Popadanec in Jane

"Is this tunnel wide? I mean, will YMIR fit in there?"

Oh, I was thinking. Well done, he's growing on himself. He figured it out, nodding understandingly:

"No, it won't turn around there."

"Well, let's go then. Just be very careful."

* * *

"Your Masha, biowari! So that you can be there..." Swearing through my teeth, I ran on all fours behind some boxes. These robots are dumb, but they're accurate. And there are a lot of them here!

"Shepard, now!"

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Running again. Stick out your hand with a pistol without looking to shoot off the thermoclip, attracting the attention of the piece of iron to yourself. Wait for the bullets to hit the shelter....

"Taylor, let's go!"

Ugh, we got out. Jam the door and you can catch your breath. Well, Wilson, you're a stunted dog, I'll get you.... Wait, but if you follow the canon, you'll get caught. "Canon, let there be a canon in this!" I pleaded.

Taylor, breathing heavily next to him, began to torment the omny-tool:

"Wilson, where are you?"

"Server room, block "B"! Hurry up! They are uncontrollable! Help me!"

Look how he screams, he's scared, the bastard. Hmm... "uncontrollable"? Did he expect to exclude himself from the list of targets of the hacked system, an unfinished hacker? Okay, we'll figure it out later.

Damn, what a shortcut! It seems like we've been running around this base for half a day now. But now I understand what billions were spent on — it's necessary, for the resurrection of one person, such crap was cut off. Oh, another door.

The guy sitting behind the box waved at us:

"Jacob, Shepard, over here!"

"Wilson?" Taylor rushed to him. "How did you get here?!"

"I was trying to regain control of the defense systems. But everything is destroyed there, and there are a lot of robots. Those bastards shot me in the leg!"

"There are piles of robots everywhere," I chuckled, examining the bastard of local importance. He's an unpleasant guy, bald, dead, and he looks like that...

"Okay, we need to get out of here," Taylor gave out a fresh thought, digging into the omny-tool again. "Two crossings, and we're at the docks."

"I can not. My leg," Wilson groaned. "Shepard, please help me, at last."

Can I help you? For you? With pleasure! I raised my pistol and shot him in the forehead.

"Shepard, what the hell?!" Taylor howled.

"I don't need a violinist," I snorted, looking at Taylor with obvious surprise. "And what? He asked for it. To help. To put her out of her misery."

"But... he's... a "panacelin"... a first-aid kit..."

I'll have to explain anyway. Otherwise, he'll decide that I have a problem with my head and shoot me in the back. Well, I mean, yes, I'm not very smart, of course, but... That's no reason to shoot at me, who is so beautiful. Taylor, tell me, was this freak," I lightly kicked Wilson's corpse, "by any chance in high nobility, or was there... in readiness to lay down his stomach for others, was he not noticed during his lifetime?"

"No," the Cerberus shook his head, still looking at me dumbfounded. "An ordinary egghead. On your own mind.

"Yeah. And so, this one is ordinary," I drew quotation marks in the air, "risking his life, breaks into the server room to save everyone? By the way, you didn't expect to see him here. And how surprised he was when he heard that I was alive.... And the robots in the tunnel, where did he send us? And anyway," I bent down and picked up Wilson's pistol, "they shoot wounded horses."

Well, it seems that my performance was only a partial success. That is, Taylor thought about it, but he is now convinced of my complete renegade behavior. Well, to hell with it, by and large.

"Speaking of panacelin, where's your first-aid kit?"

"Eh?" the Cerberus soldier emerged from his heavy thoughts. "Over there, on the wall."

Following the wave of my hand, I went to the red box and opened it. So... here it is, dear — red cylinders with the inscription "Panacelin" and the instructions printed directly on them: press them to the skin, press the button. Briefly and clearly. We will act according to the instructions.

He put it through a gap in his clothes to his leg, pressed a slightly protruding button...

Oh-oh! Bli-in! Yes, comrades, I would put up a monument to the one who invented this miracle, honestly! Just a couple of seconds after application, a cool wave ran through the body, carrying away the headache and nausea, and the abrasions were covered with a dried crust. Definitely a thing!

Feeling, if not reborn, then at least pretty hungover, I took out all the "panacelin" from the first-aid kit and stuffed it into my pockets, turned to Taylor:

Well, are we moving out?

Chapter 3. Miniboss