Shields Up

His steps were heavy and his long tail dragged along on the ground behind him as he trudged onwards. Even in the shade the heat was overwhelming; he did his best to avoid any patches of sun he came across. Krogans were used to heat, their thick crests protecting them from harmful UV rays, their reptilian skin hardened by millions of years of evolution to survive the harsh heat and sun of the arid desert landscape, and even their large, armored humps had evolved to store water and nutrients in a habitat where they weren't readily available.

What Scorn was experiencing now was not heat. It transcended heat. The air was thick and heavy. It settled on his skin like a layer of sweat and further bogged down his thick plated armor. They called this particular iteration of hell "humidity," and he would take Tuchanka's old, radioactive dry heat to this without hesitation. He almost wished the Tuchanka rebuilding efforts weren't coming along quite so well. Almost. He knew that restoring Tuchanka's jungles was crucial if the krogans wanted to live on their home planet in the coming generations. Or so he was told, at least- but he trusted the source.

Though he was not at all fond of foot travel through the dense foliage, most vehicles were either ineffective or too harmful to travel through the blossoming new ecosystem. It was weird to hear the calls of animals and insects instead of the humming of vehicles, or voices, or even the silence of space; and the loud, repetitive calls of one particular beast were driving him up the wall.

He took a drink of cold water from his canteen. Gods, he wished it was ryncol, but he couldn't afford to dehydrate himself more than the heat already did. There would be alcohol at camp, he hoped.

"Ugh!" he grumbled as miniscule insects swarmed around his face and the lip of the canteen, and he gave an annoyed snort that both expressed his strong distaste and dislodged some of the pesky creatures from his nostrils.

He took one last sip of water and put away the canteen, sighing as he continued on through the thicket. He saw all sorts of strange animals, and even plants, on his trek, but he was far too hot and disgruntled to appreciate their presence at all (other than occasional snorts and grumbles at the insects that ventured too close). All his attention was on getting out of this jungle, save perhaps for a slight divergence to ruminate about how much he hated this humidity. He muttered to himself again as he saw the shadows shift, indicating how the sun was growing closer to setting seemingly with each step he took.

"That pyjak who said this was a half-day's walk is gonna be hearing from me! Damn salarian."

He cursed loudly to himself when he tripped on a tree root, tumbling forward and catching himself on the trunk of another large plant before he could hit the ground. He steadied himself and stood back up, carefully pulled his tail over the root to prevent it from getting tangled up in the roots, and exhaled again, another one of many huffs of annoyance he made that day. He was beginning to wonder if any of this was worth the effort. As he began to find his bearings again, his brow creased in confusion- was that a break in the forest?

Though he wasn't completely sure that he wasn't just seeing things, his curiosity got the better of him, and he ignored his omnitool GPS while it told him to "Proceed to route." Sure enough, out of the blue he emerged in a large clearing, an almost polar opposite to the forested hellscape he'd just been in. It was barren, with only a few straggling weeds, covered in gravel and crushed rocks. And there were- were those buildings? No, machines. Huge machines.

He wasn't sure if he should be worried or relieved- on one hand, this was definitely not supposed to be there. On the other hand, maybe they had ryncol. Curious yet, he approached the large, buzzing machines, trying to find any sign of the people who were running them.

"Fucking shit!"

The instant he heard the first bang, his instincts kicked in and he brought up a biotic shield; the outward force of the biotics kicked back dust and debris all around him, a bright spot of blue in the middle of dusty brown. The shield stopped the explosive rounds before they could make it to the krogan in the middle of it, which was ideal. Still, Scorn was not pleased.

It wasn't often that someone was stupid enough to attack a krogan; they were easy to anger, hard to kill, and at least twice as big as most of the galactic races. Other krogans, however, had few qualms with attacking them, sometimes even without good reason. Whether or not the asshole that tried to kill him had a good reason, Scorn wasn't about to turn tail.

"Proceed to route," suggested his omnitool. He snorted.

"Not yet. Much to the chagrin of whoever tried to blow me up, we's gonna' have words!"

And then he charged, shield still glowing strong and his gun raised and readied. He didn't even know where he was charging at, but he didn't care. He figured he'd find something to smash one way or another. Soon enough he did find it, a motion-sensitive turret employed amidst the field of strange machines.

"Okay, maybe we won't have words," he muttered, "but I'm still gonna' get my point across."

He charged full force at the turret, his shield deflecting all of its rounds as he did. He fired at it a few times as he ran, though he focused most of his attention on maintaining the biotic field. Right as he would crash straight into the turret, he released his biotic shields forward in a massive explosion. Watching that thing explode was by far the most satisfying thing he'd done all day. Hell if he'd let some blasted piece of metal best him.

He still didn't have a clue what the machines were all doing, a thought which threatened to sour his newly acquired good mood. This entire area was supposed to be untouched, and uninhabited save for the scientists and occasional workers. This wasn't right, even barring the murderous, unmanned turret. At least that safety hazard was taken care of. He took a video of the bizarre dirt pit to show to the base camp scientists once he got there; he figured it would just be better to let them handle it, whatever it was.

"Proceed to route."

He stared back into the jungle and sighed. He probably should be getting on with it, considering that if he didn't leave soon, he may be stuck in the jungle at night. That was not a welcoming thought. He picked up a piece of rubble that had once been part of the turret as a souvenir, and set his sights back on the jungle. Although he would have to truck through the humid terrain a bit longer, soon he'd settle down around a campfire with a cold stein of ryncol and catch up with a close friend- and he'd have a new story to tell her.

He reached another clearing just as the sun was beginning to set; this one was still green and the structures were recognizable. He'd made it. He leaned against a tree to take a short rest and looked down at the camp. Scientists of all species bustled about, varren at their heels or birds on their shoulders, some carrying plants and most of them data pads or equipment, all settling down from a long day of working to restore Tuchanka to its former glory. And beyond them, the rest of the jungle spread out, captured perfectly by the setting sun. Perhaps the damned jungle wasn't all bad.