<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/ztzn712.jpg)</div><br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Mischa Harms (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=335654.msg15965217#msg15965217)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">RACE:</span></strong>Human<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">OCCUPATION:</span></strong>Soldier<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">DATE:</span></strong>December 18th, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>Heavy armour, helmet in hand<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>The Corvidae; Hangar<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Casual Specism<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Gale<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/><br/>When Galeaus's message came to meet in the hangar, Mischa was in his quarters lifting. He grimaced. Not enough time for a shower. He stowed the weights and suited up, assuming that deployment would follow shortly after the briefing. The weight of the armour was a welcome thing for Mischa. It strangely helped to make him feel more himself when he had it on. Without it he felt like there was something off in some vague way in the back of his mind and he was not totally comfortable without it. Putting it on did make him late, but he arrived within the minute of grace time that Galeaus allowed for everyone to gather in the hangar. His heavy footfalls sounded a steady, unhurried rhythm as he carried all 6'10" of his cybernetically enchanced ass into the hangar. The human hung back, behind the more punctual members of the crew, and listened in silence to the briefing. He stayed quiet even where others murmured.<br/><br/>Mischa figured that this virus thing had to be something damned sophisticated if it would hit everyone. While he was no expert on the science of it all, he mostly understood that viruses that could hit the dextros it couldn't hit the levos and vice versa. Whether that was true was a matter for some egghead somewhere. Which made Mischa wonder why the Council had chosen to send Galeaus out, especially if they were not being used as a kill team - a task which, in the main, that Mischa did not object to in the slightest and frequently welcomed for its simplicity and directness. Galeaus was not, after all, a soft touch nor did he have any reputation as such. Mischa had never encountered anyone so enamored or enthused with explosives as Galeaus. And if the point of the mission was not to blow the place to Kingdom Come, why turn it over to a Turian with a thulium-sheathed hard-on for big booms and a reputation for being a maverick? This whole business of going down to the surface to find out about the virus sounded like it was right up the alley for the STG. Send in the Salarians and let that fucking nerd brigade solve the problem. They would do it with cold, pragmatic logic and they would do it triple-secretly and triple black.<br/><br/>The blood in Mischa's veins ran cold at the idea that maybe the Council had already deployed a nerd squad but that they had failed and Galeaus was their next resort. That the situation was so FUBAR that the crew of the Corvidae was the best possible choice.<br/><br/>Honestly, Mischa thought about getting onto a shuttle and putting an end to this little adventure. Not because he was afraid of the mission being difficult - that came with being an asset under the command of a Spectre. Spectres did not get deployed on cake walks and milk runs. It was not that he was afraid of catching this mystery virus and dying of unknown symptoms. It was the possibility of never getting to kill another Batarian ever again that gave rise to that impulse. He contemplated lighting up a smoke but decided against it. He also considered asking whether there were any Batarians on the surface, but decided against that impulse as well. There was not room for Mischa to be confident enough that Galeaus would not smell it. Anywhere Mischa could stand that he would be was too close to something that would be unwise to smoke near.<br/><br/>He began to hope that it would come to torching Enlil. Maybe he needed to stop carrying the Firestorm. When you carried a flamethrower an awful lot of problems started to look like flammables just waiting for a judicious and liberal application of fire.<br/><br/><strong>"Are we going to be really off the leash for this?"</strong>Mischa asked Galeaus when it came time for questions. Despite that Spectres allegedly could employ any means necessary, be completely above the law, and have complete discretion about completing their objectives the Council had little compunction with deciding that something was gross misconduct after the fact. Having the Patriarch in orbit - probably monitoring this whole clusterfuck - probably meant they did indeed have to worry about everything they did being scrutinized by people who had never put a boot on the ground when - if - they got back to the Citadel to debrief.