Mass Effect: Defiance

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The wait for a reply felt like an eternity. The lieutenant's jaw clenched then, "Lieutenant, this is Greenfield---- heading to the---- mall. We have -confir---- civi--an--- there that wil-- need an ex---tract. RV--there. I'll b---wait--. G--enfield, out." She patted the pilot's shoulder,

"Do you know where that is?" she asked the man. She knew the layout of the city from a book and map standpoint. But knowing which streets and back alleys to take...no, that would need to be something she learned in the field.

"Yes, Ma'am. The other birds will be dropping their payloads along the way to try and clear a path. I'll drop you off at the thickest part of the enemy forces along the route. According to the scans, that should be near the entrance." He said as he managed to hover over the designated LZ. Unfortunately, there was a line of husks approaching the LZ...therefore the mall. On the other side of the transport, a brute and some marauders were trying to break into the mall. "Orders?"

"Gunners." she smirked from behind her helmet. She smacked his shoulder then moved to the transport's sitting area. The side doors opened as the transport lowered towards the ground. Soldier classes lined up on either side of a turret aimed at the Brute's side. "Fire." The lieutenant said before she fired off a biotic Reave. The biotic attack impacted a group of husks. Then, she was gone, merely a flash of blue biotics. Some of her troops watched the biotic explosion. Husks went flying in a mess of parts and cybernetic fluids. She grunted when a group of husks ran to thrash at her and one of them slammed against her barriers. She backpedaled quickly then rolled backwards to gain some space. This was what she loved...she couldn't stop the smile from her face.

She threw a Warp attack at the group that came at her. Once the group was incapacitated she jumped in the air, her body glowed purple. She slammed her fist into the ground, which created another round of biotic explosions. She biotically charged, towards the back of the group of husks. At the signal, Soldiers began to fire at the exposed and distracted husks, mowing them down in a hail of gunfire. She grunted when a stray round impacted her barriers. Nonetheless, she quickly jogged over to her transport and issued out orders. "Alright. Clear this area. We wait for Greenfield to make his appearance, then we'll secure the mall up ahead. Any questions?" she asked. They all saluted then called out,

"No, Ma'am!" they all called.

"Good. Now get out of here." she grunted. "Make sure the Infiltrators get to their positions, Sentries. Soldiers, get with the Vanguards and start getting rid of the Reapers. Set up a defensive position."

"Uh, Ma'am? You're...smiling." A young man said unsure.

"Yes, Kilika. Yes I am." she grinned at the man then dismissed them all. She waved at the pilot as he took off. "We're on our own now ladies and gentlemen." she said.
 
Kirraiah's smile returned when the krogan agreed to helping him. He contemplated giving the man a hug, but quickly decided against it. The salarain valued his limbs quite highly, and he thought that even attempting such an act and keeping all four of them would be a feat in itself. Still, the fact Jaakbal was a living tank in every sense of the phrase comforted Kirraiah. He could not have asked for better help.

"As I said, the signal is coming not far north-east from here," Kirraiah repeated. "If we move quickly then we should get there in ten minutes, be able to secure the location proper, and then set up communications proper, as you said, all in time for tea."

He smirked again, but it was just as uneasy as the first one had been. Kirraiah let his tech armour fade, the soft glow of the hard light vanishing quickly. He knew enough to know that when a krogan criticized a salarian for being unsubtle he was most probably right, and reminded himself that it would take him mere moments to reactivate should they encounter Reaper forces. The salarian turned his head north-east, and keeping one eye on his omni-tool he started to walk forwards. "This way!"


"Great." Jaakbal muttered, heavy footsteps falling in line with the salarian as they set off to find the latter's new friend.

~~~

The destination was, as Kirraiah described, only about a ten minute tactical walk from their starting location, and it was slower going than Jaakbal was strictly comfortable with, but failing to check for potential ambushes in every nook along the way was asking for a bullet to the back of the head, or worse, being swarmed by those damned husks. The krogan looked up at the monolithic remnants of the shopping mall, one of those giant buildings that were apparently centers of commerce where people gathered in great number to purchase shit they didn't need in vast quantities, or for the youth to gather like a flock of pyjak, gawking obnoxiously in displays of pubescent mating displays with other youth whose quads finally dropped, or to buy pre-tarnished clothing as trending dictated, although Jakbaal had come to understand that as a human invention instead of asari. It would have been a small kindness if the Council didn't stop the turians from invading Earth if for no other reason than to keep their shit-slung ideas from ever going off world and contaminating other cultures like a hideously ill-conceived pathogen. If there was a reason to be thankful for the Reapers, it was this; they evidently didn't give a shit about malls, either.

Both of the reluctant partners were taking cover from within an abandoned city bus while they surveyed the situation. "Lots of bodies." Jakbaal observed. "Mostly Reaper forces, though. I don't hear any shrill screeching, so that either means the civilians are all dead or haven't had to deal with much shit in the past little while. Where do you think your contact's hiding?" he asked.

"Somewhere inside, I suppose," Kirraiah replied. His raised his omni-tool, and in a hushed tone spoke into it. "Thanik?" he asked, hoping that the drell would respond. "We've arrived outside of the building. Is everything secure? Are the civilains safe?"

He was met with static again. Kirraiah hit his forearm with an open palm as if hoping it might shake his omni-tool violently enough to fix the problem. He was trained to rely on the latest tactics and technical knowledge to keep himself alive, but sometimes the old tricks worked best. He repeated the message, hoping that Thanik would recieve it. The signal was stronger this time, so Kirraiah was a little more confident in it, but it still felt as if he were chasing ghost.

"What on Sur'kesh is wrong with this thing?" he mumbled to himself, shaking the omni-tool gently.

The krogan grunted. "You rely too much on blasted machines. Come on, he's not getting any livelier with us hiding in a bus." Jakbaal said, rising and making his way out of the vehicle. He turned to the salarian behind him. "Besides, remember what I said about the communications team going silent? They probably never established a network so everyone can talk. You're relying entirely on the power of your own equipment trying to span an entire city. Think about it. I know you salarians get upset and lost when your fancy toys break down, so take it from a krogan. You don't need that shit to get the job done." He beaconed with a fist towards an entrance way to the mall, charging hard across the open street to expose himself as little as possible.

"I was just making su-"

The salarian held his tongue. The krogan was right, even if it went against everything that Kirraiah had been taught in training. Sitting around here would get nothing done, especially when it was just as easy for him to receive a reply from Thanik walking as it was staying in one place. Instead he ran along behind Jakbaal, his long and spindly legs carrying him further and faster than one might expect, more than enough to keep up with his companion.

Both partners managed to enter the darkened mall, its power long shutdown as the energy grid of the city was disrupted by the Reaper forces. Both soldiers moved quietly through the buildings with flashlights on and weapons trained and ready, anticipating the worst. After several minutes of silence, Jakbaal grumbled out loud. "If I were pissing myself without a gun, where would I be hiding?"

The sound of something scuffing the floor ahead caught Jakbaal's attention, and it was only the promise of civilians that held his trigger finger from launching explosive rounds downrange. A flash of blue skin and an audible gasp disappeared around a corner when the krogan's light found the source. He called out to the source, lowering his weapon. "Reapers don't use lights!" his voice echoed in the mausoleum-like mall. "Come out. We're... friends, I guess."

