Mass Effect: Void (In Character)

Elysium, three weeks ago…


At the time, all was heavy and dark, dulling the senses as the water was the entirety of the world, amplifying the darkness of a dying day. Her muscles ached as she pushed them to their limits, her lungs screaming for air as she willed herself to continue, racing against the blanket of the fading light. Tanya Carson knew that the sun was quickly dipping below the horizon, already obscured by the forest on the far side of the lake. Soon it would be night, and the temperatures would plummet. Making her way home in the darkness of the Elysium countryside in a wet, form hugging swimsuit on her bicycle in the cold would not be a pleasant experience. It was exactly what she was hoping for.


The demand for oxygen and the approaching shoreline forced her to surface, the quiet, serene night broken by sounds carried by the air, a dozen chirping insects and the few nocturnal amphibians that called Lake Helios home. Far to the west, the white-orange skyline of Illyria shone like a beacon, guiding the way home. Tanya rose from the water, feeling the water prick like needles in the night air on her skin, taunt and smooth like an athlete but blemished by the occasional scar from combat injuries sustained as her time as an Alliance Marine in the 63^rd Expeditionary Force and during her time with Nova. She smiled at the memories, as enough time had passed to only keep the positive things in focus. She had tried to keep in contact with her former team members to various degrees of success. The Extranet packets the galaxy used to keep in contact with itself used an overwhelming amount of information and memory, where Citadel and military agencies had priority access to the packets and could receive updated information in as little as 15 minutes, and it trickled down through smaller government agencies and businesses, where the wait times were somewhat longer. What wasn’t claimed by such purposes was auctioned off to service providers, who in turn sold plans for packet use to individual consumers. Tanya paid a modest fee to receive updates twice a week, which was a hell of a lot better than some plans. Some people had to wait up to two weeks to receive updated information, which would be hell for someone waiting for important news. Tanya was a woman who liked to keep up to date, and what few close friends she had resided several systems away. She had no regrets paying for the service.


Water shoes protected Tanya’s feet as she walked towards where her bike was leaning against a steel bench, unchained as the beach was remote and the odds of anyone stealing her property was slim. Not that she worried about that, Elysium was relatively crime free, a community forged tightly after the Skyllian Blitz. People tended to band together when a larger, external threat was known. It had been less than a decade since the Blitz, and scars still remained from the hostilities. It was because of Nova’s efforts that the Alliance was able to effectively respond, potentially saving countless lives in the process. While Elysium had been costly to the team and nearly broke Tanya mentally due to her post traumatic stress disorder, she felt drawn to the world she had helped save. It reminded her of what it felt like to be a marine, only instead of dealing with crushing loss and crippling mental trauma, she knew what it felt like to succeed in doing something good. She never told any of her neighbours or pub patrons about her involvement during the Blitz, but she enjoyed being in their company, reflecting that the people she saw on a weekly basis may not have been there had Nova not intervened. It was an empowering feeling, and for someone who had their life completely shattered in the past, it was redemption. Her hand brushed over a largely faded scar as she mounted the bike, smiling. While she’d never be rid of her scars, physical or otherwise, they healed enough to no longer be the burdens they used to. She recalled the young, eager woman who joined the Systems Alliance, determined to follow in her father’s footsteps. It had only been the past couple years she was able to look into the mirror and see herself once again. She still woke up from time to time in a sweat or with a scream from the scars, but it no longer defined her and she better coped with it. She could actually look at a batarian and not see a heartless, bloodthirsty monster cutting a little girl’s throat, no more than nine or ten, with vicious, bladed armour as she tried to reach the safety to the Alliance line that was on the verge of collapse. They were no longer all nothing but slavers, rapists, and murdering monsters. They were people, and despite their crimes, she’d also seen the good in them as she fought alongside men and woman who put their lives on the line to free the humans of Anhur from the cold, cruel batarian run government. Many of the abolitionists were batarian, wanting to find peace with humanity. A couple of her Friday night drinking buddies were even batarians. I’ve come a long way, Tanya reflected as she kicked off her bike down the dirt path towards the glow of the city, the pedal powered light illuminating the way.


