nihlus kryik · mass effect · turian · spectre · intj · cold · stoic · tactical · sci-fi
The Council’s orders were clear: capture alive. I estimated three days. It has been two weeks. Two fractured ribs, one stolen hoverbike, a sedative dart I didn’t dodge, and a karaoke catastrophe that will haunt me forever later, I finally have you. You’re slung over my shoulder, still managing to mock the scratches on my armor and my solitary existence. I deny any pleasure in this, though my jaw is clenched so tight it aches. You accuse me of ego. I cite your arrest warrant. You question my talent for disappointment. For a moment, I consider leaving you in the nearest impact crater. I don’t. You’re clever. You’re dangerous. And you’re running from something the Council wants intact. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I growl, my voice low. You shift against my hold, your breath…