A young asari girl, tightly clinging to a volus plush doll, stepped out of the darkness and tepidly towards the duo. Jakbaal spared a look towards Kirraiah before looking back at the girl. He raised an awkward hand in a wave. "Yeah, uh, hi. We're friends." he said, taking the ever-present edge out of his voice the best he could, although the effect was more awkward than anything. "We heard there were people here, and we're here to help."

Kirraiah rolled his eyes at the krogan, smirking to himself. He knelt down on one knee, falling to eye-height with the asari girl, and smiled softly. "We managed to talk to a drell who's with here somewhere. He said the people here needed help, so we came to find a way to get everyone away from here safely."

The girl gave him a quizzical look. She was still noticeably worried by the two strangers, but she was no less confused by it all.

"Could you take us to them?" Kirraiah asked.

An eruption of gunfire from an unseen location ahead answered that question soon enough. The krogan picked up the girl, who had reflexively crouched against the wall at the report of battle, and began to hurry towards the battle. Kirraiah wasn't far behind him. It had seemed like they had barely made their advance when they came across what had to have been the group of civilians taking refuge in one of the stores away from the outer windows. Jakbaal set the girl down. "Stay put." he ordered, looking at the bewildered, and possibly hopeful, civilians. "We're reinforcements." he said, following the sounds of the skirmish until he came across the drell who had to have been Kirraiah's contact. "Friendlies!" Jaakbal bellowed behind him, as to not invite a torrent of gunfire from the shooter. He took position by one of the windows and shouldered the Striker, taking aim at a clustered group of the creatures that were a hideous merger of batarians and humans with no small amount of cybernetics. It never got any less repulsive to look at, he thought. The rifle buckled in recoil, launching a burst of explosive rounds that dug into flesh as they detonated, ripping bloody chunks from the unarmoured contacts. Although it would odd to say these creatures were alive on account of their host body been killed and twisted beyond recognition, they at least had the good grace to fail with enough trauma. Jakbaal popped the burning heatsink from the rifle before expertly shoving in another and locking the rifle in position with an aggressive chuckle. "At least you saved some of the fun part for us. I'd be pissed if I just ran 3 city blocks and missed all the fighting."
 
Heading to the exit of the alleyway in which he had found a much-needed rest, Blake hugged the corner of the wall to make an analysis of his surroundings. The street was as it had been before. Abandoned. However, the atmosphere was somehow different. It felt... electric. A feeling swelled in his gut, that pre-battle adrenaline, that anticipation of a fight to come. But why? His question soon met an answer as the pervasive thrumming of an Alliance shuttle's engines faded more distinctly into audio. That must be the lieutenant, Blake concluded. As the audio dimmed, the effect of a shuttle coming to hover, an outburst of gunfire rang aloud. They must have come into contact...

Bursting out onto the street, Blake made a mad dash for the far side. He slid to his knees and raised his rifle towards the end of the street. A bead of sweat ran from his brow to his jawline as he sat, anticipating a flood of reapers to appear in response to the sounds of combat. When nothing streamed past the t-junction with which Blake was presented, he slowly edged towards it. One foot after the other, he never once let his rifle drop in any way. If something was to appear, it wouldn't make it halfway across. As he finally reached the corner, he poked his head around it. His eyes were greeted by the sight of the mall standing tall and beaten. Chunks of the building had been blasted out and it looked as if it could crumble at any moment. "If it's lasted this long..." Blake mumbled to himself in a desperate attempt of reassurance. There was no sign of life on the street in front of the building and the sounds of combat seemed to be coming from the other side. This was too easy. Way too easy. The entrance was like a dark mouth ready to swallow any who entered, any who were prepared to be dragged to their grave. "Not this again," Blake winced with a troubled look on his face, "Not again..."


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4 days earlier

"Main hall clear!" Winters called, looking back to the rest of the marines who had fanned out throughout the main lobby of their target building. The room was a reception that served as the influx point for the many guests of the residence point. The building was a fancy hotel, though you couldn't tell with the state of it. A fancy hotel where the diplomat had been staying. Thinking it through, Blake decided it must have been nice for him: petitioning and flirting with other species to try and gather support for Earth while his kinsmen bled for it. However, everyone had to make their way somehow. It was just that some were lucky enough to be more talented with their mouth than they were with their aim. Blake knew which one he'd rather have, though.

"Chief!" Daniels called, snapping Blake out of his pondering.

"What is it?" Blake replied, heading over to his squad-mate. Daniels was hovering over a lumped rag on the floor which was stained with blood. Underneath it was a body. Unlike the rest, though, this one didn't seem to be a combatant but an innocent Asari girl. As Blake peeled back the rag, he could see that her eyes had been gouged out and her flesh had been tore away at, her beautiful white dress turned dark crimson with blood. Blake winced, averting his gaze from the sight as quickly as he could. "Cover her back up," he commanded, an order to which Daniels swiftly obliged.

"Chief... you okay?" Velasquez asked, looking concernedly to his leader. Blake was stood there, rifle swinging by his side with his free hand doing the same, a sobered look adorning his face.

"The reapers are here," he said in a blunt and deep tone. All of the squad seemed visibly disturbed by the revelation. Of course, seeing the outside sentry decimated they already sort of knew. But hearing it from their leader? Especially in such a sobering way. It really hit home with all of them. Blake's eyes and head shot up to the metallic blue doors of the elevator. "Team two," he began, "I want you in one elevator. You guys are to clear the rooftop. Once it's clear keep overwatch and a perimeter. Be ready to extract at a moments notice. Team one, you're with me. We're going to Vector's floor."

With an almost autonomous haste, team two broke off and activated their breathing apparatuses. All four stepped into the elevator and bade their fellow marines good luck before they were sealed inside. Daniels stepped from the corner into the centre of the hall, beside Blake.

"Team one, sound off!" he called.

"Winters, green."

"Velasquez, green."

"Rosfeld, green."

"You ready, Chief?" Daniels asked upon receiving confirmation from his team, his eager eyes only visible for a moment before the visor of his mask concealed them from view. Blake responded with nought but a nod before stepping over the elevator and pushing the button.

The ascension was nerve-racking. The building groaned like a zombie and the out place jazzy tune that broadcast through the elevator's speakers only added to the eeriness of the whole scene. Arriving at the target floor, the doors slid open with a sharp, slicing noise, the corridor ahead being revealed in one fell movement. It was dark, the lights were out and the floor seemed to be covered in gore. It was a blessing the marines had activated their breathing gear lest their noses be assaulted by the foul stench of rotting flesh and scorched furniture. The marines switched on their flashlights and the shooting beams cut through the black, revealing a stretched out cone of light before them. Stepping forward, Daniels took point as the team filtered out in a single file. To the left of them was a smashed glass screen behind which was a small lounge area. Hanging over the seating were multiple fallen Asari guards and scattering the floor was their discarded weaponry. "There should be a reception at the end of the hall, beyond the next doors. After that, our target's room should be on the left," Blake said in a hushed tone. The team stacked at the door, preparing to breach.

"Stack set."

"GO GO GO! First man left!"