Twenty-three minutes later, she arrived at her home, one of the first non-prefabricated homes on the planet that was a log cabin with modern sensibilities, including granite countertops, interior stone walls, large bulletproof glass windows and doors overlooking Lake Helios, and décor that wouldn’t look entirely out of place in a decent Citadel Ward apartment. It had quite a few automated security features, and due to the remote location of the cabin, where the nearest neighbour was a ten minute walk away, it never hurt to take extra precautions to secure her home. The garage door slid open at a signal from her omni-tool to the side, into the heavy carved stone base under the cabin itself, where a motorcycle and a buggy with retractable panels sat under clean white light. Elysium had a much more alpine climate than Earth, and certainly Terra Nova, and the spring and summer months rarely got above long sleeve weather. Despite this, the winters weren’t overly brutal due to the much slighter tilt of the axis when compared to Earth. As a result, the difference between summer and winter was usually about ten degrees difference on average. There was a reason it was considered an alpine paradise, after all.


She let gravity and momentum carry her bike down the ramp into the garage and Tanya gracefully guided it into its rack. On various tables across the garage, tools and parts were laid out neatly with a dozen projects on the go with various states of completion, and the largely underground garage also doubled as a workshop where she had a hoist to raise vehicles up, a small crane to lift out engine blocks and other heavy hardware, and several other specialty tools she had collected over the years. It wasn’t as nice as her workshop on Tyrus, the old frigate she used to call home, but it worked. After all, she had to start from scratch after the Shadow Broker’s agents took everything. While she missed her old, well-worn tools, new ones did the job and still had legible markings, being not abused by years of constant hard work and use. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had to keep up on the demanding requirements the Mako and Kodiak demanded. Her bike and buggy were almost too easy to entirely dismantle and throw back together compared to proper military hardware. Tanya sighed, thinking about that made her miss Tyrus and her crew.


Closing the garage door, Tanya headed up the stairwell and unlocked the door towards her home, coming into the kitchen, feeling the heat wash over her cold, still-damp body. A housecoat hung on a hanger by the entranceway and she draped it around her shoulders, hugging her body with a familiar warmth. She headed to the refrigerator, putting a glass from the counter under a dispenser built into the door to fill it. As she watched the glass fill with water, a sharp rapping sound caught her attention.
Somebody was at the door. But who the hell would come this far out of the city to knock on her door at this time of night? Her mind wandered to the Hanhe-Kedar Kessler pistol in her utensil drawer, but she smiled at her instant suspicion instead. If somebody was out to get her, they probably wouldn’t be politely waiting at the door. Besides, she didn’t have any real enemies she could think of. Come on, Tanya. You’re being paranoid. It’s probably some lost bugger who got turned around looking for someone. The thought of terrifying some confused old man by the sight of a woman in a one piece swim suit with a housecoat, a crazy hairstyle, and a pistol nearly made her laugh out loud. Maybe she should grab the half-empty bottle of Sampson whiskey on her counter to complete the effect of entirely detached hermit lady.


Instead Tanya called out, “Be there in a second!” as she fasted the string around her waist and tied it into a quick, lazy knot before crossing the threshold towards the hardwood door that barred the way between her and her mystery guest. Perhaps it was one of the old team, making a surprise visit. She had run the idea back and forward with more than a few of them, so the idea wasn’t as farfetched as it initially seemed, even if she did reside on a fledging colony world with limited transportation options instead of a bustling home world or the Citadel. The engineer reached out for the handle, her omni-tool unlocking the door, and opened it to see who waited on her landing.


The moment she saw him, her heart nearly stopped. The turian stood waiting in a long Western-style duster coat with his hands in the pockets, his face smooth and unblemished, accented nicely with red facial markings. His dark-blue eyes contrasted quite a bit with the bright red markings, drawing attention to them like a void. Tanya involuntarily took a step back, wishing she grabbed the damn pistol after all.


