Author note:
It has been drawn to my attention that I haven't yet made it clear that the fact that thermal clip technology is present in this universe, just not widely adopted for various reasons, is a component of the fact that this is an alternate universe. Don't question why, it seemed to make sense at the time... And yes, many of the characters that I favour are British. My apologies, this essentially reflects off of me, as I am British, English, to be precise, which I suppose explains why I killed the Scotsman, and made the admirably efficient psychopath English as well, and why he is contemplating killing the Irishman. Come to think of it, this is almost turning into one of those jokes (I am not racist. I hold all people in equal contempt, unless you review and acknowledge my divine brilliance-and if you haven't realised I'm not entirely serious/not in my right mind by now, you are more deserving of my contempt than most)... Anyway. On with the story.
Ave Imperator, Morituri Te Salutant
"Ah, O'Reilly? Stand down, please... No seriously, being all stoic and unwilling to negotiate a little is not going to achieve anything just now... thanks."
I hate stoics... Shepard turned to regard the targets of this perhaps somewhat misguided operation, a small group of batarians, surrounded by their bodyguards. "I take it you want something before we can get back to the war?"
"Yes, human. Entertainment..."
"Ooh, gladiatorial combat, you're just so sophisticated... Fine. I'd try to do a deal that said if I win we get to kill you, but neither of us would hold up our end..."
Shepard tried to avoid thinking about the absurdity of the situation he was in; namely, in the middle of a war, and yet about to participate in gladiatorial combat of all things, and attempted to concentrate on his opponent, who appeared to be sizing him up. They began to circle, Shepard remaining calm and relaxed, passive, whilst the batarian attempted to psych him out, feinting at him, and grinning sadistically. Shepard remained unfazed, then got bored, and fixed the batarian with a blank stare, over which he gradually stretched his best predatory, psychotic grin. The batarian paused, hesitated. Shepard moved.
He lashed out with an open hand, aiming for the batarian's head, and anticipating his dodge, following up almost simultaneously with a vicious kick to the throat that the batarian ducked into, which downed him, leaving him clutching at his throat and choking hoarsely. Shepard turned away-
And almost immediately the batarian was behind him, dealing a savage stomp behind his leg to force him onto that knee, before seizing him by his black, slicked back hair, and yanking his head back in order to deal a vicious open handed strike to the throat. However, Shepard went with the pull, raising a hand to ward off the strike even as he bent backwards to the ground, further than the batarian had intended, allowing him to use his other hand to draw his knife and bury it in the gap between armour segments in the alien's knee.
Without withdrawing the blade, he yanked on it, and subconsciously the batarian moved with the pull, attempting to minimize damage to his joint, but losing his balance instead, which meant that when Shepard seized the wrist that was holding his hair, he was able to knock it aside with ease, twist around, and deal a staggering blow to the melee specialist's midriff, which sent him stumbling backwards even as he attempted to regain his balance.
Shepard shifted his position so that he was crouching in a position not unlike a runner before a race, and watched his opponent, never even blinking. The privateer growled, and lunged at him, aiming a vicious blow to the marine sniper's skull, but Thaddaeus simply pushed himself up off of his hands, and caught the blow with a flick of his wrists, pulling on it further to exacerbate the foe's forward momentum, as well as pulling himself into a stable position on his feet, before continuing the motion with his wrists, causing them to collide at a high velocity with the alien's chin, snapping his head back, before the human stepped lithely aside, avoiding the batarian's clumsy continued forward motion.
