Who| Shepard, Garrus, and All Of You
What| Attempting to murder some folk, or at least cause injury
Where| various floors
When| Week Three, et all
Warnings/Notes| Probably language, game-typical violence

Shepard: Good Hunting in the Hallways, any floor
The second time, she’d been caught by surprise and normalcy of the challenge. The first, by the novelty. But in every arena, there was a simple rule— they would do something unexpected. Same recipe, like variations on a theme: this arena had sprinkles, that one had Dinosaurs, this one had… Well, still Dinosaurs, but considerably less terrifying ones.

By now, she’s no longer surprised, merely grateful for the shallow comfort of long lines of sight and well-defined shadows. Grateful for the way that having bare feet is an advantage rather than a hindrance, and for the weight of the bundle on her back, heavy with food both perishable and otherwise. It’s wrong; she should be angrier, but rage can’t solve her problems right now, and hiding is no longer the order of the day— she’s hunting, and if she finds you, she will kill you.

Garrus: Dioramas, Floor Two
Bullets were great but not having a gun to use them limited their functionality. If there was a gun to be had that fit the bullets, Garrus figured the best place to look would be the dioramas of human history. If nothing else, he would look a few of the spears and consider taking those. It wasn’t a great place to hide but his plan was to get in and get out of there as fast as possible.


Either or both: Elevator, any floor
Ding!

Beautiful thing, a choke point. Every bell meant something. A person. A sponsor gift. A tense waiting moment for everyone on the floor. A vantage where you could see the elevator but not easily be seen was worth more than anything right now. The perch just outside the door where one might lie in ambush was risky, but damned useful— as were the Elevators themselves.

Which was why most people took the stairs, it seemed. Which was why Shepard and Garrus had largely been taking the elevator. So far, it’d been nothing but empty corridors and tense breath-holding moments. Once or twice they’d pressed a button on their way out, send it down to the basement, send it up to the roof, just to see if anything would happen, to watch rushing feet kick up bits of roof-gravel as they scattered over the skylight.

But it was possible, this way to draw out the targets. Which was, after all, what Shepard wanted most right now. And what the Commander wanted, was what she usually got, in the end. No matter how many people had to die before she got it.


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