He was burning up. His right arm sparked and seized, and his knee, his left knee was crushed and scraped from the container he'd thrown. He'd exhausted a considerable amount of resources already,and now, felt it full force. He coughed, blood and black ichor, the blood from physiological stress, and the black goo a by-product of his medication. His brain screamed for air, and his lungs could barely comply.
You arrogant fool...
His HUD told him what he already knew: he was overheating, horribly. Primarily in his right arm, the heat sink had taken all it could. But it wouldn't survive, and needed to be sacrificed. He, gasping and coughing, ordered NERO to direct all unnecessary VI processing power on controlling the jerks of his right arm. The primary servos in his elbow had taken a heavy hit, the strain causing one to snap open, shifting discs, and causing it to produce even more heat from the friction. His other arm was only a little better. "Pop the left... The left arm."
We're fucked, thanks to you.
The Thermal Clip ejected in a puff of smoke, with a smell like burning rubber. He could still control his right arm's fingers and shoulder, so he waited for the right moment to yank his hand out from under his girth, to grab another Clip from his holster-
Nonlight covered his body and lifted him, slowly and painfully, from the floor, like the unholy light of some primitive god, raising a faithful warrior from the ashes like a-
“Katabasis, there’s been a development. This institution has been used as a Reaper research station, and now we have upwards of two-thousand Husks on the loose."
The Asari dullard comes to your rescue. How pathetic...
He took this opportunity, grasping earnestly each time his arm's seizures brought it close to his holster. Once, twice, thrice-
YES!
YES!
YES!
His fingers wrapped around the small cylinder that held so many hopes, and his shoulder twisted for the last time as the joint caught fire, to slam the clip into place and Ellis ordered it to be ejected. It popped off like any other component, burning quietly on the floor.
The nutrient supplement was doing its work, Ellis' ravenous metabolism processing the calorie-dense slime faster than a human digestive system should ever be forced to. It was a system that was more than effective for combat, but would kill him in the long run. His former employers couldn't have cared less.
An auto turret opened fire, pounding against Ellis' armor like rain on a roof. He wondered if it was cracking his suit at all. His internal sensors were far too damaged to tell him anything other than the fact that he could catch fire at any moment, and even those could be false readings.
You shouldn't have charged ahead.
My colleagues, my kills.
You idiot, you've crippled yourself. Keep yourself in check.
Maybe now, they won't doubt my capabilities-
Those weren't your capabilities. You're not an ATLAS.
Well, they won't doubt my loyalty-
They'll always doubt your loyalties.
There was a deep dent in his hip, holding the magwell for his left leg sealed.
The knee is fucked anyway.
And whose fault is that?
The gunfire ceased suddenly in a beep-boop and a bright red flash. His right leg was undamaged, and as he slammed in the second thermal clip, his suit's mapping system came back online. He couldn't tell just how many there were, specifically, but there were an awful lot of red dots headed their way.
His vitals were starting to stabilize, still indicating an very weak EKG, but it was enough. He figured he had enough in him to at least Throw a few more. Now was the chance he'd been looking for.
Maybe they knew you'd rush ahead. Maybe this is a clever assassination attempt. They force you to do their dirty work-
No one forced me to do anyth-
-and then they leave you to provide a distraction while they handle the husks-
So be it.
His voice was suprisingly soft when he spoke. "Asari, drop me in the path of the Husks. I'm big. I'll provide enough of an obstacle to slow them down. Improves your chances."
IDIOT! FOOL! MORON!
He slipped his Mattock off his back, careful not to drop it. Without another arm, he would have to make every shot count. All twelve rounds.
DOTARD! HAVE YOU ANY SENSE?
Once more, he berated himself for losing his sidearm. What good is a warrior who loses their weapons?
There is no victory here.
If he survived this, he would need the mother of all repairs. Maybe the Quarian...
