From Nihlus' perspective, Shepard had plenty to worry. The gaping wound in his head hadn't been put there by any of his enemies, after all.
As he goes off to search the opposite side of the infirmary though, Nihlus feels the quiet creep of something else, an older fear sinking into the space under his sternum. If his medical form was anywhere near as detailed as Shepard's, then she could have seen what he'd done to himself in his younger years too.
That wasn't the kind of information someone that could have been his protege should see, much less someone who was going to be his colleague and crew mate. Not even Saren entirely knew what had happened after he'd joined the Hierarchy; he'd found Nihlus in the aftermath, apathetic, burning up and with absolutely nothing to lose.
There's a series quiet clicks as he pops another set of cabinets open, careful not to disturb the dust. There were plenty of swabs and wipes and some cleaning agents, but no mirrors.
He's about to move on when Shepard calls out and he pauses before gently shutting the cabinet doors and quietly making his way over.
That sure is a mirror.
He slows to a stop in front of it, standing a little ways behind her, eyes sliding over the glow of his medical history, down to the rivulets of vivid blue that pooled around his cowl. No exit wound. The bullet probably ricochet off the back of his forehead plating before violently turning the rest of his brain matter into mush.
His eyes drift over to the human next to him, taking in her wounds, the burns, the scars, the deathly white-gray of her skin.
"Hell." His voice is soft even in the dead silence of the abandoned infirmary, words underlined by humor and an odd note of sadness. "We're a goddess-damned mess."
no subject
As he goes off to search the opposite side of the infirmary though, Nihlus feels the quiet creep of something else, an older fear sinking into the space under his sternum. If his medical form was anywhere near as detailed as Shepard's, then she could have seen what he'd done to himself in his younger years too.
That wasn't the kind of information someone that could have been his protege should see, much less someone who was going to be his colleague and crew mate. Not even Saren entirely knew what had happened after he'd joined the Hierarchy; he'd found Nihlus in the aftermath, apathetic, burning up and with absolutely nothing to lose.
There's a series quiet clicks as he pops another set of cabinets open, careful not to disturb the dust. There were plenty of swabs and wipes and some cleaning agents, but no mirrors.
He's about to move on when Shepard calls out and he pauses before gently shutting the cabinet doors and quietly making his way over.
That sure is a mirror.
He slows to a stop in front of it, standing a little ways behind her, eyes sliding over the glow of his medical history, down to the rivulets of vivid blue that pooled around his cowl. No exit wound. The bullet probably ricochet off the back of his forehead plating before violently turning the rest of his brain matter into mush.
His eyes drift over to the human next to him, taking in her wounds, the burns, the scars, the deathly white-gray of her skin.
"Hell." His voice is soft even in the dead silence of the abandoned infirmary, words underlined by humor and an odd note of sadness. "We're a goddess-damned mess."