The batarian was becoming increasingly furious, filling his system with adrenaline, allowing him to take the beating and come back for more. He stepped forwards, his movements finally under control, and sent a furious volley of blows at various points on Shepard's body with both hands and feet. Giving ground before the unrelenting assault, Shepard began to be forced to prioritise which blows he allowed to connect, and took some painful bruises to non-vital areas. He managed to parry a blow to his face, and followed up with a counter strike aimed for the alien's ear, intended to stun him, but the batarian caught the blow and began to push Shepard's arm back, until suddenly, Shepard followed the motion instead of resisting it, yanking the batarian forwards and off balance, before delivering a blow from his left fist into the batarian's straightened elbow joint-
Even as the enemy dealt a painful blow to the human's lower ribcage, cracking bones and breaking one inwards, as well as dealing a severe shock to his diaphragm, winding him badly. Realising his peril, Shepard didn't pause, but smashed a stunning backhanded blow into his opponent's ear, before following up with a vindictive jab towards the eyes, that the alien shied away from, allowing Shepard to break away, nursing his torso.
The batarian, sensing victory, paced back and forth in front of his foe, judging the moment for the coup de grace, the glint in his eyes reminiscent of a wolf that has mortally injured its prey and is waiting for it to become weak enough to be eaten. Shepard just followed him with eyes void of emotion, as empty and dead as a shark.
His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, a subtle invitation to the final blow, an invitation that his enemy accepted. He stepped forth, then suddenly pivoted on one foot, brought the other up and sent it crashing towards the human in such strength that it would surely poleaxe him-
If it indeed connected; however, Shepard ducked under the blow, the batarian's trench coat brushing across his face as he moved in the opposite direction to the kick. The alien followed through with a lightening jab to the face that Shepard simply guided aside, before jabbing a blow of his own that failed to connect like its precursor, before he was forced to leap away from another kick directed at his solar plexus and then flicked up at his chest, the batarian pressing his advantage by advancing and initiating a frenzied flurry of feints and actual blows, so many that all Shepard could do was let his subconscious take over and simply react.
The subconscious is not necessarily the best strategist.
A jarring blow to the arm that was dismissed as superfluous slowed him down, allowing a second blow to the face, an open handed scratch that opened up bloody trenches in Shepard's face, missing his left eye by a bare few millimetres, but immediately impairing his vision as, despite the merely cosmetic nature of the cut, as a head wound it bled profusely.
As such, Shepard didn't see the quick slap to his left ear until it was already too late, disorientating him and leaving him open for a final vicious uppercut that laid him out on his back.
As Shepard attempted to shake off his daze, he felt a constricting pressure on his throat. He attempted to shake the blood from his left eye and glared up at the sneering alien that was looming over him, one foot resting on his throat.
"You lose, human." He said in that signature deep voice that is associated with the human stereotype of the batarian race, a stereotype that also involves the four-eyed race being universally criminal in nature. Ironic. The alien closed his eyes, savouring the moment as he prepared to wrench his foot around in a movement that would break the human's neck-
And felt a great many things happen to him, all within a second of one another.
A blow was struck to the back of the knee of the leg that exerted pressure on the human's throat, causing it to bend and remove the pressure; almost simultaneously, it was removed from the vicinity of the human's neck. At the same time, the alien felt his other leg swept out from under him; he fell. The back of his head had barely impacted against the ground, however, before he felt the pressure of a boot on his body; on his wrist, pinning it above his head.
He lashed out at the foot to try and free himself, and felt another boot land on him, this one pinning his other wrist to himself, and his neck to the ground. He glared balefully up at the human standing over him, almost nonchalantly, gazing upon him with eyes that no longer held even vague interest.
"Check and mate." The human announced in measured, controlled terms.
"Ha! How're you going to finish me, you-"
The batarian was never given the opportunity to finish. Shepard simply drew his pistol and shot him exactly between his four eyes.
He looked up at the generals, who were staring at him in a daze, unable to even voice their objections.
"Come on, you never said a thing about fighting fair." He raised his pistol.
"O'Reilly-"
Another author note: please permit me my little bit of fun; I know that a little gladiatorial combat is somewhat unlikely, especially against the backdrop of a futuristic conflict as bloody and bitter as the one between the Alliance and the batarian Hegemony (then again, if there were prisoners, it's a definite possibility, just not in the midst of an actual battle), but it was fun to write, and hopefully fun to read for you lot, too.