As Daniels breached, a bright flash assaulted the eyes of all the team and the booming audio of gunfire in an enclosed space assaulted their ears. By the time Blake had filtered into the room, the engagement was over and lying on the floor was the body of one of the mechanical monstrosities known as cannibals.

"CLEAR!" Daniels called, moving to the door to the next corridor.

"What the fuck was that doing here? All alone like this?" Velasquez asked in blind confusion and panic.

"I don't know Velasquez... something isn't right... none of this is right..." Blake responded, his tone trailing off as he pivoted to observe the rest of the room. His investigations were cut short as Daniels jumped back from the door where he was positioned, warning of movement beyond it. "Prepare for contact!" Blake called as the team lined up, rifles trained on the doorway. 3...2...1... The doors slid open with the sharp precision that they did, however, nothing emerged immediately. Slowly, creeping into the range of the flashlights, two robotic, empty blue eyes appeared. "Husks!" Blake cried. As he gave the call, the creature let out a shrill scream as it relented forward towards the wall of gunfire that the team unleashed. Following it, came a cluster of them. Dropping one after the other, the husks still grew closer and closer to the team. Suddenly, Rosfeld's gun stopped firing as the thermal clip shot from the side of the body.

"Shit!" He cried in panic. Trying to slam a new clip into his rifle, he looked up at the encroaching horde. Before he could reload the husk was on him, pinning him to the floor and clawing at him with unrelenting bloodlust.

"Rosfeld!" Winters gasped in panic, tackling the creature from atop him. With the cover of the rest of the team, she began to bash the husk repeatedly in the face with the butt of her rifle. Before long, it was dead, the stream of contacts halted and the halls fell into a deathly silence once more. Cooling his rifle, Blake displaced from the left of the formation and hurried to Rosfeld's side.

"You okay?" he asked in a rigid tone, "Does it hurt anywhere?"

"I-I'm fine... Chief. My... my arm got beat up pretty bad trying to push that thing off, though." Blake extended his hand to help the marine up, a hand which Rosfeld grabbed tightly with his good arm.

"Come on," Blake said, looking around his squad-mates, "We need to push in."

"You really think Vector's going to be alive?" Winters asked, stepping forward.

"No. But we need to confirm the body, regardless."


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Present Day


Crossing the street didn't prove to be as perilous as he had originally thought. The streets were ironically dead. Nothing but the litter, rubble and wreckages filled them. As he pressed inside the mall, Blake activated his rifle's flashlight, raising it so that he might see further in. It seemed clear. Under that assumption, he continued forward, slowly, one step at a time. As he reached a staircase to the right of the main lobby, a deep explosion erupted from within the belly of the mall. That must be Thanik! Casting aside his previous caution, Blake barged through the abandoned halls and headed towards its source. Entering out onto a balcony, he could see he scattered body parts of Reaper troops and a source of light further along to his right. Slamming himself into the low cover, he gripped his rifle tightly, ready for contact. As he listened, he could hear the hoarse voice of a Krogan.

"Sol! Friendlies!" he called, unsure of whether or not those ahead would be familiar with Alliance countersigns. He waited, his breath held static as he anticipated the answer. Please be friendlies, he prayed to himself.
 
The marine stood where she'd remained, just listening to the clamor of battle that was taking place a few blocks away. According to the choppy coms, her men were making some headway in securing the mall, but one of the patrols didn't report in. That brought a frown to her lips, as the patrol was supposed to go in and secure the civies.

With a clenched jaw, she drew her M-7 Lancer then radioed that she would be entering the mall from her side. Without waiting for confirmation, she ran quickly towards the large building. As the sound of fighting became louder, she slowed her pace and stuck to the shadows. There wasn't a corner or alley that went unchecked with a sweep of her assault rifle. The Reapers had a nasty habit of appearing from nowhere, and the last thing she wanted was to be swarmed by Husks again.

The vanguard cursed herself to stay focused, she couldn't get lost in her mind right now. She almost missed a lone figure entering the mall, and though she was too far to get a proper look, he didn't seem like a Reaper. Nonetheless, she followed after it. If she were being honest, she hadn't expected the place to be so damn dark. Really, she should have, but oversight could be a bitch. She activated the flashlight on her rifle and followed the figure while keeping her light pointed downward. The explosion rocked her to the core, and a sense of dread shit down her spine in response. She quickened her pace that much more, but was carefully efficient when it came to the stairs.

Once she saw an opening, she pushed her back to the wall nearest it. The marine let out a breath she'd been unaware she'd been holding when the figure she'd followed called out "Sol! Friendlies!"

"Relay! Friendly at your six!" she called out and hoped that was still the countersign. Her own team had decided on another set, so it was obvious this man had to have been a survivor of the first run on this Reaper infested planet. She waited for any indication that the man heard her.
 
"Oh, hell," Gherek Nor'amon muttered, as his partner's chest was shredded like paper.

Just seconds before, Voren had darted out of cover, attempting to reach the heavy weaponry that lay the other end of the room—a poor decision, in hindsight. To Voren's credit, he continued spraying rounds from his rifle even as he dropped to the ground. Blood gushed from the holes peppered in his torso, but even still his hands remained clamped around the gun. Gherek saw his partner's lips curl up to curse as his thermal clip expired. It would only be a moment or so before Reaper fire descended upon him, and it would be suicide to dash into the fray to retrieve him.

And yet, Gherek found himself doing just that.

A round glanced off his shoulder as he grabbed Voren by the collar, sending jolts of pain down his arm. Mustering what energy he had, Gherek tossed him to safety in a hasty biotic maneuver. He went low, narrowly dodging a hail of bullets, and rolled back into cover just as Voren dropped to the ground.

They, along with three other members of Representative John Bartlett's security detail, had become separated from the politician some time before, losing him and the other half of the security team amidst the chaos of the invasion. They had taken shelter in a ravaged building, only to fall under an onslaught by Reaper forces—and soon enough, their party of five had been reduced to Gherek, Voren, and Maxwell, a burly human. What the building had once been, Gherek couldn't say for certain; perhaps a shop or a home. Much of the detail was obscured by the film of ash that coated the entire room; several long, square holes, presumably the former sites of windows, lined the opposite side of the room. Two barricades, hastily constructed of concrete and steel, had been standing in the center of the room when they arrived, apparently placed by some other, long-gone fighters. It was against one of these barricades that Voren now lay.

"Get grazed by a practice round, did we?" Gherek said to his partner with a wry grin, trying not to look at the mess that was his chest.

"Shouldn't have," Voren gasped. "Done that. Was…stupid." His breathing was shallow, and streams of blood trickled from the corners of his lips.

"Damn right, it was. A downright idiotic move, as far as I'm concerned." Gherek's humor was doing little for his partner's condition. "But that doesn't matter—what matters is that you need to get up. We can still get outta here."

"Don't…think so. Not going to see…Khar'shan again, I think. Probably not much…left to see…anyway." His upper eyelids were beginning to sag, and the lower lids would soon follow.

"We'll get you out of here," Gherek said, hoping it sounded like he believed it.

A high whine pierced the air, and the top of the makeshift barricade disintegrated as a barrage fire struck it. Behind him, Maxwell's voice cracked out in a yelp as a gleaming volley of energy soared past the blockade. Looking back, Gherek saw the pulp that had once been Maxwell drop to the floor. Gherek cursed.

