Mass Effect Fanworks – Page 23

[05]

No scuff marks. No dirt. No disturbance in the little patch of dust in the corner. No sound, when he turned the doorknob. Antiquated, this place; or at least the appearance of being so. Regardless, the lock was exactly as when he came in. Greased, quiet, unbroken. He examined the flap again. He’d be able to fit his guns through it, but no more. Certainly not the large, metal case at his feet.

[04]

“You can’t do that!” The medic shouted.

“What do you mean I can’t do that?” He shouted right back. Spirits damn it, these humans were so thick. Maybe Saren was right for once. “It’s a perfectly good plan!”

“Look, you dumbass, you can’t put seventeen fucking incendiary bullets into someone and expect us to be able to fix him! He’s got one in his neck, for fuck’s sake! He’s got three in his lungs–“

“Four,” the female medic examining their contact added cooly.

“Four! Do you know what thermal paste does to alveoli? Do you? Well, it destroys them and they stay destroyed! Even goddamn krogan can’t regenerate that quickly!”

[03]

“That wasn’t necessary.”

Saren looked at him with an expression of ‘seven months later and you’re still dumb as soup’. “To kill him?”

“Well, yeah, that part was necessary. But that wasn’t.” That ‘dumb as soup’ look again. He threw up his hands in despair, almost sending a boot flying. “You know what I mean. The thing you did with the tubular machine and the room with the steel hatch–“

[02]

It’s a funny thing, a law.

A law is made to keep you in line. A law is made to be bent. A law is made to be broken. A law can keep the peace. A law can spur a war. Law-abiding citizens are good people. Law-abiding citizens surf the extranet in the comfort of their own studies and read up on how to build an explosive to destroy the hopes and dreams of those alien neighbours. Law-breaking citizens are bad people. Law-breaking citizens are Spectres.

[01]

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 = “

[00]

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.