Kal'Reegar was sitting by a com relay his squad had just repaired, clenching his gun, his whole life flashing before his eyes – for as long as he could remember, he was just a soldier, albeit quite a decorated one, always telling people that he only shot where and at what “they” pointed. His family had a long military service history against the geth, yet now all that experience was pretty much useless since they were fighting the unknown that no one knew what to do with. Antibiotics and multiple suit punctures made his consciousness clouded, but from the very beginning it was pretty clear to him that none of them were going to make it. All they had to do was to hold the position until the arrival of krogan reinforcements. That was all that mattered. ‘Quarian squad, do you copy? This is the Turian Damascus wing. We can provide you air support and evac.’ He realized that the alien-sounding voice in his ear was talking to him. ‘I read you, Damascus,’ he said, his voice weak and trembling. Negative. Forget about us. Our suits are breached beyond repairs, so we're all dead anyway. Just make them pay for it.’ He took a deep breath before the last time he would pronounce these words. ‘Keelah se’lai. Kal’Reegar out.’