There was a pause in the onslaught, a quite respite in which Loral relished for but a moment. A few guards had made their way up, finding the smoking barrel of his Phalanx at their heads. The bodies had gone limp the moment they'd traversed the corner, taking more than a few shots from the uber responsive quarian—he didn't appreciate the term panicked. The quite had gotten to him then and the surprise of charging footsteps and gun toting guards had successfully broken him out of deep thought. Panicked was the correct term, but a doctor would find the fear of that word at the apex of his 'danger list'. A panicked doctor usually meant a dead patient. Loral could be a cold hearted son of a bitch, but the death of a patient meant he wasn't giving the service he promised to provide.

And it meant a lost life, which is precious. That was debatable, at least to Loral.

The sudden appearance of his fellow quarian surprised him almost as much, the jump and near pistol whip made that obvious. Loral brushed it off, however, mostly for his own relief. From a cursory glance, Kali seemed energetic, if not a tad bit antsy. He did not perceive it to be more than that, though it was logical to be somewhat nervous, if not jittery, in a situation like the one they were currently in. No one could expect a greenhorn to be perfectly calm or excited about war and battle; if they were, they were most likely considered cannon fodder. It was the sad truth of it or maybe it was just Loral being unnecessarily pessimistic.

Looking down at her, he was glad his visor was tinted enough to hide his frown. Maybe not the flinch that squeezed his eyes, but he didn't ping Kali as that observant when it came to physical cues. Loral was tempted to withhold information about his exile, but the girl would find out whether she'd like to or not.

"I hide behind vengeance as an excuse," he answered, looking down the hallway, "Siame mercilessly killed my crew because they could not afford proper funds to strip the ship of its pirate flairs. They left me stranded on a newly founded Turian colony world to witness two of my crew fall prey to the wildlife. I would say that is sufficient amount of fuel to sign onto a suicide mission like this."

The gunfire caught his attention for a split second, pausing to give the hallways a quick look. He did this twice out of necessity before continuing, now staring down at Kali—where he thought her eyes were. "But, if you want my honest answer, I'm here to gather equipment for my research, info, whatever I can find that will help me in what I wish to accomplish. My crew is dead, so they no longer matter to me," Loral paused again, his frown still hidden, though it was evident now in the way he slouched and spoke. He'd not realizing the sharp turn in subject matter he'd just made, connecting unspoken thoughts with words, "Our people personify our kind as creatures, beasts, and nightmare fuel to tell to their children for good reason. There are certain things best left unsaid, spoken in rhymes and riddles to erase us from text, but leave our actions as a testament to abide by and to learn from. I cannot hide what I am, nor do I wish to; it is your discretion whether you still trust me. However, I would not ask further my reasons for being here or my reason for being, at all."

It took guts to admit one's wrongs, but what Loral felt was his mistake was the failure, otherwise he'd not have been there to pursue blindly and zealously his goal. He had the answer in the palm of his hands, yet he could not show them the sweets behind what they deemed a rotten surface.