“Oh what the fuck? Fucking… what are you doing here, you bastard?!” she demanded, feeling both indignant and afraid. Her heart felt like like was preparing to burst as it hammered hard in her chest. Their first and only encounter seven years ago was a rather violent, troubling experience that involved her arm being shattered by a pistol round, being kidnapped and held hostage, embarrassed, and given the impression she only had about 20 minutes to live. And now Darius Ryloc, one of the Shadow Broker’s elite hand-picked operatives, stood less than three feet away, looking slightly uncomfortable.


“It’s been a while. Can you excuse me, I need to find your bathroom.” He said, in the way of greeting. The turian pushed past her, searching the ground floor hastily for his destination. It was certainly not what she expected. Ryloc tossed his coat over one of her dining room chairs, revealing a fine red and black suit. It was something that had caught her off guard that she gave the turian directions. “Down that hall, second door on the right.” She said, walking to close the front door.


“Ah! Appreciated.” Came the reply, followed by a door closing. Soon, the sound of urine filled the hallway, and Tanya took the opportunity to grab the Hanhe-Kedar pistol and took at seat that table, keeping it concealed but easily accessible should she need it. Was Ryloc here to kill her, to rub in one final insult before pulling the trigger? Like hell, she thought. The bastard would bleed for what he did to her. Although, it was hard to be petrified or even furious about the man’s appearance as he called out in obvious relief. “Oh, thank the Spirits!” before the sound of the toilet flushing was heard and the sink turning on. At least the turian had the courtesy to wash his hands.

Ryloc appeared around the corner a few moments later, wiping his hands with a towel before folding it and setting it nicely on the bar that separated Tanya’s kitchen from the living room. He produced two of the all-too familiar M-77 handguns from two holsters on his strong frame and set them on the towel gingerly before walking over to the table where his coat was draped and helping himself to a seat.


“First, you can put the pistol away. If I were here to cause you harm, you would have known it by now.” Ryloc said, pointing towards the table, indicating he knew about her handgun. She sighed before setting it on the table, although well within hand’s reach. This seemed to suit the turian fine. He turned over his empty hands over the table. “I apologize for my intrusion, but we do need to have a talk, you and I.”

Tanya rose from her chair and grabbed herself a glass and filled it half-way with the half-finished bottle of whiskey. She wasn’t much of a drinker these days, but the situation more than called for it. She leaned against the counter, resting on one hand and holding the drink in the other. “And what do we have to talk about? The last time I had the pleasure of your company, you’d killed several men, shattered my arm, drew goofy shit on my face, and told Roland and I we were about to die while reading a disturbing amount of Fornax magazine.” She said, taking a drink and shaking her head. “And if you had to take a piss that badly, why not just do it outside? Are all turians ashamed of their cocks even in the middle of nowhere?”


Ryloc grinned in response. “To be fair, you’ve never seen what dextro-based piss does to levo-based grass. Let’s just say a flame thrower would be a less effective defoliant. I decided not to deface your properly.” He paused, frowning. “Wait, you’re still upset over all of that?” he asked, seemingly genuinely confused.

Tanya blinked hard. “You have to be shitting me. You’re a fucking psychopath, and I can’t believe I’m entertaining that question. Yes, I am still very much so pissed off at you and if I had my gun when I opened the door, you would have been slotted on sight. How can you be so casual about it?” she demanded.


“Oh.” Ryloc replied. Confusingly, he appeared to be embarrassed. “Honestly, I always kind of figured people didn’t take it personally, I mean, you all got to go free and with your stuff. I thought you’d all be, well, thankful and shrug off what happened as a business loss.” He said, running a hand along his fringe. “Look, I asked to be the one to keep track of you because I genuinely like you and figured it was nothing personal. I’m incapable of feeling empathy with people, ms. Carson.” He admitted, looking at Tanya with sincerity in his eyes. “I don’t see people after I deal with them. I don’t know what it feels like to hold a grudge or be angry or even comprehend anything people experience. I’m literally incapable of feeling empathy for others, and I always know it’s inconvenient and people feel sad or something when somebody dies, but I mean, who gives a shit about a few guards? It’s a business loss, right? I always thought that you were genuinely happy and got over our little incident, according to your messages and transmissions and shit.” He breathed out a weak laugh. “Well, this is kind of embarassing. Ahem.”


