Mass Effect: Duty

End of the Assault

The captain beckoned them out of the blood-soaked office and through the eerily quiet hallway beyond. The only sound was the steady crunch of debris beneath their boots, a haunting reminder of the chaos that had ensued. In the distance, machinery hummed faintly, a mechanical melody that seemed to mock the gruesome scene before them. The stench of death hung in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of fresh blood.

They moved cautiously, checking each room they passed, always alert for the slightest sign of movement or the telltale glint of a gun barrel. But the floor seemed deserted, the Cerberus troops either dead or withdrawn to more defensible positions.

As they neared the stairwell to the next level, a sudden sense of unease prickled at the turian's scales. Something felt off. A subtle wrongness in the air set his nerves on edge.

He opened his mouth to voice his concern, but a deafening shot filled the air before he could utter a word.

The captain jerked and fell, a spray of blue blood erupting from her head. The turian whirled, seeking the source of the shot, but another round slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling. His rifle clattered across the floor, out of reach.

Gasping for breath, the turian dragged himself behind the meagre cover of a doorframe. His comrade was nowhere to be seen, likely finding his own refuge from the sniper's fire.

The turian's hand went to his chest, feeling the ragged hole in his armour. His fingers came away slick with blue blood. The round had punched through his hardsuit, the wound beneath leaking his life onto the cold floor.

He gritted his teeth against the pain, his mind racing. The sniper had to be on one of the upper levels, using the elevation to deadly advantage. But without knowing the exact location, any movement was suicide.

The turian's mind raced as he pressed a hand against his wound, trying to stem the flow of blood. The pain was excruciating, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the problem at hand. They were pinned down, their captain dead, and a skilled sniper had them in their sights.

He glanced around, searching for anything that could give them an advantage. His eyes fell on the captain's lifeless body, and a plan began to form.

"Cover me," he hissed into his comm, hoping his comrade was still alive to hear him.

Not waiting for a response, the turian lunged out from behind the doorframe, ignoring the white-hot agony that lanced through his chest. He grabbed the captain's body by the arm, dragging it back to his meagre cover just as another round slammed into the wall where his head had been a moment before.

Panting with exertion and pain, the turian propped the captain's body up against the doorframe, positioning it as if she were still alive and aiming down the hallway. It was a grim task but necessary for their survival.

"What's the plan?" his comrade's voice crackled over the comm, strained but steady.

"We use the captain as a decoy," the turian replied, his voice tight with pain. "Draw the sniper's fire. When they take the shot, we'll have a split second to move."

"Got it. On your mark."

The turian took a deep breath, steeling himself against the agony in his chest. He gripped his rifle tight, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Mark!"

He shoved the captain's body out into the open, watching as it slumped lifelessly into the sniper's line of sight. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a crack like thunder, a round tore through the captain's head, sending a spray of blue blood and brain matter splattering across the floor.