The Final Frontier 1f/?
anonymous
July 28 2012, 00:32:51 UTC
a!a: ugh, title fail. Previous part was part 1e.
-
“Alright, everyone. Listen to me and stay calm. We’re under attack. The enemy ship has attached itself to us with harpoons. If we remain stuck to them, our chances aren’t very good. Our priority is to detach, disengage and escape intact. But if it becomes clear that we cannot avoid engaging the enemy, our priority then is to get a message out to Command and warn them about these aliens. Pressly, do whatever you can to make sure this message goes out.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“While the message goes out, we’re going to fight as hard as we can. I need everyone in space suits immediately as a precaution. Everyone who can use a weapon, have one by your side at all times.” At that, there was a flurry of activity as people began reaching for their suits. She continued. “Alenko, Williams, I need you two to head down into the lower cargo hold and try to dislodge those harpoons manually if we can’t do so from the bridge.”
Alenko and Williams saluted her and headed off.
“All of you are familiar with the choke points on this ship in case of a hostile landing party. All noncombatants will evacuate first into the two rearmost rescue pods. Save the closer pods for others.”
Shepard paused, and took one more calming breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the very first encounter that humanity has ever had with an alien life form. This is a historic moment, although it may not be going the way we’d all hoped. Nevertheless, I want each and every one of you to know that no matter what happens, it’s been an honor to serve with you.”
The enemy ship continued to fire. Shepard looked around, acknowledging salutes and unflinchingly meeting the gazes of her crewmembers - brave, innocent men and women who wore the knowledge of their own deaths on their faces. She saluted them back. Another lurching movement, and the enemy ship began slowly reeling the Normandy in with the harpoons.
Shepard ruthlessly pushed away the fear in her gut.
“Now, get ready,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Look like they’re heading our way…and they don’t look friendly.”
-
Three Days Later
“Nihlus, you’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it?” The turian Spectre stepped forward into the cockpit. Nihlus’ ship was currently patrolling the Arcturus system, as he’d recently received news of batarian slaver activity in the region. It was strange for batarians to operate so far outside the Terminus systems, and he had been dispatched to investigate.
Nihlus’s brow plates lifted at the sight before him. The Arcturus Relay. It had lain dormant for centuries by Council decree. But one glance at the glowing eezo core and it was clear that this relay was no longer dormant. The ship’s pilot, Quintus, glanced down at his console, scanning the notes that holographically appeared before him. “It was activated not too long ago,” Quintus reported, his dual-toned voice flanging low in disapproval. “Last patrol was just over a week ago and they reported nothing wrong. Maybe your batarians opened it and went through here after that.”
Nihlus cursed. The Council would not be pleased. It was forbidden to activate dormant relays, for fear of unleashing unknown horrors - rachni, yahg, and who knew what else - on the galactic community. He turned and headed for the comm room. “Put me through to the Council.”
The Final Frontier 1g/1g
anonymous
July 28 2012, 00:36:00 UTC
He returned not long after, grim-faced, with his orders: to take his ship through the newly opened relay and investigate. No contact was to be made; it was merely a survey, the Councilors had stressed. The memory of the Yahg debacle was still too fresh in the Council’s memory; no one wanted a repeat of the same incident that had left several of their ambassadors massacred.
No, they were not about to unleash another possibly aggressive species onto the galactic stage, but they couldn’t let the batarians do so either. As one of the Council’s top Spectres, Nihlus was trusted to perform the operation with utmost discretion. He called for his XO and a couple of other officers to join him on the bridge, then gave a quick briefing. “The Council has authorized us to go through the Arcturus Relay and look for signs of batarian slaver activity. We don’t know yet what we’ll find on the other side, so be prepared for anything. But we are under orders to observe only. No engagement if possible.”
Just in case, Nihlus and several officers suited up and grabbed weapons. It was always much more comforting in unknown situations to be armed and armored, Nihlus thought. When the team of turians reconvened, he gave Quintus the signal to commence signal transmission and approach the mass relay.
When they got through to the other side, they were greeted by the sight of a derelict spaceship, adrift. Nihlus’ eyes narrowed. “Move in closer.”
As they approached the ship, it became immediately obvious that it had been attacked. Large sections of the side panels had been shot off, exposing sections of severed cables. “Spirits,” the pilot muttered. “Looks like batarians got this thing. Look at the marks on the hull - looks just like punctures from Batarian harpoons.”
