AlteredTundra
Lemons
Spoopy Scary
Tlaloc
Auz
Baklava
Rhona W
Omega
________________
The underbelly of Omega was a dangerous place, that was for sure. Even the Gozu district was rife with silent trouble. Tension that sat on the edge of a knife.
In the corner of an empty apartment, sat a Batarian. His eyes narrowed as he watched closely the goings on around him. So observant was he, that he noticed almost immediately the presence of an Asari and Drell making their way through the darker streets. He hadn’t seen them before. They seemed peaceful enough, and he assumed that they were merely tourists. A couple perhaps, just leaving one of the many seedy nightclubs; seeking a darkened corner.
A grimace tugged at the corners of his mouth.
He thought about it so much that he almost missed the Vorcha who was skulking through. Skulking in the vicinity of a Turian. The grimace curled up to a smirk as the thought of a fight danced through his mind. It had been such a quiet morning; only an interrogation by the warehouse that he had missed out on participating in. He clenched a fist and kept a close eye on the pair…
The flickering neon light of the food bar illuminated the tattoo across his neck. A bright blue sun…
___
"I'd say we should try to keep a low profile, but I'd wager there aren't many on Omega who look quite like you." Sabinus said to his peculiar vorcha companion as they patrolled the district, his voice coming through his helmet voice modulator clearly, although the dark tinted visor concealed his face.
If the turian was put off by the vorcha's unusual appearance, he didn’t show it, although not from a lack of effort; Iryk was unlike any vorcha Sabinus had ever come across, and he had seen a plethora of different mutations of vorcha over his years. They were a remarkable species, if you could get past the dagger like teeth that seemed to be the one persistent feature across the species. Still, one of life's harder lessons was simple; appearances didn't tell the whole story. For all Sabinus knew, Iryk was a lover of Elcor poetry and a scholar of asari social hierarchy, and his frightening visage was likely the result of being forced into slave labour on some hellish rock somewhere, a fate all too common for the vorcha.
Sabinus' mandibles flexed discontentedly; their current assignment really resonated with the same song and dance as what the vorcha and countless millions other suffered through every day. You can't save them all, but it didn't mean you stopped trying. Turians were no strangers to impossible odds, they just approached them like any other assignment and gave it their all. Right now, the assignment was a single civilian deep within the bowels of one of the most powerful and ruthless gangs in the Terminus System, and Sabinus was one former cop up against a small army if things went bad.
Business as usual, then.
"Iryk, was it?" He asked. "What's your assessment of our situation?" He asked.
The Vorcha turned his head momentarily after hearing the Turian speak,to confirm that it was indeed his companion who had made it, before turning his gaze back to the scene before him; he had not focused much on anything beyond the job at hand and as such was quiet, but now that there was something on that particular subject he went to speak. But only after slowly and deliberately running his tongue across the teeth far too large for his mouth.
“If the enemy is soft - Human, Asari, Turian, Batarian - we kill them, easy. If the enemy is hard - Krogan, biotic, machine - they kill us, hard. Though he vocalized it with the typical syntax of his kind this was more or less his analysis in entirety. They wouldn’t know what their chances were or how to deal with the foe until they had more information. The enemy had the advantage of numbers but the Vorcha knew himself to be fairly experienced, a Vorcha, and a biotic one at that, whilst the Turian and the rest of the company looked no less capable especially when combined with at least somewhat of an element of surprise on their side. However surprise could only help so much when you went up against a Krogan or some robot that would shrug off your first thermal clip.
“Quite the optimist.” Sabinus replied dryly, albeit with a small tinge of amusement. “Although I would venture to place asari and biotics in the same category. Don’t worry about individual targets, whatever it may be. I’m confident we can take whatever comes our way, we just need to be smart about positioning and not letting ourselves get pincered or overrun if things go that way… always plan for your next move or safe avenues of retreat. How do you usually handle skirmishes?” the turian asked.