"Just…promise me something…If you ever see that human prick again…knock his teeth out…for me."

Gherek gave a smirk and nodded. He began to respond, but stopped. Voren was already dead.

He looked up, suddenly noticing the quiet that had suddenly filled the room. There was a brief respite in the onslaught; Maybe, Gherek reasoned, they're betting that everyone's dead. They're half right, considering all the hits I've taken the past few days. He could hear their footsteps, coming closer and closer with each passing second. It only took a moment to conceive his plan.
He reached down, detaching two grenades from Voren's belt and, in his other hand, retrieving one of his own. Taking a breath, he stood up to face his enemies.

Barely noting the abominations that stood before him, Gherek reclined his arm and flicked his wrist forward, sending out an overload-shockwave combination that threw his targets aside. Immediately, he hurled the grenades from both hands, then rolled across the gap and wrapped his arms around the heavy weapon—a harpoon gun, he noted. Not taking a moment between phases of the plan, he propelled himself to his feet, using the momentum to crash through the gaping hole that once held a window.

As he flew, birdlike, from the building, he barely had time to register just how high the room actually was before an explosion of flame and biotic energy detonated, annihilating the room and sending a wave of heat that scorched the back of his neck.
Gherek took a moment to thank the blades nestled within his armor as he crunched against the ground; they had provided an extra layer of protection in the fall, bruising his skin rather than breaking it.

"Great," he murmured. "Now I can die of internal bleeding instead of a broken neck."

He gazed down the street. Where once there had been a vibrant tourist trap, the exact kind of place that grated on Gherek to no end, there was now a desolate strip of land, filled with a suffocatingly empty silence. It was hard to tell which was worse.
Gherek clicked the radio nestled in the collar of his armor, thankful it hadn't been shattered by the impact.

Seems I'm suddenly short on allies, he thought. And you can't afford to be picky when you're a batarian spy with no contacts in the middle of a warzone.
 
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Egon smiled at Alliance soldier as a faint blue shell appeared around the whole of her. A sort of biotic show of strength, perhaps, the drell admired the enviable ability and observed. He looked over the Lieutenant Émile, her weapon first, then armour, and finally her expression. Behind the curve of her helm Egon saw the broken edge of -- what?

Lights flashed within the mind eye of the drell. He stood absently, leaning onto his rifle like a walking stick, and watched this private show. The smell of artificial earth, ah, cement. Metal as well. And, faintly, a scent hidden by the chalky, grey clouds suddenly around him, he smelled blood. Egon felt the memory sharpen. He turned from his comrade, the crushed sniper. A series of binding lights ignited throughout the hall. The walls cracked, seemingly from the sheer sound of this, before massive fragments shot to and fro. Then, he fell. He slammed about. He narrowly escaped the fate of so many of his own.

Once more, Egon found himself standing before the Alliance lieutenant. He smiled again, this time forced, and took a breath.

"Kesharr," he replied curtly. His mouth stung as he spoke, causing him to touch the small gash on his lips. "It appears we've both lost our comrades. Perhaps we should keep those medical supplies for later on."

The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Egon glanced about while taking stock of himself. Satisfied, and only a touch worse for wear, the drell lifted his rifle turned his attention to the soldier once more.

"I saw little more than that...Err," Egon paused, taking in the crumbled façade of his former position. "Building, I suppose. I only know those around it from the outside looking in. Any suggestions, lieutenant?"
 
It was quite some time before any observer would have seen life appear at the entrance of the alleyway. The task of searching the remains, usually so physically simple even if mentally torturous, had taken Kali far too long. She felt numb in body and mind - the former as the result of applying far more anaesthesia-inducing medigel than was a good idea to her injured arm, and the second due to the facade of a coping mechanism her mind was stumbling through. Shock left her impervious to anguish, but also dulled her wits.

She was vaguely aware that she was merely pushing away her physical exhaustion and the inevitable grief, but the only response she could muster was a degree of gratitude. Without the hollow feeling, her challenging task would have been impossible. Because of it, she had found the medi-gel now keeping her on the move on the body of her dead captain. Because of it, she was armed.

She spared a glance at the Arc Pistol hanging loosely in her good hand, checking for the third time that it was loaded up with a thermal clip. She'd found only one spare in her search, and she wanted to be sure she had a full clip in before leaving the shelter of the alleyway. She took a deep breath, checked the street for life in either direction, and, finding none, forced her weary body to move. Ducking around the corner into the shadow cast by an overhanging awning, she slid down the street as fast as she could without jolting her arm - she was a slim figure, hard to see in the shade, and slow movement lent more stealth than sprinting. Her breaths seemed deafening in the near-silence, the sounds of fighting having temporarily faded.

She was too tired to decide what to do; too tired to even think. She gravitated toward the sound of fighting, and the possibility of allies. It was less a rational decision, and more instinct. Kali needed to see a friendly face, right now. She needed that more than her logical urge to avoid foes in her weakened state could dissuade her, though only just.

The minutes that followed should have been harrowing, but Kali felt a sort of persistent calm. Very little of what she had seen upon awakening seemed real, and the events leading to it were still hazy at best, though she shied away from thinking too hard about it. It wasn't long before the signs of battle scarring her environment seemed newer and fresher than those that had come before. She had been closer to the fighting than she had realised; and she could only summise that the lack of Reaper forces encountered on her way here were because they had been drawn into fiercer fighting ahead. She had a twinge of anxiety, thinking about the density of opposition that could lie ahead, but the thought slipped from her as she caught sight of a smear of dark-blue blood alongside a set of long scores in the street. Turian.

She shut down; she could think later. Her fingers flexed on the pistol she held.

She continued creeping onward. The sounds of combat could be heard again, fairly closeby - shots rang clearly and even a few shouts could be heard. They didn't sound like the twisted mockeries of sentient life the Reapers constructed to fight for them, and for a moment Kali felt a flutter of hope. Listening carefully, she thought she identified where the voices were coming from - two or three streets over, to her left.

Her hope was dashed as, with a monumental swell of sound, a building just... collapsed. The earth shuddered under the impact of the entire thing crashing to the ground, and Kali watched in horror, then cursed bitterly, and probably too loudly. And again. And again, the words wrenched from her. Every Reaper force in the area was probably going to come and see what the commotion was about, and Kali knew she was screwed if caught alone in this state. She had to find allies before that happened.

Caution going somewhat to the wind, she set off in that direction, risking a jog, knowing it was doing her arm no good but also that dying would do even less so. She gripped her pistol tightly, acutely aware of the shape of it in her hand, each familiar curve, including that of the trigger. Somehow she still hadn't encountered any Reaper forces, which seemed a miracle, but that was liable to change. She slowed as she approached the street on which the tumbled pile of broken debris lay. This would be the centre on which any approaching forces, friend or foe, would converge.

Kali took a breath, and turned the corner, aiming the pistol with one hand and searching for targets. Instead, she was greeted with the best sight she could have hoped for: a drell, however slightly worse-for-wear he may look, and an Alliance soldier. She pointedly ignored the bodies strewn about, unable and unwilling to look.

She approached them. "Friendly, approaching to your rear." Her voice sounded tired, even to her.
