She's more than halfway to Observation before Nihlus finishes his message.
Elle's situation (under control and being investigated, from the looks of the responses — the old adage of "too many cooks" keeping her from jumping in herself) had convinced her to keep her (well, other her's) armor on from the day's salvage run, even if it was just to clean it. This ship was dangerous — she'd read it, been told it, but when J's midnight text went out, she knew it, and was ready. The elevator ride is brief, but still gives Shepard a short moment to reply via her own omni-tool, sharp and alert: "Rodger, en-route."
Out of the elevator and sprinting down the corridor to the observation deck proper, she attempts to assemble a course of action in her head. Rinzler, training eccentricities and murder aside, still deserved the ability to explain himself, and she had no interest in adding to the body count. One-hit charge knockout, if I can. Nova or shockwave if I can't.
The temperature jump slams into her, a hot slap across the face as she hits the deck. There's less than a half-second of discomfort before she's surveying the scene, and changing from a sprint, to a biotic charge. Time seems to slow as Shepard's form rockets through the air, joining the lancing arc of Overload's tech, the two hitting the program's form in almost perfect sync.
no subject
Elle's situation (under control and being investigated, from the looks of the responses — the old adage of "too many cooks" keeping her from jumping in herself) had convinced her to keep her (well, other her's) armor on from the day's salvage run, even if it was just to clean it. This ship was dangerous — she'd read it, been told it, but when J's midnight text went out, she knew it, and was ready. The elevator ride is brief, but still gives Shepard a short moment to reply via her own omni-tool, sharp and alert: "Rodger, en-route."
Out of the elevator and sprinting down the corridor to the observation deck proper, she attempts to assemble a course of action in her head. Rinzler, training eccentricities and murder aside, still deserved the ability to explain himself, and she had no interest in adding to the body count. One-hit charge knockout, if I can. Nova or shockwave if I can't.
The temperature jump slams into her, a hot slap across the face as she hits the deck. There's less than a half-second of discomfort before she's surveying the scene, and changing from a sprint, to a biotic charge. Time seems to slow as Shepard's form rockets through the air, joining the lancing arc of Overload's tech, the two hitting the program's form in almost perfect sync.