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{\*\generator Msftedit 5.41.21.2510;}\viewkind4\uc1\pard\sa200\sl276\slmult1\lang9\f0\fs22\tab He sat in the dimly lit bar, taking a sip of his drink, watching and listening as people walked by. A pair of Batarians walked by, talking to eachother in almost a whisper. It was the same simple, meaningless setting, until one word peaked his interest. "Shepard". He turned his head slightly in their direction, now focusing to hear their conversation. They were far from him now, but he heard everything he needed to. "Shepard is coming back to earth." \par
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\tab Marauder Shields was your typical mercenary. He wasn't a top dollar man, but he could get the job done when and where it was needed. He had skills, but they aren't what you'd call "polished". Marauder Shields was looking for a way to give himself a name in the galaxy. What better way than to kill the one and only Commander Shepard? He knew this would be no small feat, and that Shepard had taken on scores of men at once and still came out victorious. He would have to train.\par
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\tab And so he did. Everyday, he would practice shooting his rifle, sharpening his aim. He went over his combat basics, to the point of doing them automatically. He tried every method of weapon training that he could find: taking hip shots upside down, shooting mid roll, even learning how to shoot his rifle and a pistol at the same time in different directions accurately. It was vigorous, and even by professionals' standards, beyond difficult, but he trained still. He knew that it would be in vain if he wasn't ready. \par
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\tab Then hell came upon the world; the Reaper invasion. No one was prepared for such an attack. The Reapers began taking all sorts of beings, twisting them with their metals and machines, stuffing them with wires and circuits, making them synthetic killing machines. Marauder Shields was no exception to their tortures. His body, rearranged and fit to metal, he was no longer a mercenary as he once was. He was now a tool of the Reapers. The synthetic additives took away most of what made him an organic being, but in their usurping of his weaker self, they gave him exactly what he had wished for through training. Enhanced reflexes, precision aim, brute strength, and one thing which he had not previously been capable of: shields. Marauder Shields was built and ready for the task he so long awaited.\par
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\tab He was held in a containment vessel with hundreds of other Turian synthetics, all of which looked identical to him. The vessel was on standby, awaiting a signal to drop the numerous husks onto enemy forces. The vessel had a strange system of doing so, as it didn't drop all at once, but selected the husks, dropping them individually down. As time passed, less and less Turian husks occupied the vessel with him, until soon, he was the only one left. \par
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\tab Abruptly, a light lit up above him - It was time. Metal walls unfolded, surrounding his small area in the vessel. They latched together, pressurized, and began to lurch downward. After a few moments of silence and stillness, it dropped. The tiny one-man ship rocketed down towards the planet, shaking violently as it went. Time appeared to stand still, and after what seemed an eternity, the container slowed, firing counter rockets, before finally touching down. The latched walls released and fell away, leaving Marauder Shields in the open. \par
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\tab Mere metres behind him was a towering pillar of blue light, almost too bright for his optic sensors to handle. The world he now stood upon lay covered in debris, bodies, and the black smoke of war. He knew he was here for a reason, and so grabbed his rifle, and took up hiding behind a piece of metal that jutted out from the ground. It was his job to guard the beacon, and let no one get to it. \par
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\tab Minutes passed without a single sound. He peeked around the metal wall that he took refuge behind, and saw a small squad of people, firing at lesser husks coming after them. He thought of opening fire on them, but saw a faint red beam high above. He knew what this was, and took even deeper cover behind the metal. \par
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\tab The red beam grew as it got closer to the the planet, and specifically, the squad. Seconds went by, and finally, it hit. With a dampened boom, the red beam collided, spreading heat over the area, a red hazy shockwave pulsing out. \par
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\tab Marauder Shields peaked out once more, to see the whole squad gone. The Reaper ships had fired at them, wiping them completely out. After a few moments, however, he saw someone stand up, limping their way in his direction, holding nothing but a pistol. It was Shepard.\par
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\tab His luck seemed almost uncanny, but he knew that it must've been planned. He loaded his rifle, adjusted his sights, and stood firmly against the metal debris, awaiting the moment to strike. \par
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\tab Shepard limped toward the beacon, shooting at the few lesser husks that charged him. Laying against a small piece of debris from the blast was one of his squadmates, too injured to move, possibly even dead. Shepard continued, fatigued and wounded.\par
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\tab Marauder Shields' organic heart beat fast. He had trained for this moment for a long time, and planned on making every shot count. As Shepard limped ever closer, and he decided that he was close enough.\par
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\tab He leapt out, taking a shot at Shepard. It nailed him in the shoulder, blood spattered and flew as the bullet tore through his flesh and bone. But he recoiled himself, and took aim with his pistol. He shot, nailing Marauder Shields, knocking out his shield protection. He was knocked back from the impact, but still well alive. Readying to take another shot, Shepard sent a round straight into his abdomen, synthetic and organic blood mixed flying outward. Marauder Shields stumbled, and Shepard took his final shot, landing it in Maraduer Shields' chest. \par
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\tab He fell over onto the catwalk. Not dead, but not at all alive, he looked onward, watching as Shepard continued limping his way towards the beacon. As Shepard walked past him, he desperately wanted to reach out for him, but was far too badly injured to move. \par
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\tab Marauder Shields' last sight was seeing Shepard disappear into the pillar of blue light, before he bled out from his wounds. \par
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\tab He was a simple mercenary, nothing too special, nothing noteworthy. A large dream was spawned out of a small idea. Through hard training, and a cruel turn of events, that dream become a reality. Pitted against his unknowing foe, he fought, and though hoping and wishing for victory, he was defeated. He was, however, content in the knowledge, that he died to the man whom he longed to combat. \par
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\tab His name was Marauder Shields. \par
}