“Slavers,” Nihlus agreed. “But that doesn’t look like any ship I’ve ever seen,” he observed. “Certainly not a Council design. Give it a scan. Tell me if you find anything.”
There was a pause as the pilot tapped a series of keys on the console, followed by a hum as the scanners began. “I’m picking up some kind of signal, but it’s very fuzzy,” Quintus muttered. He turned up the volume, and they heard some kind of fuzzy transmission, a jabbering of desperate, rapid speech in an unknown language, punctuated by the sound of screams and explosions.
Then, there was a rapid beeping from the scanners.
“Spectre,” Quintus said, “there’s something still alive in there.”
Nihlus bent down to study the console more closely. Sure enough, there was a faint signal indicating a life form, a red spot pulsing on the console diagram. Very faint. “Barely alive,” Nihlus observed. “The batarians might have accidentally left a survivor.” Reaching over Quintus’ shoulder, he tapped a few keys, and a schematic of the vessel’s structure came into view. In what appeared to be the command center, there was the outline of a figure, red life sign indicator still flashing. It lay crumpled in a corner, behind the cover of a downed console. It looked like it had been fighting for its life.
Quintus hummed in consideration, then looked to Nihlus. “What should we do, sir?”
Nihlus bowed his head for a moment. He had orders, yes. Observation only, the Council had instructed. But his eyes kept going back to that red dot on the screen. From the sounds of the distress signal, it wasn’t a yahg or rachni, at least. Plus, whatever it was, it was clearly only barely alive, so the threat would be minimal. And if he was going to abandon someone on the brink of death at the edge of space, he at least wanted to know who it was.
Nihlus pushed the button for the intercom. “Ground team, get ready. We’re going to board and take a look.” He nodded down to Quintus. “Have the medbay prepared. If it doesn’t look too dangerous, we’ll give it some medigel and bring it back to the Citadel. Maybe when it wakes up, it can give us more leads on the batarians we’re looking for.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nihlus turned around and headed towards the airlock. “Besides,” he muttered to himself, “if it survived a Batarian attack, it probably deserves to live.”
-
a!a - Stay tuned for Garrus in the next chapter! also, i'm cross-posting this fill to masseffectfinalfrontier.tumblr.com in case it's easier to read there.
Re: The Final Frontier 1g/1g
anonymous
July 29 2012, 13:34:49 UTC
a!a - ugh. the things the me3 codex didn't tell me. thanks, anon. i'll patch that up on the tumblr account (which gets all the spellcheck treatment too). since i'm baseing everything on just one playthrough of the three games and the wiki, there's probably going to be a good number of other inconsistencies with the canon going forward that i don't notice (or know about, in this situation) and i may always not be able to fix everything. but i appreciate the heads up!
Re: The Final Frontier 1g/1g
anonymous
July 30 2012, 17:28:20 UTC
Liara and Mordin are both already planned. I'm hoping to work others in as I go. I've only planned up to perhaps the first 5 chapters so far, but I have lots of ideas! :)
The Final Frontier 2a/?
anonymous
July 30 2012, 17:22:24 UTC
a!a - thanks for those who pointed out that Medigel was manufactured by Sirta (humans). I've fixed it in the tumblr and also on ff.net. Updates, especially partial chapters, will still appear here first though. enjoy!
-
Chapter II
It was nighttime on the Citadel, and the back alleys of the Wards were quiet, save for the distant echo of a thumping rhythm from Chora’s Den. A Keeper moved gracefully down the corridor, spidery green legs making soft skittering noises against the smooth floors. From far off, the rotund silhouette of a volus appeared, accompanied by the sound of his heavy, envirosuit-supported breaths. The volus tiptoed into a dimly lit alcove, looked nervously around him, and then glanced down at the message on his omni-tool.
Unexpected discovery. Offloading cargo at aforementioned drop point. Additional funding required for maintenance of cargo going forward. Please remit. There was a figure that followed.
The volus hesitated, fingers trembling in mid-air, before returning a simple message. Funding approved. A few more keystrokes and the transfer was complete.
The volus sighed heavily, the sound magnified by his breather. He didn’t know what this unexpected discovery was. In fact, up until now, he didn’t know that this venture was anything outside the usual business - distilling and distributing a certain substance now popular on the Citadel as a recreational drug. At the time, all he had cared about was that his partner had promised that as usual, the investment would reap significant financial rewards.
