It’s a tight squeeze. I don’t think this crawl space was designed to fit a fully decked out marine. I guess I shouldn’t complain though- I have no idea how Wrex is even managing to move behind me.
“If you had told me this morning that a toothbrush was going to save the Normandy, I’d have been very skeptical,” says Lola, crawling along in fronts of us. At least I can’t complain about the view.
I feel the pull of the ship as she leaves dry dock; it seems we made it on board just in time. I can hear the mercs moving around above us as we approach the CIC. Joker is going to be so pissed.
“Pretty sure we broke Traynor’s toothbrush,” whispers Shepard. “Remind me to reimburse her for that.”
“Really?” I whisper back, exasperated. “That’s what your worried about right now?”
“Little cramped in here,” chimes in Wrex. Lola glares at him over her shoulder, but I’m not sure how he
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