A feint gurgle emanated from the Vorcha as the Turian replied, the alien shaking his head. “No, no. Many Asari weak, no training, biotics weak like nothing. Smart doesn’t save from twelve Krogan in blood-rage.” The Vorcha stopped contemplatively licking his teeth once more, before continuing. “Me? Fast, maybe live. But Krogan faster than Turian. Turian legs wrong, body wrong. Best hope is grenades they don’t expect.” With that the Vorcha looked down about his person and having found none said as much. “Have no grenade.”
Behind the pair, the same Batarian now stalked. Remaining in shadow, watchful eyes on them. A message through a comms system gave a simple command to his backup. A sniper on a rooftop, a gunman in another building.
They could take them. His thin lips formed a smirk as he encroached upon them step by step, listening in where he could. Not many civilians around now to get unfortunately caught in the crossfire.
The Batarian moved faster behind them, ducking behind structures, aware of the Turian and the Vorcha, but also of his own men. He was suspicious of the direction they were travelling; clearly tailing the Asari and the Drell.
In an instant, he moved with a flutter to appear at their side, his hand firmly on his weapon and he knew that his snipers scope was trained on the Vorcha.
“Nice day for a walk,” he chuckled dryly. “Where do you think you’re both going?” He asked threateningly.
The Vorcha turned his head and while he couldn’t be sure, the voice of the stranger made the black beast confident he knew exactly what was before him and thus he wasted no time — he just hoped that the Turian would be fast enough to catch on. With a snarl he dove on the Batarian, his viperfish-like teeth aimed at his throat whilst his talons were aimed at his guts. Iryk hoped to bowl over his counterpart such that if this little bastard had any mates about they wouldn’t get an easy shot on him.
Sabinus spun, Argus at the ready to engage the voice behind him. Before he could readily identify the threat, Iryk was upon the batarian clad in the distinctive Blue Suns armour, a ferocious void that threatened to consume the object of its ire.
The turian was glad he wasn’t it.
Seeing that situation well in hand, Sabinus began to scan the streets, rooftops, and balconies for other present hostiles, sweeping his weapon in anticipation of a firefight. A shot rang out, striking Sabinus center mass, his kinetic barriers absorbing the impact; his HUD flashed 45% in the corner. An evocative and rather painful memory flashed through his mind as he recalled the sniper round piercing through his lung as he escorted the Lammonds to safety all those years ago.
Collecting himself in what was only a few moments, his HUD picked up the marksman and tagged him as hostile, the computer wizardry that he couldn’t begin to explain triangulating the position of the sharpshooter faster than any organic could react and his weapon was on target. The weapon kicked into his shoulder as the burst fire kicked rounds at the target, chunks of the building kicking up at the impact point. The target ducked low and Sabinus aimed his omnitool towards the target, a concussive shot launching as the tool produced the projectile and detecting an obstacle in the way, curved above and down onto the sniper, the force driving the shooter down into the roof.
“We need to get off the streets, Iryk!” he called, keeping an eye on his shielding as it began to regenerate and the omnitool prepared itself for its next process.
As the sniper dove through a broken vent, he could feel his own adrenaline kick in. These enemies were no ordinary mercenaries. They were different, they were an actual challenge. He smirked as the vent dropped him out on a balcony over. He slumped down against the railing, winded. A rictus grin appeared from behind his visor as he gasped at the air - the biting pain from the impact pinning him down still. He had just enough in him to bring in another. With a push of a button, the signal was released...
The Batarian felt the heat of the Vorcha’s rage, and he steadied himself to push back against the vermin's assault. It wasn’t quite enough. He realised when the teeth lashed at his throat that he’d bitten off more than he could chew with the Turian and the Vorcha, and the Vorcha was about to find out the same thing of the Batarian - only far more literally. He managed to at least send a spray of bullets into the air. They violently sliced through another flashing sign that was hovering about them, hanging practically by a thread.
Soon enough, debris fell from the roof of that very same building, coming down in chunks like rain around him as he struggled against the Vorcha. “You won’t make it out,” he gurgled, before he noticed that the sign was about to…. snap. With the last of his strength he gripped at the beast, hoping to crush the damn thing too.