 
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Druslius kept running from block to block until he reached Lucky's, a bar that was on it's death bed. Part of the neon sign, that spelled out Lucky in a neon pink color, fell towards the ground, breaking it into pieces. Now it spelled out Luc as he carefully walked over the glass and inside the empty bar. Dark and empty as Druslius walked inside the bar, the sunlight was the only source of light as the Reapers had no doubt took out the power plants along with most of the people in Nevos. Drinks, foods, notepads, and valuable things were left in the bar as if someone -some thing- took them in the matter of seconds.

He walked as he went to the counter and saw a drink, that turians were allowed to drink since other drinks are deadly to them. He haven't drink any alcohol drinks since the day that he and his friends celebrated the Red Phoenix's expansion from their first district in Omega. Ever since that day, he never had another drink of alcohol (mainly due to his military mind view of no drugs or alcohol). The drink looked good as it stool alone on the counter, so good that Druslius grabbed one and opened it. The smell of the alcohol was terrible and the taste of it was horrible as he tried it first; but, he needed it after seeing the shit he saw. Druslius began to drink the alcohol-filled bottle as he was almost done with it, when he threw it against the wall. He was outrage by the fact that he even touched the bottle and with the horrible taste of it, he almost wanted to throw up. All of those years with military training and he couldn't held the urge to drink alcohol.

He began to walk towards the kitchen doors as he was sick and tired of this place. He opened the door and started to walk to the backdoor as he saw light from under the doors of the manager. He opened the door slowly as he realized that he saw a M-27 Scimitar and another notepad; yet, none was in the officer. He walked towards the shotgun as he felt the cold metal and then picked it up as he saw there was bullets in it. Druslius put the shotgun down again as he realized that there was the notepad and grabbed it as he saw another note from either the manager or Druslius's men. The note said, "The bar isn't well protected and I keep on hearing those goddamn husk. If you're reading this, we are going to the mall as the place has survivors. I such hope that the building is still in one piece when this is done.".

Druslius was almost done reading the notepad as he saw another note and it was titled, "Druslius". He opened it and saw the note, they were also heading to the mall in hopes of finding more people. Then, someone wrote that they left their shotgun behind from Druslius's protection as there was going to be more husk and horrified creatures. He put down the notepad and then grabbed his shotgun as he began to run towards the mall. He should have enough energy to keep on running from awhile.
 
Gherek winced as medi-gel hardened on his shoulder, blanketing his muscles in warmth and soon after numbing them entirely. He had taken a bullet in his last firefight, but the wound hadn't been particularly noticeable until now—likely owing to the adrenaline high his body had been experiencing. The medi-gel's anesthetic properties would provide a respite from the pain for a few hours, long enough for Gherek to find some real medical attention—or so he hoped.

He took a moment and laid his head back against the cold concrete. He had taken shelter in a collapsed building, off on a side street; the rubble had proven to be not just an excellent place to rest, but also an opportune vantage point. From there, Gherek could view Nevos' skyline, a line of collapsed structures and towers of smoke that spilled into the cerulean blue sky. Gunfire raged in the distance, a scream periodically ringing out against the din of battle. Staying wary of any incoming hostiles, Gherek began to think over his options.

On the one hand, there was John Bartlett. Gherek and a portion of Bartlett's security team had become separated from the politician hours back, with all efforts to reunite ending in failure. All communications from the representative's team had ceased, as well, but whether this was a result of a simple mishap or something worse was difficult to say. Returning to Bartlett would mean returning to his cover, resuming the plan he and Voren had been following—staying undercover until the a transmission from the Department of Intelligence came through. But as more and more days passed, the prospect of receiving any message from the Hegemony became dimmer and dimmer—not to mention the fact that trying to find Bartlett would be nigh-on impossible.

Gherek's chest began to feel heavy as he recalled Voren's last words. If you ever see that human prick again, knock his teeth out for me. He had grown accustomed to having his partner watch his back, to having a confidant during the arduous undercover operation; now, without him, Gherek felt vulnerable, as if a piece of him was missing. Now, he needed to learn to work alone again. To trudge through building after building with no one covering his back, following the slim chance that Bartlett was alive, would be simply idiotic.

Then there was the matter of the distress signal.

Inside the clothing store of the tourist mall, it had said. Gherek had tuned his communicator to the general frequency some time prior, only to be greeted by that message. Gherek's eyes flicked down to his omni-tool, examining the map of the city, then back to the skyline. If he was reading correctly, the mall was just a short distance away, no more than half a mile away—and by the radio chatter that had followed the distress signal, it was as if the entirety of Nevos was heading toward the mall. Batarians were rarely welcomed with open arms into most gatherings, but it was a time of war, and few could afford to be picky about associates.

Best not mention I'm a covert agent for the Hegemony, working to destabilize the Alliance, Gherek thought. Regardless, he was practically dead if he stayed alone; there didn't seem to be any other choice.

Gherek's muscles groaned as he lifted himself off the ground. Taking a brief moment to check his thermal clips, Gherek began to proceed forward into the scarred city streets.
 
Thanik was pinned down, gun fire erupting and shattering his eardrums, well he would be fine as long as he stayed in cover and they didn't move in. Luckily they haven't moved in, or were they stalling for something else? Something with more firepower or something that could rush in and kill the civilians and himself? However, luck seemed to be on his side as a Salarian and Krogan appeared. It must of been the Salarian from his first message, but were was the STG team and why was a Krogan with him? Krogan weren't part of the STG. Maybe they were killed and he met up, or something.

He watched the Krogan fire the Striker into the crowd of Cannibals, the mixed, distorted heaps of grotesque flesh that was brown like shit. As the explosive rounds did their job, shredding and tearing apart and causing the ones that weren't hit from the direct impact to be knocked away. They didn't seem to be getting up, but the ones that weren't completely destroyed, Thanik fired a few shots into their exposed heads just to make sure. He turned to look at Jaakbal and Kirriah, bowing in thanks to his saviors. "I thank you, I wouldn't of been able to survive much longer if you two did not arrive." He glanced between the two.

"Where is the STG squad that you said you were with over the transmission?" The question was directed at Kirriah, asking why he would come alone. He prayed that the salarian wouldn't tell Thanik that the squad was dead and they were on their own. There best bet was probably the Alliance, but he hasn't run into any of those soldiers yet, and didn't plan on it. The Alliance, though 'friendly' didn't seem too friendly towards Aliens. Only humans...

(Short and sweet)
 
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"Well met." Esther said shortly. "If you're relatively unharmed, I'll save the medi-gel." The drell's voice was a peculiar color. A stark, steel-gray, tinged with black. A very metallic color. Fitting for a race like the drell, the Adept decided. His dark armor was framed against the smoke a ways behind him, giving his figure an ominous silhouette from her point of view. Esther had always found the drell a strange race. Their relationship to the hanar was never something she was quite able to understand, and their incredible memory and vivid flashbacks were a contrast to her own disorganized mind. She respected them, although she had only met a couple. She hoped that Kesharr would be as competent as the last drell she had known.
"My squad was one of several deployed here to push the Reaper forces out of the central area of the city." She told him. "We were to establish a fortification to aid civilians and give friendly troops a headquarters." That had certainly gone well. "But my squad is gone, and my Omni-Tool was damaged. I still have short range communications and core functions, but no radio. I would recommend hailing over a common frequency to attempt to locate allied forces. If we can regroup, we can stand a chance."

