Mass Effect: Duty

Marching to the Scouts

Under a sky as sharp as shattered glass, The Turian guided his weary team across the frozen expanse of an alien tundra. His breath, a ghostly vapor in the frigid air, was the only proof they were still among the living. The echo of their boots crunching through the icy crust was a haunting metronome in this vast symphony of silence. His eyes, forever alert, scanned the desolate landscape while the biting cold gnawed at his resolve.

Should anything happen, the Captain had already assigned soldiers to flesh out the squad that was to accompany the lone Turian in their mission to assist the scouts. The Turian knew it was just another glorified watch position, knowing that he could not fight back against Cerberus. Instead, he was forced to provide support if the scouts needed it. He walked ahead of the group as they trailed in behind, remaining jovial and maintaining the same attitude they had in camp.

The scouts were a few hours away, but being able to stretch their legs outside the camp was the only nice part of trekking on this planet's barren, icy wasteland.

Ahead, the scouts' outpost finally emerged from the haze. The Turian looked around at the empty camp and noticed a few oddities. It was as though they were in a rush, with things just thrown about. There was also the odd caveat that the scouts weren't there. The Turian looked over the edge of the ridge down towards the ravine, where he noticed a few prefab huts. Cerberus.

"Captain." The Turian hailed into his communicator.

"News, Corporal?" The voice came back after a few seconds of silence.

"The scouts are gone," he said back.

"Gone?" The voice on the other end asked pensively. The Turian knew that the Captain's mandibles tensed up. It wasn't hard to tell.

"We'll keep searching the perimeter and keep you updated," the Turian told his Captain, who affirmed his statement.

The Turian turned to face his squad and relayed the orders: "Pair up and split off, search as wide an area as you can before dusk." The rest of the Turians nodded and split off to look for the missing scouts while the lonesome Turian searched the camp for any information.

The Turian rummaged through the abandoned camp, looking for clues about what happened to the missing scouts. The tents were sparse, just cots and small bags for personal effects. He accessed one of the datapads, scanning through mission logs and reports. Nothing stood out.

Outside, the wind began to pick up, sending loose snow skittering across the icy ground. Dark clouds rolled over the mountains, casting long shadows across the tundra. A storm was coming, and time was running short.

The telltale crack of gunfire split the air. The Turian's head jerked up. It came from the north, where two of his squadmates had gone to search. He activated his omni-tool, trying to hail them, but got only static in response.

Drawing his rifle, the Turian headed in the direction of the shots. He moved cautiously between large outcroppings of rock, using them for cover as he approached. More gunfire echoed through the mountains, followed by a distinctly Turian scream.

He broke into a sprint, his boots slipping on the icy ground. As he crested a ridge, he spotted them—two Turians pinned down behind a crumbling stone wall, a squad of Cerberus soldiers advancing.

The Turian snapped off a few shots, dropping two of the Cerberus troops before they realized they were under attack. The others scrambled for cover, firing blindly in his direction. His shields flared as rounds impacted around him.

One of the Turians by the wall waved frantically, then pointed to the left. The Turian swivelled and saw more Cerberus reinforcements closing in, attempting to surround them. He knew they were outnumbered and outgunned. Retreat was their only option if they hoped to survive.