When you come to, Zaeed's stare meets yours. He's sitting at a fire. You suspect bits of the EVALSA are in there.

 
ZAEED

So the pretty ballerina's up from her beauty sleep.

You got one of them batarian's real cold blooded. Three shots straight in the head. Barely flinched, like a machine. But something was wrong, 'cause the next second you were lying dumb unconcious on the floor. Maybe it was the sand, but I if I've ever seen a pansy - and believe me I have - you don't like killing. Seems the situation pushed you to an unwanted conclusion. Seen many men like that, faint at the smallest sign of blood. Pansies, but it's nothing but their minds fault. Bit of a paradox with you though. How'd you become so good if you don't like it.

What's more, though Archangel's no murderer, he's had to take out legions. Either, like I said, you got hit on that head of your's pretty hard, or picking off targets from behind the scope ain't nothing compared to the blood and guts of killing up close and personal.

But anyway, are you feeling capable?

<
 
ARCHY

Ehh.. ughh... Yyyeaa. (you have trouble articulating)

 

<
 
ZAEED

Well then, you seem well enough. We better get moving.

 

<
 

You gather your strength, and although you're pretty badly bruised and beat up, you don't feel as if anything's broken. As you stand you take your first glimpse of this world. It's a barren dessert. Nothing beyond sand dunes. The heat is very intense, which together with your crash induced head trauma, leaves you feeling very faint. The idea that you're going to have to travel in this state for however long makes you feel weaker still.

As you take your first step, you feel the slight tang of a pain in your left leg.

 
ZAEED

Careful with that ankle, or whatever you turians would call it. You twisted it pretty bad on our landing. I applied some medi-gel when you were still out. Doesn't seem broken. It'll probably mend itself soon enough as long as you don't go sprinting about for a while. I need you to take care, who knows how long we'll be walking until we find some signs of domestication.

<
 

His rifle still points at you

 
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