But maintenance of cargo? What did that mean? Their usual cargo never needed any kind of maintenance, as far as he knew. Something else must have gone down, and as an investor, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He keyed in a swift addendum to his previous message: Requesting clarification immediately. Then he continued down the hallway, hastening his steps.
Unbeknownst to him, he was not alone. Crouched behind a stack of crates further down the hallway, a sniper in a C-Sec uniform sighted his target through his scope.
Dominated as it was by turians, C-Sec was accordingly a microcosm of turian society in general, with each of its two hundred thousand plus agents working in a capacity that most effectively utilized his or her individual talents, and with promotions awarded based on performance. C-Sec staffers assigned agents to specific roles based on a thorough evaluation of personal and combat strengths that involved written, oral, field and combat testing.
When Garrus Vakarian had completed this regimen of testing, he had summarily defied categorization. The staffers were unsure of what to make of him, a bundle of contradictory characteristics that were all useful in different ways. According to military training reports, Garrus had simultaneously been the best close-quarters hand-to-hand specialist and the top-ranked long-range sniper in his unit. His commanding officers praised his ability to intuitively understand high-level tactics and trends, while also noting an almost disturbing preoccupation with smaller-scale analytics (especially when it came to calibrating weaponry, one CO added). Personality-wise, Garrus was no easier to place. Although he was kind and easy-going, and clearly harbored the reserve of near-infinite patience needed to thrive as a sniper, he was just as often reckless and impatient, and openly questioned orders that he deemed unsatisfactory. In the end, the frustrated C-Sec staffers had done the unthinkable and given Garrus the freedom to choose his assignment himself. And ultimately, with his original dream of Spectrehood denied, Garrus decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and accordingly assigned himself to Investigations. After all, anyone could shoot a gun (perhaps not as stylishly, of course) but it took something special to crack the most unsolvable crimes on the Citadel.
That, Garrus decided, was how he was going to make a real difference.
The Final Frontier 2b/?
anonymous
July 30 2012, 17:25:13 UTC
As a C-Sec investigator, Garrus spent most of his days finding and analyzing evidence (which he enjoyed) and filing reports about it (which he did not). These days he’d been following a frustratingly elusive trail related to the appearance of a new form of drug that had spread among the Wards. While small doses led mostly to pleasant feelings and erotic hallucinations, giving the drug an enthusiastic user base, prolonged exposure to the substance led to more unpleasant physiological responses. Specifically, the drug acted like some kind of hyper-adrenaline, forcing the body into overdrive while disregarding normal physiological needs like hunger, thirst or sleep. There were already over a dozen cases of drug users who’d abused the substance to the point of death. And C-Sec already had more than its share of twitchy, horny, sleep-deprived addicts currently undergoing forced detoxification in a special holding area.
Garrus’ current assignment was to locate and eliminate the supplier. After a frustrating week of undercover investigation, analyzing off-world credit transactions and decrypting classified data streams, he had finally seen a pattern begin to emerge. And now, he’d finally found the trail that had led to this volus - Pitne For, according to the C-Sec civilian database. It was unlikely that Pitne For was the supplier himself, but more likely a financial partner in the scheme, and Garrus needed Pitne For’s records to finally get to the drug’s source.
Now, he was here, in position, and Pitne For was coming down the hall alone. It was time for some real answers. Through the scope, Garrus’ ice blue eyes noted the volus’ jerky movements and nervous breathing. Garrus’ facial plates, splashed with his cobalt family markings, shifted into an anticipatory grin. All his work was about to pay off.
This, thought Garrus, was the best part about being a C-Sec agent.
As Pitne For strode by, Garrus stood up to his full six-and-a-half foot height, rifle still trained on the volus’ head. “Freeze and put your hands up in the air.”
Pitne For froze, and his hands shot up. Garrus slowly stepped out from around the crates. The volus’ breaths had suddenly gotten a lot shallower. Garrus gave a casual tilt of his head. “C-Sec,” he identified himself.
“Um…” the volus wheezed. “H-hello. C-can I help you, officer?”
“You can help me by handing over that omni-tool.”
“O-oh…umm…” the volus floundered.