Iryk gnawed on the throat of his enemy, giggling in a voice far higher pitched than something that looked as he did had any right of possessing. His fingers rooted around in the depths of the Batarian, making sure to twist and turn as much as possible in the hopes of provoking more pain upon the alien he lay upon.
Though a concept of martial honour had never really been instilled in the Vorcha he had to appreciate just how well the Batarian was taking his death. He put up resistance and he did not cry out in pain as many other victims of the black aberration had. Swallowing his mouthful of Batarian throat Iryk though that perhaps this was simply because he hadn’t noticed taking so much out of the bastard before him that he couldn’t make a sound. Alas this theory was very quickly proven false when the Batarian managed some sort of taunt. The truth was that Iryk did not exactly figure out what it meant despite elements of rubble falling on him, and some of his face curled back in confusion. But as the Batarian clutched tightly realization slowly dawned and his mind worked fast.
The Vorcha was a biotic but he doubted very much he could properly stop the sign that was going to fall from squashing him with this power. At the same time the Batarian was hardy and he was making sure that he would live long enough for his death throes to lead to the demise of Iryk.
Ah, but that was it, he was thinking in the wrong order: he had to use his biotics to finish the Batarian and then skitter away as fast as he could. Though this wasn’t the best place for it, he mustered all that he could in his ability to throw with his biotics to make the Batarian release him. The Vorcha’s body moved in concert with this, muscles from haunch to foot and shoulder to finger trying to push as hard as possible off of the ground and away from the killzone that the flying sign would make. “Run!” he announced to the Turian. Admittedly Sabinus from a quick glimpse did not seem to be in as bad a position as Iryk was but he hear enough gunfire that - when compounded with the Batarian before him - made the Vorcha rather confident that this was a fight they should flee to resume later.
The sign smashed into the street below, and on top of the batarian footsoldier that had unceremoniously been slain by the vorcha’s maw, kicking up dust and debris that at the very least provided visual concealment. Iryk looked like he was clear and Sabinus covered him as he made his way into a side alleyway; they likely weren’t going to escape further engagements, but at least now they could pick when and where to engage the enemy.
When the duo had made it far enough away from the street and found a quiet spot to catch their breath and gain their bearings, the turian opened a comm line to Naryxa, “Naryxa, come in. This is Tannyx; Iryk and I have been engaged by Blue Suns foot soldiers. Gozu District is on alert; please advise.” he concluded, turning to his vorcha partner.
“Typical weekday around here, I imagine. The way I see it, we have a couple choices; first, we can try and regroup with the rest of the team, safety in numbers and all of that, or you and I can stay here and cause enough havoc to draw attention away from the apartment complexes. How comfortable are you in insurgency-style skirmishes?” Sabinus asked, checking his rifle.
After a moment, Tannyx’s Omni-Tool would sound back; the Captain herself speaking clearly through the tool. “We’ve got problems of our own Tannyx. Can you hold them off?”
“We’ll do what we can… you owe me a drink after this.” Sabinus replied.
No sooner had the message come through, two more mercenaries rounded separate corners and came upon the Turian and the Vorcha, wasting no time in firing off a round of shots towards Iryk. Then, from above, an angry looking human leapt down from a balcony, shielded with biotic energy. “Never should have come here!” he growled out, lifting up a crate with his biotics, hurtling it towards the Turian.
“Shit!” Sabinus yelled out, having just enough time to activate his armour’s fortification, which at least saved his shields from failing as the crate smashed into him, knocking him off his feet and despite his armour and shield integrity holding, it still rattled his senses and hurt like a bitch.
He could taste the irony tinge of blood in his mouth and he made a note to apply some medigel if he survived this. The turian clenched his fist and he felt the injection of adrenaline stored in his suit flood his system; it wasn’t the first biotic he’d fought with. Springing up with far more agility and determination than he or most anyone would have been able to muster, the turian turned towards the shimmering purple bastard and let loose several bursts from his rifle, the rounds smashing into the biotic’s barriers. He didn’t stop his advance on the enemy, maintaining an overwhelming amount of firepower that brought down the biotic’s barriers and the last few rounds before the clip was spent finally breaking through the biotic’s defenses and piercing into the man’s armour, who grunted in pain as he returned fire with his machine pistol, most of the shots going wild and the few that did connect ineffectually being absorbed by what was left of Sabinus’ shielding.