When Tanya didn’t respond, instead draining her glass in a single go with wide eyes at the turian, Ryloc continued. “Anyways, I’m here to let you know that our mutual friend has been keeping tabs on you via myself for the past seven years and is pleased that you’ve kept your end of the bargain.” He began, regaining his composure. “And so, he has decided at last to call in that,” Ryloc made quotation gestures with his fingers. “’Favour’ you owe. There’s a certain Spectre we want to keep tabs on who is putting together a team of specialists all hush-hush like. We want you and a few members of your old team to get back together and take up the Spectre’s job offer.” He adjusted his omni-tool and Tanya’s flickered as a message was received. “It’s encrypted, but the date your old team was disbanded will unlock all of the information you need. I’ve rigged things so Saren Arterius will already be aware of you, and he will be unable to resist making contact. In fact, he already has and you’re leaving to Anhur to join up on his merry adventure. You do the job, and then report your findings back to me when you get back, and then your slate is clean. You may even get a bonus out of this.” Ryloc said, raising to his feet and pushing in his chair. The turian threw on his coat and holstered his pistols casually.

“I suppose I’m not given a choice. So, who’s all going?” she asked.


Ryloc barely glanced at her as he prepared to depart. “Some awkward professor, some skittish Alliance type, a few other surprises. You know, the usual culprits on a suicide mission.” He grinned as he made his way to the door. He stopped and turned around to face her. “Oh, by the way… want to go get drinks? My treat?” he asked, his voice verging on hopefulness.


The glare Tanya gave Ryloc caused the turian to shrug, accepting his fate. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. You’ll find everything you need to get your equipment through customs and any prying agents in that file. Don’t be late. Oh, and say hi to your friends for me. I haven’t had that much fun in, well, seven years.” With that, the turian was out the door and into the night. As Tanya watched the door closed, despite her warm housecoat, a chill ran down her spine. Everything about the arrangement seemed wrong, but at the same time, there was silver lining. This would be the end of the Shadow Broker looming over her life and she was given an opportunity to see her friends again. At least this time they couldn’t possibly piss off the Shadow Broker.


Tanya decided it was time for that shower and began to make her way past the kitchen to bathroom before stopping to double back. The bottle of whiskey remained open on the counter, and tonight seemed like it might be the last chance she’d have to forget about the encounter at the door. And the name, Saren Arterius. Where had she heard that before? On the whole, she had little respect for Spectres. Anyone who could do what they want, kill who they please, and be unaccountable for their actions on the whole weren’t to be trusted. But something about the name Saren struck a nerve that she couldn’t quite place. No matter. Everything would make sense when she got her ass in gear and saw firsthand exactly what the whole job was about.

Seven years prior...

Roland stood at the docking bay of the Citadel, having just stepped off the transport that he had commissioned from Bekenstein, carrying only a duffel bag full of his clothing, a bag of treats, and a chain leash. The goodbyes were brief, unsurprisingly. Most of the team had been through hell after all, and keeping with the general Nova way of handling things, they had all kept quiet. The people that they had lost... didn't lighten the burden of that day either. He had been the last to leave the planet, having stayed for a few days extra to see everyone else off, deciding it was his duty as one of the founders to do so.

"Huuuuh, what to do, what to do, eh pup?" The varren sitting next to him barked. The sentinel began tapping his foot nervously as he grasped his face to block everything else and concentrate. He was on the Citadel instead of Earth, where most of his family was, because he didn't have a place to go on Earth with most of his relatives estranged and caring not for his well-being and his grandmother sitting idly in a retirement home on Earth. He wasn't sure what to do about employment, but for the moment he would survive; unlike some on his team he had learned to invest some of his money when a time came where he would quit the mercenary business. He didn't quite expect to use that nest egg so soon though. He began walking with the fish-dog, aimlessly as it were, seeing as he didn't have much of a place to go. He figured a hotel that allowed pets to be the best place to stay, at least until he was able to find stable employment.

