Ellis stood, staring at the beautiful Turian for quite some time. During this time, his suit injected its hourly dosage of painkillers, a sensation that Ellis, despite having been used to this feature for years, this time took it for the flutterings of infatuation.

[i]This can't be love... It can't be not her.... Not a- [/i]

[i]Drell? Aliens from the furthest reaches, and not another human in sight. Even Anderson is barely human, consorting and fraternizing with the most vile of races. Quarians? Evolution hass been trying to wipe them out for a long time. Krogans? Unintelligent brutes. Turians? Men with the brains of birds, disgusting creatures... With such a symmetrical face... And lovely eyes-[/i]

[i]No. No no no.[/i]

Ellis fought his urges with everything he had. He was pulled out of his spiritual war by the Batarian, suddenly peeling the Asari, Vella, off of the Geth. He reprimanded her. Ellis watched the male Turian, Tiberius, dealing with a packet of cigars. They looked nice. He was sure they smelled nice, too. It pained him often that he was unable to engage in simple acts of comraderie, just like everyone else. His body wouldn't allow it. 

[i]Her body looksso healthy, so athletic...[/i]

[i]Just another reason she would never want you.[/i]

[i]I would kill for her...[/i]

[i]You would kill for fun, if it were a financially stable career.[/i]

[i]I'd die for her.[/i]

[i]Would you?[/i]

The Drell announced himself. Gilvert Somner, a demo specialist. Ellis' first thought was, [i]Seems unstable.[/i] His second thought followed suit.

[i]Takes one to know one, you fucking freak.[/i]

Again, Ellis was overtaken by the urge to draw his weapon, but this time, the impulse was to unload a full magazine into the Spectres that had that summoned that demonic [i]beautiful[/i] avian [i]graceful[/i] whore [i]goddess[/i] to this place , along with all these other disgusting animals.

He forced it down, [i]save it for battle, you dumb motherfucker.[/i] His eyes scanned the area, desperate for a distraction.

The Batarian was shaking the hand of the Geth. [i]This is weird, wild stuff.[/i] His eyes threatened to wander back to that [i]gorgeous woman[/i] alien abomination. He forced them back, willing his thoughts to focus on the oddity of an organic shaking hands with a synthetic. Ellis wondered if it were possible that the Geth understood, on some level, what a gesture like that meant, or even comprehended that a pact of any kind was being made at all. He wondered, particularly [i]is she single[/i] if the Geth had any experience with organics. It was, after all, fully plausible that [i]she prefers humans[/i] Geth, as a self aware entity of a sort, could comprehend emotion and expression.

He glanced toward the Spectres, second guessing his decision to join. [i]It can only bring turmoil.[/i]

[i]But this is whatI came to do. To do good. To make a difference.[/i]

[i]You only want to feel better about your choices. You would die for the greater good?[/i]

[i]I would die for her.[/i]

[i]You don't even know her.[/i] His gaze wandered back to the beautiful Turian. 

[i]I would die all the same.[/i] 

[i]You pompous, naive, disfigured dotard, you will never redeem yourself. She will never care for you. You have nothing to offer the good and decent people of the galaxy. They are not like you-[/i]

[i]Shut up.[/i]

[i]'Shut up?' You're a freak.[/i]

[i]I'm not a freak.[/i]

[i]You're violent and unstable.[/i]

[i]I have it under control.[/i]

[i]Do you? Because right now, you're talking to no one.[/i]

Concealed by his armor, Ellis sweated profusely. Tears poured down his face. His teeth gritted, fists clenched, he ordered NERO to shut off his external speakers, and screamed, long and loud, letting off as much turmoil as he could. 

Surprisingly, this was not an uncommon episode for Ellis. The feelings were, but the response was not. This often happened when he was faced with high stress environments. His body naturally reacted to stress with violence. He ached for combat, to wash away these feelings in the purest of elixirs: enemy blood.

A song came to mind, one that his father had been fond of singing while loading up shipments of illegal weapons, ammunition, and ordinance.
[i]I ain't going back
To Barton Hollow,
Devil's gonna follow me 
e'er I go.
Won't do me no good
washing in the river,[/i]

[i]Can't no preacher man save my soul.[/i]