Pulling his pistol free from his hip, Sabinus drew and fired a single round into the biotic’s forehead, a deceptively small amount of matter flinging from the exit wound with the still formidable velocity of the projectile.
Iryk was impressed with the Turian’s quick action in dealing with the biotic, the man clearly experienced in dealing with such foes. Well, the Vorcha wouldn’t let himself be shown up by one of the soft-kinds. The enemies had shot him accurately and at many points his rough carapace had been penetrated to draw viscous blood. It hurt of course, but a lot of things had hurt far more in both quantity and degree. With a roar he charged at the figure on all fours, momentarily covering his approach with his flamer.
More bullet rang out at him a few coming dangerously close to his brain chipping off spikes from his head, but these would regenerate soon enough. For now he was happy to simply pounce on the foe, driving an elbow spike into the brain of the enemy. Through the eye. “Turian good?” he cried out to the Turian, standing up and brushing himself off to achieve the less rigorous definition of cleanliness amongst his people.
"Turian good." Sabinus agreed, popping out behind cover to squeeze off a couple kore shots.
Amidst the ringing chaos of the last of the battle, another voice chimed through the omni-tools of both Iryk and Sabinus; the engineer. “Hey, uh, forward team? Captain’s team making contact with the target shortly. I also discovered a Suns’ weapons cache near your location. If you’d like to, I don’t know, loot it, blow it up, or eat the guys inside or something… go ham. Take pictures? Unless it’s the third. Anyways, sending coordinates.”
Sabinus shook his head, smiling despite his current situation. Shy, he recalled from their brief meeting. "As fun of an idea as that might be, it's best not to tempt fate; our hands are full with our already modest number of Suns between the two of us."
As promised, a ringing sound echoed as the coordinates landed to them. Not too long after, Naryxa played through the comms too. “Got the target. Bad shape, get back to the ship.”
"Copy. We're en route." Sabinus replied, pulling Iryk off of his lastest victim. "Time to exfil, pal."
________________
The underbelly of Omega was a dangerous place, that was for sure. Even the Gozu district was rife with silent trouble. Tension that sat on the edge of a knife.
In the corner of an empty apartment, sat a Batarian. His eyes narrowed as he watched closely the goings on around him. So observant was he, that he noticed almost immediately the presence of an Asari and Drell making their way through the darker streets. He hadn’t seen them before. They seemed peaceful enough, and he assumed that they were merely tourists. A couple perhaps, just leaving one of the many seedy nightclubs; seeking a darkened corner.
A grimace tugged at the corners of his mouth.
He thought about it so much that he almost missed the Vorcha who was skulking through. Skulking in the vicinity of a Turian. The grimace curled up to a smirk as the thought of a fight danced through his mind. It had been such a quiet morning; only an interrogation by the warehouse that he had missed out on participating in. He clenched a fist and kept a close eye on the pair…
The flickering neon light of the food bar illuminated the tattoo across his neck. A bright blue sun…
___
"I'd say we should try to keep a low profile, but I'd wager there aren't many on Omega who look quite like you." Sabinus said to his peculiar vorcha companion as they patrolled the district, his voice coming through his helmet voice modulator clearly, although the dark tinted visor concealed his face.
If the turian was put off by the vorcha's unusual appearance, he didn’t show it, although not from a lack of effort; Iryk was unlike any vorcha Sabinus had ever come across, and he had seen a plethora of different mutations of vorcha over his years. They were a remarkable species, if you could get past the dagger like teeth that seemed to be the one persistent feature across the species. Still, one of life's harder lessons was simple; appearances didn't tell the whole story. For all Sabinus knew, Iryk was a lover of Elcor poetry and a scholar of asari social hierarchy, and his frightening visage was likely the result of being forced into slave labour on some hellish rock somewhere, a fate all too common for the vorcha.