***

Two weeks later...

Roland left his lodgings, having found possibly the slummiest hotel to stay in on the Citadel that would allow varren, but still being in better condition than most middle class homes. He was heading for the part-time job that he had picked up on a cafe in the Zakera Ward. The work was boring -- nothing was more exciting than almost having your head blown off on a day-to-day basis it seemed -- but it was helping stipulate the money he already had in the bank. Unfortunately, it was only a temporary position, filling in for one of the waiters that is, and it still wasn't enough to support him fully. Sighing in resignation, he trudged along.

***

Well, it had been fun while it had lasted. The job he had had that morning? Gone in an instant of unprecedented clumsiness with hot coffee and jam. He had been distracted all day with thoughts of how hopeless his situation was, but to let them get the better of him was just plain stupid of him. He entered the lobby, hearing the tacky music of the elevator as it's doors opened on the floor. He didn't really care for it. He continued, a slouch noticeable by the arch in his back, only to be stopped by the force of a flung datapad to his face.

"So there you are my idiot grandson." The voice, which was leaving the surprised young man griping in his shoes, belonged to a woman whose faded brown hair was in a tight bun, and whose face showed only the tiniest of wrinkles. "It's about time, mister, that we have a little chat." The woman stood in front of him expectantly, tapping her foot as Roland showed no sign of answering her. He decided to bust out the cheerful. "Grandma! It's been so long since we've seen each other! And you don't even look a day over ninety yet." A clean right punch to his jaw. "That's because I'm only eighty-seven you jackass." He circled his mandible to message the pain while gripping the hit side with his hand. "Right, of course; so what was it that you were here for?"
"I'm here to speak to you about your job and the years of lies you have been telling me."
"Well I quit."
"I don't care about that! Do you know how worried I was when I learned that you had been putting yourself in the line of fire without my knowledge?! It's not that I would have even cared that much if you had told me dear, your life is yours to do with what you want, but it would have been nice to know that my only daughter's surviving son was could die at any given moment, when I thought he was simply sitting behind some desk!" His grandmother, as strong as she was, was on the verge of tears with her words. They were certainly having an effect on Roland.
"Look, you're right, I'll be the first to admit that, but I just didn't want you to worry about me. After- after the trial about mom, ohh, god." He didn't want to discuss this. It was just opening up old wounds which had healed themselves years ago. "Look, I'm done working as a mercenary, honest, and I'm trying to start a, well, honest living, but I'm just not sure where to start..." A smile small came across his grandmother's lips. "Fine, but how do you feel about this old buzzard taking you out for a good meal? This has been my first time off that God forsaken rock and I want to try some authentic alien cuisine."

***

"So, I've been dying to ask, how did you find me? I haven't told a soul I was staying there." The two of them had walked to a little place specializing in asari food that Roland could personally recommend from his time with Nova. It had been a walk filled with small talk and other things of little importance, but he figured now that they were sitting down and with their orders already placed, it was time to get down some more serious matters. The first of which, was the one thing that had been nagging him since his grandmother had made her presence known and what he had hopped for wasn't true. "A nice woman knocked on my door and told me, she seemed pleasant enough. She had also been the one that had distracted me from our last chat two weeks ago. Although, something did seem fishy when I couldn't get my computer working again after her little visit." Roland had been past the point of simply clutching his head in despair. "Let me guess, she had brown hair in a ponytail, pretty enough features, and not a lot of makeup?" She wasn't surprised by his guess. "Yeah, a friend of yours?"
"...You are no where even close in your assumption."