At that moment, Pitne For’s omni-tool rang loudly with an incoming call. The ringtone was the theme from Blasto the Jellyfish Stings, Garrus noted absently. The volus stared up at him in terror.
“You gonna answer that?” Garrus asked, smirking.
“Uh…” the volus’ finger crept towards the button and pushed it hesitantly. At once, an angry and distinctly batarian voice came over the omni-tool’s sound system.
“Clarification?! What do you need clarification for, volus? All you need to know is - “
“Sorry, bad time!” Pitne For immediately slammed his finger down on the button again, ending the call. Then, panicking, he began to run for it.
Garrus rolled his eyes and raised the rifle back to his shoulder, sighting through the scope. Volus envirosuit failures could be catastrophically fatal, and Garrus was not aiming to kill; just to - well, slow the volus down a little bit and prevent him from running off. It was a well-known fact that once a volus fell down, it took an exceedingly long time for him to get up again - enough time for Garrus to snap a pair of C-Sec issued handcuffs around the short arms. So, concussive rounds only. Garrus watched with satisfaction as the center of the volus’ squat body lined up perfectly in the crosshairs.
-
“Alright, everyone. Listen to me and stay calm. We’re under attack. The enemy ship has attached itself to us with harpoons. If we remain stuck to them, our chances aren’t very good. Our priority is to detach, disengage and escape intact. But if it becomes clear that we cannot avoid engaging the enemy, our priority then is to get a message out to Command and warn them about these aliens. Pressly, do whatever you can to make sure this message goes out.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
“While the message goes out, we’re going to fight as hard as we can. I need everyone in space suits immediately as a precaution. Everyone who can use a weapon, have one by your side at all times.” At that, there was a flurry of activity as people began reaching for their suits. She continued. “Alenko, Williams, I need you two to head down into the lower cargo hold and try to dislodge those harpoons manually if we can’t do so from the bridge.”
Alenko and Williams saluted her and headed off.
“All of you are familiar with the choke points on this ship in case of a hostile landing party. All noncombatants will evacuate first into the two rearmost rescue pods. Save the closer pods for others.”
Shepard paused, and took one more calming breath. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the very first encounter that humanity has ever had with an alien life form. This is a historic moment, although it may not be going the way we’d all hoped. Nevertheless, I want each and every one of you to know that no matter what happens, it’s been an honor to serve with you.”
The enemy ship continued to fire. Shepard looked around, acknowledging salutes and unflinchingly meeting the gazes of her crewmembers - brave, innocent men and women who wore the knowledge of their own deaths on their faces. She saluted them back. Another lurching movement, and the enemy ship began slowly reeling the Normandy in with the harpoons.
Shepard ruthlessly pushed away the fear in her gut.
“Now, get ready,” she said, eyes narrowed. “Look like they’re heading our way…and they don’t look friendly.”
-
Three Days Later
“Nihlus, you’re going to want to see this.”
“What is it?” The turian Spectre stepped forward into the cockpit. Nihlus’ ship was currently patrolling the Arcturus system, as he’d recently received news of batarian slaver activity in the region. It was strange for batarians to operate so far outside the Terminus systems, and he had been dispatched to investigate.
Nihlus’s brow plates lifted at the sight before him. The Arcturus Relay. It had lain dormant for centuries by Council decree. But one glance at the glowing eezo core and it was clear that this relay was no longer dormant. The ship’s pilot, Quintus, glanced down at his console, scanning the notes that holographically appeared before him. “It was activated not too long ago,” Quintus reported, his dual-toned voice flanging low in disapproval. “Last patrol was just over a week ago and they reported nothing wrong. Maybe your batarians opened it and went through here after that.”
Nihlus cursed. The Council would not be pleased. It was forbidden to activate dormant relays, for fear of unleashing unknown horrors - rachni, yahg, and who knew what else - on the galactic community. He turned and headed for the comm room. “Put me through to the Council.”
Reply
No, they were not about to unleash another possibly aggressive species onto the galactic stage, but they couldn’t let the batarians do so either. As one of the Council’s top Spectres, Nihlus was trusted to perform the operation with utmost discretion. He called for his XO and a couple of other officers to join him on the bridge, then gave a quick briefing. “The Council has authorized us to go through the Arcturus Relay and look for signs of batarian slaver activity. We don’t know yet what we’ll find on the other side, so be prepared for anything. But we are under orders to observe only. No engagement if possible.”
