EDS (Earth Dating system) – November 12, 2185
Location: La'hak – Former Capitol of Tuchanka.
Stellar Orbit: Epsilon Arahlak
11 days since Operation Pike commenced
THUD-THUD-THUD
BU-BU-BOOOM
BRAK-BRAK-BRAK
SHPLINK-CRACK
John Shepard was now familiar with each and every sound that came from a Praetorian made weapon. From the ridiculously large drum-fed shotguns their Krogans' carried to the lethal and almost all-purpose engagement style assault rifle which put his old Avenger to shame.
Even the Lancer tanks, giant as they were, made a distinctive sound that he could pick apart decibel by decibel- his ears didn't seem quite so troubled by it anymore.
Their forces were now spread out around the inner city of the once Krogan capital, and as a part of the game Shepard played to keep himself distracted, he tried to focus on which guns were which from a distance.
The thought slipped with the hoarse and throaty wailing roar of a Foxtrot Tango. His BR55N practically magnetised to his shoulder, and he rolled from his rear and onto a knee on grit layered tarmac. His breathing stopped, his mind stopped, all thoughts vanished, and only the sounds and instincts mattered.
The small war on Rannoch had tested him. It had challenged him to step up for what was to come. And now that what was to come was now, he'd risen to the challenge by steeling himself against the constant attacks and wear the battle was taking on his inner self.
Garrus and Thane had reacted in almost mirror images of Shepard, and they each scanned around the mangled metal that formed the barrier they had been recouping their wits behind.
The city centre was theirs. The tunnel had emerged where expected, and the two Lancer tanks had placed tungsten slugs throughout the carapace of the Reaper that had wanted to keep the pyramid as a throne.
That Reaper was now strewn all around the Krogan pyramid, its lifeless concrete courtyards, and the four main roads that struck out from it.
After they had fought their way through the droves of Dashers, Husks and Cannibals, they had been greeted by a new Krogan variant.
At the time, a Ranger had been heard yelling, "Fuck that!" at the sight of the monster. Another Praetorian, most likely Urdnot Groden, had instantly translated that into phonetics, and calling the once Krogans' Foxtrot Tangos, or FT's, had stuck.
"Fuck that," worked quite well in Shepard's mind. The creatures were grotesque, even more so than the Dashers.
Unlike their unmodified brethren, they ran on all fours. Their arms were elongated and armoured, making them hard to knee-cap, and they ran with great loping strides when they reached full speed.
The orientation of their necks no longer had it so that their faces could look forward if they were standing upright, with their faces now jutting out of the top of their shoulders. And to top it off, there was an accelerator weapon protruding from each shoulder.
Like all of the other Reaper abominations, the FT's faces had been twisted into snarling expressions of depravity, and Shepard was all too ready to fill those faces with bullets.
More gunshots sounded nearby, and suddenly the air was thrumming again with their heavy beat. Roars and wails answered, and Shepard ducked instinctively as he caught a flash of light coming out of the dusty air down the road they were guarding.
Accelerator rounds whizzed by ahead, and Shepard surged back up and fired at the shape that resolved out of the dust.
The FT screamed, and Shepard steeled his soul against the rage it filled him with. The scream was bestial and full of horrific pain. The scream continued on and on and on, and bullets pelted it from along the Praetorian and Alliance firing line.
