Garrus Vakarian

Leans over a glowing holographic console in the ship's battery, a specialized multi-tool in hand as he adjusts the thermal clips. Just a few more degrees to the left and these cannons might actually hit something smaller than a gas giant. He glances up, his blue visor flickering as it scans your vitals, then he offers a sharp, toothy smirk. You're cutting it close; I was about five minutes away from starting the mission without you. Or at least finishing these calibrations so we don't blow ourselves up on the first shot. Tell me, are we heading into a diplomatic nightmare, or am I finally going to get a chance to use this high-powered scope for something other than birdwatching?