As she awaited his answer, Esther found her mind wandering to her surroundings. it was instinctive for a soldier to be aware of her surroundings, of course, but she was focusing on little details. The smell of the fire, the distant gunshots and occasional explosion of a grenade or Ravager payload. The sharp colors that drifted across her vision at every little sound. The broken debris laying about was a sad hint to the beauty of the now-fallen structure, and it echoed what so many cities across the galaxy were now like. The air was clingy, humid, and hot, a fact she had failed to notice during the adrenaline rush of combat. Only now, with her mind unfocused, was she taking in what was really happening around her. Esther noted that she usually handled situations with a grim detachedness, forcing herself not to think too hard, just to act. Now, when she did think, she was overwhelmed by the state of things, the horrific loss of life. It made her wonder what she was fighting for, anymore.
Don't think. Just fight.

"Friendly. Approaching to your rear." The distinctly quarian voice was accompanied by the blue-tinted color that always resulted from the muffling of the sound through their helmets. Esther turned around quickly, not raising her rifle but not pointing it at the ground either. Relieved at the confirmation that it was indeed a quarian, she relaxed her stance to make her lack of hostile intentions clear. She flashed a salute. "Second Lieutenant Émile of the Systems Alliance Military." She once again recited her name and rank. Noting the quarian's gait, she continued. "You're injured. Do you need treatment?"
 
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"Friendly to your rear!"

Words formed meaning slow for Egon in that moment. A pitched voice, unexpected like the kill-shot of a hidden rifle, and suddenly drell took a knee. Egon spun as he dropped low with his elbow on his knee to support his rifle. The muffled voice and shimmering helmet gave him pause. He took a breath, noting the quarian's pained limp as opposed to one of an abominations strange shuffle.

"Second Lieutenant Émile of the Systems Alliance Military," the lieutenant declared in an even, practiced tone. "You're injured. Do you need treatment?"

As the quarian made their approach, Egon stood. Multi-level office buildings and shopping centers surrounded them, all scathed by battle, none looking particularly appealing. The last position the drell found empowering now stood a fraction of its former self, the rest a smoking pile of rubble and bone. Perhaps tall with a multitude of perches from which to attack was better for an undetected and precise kill, not something like this. He considered that a moment. Considered the injured quarian and the lone surviving Lieutenant, Émile. Must he adapt to an all out war, or was there no adaptation that could save them -- was this what losing the war felt like?

"Here," Egon said, more a warning than an offer as he ducked beneath the quarian's arm to relieve the weight from her leg. "No amount of treatment will help if you if a sniper notices us. We should move. Now. What about there?" He tipped his head and gestured across the way from his old position to a wide three story complex.

"We should take cover and treat your wounds there. Lieutenant, from there you could reach out to our allies, yes?"
 
Kirraiah sunk down beneath the opening of the window, shielding himself from the barrage of gunfire that spewed from the arm-mounted guns of the cannibals. The creatures had attacked so quickly and they had pinned them down almost instantly, it was remarkable how they had gotten so close without being noticed. The salarian's breathing was heavy, more from worry than exhaustion, and his hands quivered slightly at the sight of true combat. Tension had made the air so thick Kirraiah thought he might be able to cut it with an omni-blade. Of course, the enormous krogan beside him seemed completely unaffected by the events that were transpiring, and was currently firing a cannonade of explosive rounds out a window and onto the streets below. Kirraiah found it remarkable how distinctive the sound of an exploding cannibal was.

The salarian grit his teeth, remembered his training, and tightened his grip on his tempest SMG. His legs extended, forcing him upwards, and he twisted his body to face the reaper forces. With a twitch of his finger the weapon fired a barrage of bullets out the window and at the cannibals, and Kirraiah held it tight to control the noticeable recoil. A single cannibal was struck by his attack, and its body was quickly riddled with holes. Despite wounds to its body, legs, and even a single bullet hole left in its skull, the creature stumbled onwards, seemingly unaffected by its newly sustained damage.

In fact, it turned its attention to Kirraiah immediately, and with a whir of machinery and electronics it fired its gun. Bullets peppered the wall of the building, and one stray round stuck Kirraiah in the head. His kinetic barrier shielded the blow, just, but it was enough to knock the salarian's balance. He fell to the ground, his vision blurred, and his HUD beeping madly as a tiny bar in the left corner of his view flashed red, nearly completely depleted. If he had not had his tech armour activated then it may have been more dangerous.

Kirraiah cursed under his breath as more shots flew through the window, striking the roof and far wall and raining down dust and fragments of the wall as they broke away. His hands fumbled along his belt, clasping onto a tiny metal cylinder about the size of his fist. Pressing a button, Kirraiah pulled his arm back and threw it, hurling the object outside the window. That should keep them busy, he thought. Outside, on the city streets, the tiny metal object clattered against the concrete and bounced along for another few feet, landing neatly behind a small group of cannibals who had taken cover behind a ruined vehicle. It whirred into life, lifted off of the ground by tiny thrusters and hovering a few feet off of the ground.

A few button pressed on Kirraiah's omni-tool activated the turret's weapon systems, a volley of bullets spraying from the barrel of the device's gun. Behind the cover of the cannibals, nothing stopped the turret's attack, and it quickly brought two of the monstrosities to the ground before another knocked it aside with a firm strike of its club-like arm. The pause in fire gave Kirraiah enough time to scramble to his feet, and the cannibal that destroyed the salarian's turret was quickly taken down by another burst of Kirraiah's own gunfire.

The fighting petered out shortly after, and Kirraiah was glad that the ringing in his ears eventually stopped. He breathed a sigh of relief, falling back down to the ground and resting his back against the inside wall of the mall. His head sunk in his hands when Jaakbal spoke, who claimed that he was happy that they had arrived in time to "enjoy" the fighting. Kirraiah's hands still weren't completely steady.

Eventually he stood up, and bowed his head gently to Thanik who did the same back. "We were happy to assist," he said, smiling uneasily.

"My squad… we were separated. I've been trying to contact them since we split but I haven't had any luck. I picked up by your signal and thought that I could try to contact STG central from here while helping you to secure everyone downstairs. It was the only option I had to follow." Kirraiah pulled up his omni-tool once more, fiddling with the various buttons and dials that formed upon it. "Jakbaal and I ran into each other a few minutes before arriving here."
 
"Yeah, don't mention it." Jakbaal said after the salarian replied, making nice. "Dying alone isn't fun for anyone. My squad's dead, and I doubt there's any other squad operating at ideal numbers around here. I'm going to secure the area, make sure the commotion didn't draw anything unwanted into the building. You know, so we don't get a pile of husks up the ass."

While Kirraiah spoke with Thanik, as Jakbaal would learn was the drell's name, the krogan turned away from his firing position, having heard what he thought was shouting from back inside the mall, a call sign of sorts. He frowned from behind his helmet; the mall was becoming something of a hotbed of activity. And where there was activity, the Reapers were never far behind. He turned to the drell and the salarian. "Hold on, I think I heard somebody who sounds like they know how to hold a gun." He said, flipping on his helmet-mounted flashlight and stepping back through the entranceway he and Kirraiah had entered earlier, past the cowering civilians. It wasn't long until he heard the chatter echoing in the lobby. It didn't take long to find the source of the ruckus, and two System Alliance marines, a man and a woman, seemed to have been identifying with one another.