Sabinus' mandibles flexed discontentedly; their current assignment really resonated with the same song and dance as what the vorcha and countless millions other suffered through every day. You can't save them all, but it didn't mean you stopped trying. Turians were no strangers to impossible odds, they just approached them like any other assignment and gave it their all. Right now, the assignment was a single civilian deep within the bowels of one of the most powerful and ruthless gangs in the Terminus System, and Sabinus was one former cop up against a small army if things went bad.
Business as usual, then.
"Iryk, was it?" He asked. "What's your assessment of our situation?" He asked.
The Vorcha turned his head momentarily after hearing the Turian speak,to confirm that it was indeed his companion who had made it, before turning his gaze back to the scene before him; he had not focused much on anything beyond the job at hand and as such was quiet, but now that there was something on that particular subject he went to speak. But only after slowly and deliberately running his tongue across the teeth far too large for his mouth.
“If the enemy is soft - Human, Asari, Turian, Batarian - we kill them, easy. If the enemy is hard - Krogan, biotic, machine - they kill us, hard. Though he vocalized it with the typical syntax of his kind this was more or less his analysis in entirety. They wouldn’t know what their chances were or how to deal with the foe until they had more information. The enemy had the advantage of numbers but the Vorcha knew himself to be fairly experienced, a Vorcha, and a biotic one at that, whilst the Turian and the rest of the company looked no less capable especially when combined with at least somewhat of an element of surprise on their side. However surprise could only help so much when you went up against a Krogan or some robot that would shrug off your first thermal clip.
“Quite the optimist.” Sabinus replied dryly, albeit with a small tinge of amusement. “Although I would venture to place asari and biotics in the same category. Don’t worry about individual targets, whatever it may be. I’m confident we can take whatever comes our way, we just need to be smart about positioning and not letting ourselves get pincered or overrun if things go that way… always plan for your next move or safe avenues of retreat. How do you usually handle skirmishes?” the turian asked.
A feint gurgle emanated from the Vorcha as the Turian replied, the alien shaking his head. “No, no. Many Asari weak, no training, biotics weak like nothing. Smart doesn’t save from twelve Krogan in blood-rage.” The Vorcha stopped contemplatively licking his teeth once more, before continuing. “Me? Fast, maybe live. But Krogan faster than Turian. Turian legs wrong, body wrong. Best hope is grenades they don’t expect.” With that the Vorcha looked down about his person and having found none said as much. “Have no grenade.”
Behind the pair, the same Batarian now stalked. Remaining in shadow, watchful eyes on them. A message through a comms system gave a simple command to his backup. A sniper on a rooftop, a gunman in another building.
They could take them. His thin lips formed a smirk as he encroached upon them step by step, listening in where he could. Not many civilians around now to get unfortunately caught in the crossfire.
The Batarian moved faster behind them, ducking behind structures, aware of the Turian and the Vorcha, but also of his own men. He was suspicious of the direction they were travelling; clearly tailing the Asari and the Drell.
In an instant, he moved with a flutter to appear at their side, his hand firmly on his weapon and he knew that his snipers scope was trained on the Vorcha.
“Nice day for a walk,” he chuckled dryly. “Where do you think you’re both going?” He asked threateningly.
The Vorcha turned his head and while he couldn’t be sure, the voice of the stranger made the black beast confident he knew exactly what was before him and thus he wasted no time — he just hoped that the Turian would be fast enough to catch on. With a snarl he dove on the Batarian, his viperfish-like teeth aimed at his throat whilst his talons were aimed at his guts. Iryk hoped to bowl over his counterpart such that if this little bastard had any mates about they wouldn’t get an easy shot on him.
Sabinus spun, Argus at the ready to engage the voice behind him. Before he could readily identify the threat, Iryk was upon the batarian clad in the distinctive Blue Suns armour, a ferocious void that threatened to consume the object of its ire.
The turian was glad he wasn’t it.
Seeing that situation well in hand, Sabinus began to scan the streets, rooftops, and balconies for other present hostiles, sweeping his weapon in anticipation of a firefight. A shot rang out, striking Sabinus center mass, his kinetic barriers absorbing the impact; his HUD flashed 45% in the corner. An evocative and rather painful memory flashed through his mind as he recalled the sniper round piercing through his lung as he escorted the Lammonds to safety all those years ago.
