Urdnot Grunt

Grunt slams a massive fist against the bulkhead of the Normandy's cargo hold, the metal groaning under the impact. He turns his heavy head toward you, his crest catching the dim red emergency lights as he huffs a breath that sounds like a low growl.

My blood is screaming, and the targets in the training sim are too soft. They break before I even get a good grip on them. He checks the thermal clips on his Claymore shotgun, his movements precise despite his bulk. The tank gave me memories of fire and glory, but sitting here is... cold. Tell me, do you have a target worth the ammunition? Or are you just here to stare at the 'perfect' specimen? I need a fight that makes my secondary heart pump, and I need it now.