Jakbaal walked to the railing of the second floor and looked down on the two humans. "You two here because you heard the only damn radio transmission anyone in the area seems to have picked up?" he asked, pointing to a set of stairs. "Get your asses up here. There's civilians and the drell you're probably looking for, plus a salarian." He said, the latter word as disdainfully as possible. When the two human marines made their way up to the second floor, Jakbaal began to lead them to the others. "I'm assuming since you're yelling at each other, nothing else is sharing the ground floor with you two for the time being. Good. I'm Forsan Jakbaal of Kruban Company." He said as a greeting. "Let me guess, you've both had communication troubles?"

@Aeronfarron , @VengefulPeanut
 
Gherek cringed as he yanked a blade, slick and black with the blood of Reaper troops, from what remained of a husk's face.

The blade, like several other of its kind, comprised a piece of his armor; the batarian-made modification was a favorite of Gherek's, the retractable blades always providing an extra surprise in combat. He scowled as he ran his finger along its sludge-covered surface. It would take hours to clean that off, not to mention the blood sprayed here and there on his armor.

That is, if I make it out of here, he mused.

Around him lay the carcasses of a dozen or so Reaper troops, their bodies broken by biotics or riddled with bullets or eviscerated by blades. It was the third group he'd come across on his journey to the shopping mall—a journey he'd figured would be quick, easy. Evidently, he was wrong. It made enough sense, he supposed; with so many civilians and combatants heading towards the mall, the Reapers were descending like wolves onto prey.

Gherek began to forge forward once again, traversing a mountain of rubble and climbing through what remained of the wall, watchful for any more mobs of Reaper abominations. Perhaps was what things were like on Khar'shan. He could only picture its grand, utilitarian architecture leveled to the ground, entire civilian populations ravaged by swarms of monsters. The Hegemony's military was the only hope for survivors, but even the earliest reports from batarian space had been foreboding; by all accounts, the Reapers had smashed the fleet with ease. Even if any of the military had survived, they would have concentrated themselves around the political caste, the upper class. The lower castes were doomed either way. It came as an almost surreal realization to Gherek that his family was likely dead. His father, his brothers, his sister, all gone. He hadn't spoken to any of them in years, and they detested him and his work, but yet…

He pushed the thoughts aside as he crossed over the last ridge, a wave of relief washing over him as the mall came into view. He peered down into the plaza, taking stock of the surroundings and beginning to formulate potential strategies. The bodies of Reaper forces littered the front entrance of the complex, with numerous civilian bodies sprinkled throughout. Reasoning that it would be preferable to avoid the carnage, Gherek circled around back, his four eyes scanning the building for additional entrances. His boots crunched incessantly against the fragmented pavement—and, more than once, squished into mushy substances he didn't want to think about—leaving his movements largely unsubtle, perhaps dangerously so. Finally spying a back door, Gherek darted forward, pushing into the ruined building.

He found himself in the darkened kitchen of a ruined restaurant; he'd likely entered through the service door. Keeping his submachine gun at the ready, he prowled through the dim room, staying mindful of the broken glass and utensils that lay across the floor. Finding no hostiles in the kitchen, Gherek relaxed his arms and opened the next door, intending to exit into the mall as swiftly as possible.

Instead, his stomach lurched as he confronted the figure on the other side of the door.

The creature was massive, taller than a marauder and far thicker in body. Its bulbous stomach bulged out sickeningly, and four gleaming blue eyes stared back at him. It was a cannibal—a creature composed of the pieces of corrupted batarians, with bits of human sprinkled in. Gherek hesitated for a splitsecond—he hadn't seen many of the monsters since the invasion had begun, and it was the first he'd seen since Voren had died. For an instant, he saw Voren, his father, even himself in those horrifying eyes. Seeing his shock, the cannibal raised its arm, the gun attached to the appendage beginning to glow with light.

Gherek snapped back to reality, ducking under the scorching blast that flew from the cannibal's weapon, flinching only briefly as the wall behind him exploded in light. He jerked his body back up, drawing his weapon in a flash and peppering its body with submachine gun rounds. The monster shrieked as a burst of shots cracked against its head, blowing apart its jaw and sending it tumbling backwards. Instinctively, Gherek threw his fist forward in a biotic push, hurling the cannibal off its feet and out the wide glass windows of the restaurant. It slammed against an opposing wall with a crunch and became still.

He trotted over to the fallen monster, its body limp and leaking black liquid from a dozen wounds. His shot had only taken off its jaw, leaving the upper portion of the monster's head relatively unscathed. It was fitting, he reflected—batarian customs held that the soul left the body through the eyes. If that creature had once had a soul, it could go to a better place.

Stupid. That was stupid, he admonished himself. Shouldn't have hesitated, shouldn't have let it get to me. That's how Voren got himself killed, letting his guard down.

Gherek looked up, beginning to resume his search through the mall, but found himself face-to-face with new faces. Two human soldiers stared back at him, their faces awash with surprise; above, a krogan peered down in curiosity, his expression twisted into a scowl as if it was its default state.

"So," he said, panting and gesturing towards the dead cannibal. "Is this a private party, or can anyone join?"
 
Taking cover, Blake heard someone call from behind. Relay? he thought to himself. While it wasn't the agreed countersign the fact that the woman could call friendly was a pretty evident sign that she wasn't a machination of the reapers. Taking the right hand from the grip of his rifle, he held it up with his palm forward towards the friendly contact. "Friendly, copy. Come on out," he called. Pushing himself from his cover he moved over to meet her half way. "Service Chief Greenfield, 13th Frontier Division," he said hastily in a hushed tone, introducing himself in the bluntest of ways. He pressed his back into the wall, taking his helmet off and placing it on the ground next to him. His brown tussled hair was incredibly bedraggled from where the helmet had been pressing it down and his chocolate brown eyes flickered between the girl and the previous source of the voices.

"Ah. You were the one over the radio. First Lieutenant DeCroix, 103rd Infantry Division." The N7 stripe shown proudly along her right arm as she shifted to ready her rifle. She didn't remove her helmet, but she did allow her body to acquaint itself idly with the environment. She scanned over the other man then sighed deeply, "SITREP ready?" she asked. Blake seemed to have been distracted by the prestige of her armour as when she requested a SITREP he merely sat dumbfounded for a moment. Shaking his head and pinching his eyes he let out a prolonged groan as he tried to figure out how to explain the situation. The word 'fucked' was at the forefront of his mind though he knew he needed something more detailed. Before he could begin, however, a gruff voice echoed down from above.

"You two here because you heard the only damn radio transmission anyone in the area seems to have picked up?"

With almost robot efficiency, Blake trained his rifle hastily to the source of the voice and Alexandria did the same. It was a Krogan. He seemed worse-for-wear but who didn't after spending long enough in the private, reaper-endorsed hell they had all found themselves in. Sighing with relief, Blake lowered his rifle but didn't throw caution completely to the wind as he left it sitting ready in his lap - just in case, of course. "Get your asses up here. There's civilians and the drell you're probably looking for, plus a salarian," the Krogan continued in a confident tone. Plucking his helmet from the floor, Blake looked to DeCroix with a exasperated look on his face.