Collecting himself in what was only a few moments, his HUD picked up the marksman and tagged him as hostile, the computer wizardry that he couldn’t begin to explain triangulating the position of the sharpshooter faster than any organic could react and his weapon was on target. The weapon kicked into his shoulder as the burst fire kicked rounds at the target, chunks of the building kicking up at the impact point. The target ducked low and Sabinus aimed his omnitool towards the target, a concussive shot launching as the tool produced the projectile and detecting an obstacle in the way, curved above and down onto the sniper, the force driving the shooter down into the roof.
“We need to get off the streets, Iryk!” he called, keeping an eye on his shielding as it began to regenerate and the omnitool prepared itself for its next process.
As the sniper dove through a broken vent, he could feel his own adrenaline kick in. These enemies were no ordinary mercenaries. They were different, they were an actual challenge. He smirked as the vent dropped him out on a balcony over. He slumped down against the railing, winded. A rictus grin appeared from behind his visor as he gasped at the air - the biting pain from the impact pinning him down still. He had just enough in him to bring in another. With a push of a button, the signal was released...
The Batarian felt the heat of the Vorcha’s rage, and he steadied himself to push back against the vermin's assault. It wasn’t quite enough. He realised when the teeth lashed at his throat that he’d bitten off more than he could chew with the Turian and the Vorcha, and the Vorcha was about to find out the same thing of the Batarian - only far more literally. He managed to at least send a spray of bullets into the air. They violently sliced through another flashing sign that was hovering about them, hanging practically by a thread.
Soon enough, debris fell from the roof of that very same building, coming down in chunks like rain around him as he struggled against the Vorcha. “You won’t make it out,” he gurgled, before he noticed that the sign was about to…. snap. With the last of his strength he gripped at the beast, hoping to crush the damn thing too.
Iryk gnawed on the throat of his enemy, giggling in a voice far higher pitched than something that looked as he did had any right of possessing. His fingers rooted around in the depths of the Batarian, making sure to twist and turn as much as possible in the hopes of provoking more pain upon the alien he lay upon.
Though a concept of martial honour had never really been instilled in the Vorcha he had to appreciate just how well the Batarian was taking his death. He put up resistance and he did not cry out in pain as many other victims of the black aberration had. Swallowing his mouthful of Batarian throat Iryk though that perhaps this was simply because he hadn’t noticed taking so much out of the bastard before him that he couldn’t make a sound. Alas this theory was very quickly proven false when the Batarian managed some sort of taunt. The truth was that Iryk did not exactly figure out what it meant despite elements of rubble falling on him, and some of his face curled back in confusion. But as the Batarian clutched tightly realization slowly dawned and his mind worked fast.
The Vorcha was a biotic but he doubted very much he could properly stop the sign that was going to fall from squashing him with this power. At the same time the Batarian was hardy and he was making sure that he would live long enough for his death throes to lead to the demise of Iryk.
Ah, but that was it, he was thinking in the wrong order: he had to use his biotics to finish the Batarian and then skitter away as fast as he could. Though this wasn’t the best place for it, he mustered all that he could in his ability to throw with his biotics to make the Batarian release him. The Vorcha’s body moved in concert with this, muscles from haunch to foot and shoulder to finger trying to push as hard as possible off of the ground and away from the killzone that the flying sign would make. “Run!” he announced to the Turian. Admittedly Sabinus from a quick glimpse did not seem to be in as bad a position as Iryk was but he hear enough gunfire that - when compounded with the Batarian before him - made the Vorcha rather confident that this was a fight they should flee to resume later.
The sign smashed into the street below, and on top of the batarian footsoldier that had unceremoniously been slain by the vorcha’s maw, kicking up dust and debris that at the very least provided visual concealment. Iryk looked like he was clear and Sabinus covered him as he made his way into a side alleyway; they likely weren’t going to escape further engagements, but at least now they could pick when and where to engage the enemy.
