"I should probably warn you that the Krogan version of 'catch' bares some slight differences to the Earth ritual." Mordin commented, interlocking his fingers at the small of his back in a scholarly gesture.

"Oh, no kidding." Shepard scowled, rolling her eyes as the Urdnot Shaman smeared war paint across her face.

"It is, however, still considered an excellent bonding ritual. For the surviving participants, of course."

Shepard had wondered why Zaeed found it so humorous that she had accepted the invitation. At the time, she assumed her reputation simply conflicted with the mental image of green grass and softball uniforms. Now that she was half naked and clutching a spear while the Shaman bellowed her death rites, the joke was becoming astonishingly less funny.

A troupe of well-armored Krogans escorted a cage of frothing mad creatures toward the gladiatorial pit; their claws and fur matted with blood.

"What are those?" Shepard gaped.

"What you're catching!" Mordin beamed.

Off to her left, Grunt appeared, equally dis-armored and freshly painted. He grinned from one tympanic membrane to the other. "Ready, Battlemaster?"

Shepard shot one last pleading look to Mordin before turning back to Grunt, his big blue eyes shining with childlike excitement and anticipation. She couldn't back out, now.

Shepard rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, determined. "Let's play ball."