Their food came shortly after that. It was two of the same dish, simply because Roland liked it and his grandmother just didn't know what was good on such a foreign menu. For a brief minute, she thought that the small blue tentacles on her plate was from the back of someone's head. That was before Roland explained it was something like seafood. They were halfway through their rather quiet meal when his grandmother hit him with a poignant question. "Why not become a doctor?" Roland slurped another piece of food, looking at her shocked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard what I said."
"Yes, but I'm curious as to where that line of thinking came from."
"Well, you did say that you were a doctor for all those years, which you weren't, so why not rectify that now?"
"Hm, well, I never thought about that... I guess I would have to go back to school though."
"Hell, I guess I'll pay for that then."
"No, no, no. I'll pay for something like that myself."
"Roland, sweetie, it's fine. Right now I'm sitting on a pile of life insurance money left to me from when your grandfather died. And with me just diddling away my time in a retirement home, I in no way need it. But if you really feel that bad about taking the money from me, I won't say no to you paying me back."
"I guess... well, it seems as though I'm going back to college, or whatever they call it here." His grandmother burst out in laughter. "I guess a toast is in order for your new life's direction," she raised her glass. "Cheers!" Roland clinked his against hers, "Cheers then!... And do you think we could get a doggy-bag after we're done?"

***

Three years later...

While he wasn't the tidiest of people, Roland had never really known what a true mess could look like until now. Following through with his grandmother's wishes, he had enrolled at the local (that is, local in the sense of being on the same station) university's medical school and was able to get an apartment close by by boarding with a salarian who was there for pretty much the same reason he was, and didn't care that he was bringing an animal with him. Except, this roommate was only nine years of age, and taking more courses than there were hours in a day on Earth, so it seemed that he knew very little of the definition of "clean". Because of his roommate's filth, and the creature that insisted on sprawling out in the tightly jammed apartment, Roland was quickly finding himself late for the second time that week. "Finally..." He was admittedly ready to give up and go without his shoes, the Citadel was unprecedentedly clean of debris for sure, but knew that it would certainly look untoward to do something such as that. He rushed out the door, making sure it was locked, and bounded quickly down the pathway.

School there... had long since started taking their toll on him. With his classes scheduled only hours apart from each other, which was hardly enough for the eight hours he was accustomed to, and the seemingly endless assignments that were placed on him, he had began to eat whatever was available as well as ingesting copious amounts of coffee each day. Luckily, one of his professors had cancelled his next class, and he was going to capitalize on it. "Earth-clan! *psh*" It was the volus that he was in his class calling for his attention. "Some of the guys were *psh* going out for some drinks and, *psh* I was wondering if you would care to join. *psh*" We smiled and waved him off. "Sorry, Tel-Darr, going to catch up on some of my own biological imperatives, and a little rascal to take care of at home, so I really can't." The little man chuckled. "No harm, no foul Earth-clan.*sph*" Roland left after the jovial group, disheartened that he truly couldn't afford to go with them. His time studying was turning into a depressing ride through the nostalgic time of his youth, where he spent more of his time reading books about space and adventure than socializing with his peers. Luckily for him, he was only a year away from completing the courses he wished to complete.

***

Two years later...

"Roland...? Roland!" The voice was loud, and feminine. He drew his attention back toward the woman across from him. He had been caught day-dreaming again, except this time it had been with a date, and he's pretty sure that she thought he was staring blankly at an asari's ass. "I think we're both done here." She was noticeably pissed with him as she stormed from the restaurant, leaving him with the bill. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately for him, they hadn't made it past the appetizer. He threw his own napkin on the table before slumping over. "Would you like the check, sir?" It was the waiter. "Yeah, why not?" He didn't lift his head.

Well, that could have gone over better. He was walking home alone, again, for the fourth time that month. It really was becoming a habit of his to screw up when talking to girls, whether it was because of some slip of the tongue or incidents like the one at the restaurant. It was also becoming a bit of a double whammy, he had hospital work to early tomorrow and he had decided to stay up late for the romantic, after-hours Presidium feel for the date, as well as putting a relatively large hole in his wallet... for just the appetizers.

The doctor was ambling along again, lost in thought and slightly missing the life that he had left. "Oh, I'm sorry si-" Roland had bumped into someone, yet it was them who apologized. He looked down at the person. "Albert!?" His jaw was hanging as was his friend's. "Roland?! My God, I never would have guessed you were here!"
"Neither would I! Then again, I thought you had died after not seeing you on Bekenstein after the dissolution of Nova."
"Right- well, it was nice seeing you again; I'd best be leaving."
"Hold on! You can't leave! We should go out and get some coffee and catch up or something."
"...Sure, I guess I have a few moments to spare."

