Exhale. Inhale. Look for others. None standing. Survey damage. Exhale
The movements are almost mechanical, born from centuries of training. The thoughts… Almost nonexistent. Just the desire for blood. The desire to strike the offense away. Cause pain. Kill.
Most of all, kill.
The joy.
The sheer joy. The faces, fear and surprise and pain all mingled.
The smell of blood. It mixes with the smells of the city.
It's like London again.
Perfect.
Inhale. Exhale. Some of the old pains begin to return. The rage begins to fade.
Mar looked at the corpse of the man underneath him, and at the corpses of the man's underlings. It had almost been a good fight. The men died easily. Some of them had shot him, but the small pistols they were using couldn't have pierced his armor. The man had started to… change. Grow. A part of him had wanted to let the man grow. See what happens. Maybe it would have even been a fair fight. Challenge him.
But "The children, just shoot". The children. Just shoot.
He didn't deserve an honorable death. A good fight. He didn't even deserve the death he got, dying beneath a warlord's hammer. Mar should have just shot him. It would have been more fitting.
What now?
He had acted… rashly. Spurred on by rage. He could hear the shaman berating him, as clear today as it was a thousand years ago. "Use your rage. Don't let it use you."
Killing a monster? An honorable task. But it could have been done better. It was loud. It was obvious.
The bodies were unrecognizable. This was good. Biotic discharges had burnt through them, leaving them only somewhat identifiable as humans.
"Hey." He heard a voice say. He turned towards it. It was a human youth. In light armor, and a helmet with a skull design on it. Behind him were three others, seated on what looked like oversized varren. One in a purple and black bodysuit, with a mask covering her eyes, one in formal wear with a gaudy mask to match, and one in work clothes and a mask shaped like an earth animal. A cat? "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine." he said.
"Umm… did I hear him wrong or was that gibberish?" asked the one in formal wear.
"No, you heard him right." The girl in the bodysuit said. "He can't speak English. He can understand, though. Right?"
Of course. Translators. Humans did not have them yet. He could understand them, but unless they learned Tuchankan, they wouldn't understand him. The human "yes" motion was a nod, if he remembered correctly. He nodded.
"Are you… from here?" She asked him, staring intently. Apparently him looking nothing like humans was a giveaway. He shook his head. "Huh."
"We owe you." The youth in leather said, "Lung was hunting us. We weren't sure what to do, but we decided to face him head on. I'm glad you were here."
Mar looked at him. He carried himself like a leader. He hadn't reached his full growth, but was already taller than most humans. A warrior's stance. This one had trained. He could tell that in a few years, this one would be a warrior. A good one, too.
"Could we keep in touch with you, somehow? We owe you." the boy continued. "I'm Grue. They're Tattletale, Bitch, and Regent." He paused.
"Do you have access to the internet?" Tattletale asked.
The Geth could connect to any interface. Would he trust the Geth with this? He hated trusting a machine, but it was better than the humans. He nodded.
"Then post a thread on PHO, looking for your friends on dogs. We'll answer. But you should make a getaway now. The white hats are on their way." Grue joined the others on their mounts, and they ran off, the mounts leaping up the buildings. Mar heard the rumbling of an engine coming closer. He walked the other way. He would be gone by the time it arrived.
He'd made the way back to the warehouse in silence. For what appeared to be such a large city, it seemed this one was desolate. It reminded him of Rannoch, the former quarian cities waiting empty for their owners to return. Except Rannoch was well taken care of, the geth having had it well kept for their masters. This city was not dead. It was simply dying. This was fortunate. He had never learned stealth, though he suspected he should. This world would not be accepting of outsiders.
It wasn't a long walk until he reached the warehouses. Number 5122 was the right one. He pulled it open. Empty. The humans' armor sets were seated in the corner, empty. Their guns weren't in their holsters. Logical. They were on their homeworld, and would explore.
The geth's absence was less logical. The first thing the mech had warned them about was being sighted. Once they had ascertained that they were on some form of parallel Earth, and a hundred and seventy five years in the past (with the help of some terrified bystanders), the geth had arranged the rent of a warehouse in a poor part of the city and told them not to be seen. Then it had connected itself to this Earth's internet and allowed its runtimes to roam the internet, collating information.
It was apparently some form of reconnaissance platform, which worked in their favor. Loaded with many runtimes, and some form of knowledge library, it was meant to be an ambassador. Mar had noted, though, that it would also make a very good spy, or assassin. After all, it was an odd ambassador who traveled with a sniper rifle, and could cloak.
Who understood AIs?
The warehouse's previous owner had forgotten a fishing kit in the warehouse. A few rods, a small box of lures. A net. Mar had been taught to fish the human way by a salesman who had come to Tuchanka. The salesman left disappointed after realizing that as a desert planet Tuchanka wouldn't have a lot of fishing opportunities, but it was an easy enough skill to learn. He had taught his squad how to, and some of them had tried it in the Citadel. Never caught anything.
The docks proper were a very short walk away. Maybe he'd catch something. Maybe something would come out of this evening.
