal, placid state. "He forgets he owes you his very existence."
Clovis scoffed, "That may be," he said stiffly, "but this is a warship. Not a vacation spot. I'm not here to entertain retired war heroes."
"I'm here to train and fight." Shepard said firmly, taking two steps forward.
Clovis looked down at her."In this ship you get what you earn, and your mistakes count heavily against you."
"Then I'll prove myself," she muttered, the resolve in her voice absolute.
The turian cackled. "There may be fire in your eyes yet, Shepard," he remarked. His grin disappeared. "Show me that it means something."
He went over to the center of the mat, standing where the pair had been sparring before. She felt something catch in her throat, doubt perhaps, but ignored it.
"So how does this work?" She asked, stretching quickly and measuring her opponent. She knew full well she was at a disadvantage here, but there was no way she was backing out.
"I'll make it simple for you," he replied, "the first one who hits the mat loses."
Shepard gave a quick nod. "Got it."
The only female from the group offered to referee. She rounded them for a moment, letting them size each other up.
"Begin."
He lets her take the first shot, knowing it's a rookie mistake to take the bait. Shepard moves forward—aware of this—and dodges the jab that follows her half-hearted attempt to make the hit. She avoids his blows, but before long they feel too practiced, as if he's merely toying with her.
She bides her time, trying to get a better rhythm of his movements in order to find an opening while simultaneously trying to avoid getting mauled by one of those all-too-sharp talons. It's a close call, but when she sees the opening, she throws a fierce punch at his abdomen. It lands, and he stumbles back. She catches the wild amusement in his face, and in a split second he's countered, recovered with such speed that she doesn't have time to pull back from her attack. His arm smacks across her ribcage.
Shepard lands with a harsh thud on the mat.
For what seems like an eternity, her eyes are trained on the metallic tiles on the ceiling with dulling interest. Her heart beats rapidly against her chest, and her burning lungs struggle to replace the air knocked out of them. She blinks as a face suddenly towers over her.
"Are you alright?" Ferox asked tentatively.
She blinked again and nodded, "Just—" she winced, "just help me up."
He obliged, and lifted her onto his arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around his neck, glaring.
"Not what I meant."
He shrugged and set her feet on the ground.
She looked at Clovis, clearly appreciative of the situation as he stood with the referee woman. He chuckled, "Looks like you lost."
"Yeah," Shepard walked over to him, her ribcage cracking uncomfortably as she moved. She was pretty sure she hadn't broken anything, but that did nothing to quell the soreness. "Quite an arm you got there."
"I've earned my strength," he offered his hand and Shepard, mildly surprised at the sudden gesture, took it. "If you're willing, perhaps you can earn your strength as well."
She nodded. "I plan to."
"Good. I expect you here in twenty hours."
"Understood." She said, smiling.
"In the meantime," Ferox interjected, "I'll get her to the med-bay."
Clovis turned away without another word and riled his group up, another sparring match beginning behind them as Ferox led Shepard back upstairs.
"You impressed him," Ferox remarked as they waited for the elevator.
"You think so?" Shepard asked, disbelieving.
He nodded, "Clovis is…" he paused, trying to think of the right word. "Difficult."
"So I've noticed."
"But he's a good man, hard-headed, but good."
Shepard was about to ask for more when the elevator doors opened and she was greeted by an unexpected set of features—human, to be precise. He has a head of blond hair, and a kind, friendly face. His dark eyes widen as they meet hers.
"Shepard!" The suddenly enthused man cried, the model of the Normandy in his arms cradled with the caution and tenderness more suited for holding newborn child than a scale replica. "Aelia said you boarded, I was looking for you so you could—"
He backtracked quickly, "F-ferox, Sir," he saluted clumsily, and Ferox resisted the urge to laugh.
"I'm Engineer William Hughes," he explained, stepping out of the elevator, "and it's really good to meet you, Shepard—ah, Commander."
"Good to meet you too," Shepard said, shaking his hand. Then, pointedly noticing his prized possession, "I see you collect models."
He nodded, "It's an old habit, really. I was hoping for an autograph, if it's not too much trouble."
She obliged and added her signature to the hull of the miniature ship. William thanked her profusely, "I should let you go. I really appreciate this, Shepard. If you ever need anything, let me know. It's nice to have another human on board," he looked apologetically at Ferox, "no offense, Sir."
Ferox shrugged, "None taken."
"See you around," he waved and went through the doors to engineering.
"Wait a minute," Shepard frowned, leaning against the interior of the elevator.
Ferox looked up, "Hm?"
"Is he…that's Will, so is his wife really…"
"Aelia?" Ferox chuckled, "Yeah. They've been married now for three, maybe four, years."
Shepard fell silent, and he couldn't help but notice the dejection in her features.
"Good for them," she said frankly, pushing her own personal issues aside. "Everyone deserves happiness."
"Yeah," Ferox agreed, eyes still upon her. "Everyone."