Just in case, Nihlus and several officers suited up and grabbed weapons. It was always much more comforting in unknown situations to be armed and armored, Nihlus thought. When the team of turians reconvened, he gave Quintus the signal to commence signal transmission and approach the mass relay.
When they got through to the other side, they were greeted by the sight of a derelict spaceship, adrift. Nihlus’ eyes narrowed. “Move in closer.”
As they approached the ship, it became immediately obvious that it had been attacked. Large sections of the side panels had been shot off, exposing sections of severed cables. “Spirits,” the pilot muttered. “Looks like batarians got this thing. Look at the marks on the hull - looks just like punctures from Batarian harpoons.”
“Slavers,” Nihlus agreed. “But that doesn’t look like any ship I’ve ever seen,” he observed. “Certainly not a Council design. Give it a scan. Tell me if you find anything.”
There was a pause as the pilot tapped a series of keys on the console, followed by a hum as the scanners began. “I’m picking up some kind of signal, but it’s very fuzzy,” Quintus muttered. He turned up the volume, and they heard some kind of fuzzy transmission, a jabbering of desperate, rapid speech in an unknown language, punctuated by the sound of screams and explosions.
Then, there was a rapid beeping from the scanners.
“Spectre,” Quintus said, “there’s something still alive in there.”
Nihlus bent down to study the console more closely. Sure enough, there was a faint signal indicating a life form, a red spot pulsing on the console diagram. Very faint. “Barely alive,” Nihlus observed. “The batarians might have accidentally left a survivor.” Reaching over Quintus’ shoulder, he tapped a few keys, and a schematic of the vessel’s structure came into view. In what appeared to be the command center, there was the outline of a figure, red life sign indicator still flashing. It lay crumpled in a corner, behind the cover of a downed console. It looked like it had been fighting for its life.
Quintus hummed in consideration, then looked to Nihlus. “What should we do, sir?”
Nihlus bowed his head for a moment. He had orders, yes. Observation only, the Council had instructed. But his eyes kept going back to that red dot on the screen. From the sounds of the distress signal, it wasn’t a yahg or rachni, at least. Plus, whatever it was, it was clearly only barely alive, so the threat would be minimal. And if he was going to abandon someone on the brink of death at the edge of space, he at least wanted to know who it was.
Nihlus pushed the button for the intercom. “Ground team, get ready. We’re going to board and take a look.” He nodded down to Quintus. “Have the medbay prepared. If it doesn’t look too dangerous, we’ll give it some medigel and bring it back to the Citadel. Maybe when it wakes up, it can give us more leads on the batarians we’re looking for.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nihlus turned around and headed towards the airlock. “Besides,” he muttered to himself, “if it survived a Batarian attack, it probably deserves to live.”
-
a!a - Stay tuned for Garrus in the next chapter!
also, i'm cross-posting this fill to masseffectfinalfrontier.tumblr.com in case it's easier to read there.
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Well done so far a!a!!
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Oh, and just one nitpick (Because everyone love nitpickers :P), humans created medigel.
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Amazing start!
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-
Chapter II
It was nighttime on the Citadel, and the back alleys of the Wards were quiet, save for the distant echo of a thumping rhythm from Chora’s Den. A Keeper moved gracefully down the corridor, spidery green legs making soft skittering noises against the smooth floors. From far off, the rotund silhouette of a volus appeared, accompanied by the sound of his heavy, envirosuit-supported breaths. The volus tiptoed into a dimly lit alcove, looked nervously around him, and then glanced down at the message on his omni-tool.
Unexpected discovery. Offloading cargo at aforementioned drop point. Additional funding required for maintenance of cargo going forward. Please remit. There was a figure that followed.
The volus hesitated, fingers trembling in mid-air, before returning a simple message. Funding approved. A few more keystrokes and the transfer was complete.
The volus sighed heavily, the sound magnified by his breather. He didn’t know what this unexpected discovery was. In fact, up until now, he didn’t know that this venture was anything outside the usual business - distilling and distributing a certain substance now popular on the Citadel as a recreational drug. At the time, all he had cared about was that his partner had promised that as usual, the investment would reap significant financial rewards.
But maintenance of cargo? What did that mean? Their usual cargo never needed any kind of maintenance, as far as he knew. Something else must have gone down, and as an investor, he was beginning to feel uncomfortable. He keyed in a swift addendum to his previous message: Requesting clarification immediately. Then he continued down the hallway, hastening his steps.
