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The Competition	By : logsig123 Category: +M through R > Mass Effect Views: 4310 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Mass Effect series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from this story.

Chapter List
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"Garrus." John leans partway in through the door of the main battery so he can see me. I'm sitting in the corner, reading. "Grab your gear. Helmet too. We're going planetside. " His disappears, then appears again. "That is, unless you're busy calibrating something."
"What?" I say.
He's already at the other end of the corridor. "Meet at the Kodiak," he calls over his shoulder. "I'm going to tell the others." It's clear he's not going to answer any questions at the moment. I sigh and put down the latest issue of Soldier of Fortune. I tell people I only read it for the new equipment reviews--the impoverished mercenary's porn--but honestly the articles are pretty good too.
When I get to the shuttle bay, Krios and Legion are already there, waiting. I nod at them. "What's going on?" I ask.
The drell shakes his head. Legion says, informatively, "We are awaiting Shepard-Commander. We have ascertained that Thane Krios is doing the same."
"Yeah. Thanks," I say.
Massani shows up next, stomping through the bay doors like a petulant child. "What the hell are we doing?" he demands. "I thought our business on Ilium was finished. I was all set for a marathon of bare-knuckle deathmatch vids."
"You know as much as we do," I tell him, before Legion can be helpful. "Better save your questions for Shepard."
Massani scowls. We wait in silence. I pass the time looking over my rifle again, making sure it's ready for action. It isn't very long before the door hisses open and I hear John's familiar tread approaching.
His gaze sweeps over us. "Good, we're all here," he says.
"What's all this about then?" Massani asks impatiently.
"The composition of this squad seems a little unusual," Krios remarks quietly--ostensibly to me, but loud enough to be heard by the rest. I nod. Yes, I've noticed that too.
"Relax. Nobody needs any killing today," John says. "At least, not in our immediate vicinity," he corrects himself. "As far as I know." He has everyone's undivided attention. "I got a message from my old instructor. He's retired now, runs a training facility for snipers here. Mercs, mostly. He told me he's set up a course similar to the ones we used to run in the Alliance. Says it's pretty challenging, suggested that I bring my team through it. So I thought I'd invite you all for a friendly competition." He spreads his hands and smiles blandly at us.
Massani's the first to react. Eyes narrowed, he says, "What's the prize?"
John raises an eyebrow. "The satisfaction of knowing that you're the best sniper on the Normandy? The undying admiration of your friends?"
"Screw that. Satisfaction's not going to buy me a palatial home on a backwater planet, is it?"
A shrug. "You don't have to play if you don't want to. This is strictly voluntary." John leans one shoulder against the shuttle, folds his arms. "Well?"
Massani snorts. "Unless the targets have screaming mercs nailed to them, forget it." He turns and stalks out of the shuttle bay.
Legion makes a puzzled noise. "Zaeed Massani declines to participate. Why? Character analysis indicates he enjoys demonstrating superior skill. Absence from competition reduces his probability of doing so to zero."
Krios has the fingertips of both hands pressed together, touching his chin. "Perhaps it is the idea of a friendly competition that he finds distasteful. I'm not sure he can admit the existence of friends."
John seems neither surprised--nor particularly concerned--at Massani's reaction. "The rest of you in?" he asks.
"We will participate, Shepard-Commander."
Krios nods. "As will I."
John looks at me questioningly. I stare back at him. The other two are standing slightly behind me and so John is the only one who can see me run one talon slowly, deliberately, along the receiver of my rifle. He shakes his head slightly, but a grin is threatening to break out on his face. He turns away quickly and climbs into the shuttle. The rest of us follow him. Krios gives me a curious look. I pretend not to notice and take my seat.
When the shuttle takes off, John removes his rifle from the holster on his back and starts looking it over, checking the mechanisms, like he always does just before going into battle. But then, as if trying to remove a nonexistent layer of dust, he clenches his fist around the barrel and slides his hand slowly down its length. His eyes flick to mine, a dark glance, and I fight to keep my face expressionless. There is a serious possibility that Krios has noticed all this byplay and will say something embarrassing at any moment, so with my eyes I wordlessly signal for a truce. John re-holsters the weapon with a meaningful snap. We both fix our gazes at the window then, as if we're interested in the view.
The shuttle skims down into the atmosphere and over Ilium's soaring megapolis. In a few minutes the city is behind us and then we glide down onto a remote rocky peninsula, touching down in front of a cluster of prefabs. The shuttle doors lift open. I watch the temperature reading in my visor increase steadily as the hot, dry air of Ilium floods into the cabin. The sun is almost directly overhead, and its glare is unpleasant; the faint outlines of Ilium's skyscrapers are barely visible in the distance, rising out of the haze. Behind the prefabs, a chain-link fence encrusted with windblown dirt stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions.
John signals us to wait by the shuttle and walks towards the prefabs. He's about halfway there when the door of one building opens and a figure appears, dressed in battered gray armor with no insignia or other identifying marks. The figure meets John a few steps from the door. The two clasp hands and speak briefly. John passes a small package to the other, who nods. The package disappears into a compartment in the gray armor.
A wave of John's arm beckons us over. The stranger turns to study us as we approach. His face shield is darkened against the harsh light so I can only dimly make out his features, but there's something in the way he stands that makes me think of my days in basic training. John introduces the man as Master Sergeant Earl Harris. Harris clasps hands with each of us in turn, seeming unfazed by Legion's presence.
"I see Zaeed Massani decided not to join you today," he says.
"He had a previous engagement," John says.
"He didn't want to see me again," comes the surprising rejoinder. "Or you didn't want him to see me. You know, I still owe him an ass-kicking."
John shrugs.
Harris lets the subject drop. He says, "It's a nice day for shooting. You ready to start?"
John moves to stand beside me, in line with the three of us. There's a subtle change in his stance. He's identifying himself as one of us now, not as the man in command. Harris seems to take this as his answer.
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The Competition