<span style="font-style: italic">ETA to Drop - 10 minutes</span><br/><br/>Esone shifted slightly as he glanced around the cargo bay, working the padding of Rare Earth's interior into a more comfortable position. Vertigo had managed to keep the suit in one piece back on Sur'Kesh, and The Proprietor had down her best to patch what the AI couldn't, but there were still a few rips and dings in the bowels that dug uncomfortably into the Lieutenant.<br/><br/>At least there was no paint job that needed to be touched up, as there was with 042. The Geth's chassis was scraped and burnt in a dozen different places, given a cursory buff mere minutes before they had entered the Krogan DMZ. There had been no more time for anything else on top of it's tune up - Saber Team had been given a precious few hours of prep time for this next mission, and crammed as many of the essentials into them as possible. No rest of the wicked.<br/><br/>The rest of the team looked similarly worn down. Bau had massive pink splotches mottling his antenna -the Salarian equivalent of bags under his eyes- and his dark purple bodysuit had more patches than a quilt. The Sidereal insisted that the seams would hold through this fight -Fate willing- but somehow it was a comfort Esone that Cirok would be paired up with Bau.<br/><br/>The Krogan was the only one among them who seemed in high spirits; bred for battle and apparently drawing on Malfean charms, Cirok was pacing excitedly before the still-closed bay doors. Esone paused for a moment to consider the Infernal. While the Scourge could not know ALL of the Infernal Host -he was technically expected to at least know them by sight, but avoided the Althing when he could- Esone found it odd that he'd never seen this one before. As a member of the  'Old Guard', such as it was, Esone should have remembered a Krogan Slayer of Cecelyne.<br/><br/>Each of the Yozi had a favored race, to be sure. SWLIHN loved the Turians for their hierarchy, Adorjan loved the Vorcha for their simpleminded insanity. Malfeas claimed the Batarians for their blunt rage and antagonism, Eddie the Humans for their innate malleability. Kimbery commanded the Asari for their ability to link the bloodlines of species together -There were hideous plans in place for that one- and of course, Cecelyne chose the Krogan for their Darwinian lifestyle. The Great Old Ones would recruit outside of their preference, of course, but those were the favorites. The Yozi had at least enough sense to round their servants out with variant Exaltations, but here was an oddity - Cecelyne, who encouraged preachers and bloody conversion, had given a Krogan the exaltation of a general. The act was deviant enough that the Althing would have been muttering about the implications for weeks, if not months.<br/><br/>Cirok likewise did not seem to recognize Esone, which was both a godsend any yet deeply terrifying. The Lieutenant had tried shooting Cirok a few coded gestures and phrases, but the Slayer was either ignorant of Malfean cypher or simply hadn't noticed. That just raised more questions; why didn't the Krogan wonder about its fellow Infernal? Had it just not noticed? Esone couldn't remember if he'd flared or not. His slip-up way back when aboard the wreck of the Manila had given Infernals slightly more overt mobility, in exchange for less secrecy, but he still dampened the banner when he could. On the other hand, Cirok might have been assigned to keep an eye on -and potentially kill- Esone. It hadn't payed him much attention, but perhaps it was a COMPETENT Krogan...<br/><br/>The paranoia was starting to make Esone's head hurt, and for the umpteenth time considered asking Doc Czevak for some Exalt-Grade Medigel she was now famous for brewing. It took much of his willpower to quell the urge - thanks to the higher concentrations, the new gel was highly addictive to mortals, and almost as bad in exalts. There was wartime authorization to manufacture as much as necessary, but their supply was still limited and carefully controlled by the good doctor. Sabaton and Vertigo bob chided him carefully to save the stock for the next few -likely bloody and hectic- missions in the DMZ, and Esone concurred upon seeing the doctor's exhausted face.