Unbeknownst to him, he was not alone. Crouched behind a stack of crates further down the hallway, a sniper in a C-Sec uniform sighted his target through his scope.
Dominated as it was by turians, C-Sec was accordingly a microcosm of turian society in general, with each of its two hundred thousand plus agents working in a capacity that most effectively utilized his or her individual talents, and with promotions awarded based on performance. C-Sec staffers assigned agents to specific roles based on a thorough evaluation of personal and combat strengths that involved written, oral, field and combat testing.
When Garrus Vakarian had completed this regimen of testing, he had summarily defied categorization. The staffers were unsure of what to make of him, a bundle of contradictory characteristics that were all useful in different ways. According to military training reports, Garrus had simultaneously been the best close-quarters hand-to-hand specialist and the top-ranked long-range sniper in his unit. His commanding officers praised his ability to intuitively understand high-level tactics and trends, while also noting an almost disturbing preoccupation with smaller-scale analytics (especially when it came to calibrating weaponry, one CO added). Personality-wise, Garrus was no easier to place. Although he was kind and easy-going, and clearly harbored the reserve of near-infinite patience needed to thrive as a sniper, he was just as often reckless and impatient, and openly questioned orders that he deemed unsatisfactory. In the end, the frustrated C-Sec staffers had done the unthinkable and given Garrus the freedom to choose his assignment himself. And ultimately, with his original dream of Spectrehood denied, Garrus decided to follow in his father’s footsteps and accordingly assigned himself to Investigations. After all, anyone could shoot a gun (perhaps not as stylishly, of course) but it took something special to crack the most unsolvable crimes on the Citadel.
That, Garrus decided, was how he was going to make a real difference.
Reply
Garrus’ current assignment was to locate and eliminate the supplier. After a frustrating week of undercover investigation, analyzing off-world credit transactions and decrypting classified data streams, he had finally seen a pattern begin to emerge. And now, he’d finally found the trail that had led to this volus - Pitne For, according to the C-Sec civilian database. It was unlikely that Pitne For was the supplier himself, but more likely a financial partner in the scheme, and Garrus needed Pitne For’s records to finally get to the drug’s source.
Now, he was here, in position, and Pitne For was coming down the hall alone. It was time for some real answers. Through the scope, Garrus’ ice blue eyes noted the volus’ jerky movements and nervous breathing. Garrus’ facial plates, splashed with his cobalt family markings, shifted into an anticipatory grin. All his work was about to pay off.
This, thought Garrus, was the best part about being a C-Sec agent.
As Pitne For strode by, Garrus stood up to his full six-and-a-half foot height, rifle still trained on the volus’ head. “Freeze and put your hands up in the air.”
Pitne For froze, and his hands shot up. Garrus slowly stepped out from around the crates. The volus’ breaths had suddenly gotten a lot shallower. Garrus gave a casual tilt of his head. “C-Sec,” he identified himself.
“Um…” the volus wheezed. “H-hello. C-can I help you, officer?”
“You can help me by handing over that omni-tool.”
“O-oh…umm…” the volus floundered.
At that moment, Pitne For’s omni-tool rang loudly with an incoming call. The ringtone was the theme from Blasto the Jellyfish Stings, Garrus noted absently. The volus stared up at him in terror.
“You gonna answer that?” Garrus asked, smirking.
“Uh…” the volus’ finger crept towards the button and pushed it hesitantly. At once, an angry and distinctly batarian voice came over the omni-tool’s sound system.
“Clarification?! What do you need clarification for, volus? All you need to know is - “
“Sorry, bad time!” Pitne For immediately slammed his finger down on the button again, ending the call. Then, panicking, he began to run for it.
Garrus rolled his eyes and raised the rifle back to his shoulder, sighting through the scope. Volus envirosuit failures could be catastrophically fatal, and Garrus was not aiming to kill; just to - well, slow the volus down a little bit and prevent him from running off. It was a well-known fact that once a volus fell down, it took an exceedingly long time for him to get up again - enough time for Garrus to snap a pair of C-Sec issued handcuffs around the short arms. So, concussive rounds only. Garrus watched with satisfaction as the center of the volus’ squat body lined up perfectly in the crosshairs.
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