Grunt gaped at the chaos known as a krogan daycare with utter bewilderment. He’d witnessed countless life-threatening situations in his life — Cerberus ambushes, reaper-controlled rachni nests, and even a goddamn Collector base. Hell, he lived for the adrenaline of battle in his veins, the scent of danger in the air, and the bone-crunching satisfaction of crushing a worthy enemy.
But babysitting? He hadn’t a clue. The voice in the tank hadn’t prepared him for this. And neither had Wrex. The leader of Clan Urdnot had given him, the formidable commander of the Aralakh Company, the task of… picking up his kids.
This was immensely confusing… and almost insulting. Wrex had trusted him with completing the toughest missions and executing the riskiest war strategies. Hadn’t he proved himself to that old fossil? Sure, Wrex’s decisions were often seen as unconventional to other krogan, but he never did anything without good reason. This, however, made even Grunt question the clan leader’s sanity.
Upon entering, Grunt was immediately mired in a cloud of dust and small krogan. All headbutting his shins or slapping him with an odd piece of varren they’d found. “Get out of my way, you pesky pyjaks!” he hollered like a battle cry, flinging away the many children who began to climb him like a small mountain. “Offspring of Urdnot Wrex! Come with me!”
The rotund babies paid him no heed. A few balled up into small boulders, rolling away from his grasp with surprising speed. The others screamed and laughed at his futile attempts to capture their peers.
“AAAH!” Grunt bellowed, stepping in a sizeable turd. “Why you little—”
A robust chuckle approached from behind. One of the female workers at the children’s camp. Her plates were the color of the Tuchanka sand, warm and inviting. The sway in her hip carried the regalness that said she might have descended from the ancient nobles. A single golden flower adorned the side of her crest.
“What’s the matter, soldier?” A twinkle of amusement ignited behind her peculiar blue eyes. He’d never met another krogan with blue eyes before. “Can’t handle a couple of kids?”
“HA!” he sneered indignantly. “You know nothing, female. I am—”
“The tank-bred,” she finished with a few unimpressed sniffs. “I’ve heard stories of you. You smell correct, but you will address me as Emma. Clan Urdnot.”
“Well then…Emma,” he growled, peeling a feisty krogan off his hump. “If you’ve heard of me, then you should know that rounding up a few baby pyjaks won’t be a problem. I am pure krogan. You should be in—AAAAAH!”
The tiny krogan in his arms chomped down on his fingers, gnashing right through gloves. Its iron jaw snapped shut on the digits, refusing release regardless of how hard Grunt shook.
“Well then, pure krogan!” Emma said. “Since you are so fearsome, I suppose you won’t be needing a hand.” With a hearty snort, the female sauntered away, leaving the legendary tank-bred to the droves of tiny krogan that descended upon him with unbridled glee and sticky claws.
i don’t know how to properly phrase the many emotions i have right now
oh my ever flipping glob
[Please take note that the commentary is just for fun. Bunch of sarcasm. Don’t take it too seriously. I am getting tired of these outfits, though.]
1. The classic Bikini Armor. If you’re lucky you might get an actual shoulder-pad!…