Massive Disaster 5-21A (Patreon)

“Twenty-second century, doin’ something mean to it…”Ozone. 

Gun oil.The tang of high-grade cleaning solvents strong enough to mask the sweat of dozens of marines and their grimy fingers.

All of those combined made for a sweet aroma of effervescent engineering while in the utilitarian graybox of the Normandy’s armory. A nightmare of basic Alliance standardization any other day sure; but right now, it was a playground.

“Do it better than anybody you ever seen do it…”

Zedd’s personal playground.

As much as he was having fun and relaxing — jacket tossed over the back of a chair as he stood there in a too-tight black shirt — it was an unfortunate fact of the day that his playground came with a minder.

He didn’t need the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up tall for him to notice, the highly-irritated shifting of ceramic-plated boots against the deck enough of a sign.

The Grumpy Gunny herself, Ashley Williams; the Normandy’s professional complainer.

“Screams from the haters, got a nice ring to it,I guess every superhero need his theme music.”

Her hovering presence was pushed firmly to the back of his mind, a useful compartmentalization as he focused fully on the illuminated surface of the workbench he stood over. Fingers moved with precise mechanical steadiness, black gloves translating his movements to something only measurable on the scale of microns; each careful adjustment visible behind a magnification screen.

“No one man should have all that powerThe clock's ticking, I just count the hours.”A moderately faulty micro-capacitor ripped straight out of a ruined rifle sat there — stripped and separated from unnecessary parts — right next to the gutted and woefully inefficient core of a standard-issue shield emitter. Hahne-Kedar make, figures.

Nothing against the HK company, of course, but they were considered ‘stock’ for a reason. Very much ‘lowest-bidder-with-standards’ hardware. Really, a miner out in the Terminus could pick one up and be good to use it in a firefight in seconds and, while that wasn’t a bad thing at all, Zedd really felt they’d be better off sticking to their strengths.

Namely, building better combat mechs.

“Stop tripping, I'm tripping off the power22nd-century schizoid man.”The lyrics came with a huff as he stuck his tongue out. Alliance tech. That same tongue clicked the longer he stared at the components in front of him slowly coming together to match the blue wireframe his glasses projected in front of his eyeline. Swap the baseline for a tighter lattice…

That was pretty much the largest and most important part of this design, necessary for a more compact field-shape. 

And compact was literally the name of the game here.

The heavy armory blast doors hissed open, two sets of footsteps entering confined space. One heavy, grounded, and distinctly human, while the other was a metallic click-clack that was too light to be anything but on the balls of the feet.

“-nd that’s why I think a good chunk of C-Sec should be spaced.”

“Strong opinion, but you’ve raised some good points.”“I appreciate that, John.”

Shepard. Vakarian. Zedd clicked his tongue again, but company wasn’t gonna pull him out of the zone any time soon.

“The system broken, and the school's closed, the prisons openWe ain't got nothin' to lose, motherfucker, we rollin'.”

"You called for me, Ashley?" The Commander’s voice echoed just the slightest bit against metallic walls, resonant baritone just the slightest bit strained with whatever in his head was weighing him down. 

Zedd didn't turn around, eyes locked on a soldering laser, but he still heard the sharp crisp snap of Ashley Williams producing a textbook salute.

"Yes, Commander.” The Gunnery Chief’s words came out clipped. “I did.”

A long exhale left the man’s lips, Zedd unable to miss the tinge of exhaustion bleeding into his sigh; whether from comman or whatever else. "...For what, exactly?" 

There was near-silence in the armory for a moment before a hushed whisper that barely carried over the ambient hum of the ship sounded out. "Him.” At least, it wouldn't have carried to standard human ears. Zedd, on the other hand, didn’t need to look back or up to perfectly picture the rigid finger aimed directly at his spine. "He’s been here for two hours now."

Zedd pinched a delicate wire into place, biting back a sigh before he finally acknowledged her presence for the first time in fifteen minutes.

"You know I can see you pointing, right?" His drawl bounced back to her, easily audible in the cramped space of the armory. “Very rude, Williams.

Why so tight in here anyway? Even with all the salvage and tools lying around, the place was more like a side hallway had combined itself with a walk-in closet. Don’t tell me they shoved this place in last minute. Considering how long it took for him to find it in the ass end of the Engineering Deck, it honestly seemed like exactly that the more he gave thought to it. 

"Like there’s mirrors right above this workstation.” He glanced up at the reflective surface of the tool cabinet. “Tactical awareness and all that."

The deepened scowl on Ashley’s face, highlighted by the harsh fluorescents, made it very clear she hadn’t actually noticed that. 

