Omni-tool: 470 credits.
Nihlus chewed a piece of nickel-copper conductive rubber thoughtfully. He tapped at the keys lightly, almost unconscious of the fact, creating a string of random glyphs on the holoscreen. The piece of code glared deep orange at him.
“Dx/Dt = “
Continue reading [01]As Saren’s eyes travelled down the screen, Nihlus’ spirits seemed to sink in proportion. It was coming. He could feel it in his guts.
To be completely unbiased, the young turian was an excellent shot and an exemplary strategist. He could take out enemy snipers before they can say “look over th–“, as had been proven on a recent excursion to a mercenary-riddled backwater planet. He could stay three steps ahead of a salarian. A salarian.
Continue reading [00]This is a complete archive of the “Misfire Fills” by Misfire Anon, originally posted on Mass Effect Kink Meme in reply to orphaned (misfire) prompts. The originals were numbered, but untitled. The titles were added by Smehur.
BY MISFIRE ANON
He stopped and listened, frozen mid-pace between the workbench and the Marshal’s ornate, wooden desk. He waited for the background groans to subside before answering his ringing omni.
“Reporting.”
Astau’s voice buzzed over the channels like a swarm of stingless flies, traveling between the skyscrapers from fifty kilos to the east and half a kilo down. The short, black syllables blurred into one another. “I’m no further. Any progress on your side?”
“None.”
“Did you ask him about the other mercenaries?”
Saren glanced at the Marshal’s wall clock. Enamel face. The moons’ light painted it silver and violet. “Not yet. I’ll update you before two, at the latest.”
“We can’t let this opportunity go to waste. Be subtle if you can, but you must procure that information.”
He flicked his mandible. “Understood.”
Continue reading WashoutBY MISFIRE ANON
He stoops, picks up a stone, and flips it nervously between his talons. The stone is oval and a curious shade of blue-grey. He thinks that if he were to wet it with water from the ocean, it would perhaps turn a different colour. Darker. The waves lap at his feet. He is too anxious to try.
Saren Arterius does not like to speak, not with words. That would be Nihlus, who could convince a krogan into believing he was a hanar and a hanar into a krogan. He prefers action. But it would be rude indeed to ignore the Matriarch that stood not three paces before him, and she expects words. Sovereign breathes down his back. Almost literally, since the ship hovers above them, nestled in the stratosphere. His spine tingles. Another watches from behind his cybernetic eyes.
Continue reading VirmireBY MISFIRE ANON
Ten.
The snowflakes burst into the room violently, their legions blurring the sharp corners of upturned tables and broken chairs. They advanced, wave upon wave, chasing the emptiness from the air.
Nihlus kicked away the papers littering the floor—or tried to, anyway. They fluttered with the snow, somehow found their peace in the turbulence, and eventually settled back at the beckoning of gravity. The ones that have been reduced to ashes, on the other hand, added pale shades of grey to the white swarms. Occasionally, a spark would put forth its orange light, to be smothered a moment later by its frozen comrades-in-arms.
The building swayed slightly in the high-altitude gusts. The Spectre smiled. A challenge gladly taken. Visibility was less than ideal. A rather common occurrence, in this line of work. A fellow agent, with his rifle already set up; barrel protruding a mere few millimetres from the jagged edge of broken glass.
Now that, that might be a problem.