"Not one for niceties, is he?" he cited sarcastically before fitting the helmet back into its correct position, the breathing mask still deactivated.

"They rarely are ones for conversation," she replied. Out of habit, she ran her fingers along a wall, "You mind if I take point? Once we meet with the allied forces, you head in first. You can debrief me once you have an understanding of the situation," she said to the man. He would probably have a better idea of what was going on as his boots hit the ground before her own. He'd be better off making contact, this was his mission. She was merely support until she could be caught up to speed.

"Take the lead," he agreed, extending his left arm out towards the atrium and the adjacent staircase. She nodded thankfully then hurried out towards the staircase.
 
Following her out into the foyer of the atrium, Blake took note of her readied stance and assumed to do the same. It was always wise to treat everyone with suspicion - even in situations such as this one. Without seeing the civilians for themselves there was no way the marines could determine whether or not the Krogan was an ally. He may have been baiting them into a trap. As they made it to the centre of the room, a voice broke the momentary silence. It seemed people had a habit of hopping into situations unannounced. With as much discipline as before, Blake span his body to face the sarcastic Batarian, his weapon trained solely on the newcomer's head. Upon confirmation that he wasn't a threat, Blake lowered his rifle and nodded his head towards the stairs.

"Up here," he said, simply, before following DeCroix to the top. When the pair reached the shop in which the survivors had taken refuge, Blake managed to ID the civilians and a relied sigh escaped his lips. Removing his helmet once more, he held it under his arm as he approached the Krogan.

"I'm Forsan Jakbaal of Kruban Company." the Krogan said as a greeting.

"Blake Greenfield, Alliance Marines, 13th Frontier Division," Blake replied courteously. He allowed Alexandria to introduce herself before the Krogan continued.

"Let me guess, you've both had communication troubles?"

"You could say that," Blake said resignedly, casting a look to his fellow marine. "The whole net is screwed," he elaborated, "Doesn't help that my piece of shit radio has gone to the bloody dogs."
 
The krogan removed his helmet, nodding an acknowledgement at Greenfield. Humans were too new to the galactic stage to form a definitive opinion on, but they'd won points with Jakbaal for being feisty shits that didn't back down from a fight. The turians sure as hell weren't expecting the new kids on the block to take a knockout swing at them when they had their so-called First Contact War. Anyone who could stare at overwhelming, impossible odds and still fight is worthy of respect and some degree of admiration. Hell, even the humans seemed to be handling the Reaper invasion with an iron resolve. The two humans, Greenfield and DeCroix both seemed to have that trait, considering they were still following their military protocols when nobody was watching while nightmares walked the streets. He nodded at the batarian, who had followed the humans up. He wasn't asking questions of if they knew each other or were even teamed up; at this point, anyone who wasn't a cybernetics augmented monster was a potential ally. Hell, even merc groups put aside petty differences for a common end, and this really wasn't all that different.

"If your gun works and you don't mind killing, we'll get along fine. Besides, nothing like a genocidal war to bring people together. You're chumming up with a pair of humans, and I'm tagging along with a damn salarian. I'm pretty sure my father would have shot him on principal, but you know, more tolerant generation or whatever."

Greenfield mentioning the communications prompted a grunt from Jakbaal. "Everyone's radios are short-range only, if at all. A lot of models don't like working unless they have a central router, which usually isn't a problem, except for the fact the city's been trashed. My squad was on a mission to investigate the disappearance of the team that was supposed to set up the network in the communication tower over to the Northeast. I'm pretty sure it's safe to say they didn't make it." He said, lowering himself onto a counter and laying his rifle across his lap. "If that team did their job, this quarter of the city would be able to talk, at least until something more permanent was set up. I still intend to go complete my own mission, because let's face it, it beats dying, and if communications weren't fucked, then I imagine it would be more than a handful of people here." He gestured towards the civilians. "Besides, no communications means no evacuations. I'd rather my battlefield not be full of people who shriek at gunfire and piss themselves looking at monsters. What were you supposed to be doing before you got lost?"
 
As the Krogan ventured inside the store and sat down on the counter, Blake leaned against the nearby shelf and listened intently. He sure as hell was right about the communications being down being the major problem facing everyone on the ground. If Blake's radio hadn't have been smashed on the first day then things may have even gone a lot better. His mind drifted back to the building, the things that happened after he and his squad encountered the husks in the corridors, the way the Reapers smashed into the planet within minutes and turned the city into a hell hole. He was snapped back to reality as the Krogan directed a question straight at him,

"What were you supposed to be doing before you got lost?" Jakbaal asked. Blake set his jaw as his mind was once again set back to his mission.

"I was here before the shit really hit the fan. We were supposed to rescue a diplomat and get him to safety before... this. Well, let's just say the diplomat wasn't in a state to come back with us and the Reapers expedited their attack which saw to me and my squad getting fucked good," Blake explained in a bitter tone as he gritted his teeth. He twisted his rifle in his hand began to analyse it, wondering how many of the scratches and scorch marks upon it were earned in the last four days. He cast his glare to the side, scanning over the terrified civilians as they huddled in the corners and scurried closer together. It was clear to see they wouldn't last two seconds on their own. They needed a way out just as everyone else did. Solidifying his posture, Blake pushed himself from the shelf on which he had been leaning and looked between Jakbaal and the others. "It looks like getting the communications network back online is our main priority, then!" he stated confidently. "If you need any help, count me in."

The fact that DeCroix was present with the survivors meant that the Alliance hadn't fully abandoned Nevos as Blake had originally assumed was the case. If there was a chance they could reach the Navy in orbit then there was a chance they could get the civilians out of there... there was a chance they might live to fight another day...
 
Thanik stayed silent as he looked to the Civilians, it was probably the only reason anyone decided to show up and help Thanik. Not because he was in danger, but because the civilians were in danger. That is what he would believe from the Salarian, but he didn't understand the Krogan's reasons for helping. Especially helping a Salarian. In a shitstorm like this, it would be the most opportune time to kill the Salarian and simply say that it was the Reapers who did it. No one would question Jaakbal, why would they? The Reapers have killed so many already that no one would bat an eyelash to another reported death.

He watched the Krogan leave the store, to go scout the perimeter and make sure no other Reaper forces were inside the building. He stayed silent, unsure of what he should be talking about. It was a time of war, and he has never been in something like this before.

Time passed before the Krogan and two humans, and a Batarian arrived. Thanik had his arms crossed as the Human's began to speak and so did Jaakbal. Thanik didn't have any problems with any Galatic Race, he had no reason to, but he has heard from others that Humans like to put themselves above everyone else. They try and take control of the moment, or something like that. They needed to get communications up and going, and Jaakbal and Blake decided that they were going to go. Thanik would prove to be excellent coverage, seeing as he was the only sniper in their small ensemble, but someone needed to watch over the Civilians.

"We all can not go to get the communications array up. Someone needs to stay behind and watch over the Civilians." Thanik wasn't equipped to protect the civilians, only having a pistol and a sniper rifle, with a few thermal clips. He had a feeling that he would be the one that had to stay behind, but if that is what it took to keep the civilians safe and alive, then he would stay behind. Even if it was by himself once more.
 
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