"You know, I never could pinpoint why shootouts always seemed so boring," Garrus mutters from behind his scope, the side of his rifle jammed up against one of the ship's lopsided support beams and wedged in on a seam to act as a sort of makeshift tripod. His shots are clean, trail off in short, controlled bursts to slip past the white hot streaks of enemy fire the second it crops up.

The crouched silhouette of a Geth Sniper snaps back over itself and tumbles down through the corridor as he pulls back to eject yet another spent thermal clip. "Now I get it: why waste time with cover when we could just be throwing ourselves at their faces?"