When the duo had made it far enough away from the street and found a quiet spot to catch their breath and gain their bearings, the turian opened a comm line to Naryxa, “Naryxa, come in. This is Tannyx; Iryk and I have been engaged by Blue Suns foot soldiers. Gozu District is on alert; please advise.” he concluded, turning to his vorcha partner.
“Typical weekday around here, I imagine. The way I see it, we have a couple choices; first, we can try and regroup with the rest of the team, safety in numbers and all of that, or you and I can stay here and cause enough havoc to draw attention away from the apartment complexes. How comfortable are you in insurgency-style skirmishes?” Sabinus asked, checking his rifle.
After a moment, Tannyx’s Omni-Tool would sound back; the Captain herself speaking clearly through the tool. “We’ve got problems of our own Tannyx. Can you hold them off?”
“We’ll do what we can… you owe me a drink after this.” Sabinus replied.
No sooner had the message come through, two more mercenaries rounded separate corners and came upon the Turian and the Vorcha, wasting no time in firing off a round of shots towards Iryk. Then, from above, an angry looking human leapt down from a balcony, shielded with biotic energy. “Never should have come here!” he growled out, lifting up a crate with his biotics, hurtling it towards the Turian.
“Shit!” Sabinus yelled out, having just enough time to activate his armour’s fortification, which at least saved his shields from failing as the crate smashed into him, knocking him off his feet and despite his armour and shield integrity holding, it still rattled his senses and hurt like a bitch.
He could taste the irony tinge of blood in his mouth and he made a note to apply some medigel if he survived this. The turian clenched his fist and he felt the injection of adrenaline stored in his suit flood his system; it wasn’t the first biotic he’d fought with. Springing up with far more agility and determination than he or most anyone would have been able to muster, the turian turned towards the shimmering purple bastard and let loose several bursts from his rifle, the rounds smashing into the biotic’s barriers. He didn’t stop his advance on the enemy, maintaining an overwhelming amount of firepower that brought down the biotic’s barriers and the last few rounds before the clip was spent finally breaking through the biotic’s defenses and piercing into the man’s armour, who grunted in pain as he returned fire with his machine pistol, most of the shots going wild and the few that did connect ineffectually being absorbed by what was left of Sabinus’ shielding.
Pulling his pistol free from his hip, Sabinus drew and fired a single round into the biotic’s forehead, a deceptively small amount of matter flinging from the exit wound with the still formidable velocity of the projectile.
Iryk was impressed with the Turian’s quick action in dealing with the biotic, the man clearly experienced in dealing with such foes. Well, the Vorcha wouldn’t let himself be shown up by one of the soft-kinds. The enemies had shot him accurately and at many points his rough carapace had been penetrated to draw viscous blood. It hurt of course, but a lot of things had hurt far more in both quantity and degree. With a roar he charged at the figure on all fours, momentarily covering his approach with his flamer.
More bullet rang out at him a few coming dangerously close to his brain chipping off spikes from his head, but these would regenerate soon enough. For now he was happy to simply pounce on the foe, driving an elbow spike into the brain of the enemy. Through the eye. “Turian good?” he cried out to the Turian, standing up and brushing himself off to achieve the less rigorous definition of cleanliness amongst his people.
"Turian good." Sabinus agreed, popping out behind cover to squeeze off a couple kore shots.
Amidst the ringing chaos of the last of the battle, another voice chimed through the omni-tools of both Iryk and Sabinus; the engineer. “Hey, uh, forward team? Captain’s team making contact with the target shortly. I also discovered a Suns’ weapons cache near your location. If you’d like to, I don’t know, loot it, blow it up, or eat the guys inside or something… go ham. Take pictures? Unless it’s the third. Anyways, sending coordinates.”
Sabinus shook his head, smiling despite his current situation. Shy, he recalled from their brief meeting. "As fun of an idea as that might be, it's best not to tempt fate; our hands are full with our already modest number of Suns between the two of us."
As promised, a ringing sound echoed as the coordinates landed to them. Not too long after, Naryxa played through the comms too. “Got the target. Bad shape, get back to the ship.”
"Copy. We're en route." Sabinus replied, pulling Iryk off of his lastest victim. "Time to exfil, pal."
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