***

"So, why the reluctance to talk?" After getting to the small cafe the two of them just sat there quietly, cups in hand, with Roland staring at him curiously as his fellow avoided his gaze. "It's just... I- I hid when that 'event' happened on the Tyrus. I hid when everyone else was being gunned down protecting that ship with their lives. I hid so goddamn well that they didn't find me until they started dismantling the ship and had to lock me up for a few weeks before deeming me as 'less than a threat' and letting me go. I'm a goddamn coward." The former chef was ready to cry in his cup. "Shit, that's all." It didn't seem that big a deal to the sentinel, he was just glad his friend was alive. "'That's all'?! That's all you have to say, you motherfucker? I was practically committing mutiny on your ship and all you have to say is, 'That's all'?! Who the hell are you to say 'That's all'?!!" Albert's words were seething with anger, and for a large part, Roland was unimpressed. "No offense, but I know you are certainly no good in a fight. For a fact, I know that I was bound on you know who's ship and left to wonder if my friends were alive or fucking dead. Hell, one of the most capable fighters on our squad knew it was pointless to keep on fighting and abandoned the ship, and it was within his every right to do so. I don't blame you for anything, you are still my friend, even if you did what you had to to survive."

***

Albert, after all that, wanted to drink. Heavily. And he did, even if his friend didn't want to join him. After an hour -- or had it been two? -- of drinking, Roland took charge of lugging his slurring friend back to his own place seeing as how the drunk wasn't coherent enough to say his own name, let alone an address. He came to his apartment, thankfully a different one than from his college days, and after coming through the front door, threw his friend on the couch and over the slobbering varren that refused to move out of the way. "Bringing home gentleman now, are we?" The lights flicked on in his kitchen without warning, only to reveal his grandmother, who yet again had shown up on her own initiative. "Oh, it's you. And no, this is a friend from... work. Yeah, a friend from work. What are you doing here anyways, and how did you get into my apartment?" She chuckled lightly and played with the red liquid in the wine glass before taking a sip. "What, I was in the neighborhood and decided I wanted to visit my favorite grandson. Is that so much of a crime." He looked at her pointedly. "Oh, and I just asked your landlord to let me in, claiming that I lived you and forgot to bring my key."
"Great, so I figure this means you're spending the night?"
"Night?! It's morning now back in America!" Roland took this as a sign to make himself coffee. "Yet you're drinking."
"You say something, dear?"
"Oh, nothing; just go back to sipping your wine."

***

"Wake up you twit!" Following his shout came a slap on the forehead, and the excited noises of a near canine beast. Roland had to leave in an hour, and he didn't want Albert, who was now unwittingly caught in Roland's web of lies, alone with his mischievous grandmother. "I'm leaving soon and it would likely be best for you to do so too." His grandmother couldn't help but chirp in. "Oh, let him sleep dear, I'd like to talk to your receptionist friend a little before he leaves. My name is Rosa by the way."
"Receptionist?"
"I'll explain later, just get up so we can go!"
"What was that?" Roland then began to drag his still dazed friend to his feet and through the door. "It was nothing, go to sleep and I'll see you in a few hours and make sure to take the fish-dog out too before you do so!"
"Ta-ta, dear!"

"Soooo, receptionist? What the hell is that all about?" The two had well left sight of the apartment before Albert popped up, seeing that Roland wanted to keep something secret. They continued walking as they talked. "Right, well my grandmother back there didn't like when she found out about my choice of career five years ago, so I'm pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate my bringing home of a friend from back then. Eventually when she started prying, I created a story about how I planned to open my own clinic and planned to hire you for the front desk... In hindsight, I'm starting to realize this was an even worse idea, seeing as how it was the lies that she was originally troubled with, which I obviously just did again, and I didn't even realize that you probably already have a job-"
"I don't, actually."
"What?"
"I don't have a job you idiot."
"So what you're saying is... what, exactly?"
"So what I'm saying is if you want to go through with opening this clinic of yours and hire me as the receptionist, all so you are no longer lying to your grandmother, then it's fine by me."
"Hm, well, thank you... I guess?"
"Sure, anytime."