“Commander. Vakarian.” Zedd hid his snort at Ashley as he greeted both men before going back to his work.“Victors.” The turian raised two fingers as he rasped out his name. 

"And what’s the problem, exactly?" Shepard didn’t bother with a greeting past a nod before aiming the question at the Gunnery Chief. “I’m still confused as to why I’m here.”

"Well," Ashley stammered slightly, her rhythm breaking for a moment as she did her best to regain her footing. "He’s been stripping spare parts off damaged weapons. Digging through armor crates for who knows what on top of that. He’s completely dismantled requisitioned equipment!"

"Broken requisitioned equipment, right? Is that not allowed?" Garrus tilted his head, the Turian’s voice laced with dry curiosity as he crossed his arms. “In C-Sec, if it’s broken, well… it’s scrap. If it’s scrap, it’s parts. Alliance isn’t a fan of resource management, I take it.”

The glare on Ashley’s face could have melted through inches of ablative plating, and it was only the Turian’s cool exterior that kept him safe. “This is a classified stealth frigate, Vakarian, not a chop shop on Omega.”

“Alright.” Shepard pinched the bridge of his nose, the man clearly blinking his way past an impending headache. "Okay, Ashley. I respect your respect for protocol regarding proper requisition orders. I really do.”“It’s my position, sir.”“Yes, and you are fulfilling your duties to an exceptional degree.” Shepard nodded at those words, Ashley’s frown fading a little bit for a smile to poke through. “However…”

And just like that, the frown was back.“I really don’t think it's much of an issue for someone to use whatever broken salvage they can find in the armory bins. We're hunting a rogue Spectre here, Ashley. If he can make something useful out of garbage, well…”The Commander raised an eyebrow. “Just let him."

“Sir, I’m aware I’m new to the Normandy…” Ashley’s whisper returned, the woman determined to find a volume Zedd couldn’t hear her at. "But I was led to believe that I was supposed to be the one in charge of the weapons locker, Commander. You're giving a civilian free reign to build who-knows-what using official Alliance equipment, sir."

“Do…” John’s hand found his face, the outline of a five o’clock shadow getting a rubdown as the man allowed himself a sigh. "Do you even know what he’s doing, Ashley?"

Ashley crossed her arms, ceramic plates clacking loudly on contact. "Who knows?" 

"You know you can just ask.” Zedd cut off the last of the laser tool, high-beam vanishing as he finished with the last of his welding needs.

In the mirror, there she went again. Frowning.

“Well, then…” Commander Shepard made his way up with Garrus behind him, both of their boots heavy on the deck as they stopped just behind Zedd's shoulder. "Would you mind sharing with the class, Zedd? Before the Chief writes me up for gross negligence?"“I’d hate to see you court-martialed, Commander.” Zedd pulled his hands free of the thin haptic gloves and tossed them onto the same chair holding his jacket.

“So would I.”

With a snort, Zedd turned around to lean back against the metal counter, one elbow resting against the edge of the workbench as he held out his other hand. 

In the center of his palm sat a pristine chrome sphere, the thing nearly completely smooth apart from the intricate curving lines that traced all over its surface to converge perfectly at a point the size of a keyhole at the front of it. Roughly the size of a baseball, those same lines seemed to pulse with a soft blue light almost perfectly color-matched to Zedd’s jacket and glasses. 

Garrus leaned in, mandibles slightly open "...What is it?"

"Meet Lil V." The grin spreading across Zedd’s face was unapologetic and indulgent as he splayed his fingers out wider, the blue-light sections glowing brighter at the sound of the given designation. "Lil V Prime, to be exact. My newest toy."

A faint hum filled the air as the sphere detached from Zedd's palm, keyhole eye coming to life with a bright blue wink. It hovered exactly three inches above his skin, the drone bobbing slightly as it shifted on an invisible axis. "He’s a brand-new type of combat drone. My type." 

The little sphere rotated in mid-air to 'look' at Garrus, the Turian blinking back at it. "Took me a good two hours to put him together. Gonna make him some little brothers too.” Zedd let his hand drop, the drone unbothered as it stayed where it was with a chiming beep. “Gets kinda boring shooting absolutely everything yourself, you know? Figured I’d automate some of the grunt work."

John Shepard stared at the hovering ball before tracing down to the stripped parts all around Zedd, the question clear in his eyes even as it remained unspoken. “Interesting.” The N7 marine, veteran of Elysium, simply blinked twice. “Ashley, your opinion?”"...It's cute."

Look who has a heart. Zedd tapped the side of the sphere, the thing chiming back. "He is, isn't he?"