An unfamiliar maze. Two disgusting Vorcha by his side. A sniper rifle in his hands. That was all Captain Preitor Gavorn’s needed to know that something's wrong; nothing about this could be explained away by logic.

While he rarely talks about it, Gavorn’s sleep is plagued by night terrors. From wild chases to high stakes gambling losses, the Turian’s eyes have seen them all - and though he is always able to tell that he’s having a nightmare, he cannot force himself to wake up. Gavorn sighs heavily: he expects no less from tonight’s spectacle of choice, and curses his brain for concocting yet another nonsensical trial for him to go through.

Looking closer at the two Vorcha, he recognises one of them to be Shisk – of all the Vorcha in the world it had to be him. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, Gavorn also realises that neither Vorcha seems to want to attack him. In fact, their attention was trained somewhere else.

Shisk bares his teeth and snarls. “Filthy Gavorn! You kill big monster!” He frantically points his claws towards a faraway corner. Shisk’s friend was already charging off in that direction with a flamethrower.

Filthy? Big monster? Gavorn hates the way that Vorcha speak; why couldn’t they speak in full sentences? He decides to make use of the scope on his rifle to look for himself instead of trying to converse with Shisk. What greets him on the other side is a large purple horror: a giant crab-beetle amalgamation with many heads in its underbelly. A few seconds later, he sees the Vorcha throwing everything -- grenades, fire balls, bullets -- they have at it, while somehow finding time to yell insults at Gavorn.

The nightmare is all coming together.

Gavorn chuckles to himself. “Me… Head of the Vorcha Task Force. Working with these idiots.” Checking his ammo count and shaking his head, the Turian fires a shot at the ‘big monster’.
“For the sake of my sanity, someone, please, wake me up.”