<br/><br/>Despite his various concussions and contusions from being treated like a rag doll, Esone had avoided the Med Bay upon return. His damage was superficial, while several members of the team and a large flock of Salarian STG personnel were heavily wounded and in need of immediate attention. It seemed that he'd made the right choice, including suffering through Green Sun Wasting in lieu of an inoculation. Doc Czevak looked frayed to the breaking point, absently scrubbing hands that had long since been washed clean. Despite her skills, there had been quite a few combat burials out the airlock in the past hour.<br/><br/>Del Pilar stood with the doctor, speaking quietly and occasionally patting her shoulder. The fatigue etched on both their faces was deepened by the pre-combat jitters that wracked Czevak, and the strain tugging at John. The weight of command was pressing down on Del Pilar, a heavy burden to bear. How hard must it be to command exalts, beings who bleed arrogant perfection and expect their leader to exceed their excellence? The ego-wrestling alone had to be exhausting.<br/><br/>"Alright folks, this is it!" Davidson's fresh and chipper voice crackled over the com. The pilots had been taking hourly shifts, something Saber Team both envied and resented. "We're going to be pulling a Crazy Ivan here, just to keep things interesting. Down in the hold, I'd recommend activating those mag boots! Everyone else, strap in!"<br/><br/>There was a five-second pause, and then the engines cut out.<br/>"<span style="font-weight: bold">AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA</span>"<br/><br/><span style="color: #000000">Who authorized this?!</span><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-Oh, 042 and I did! We're hooked into the cockpit, and we'll tell Davidson exactly when to reactivate the engine so that we don't get detected and blasted on the way down. OR smooched by the impact-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">This is a stealth ship! They wouldn't have noticed us anyway!</span><br/><span style="color: #0080FF">-Oh. Um.-</span><br/><span style="color: #000000">Dear Eddie in Hell, rookie, if I die in a horrible crash, and you were the one who called it too late, I.. I can't be held responsible for what I'm gonna do to you!</span><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Hey, guys? We're leaving.</span><br/><br/>While his inner demons raged, Esone had taken advantage of the drops 'lowered' gravity to sprint to the back of the hangar and plant himself on the back wall. As the engines roared back to life -the hull creaking the whole time from the abrupt reactivation- and the bay doors snapped open, the Lieutenant kicked off with enough force to race Vitaris. As the rest of Saber Team barreled over the lip toward the ground several feet below, Esone soared over their heads and ricochetted off one of the tall, rusty buildings that surrounded them. Midway was already retreating, shields pulsating.<br/><br/>"Go! Go! Go!" Esone wasn't sure if it had been one of Saber who yelled it, but Cerberus troops were already swarming the ground. Picking the thickest cluster, the Scourge charged his fist with Hegran power and fell from the skies like thunder from heaven. The ground rippled, cement and asphalt caching and cratering as Cerberus troops flew in all directions. Prismatic lightning followed seconds behind, chaining through each indoctrinated projectile and striking even more. Esone rode those crackling pathways, every passing face seeming like such  blur as he vaulted and twisted, raining death down on the walking dead.<br/><br/>Thought became little more than instinctive reaction. Metallica wailed with each punch - Cryo shot on the nearest enemy, then Overload him to send the shards of ice and shrapnel burrowing into another. Tactical Cloak activated and broke a dozen times over, nowhere near as fast as a Phantom -how did those bastards DO that?!- but enough to make Esone illusive. Incinerate that Nemesis aiming for Czevak. Pulverize that Ajax with a flurry of punches while 042 distracts it. Headshot a passing Dragoon. Get kicked in the gut by a Nemesis. Return the favor. FINISH HIM. Catch that rocke-<br/><br/>An explosion tore through Esone, puncturing Rare Earth in a dozen places and throwing them away as unceremoniously as they had the Cerberus troops. Through a cracked visor Esone saw a Cerberus operative in armor he did not recognize load another round into a heavily modified Caine. Esone tried to stand, but found his legs wanting. He reached for motes but found... Nothing? No, not nothing. Something was blocking his mote reserves.<br/><br/>The Caine howled. Sabaton screamed.