***

Two years even later...

"Ahh, many of my thanks Doc." The voice that came from the enviro-suit's speaker, was feminine, and one that Roland had become accustomed to hearing. "It's no problem, Zipi. You're always good with paying, so I'll let this case slide." Zipi'Alita nar Neda, she was a quirky, energetic quarian on the Citadel to complete her Pilgrimage, and a frequent customer of Roland's. She was studying ways that the Migrant Fleet could produce various equipment and tools more efficiently, and therefore was working construction to both earn and make a living away from home. It was also a job where punctures were unnecessarily common, and infections ran rampant on her body, hence being a frequent attender to the good doctor's office.

"Just be sure to yell at Tzvi for me the next time you talk; it's been just about ages since I was able to get in contact with her." Roland was packing up his kit of antibiotics as the quarian was exiting out of the door. "Sure thing, Doc. I'll be seeing you later." The girl waved her goodbye as Roland put the kit on one of the shelves in his office. The place was neat and in order, just the way he liked it. With nothing to do in the back, he proceeded to the front, deciding it best to pester his friend instead of wallow in boredom.

The man was found slumped on the front desk, fast asleep, with his obnoxious snoring permeating through the room. "Hey! Lackey, wake up." His face shot up, a little drivel falling from the corner of his mouth. "Huh- wha?" Roland propped himself up on the desk and proceeded to lecture. "You know, if you were doing your job to it's fullest capacity, you would know that we have no more patients scheduled for today. So go home if you're going to make my business look like a sham."
"Do I still get paid?"
"Of course not!"
"Then I can't; it costs an arm, a leg, and half my torso to live here and unlike you, I don't have my grandmother for support."
"Ha, as if it's my choice to have her; she sponges off of me as a form of repayment for sending me back to school. She actually pays very little." A moment of silence passed between them as Albert began to drift back to his slumber. "So, why so tired? I know you're not the type to stay out late when you have to work." Albert sat up fully and began to stretch, knowing all too well that his boss didn't intend to leave him alone. "The damn keepers-" he yawned "-came in and started to rearrange everything in my building. Talk about a hassle." Roland chuckled at his misfortune. "I guess I should consider myself lucky, that's only happened to me a grand total of thr-"

The door to the clinic opened. Albert addressed the woman who came in. "Welcome to the Nova Care clinic, mademoiselle. How ca-" She interrupted, whipping off her unnecessary, large framed sunglasses. "Nova Care? MY, aren't. We. Just. original? Couldn't you have come up with something more original, like, 'Replacement Care' or, 'No-Longer-Doing-What-I-Love Care'?" She chuckled, before narrowing her gaze at the unwanted one. "You, leave. I have business to discuss with your boss." Albert felt insulted, the name had been his idea. "Hey, lady, what the hell's your proble-" Roland punched him in the side of the head. "Albert, it'd be best you leave if you value your job." His stern eyes didn't leave Perry's mocking gaze. Albert, sensing more tension and and background between the two than he cared to know about, simply got up and left, but not before scoffing a few curses at the woman under his breath.

"Now that he's gone, what exactly is it that you want?" Persephone snickered, "Now that he's gone, I'm going to drop my bullshit 'holier-art-thou' attitude and get down to my job. You see," she began to walk around the small waiting room, "Mr. Broker is calling in his favor if you don't mind, and of course you wouldn't, otherwise you know what will happen," she unceremoniously ran her finger across his neck, "Slice." Roland stared at her undaunted by her words and movements. "Anyway, you'll be infiltrating a certain Spectre's team of specialists. Mr. Broker would like information on what this 'Saren Arterius' is up to, and you're obviously going to be there to find out. It's already been set-up by a mutual, turian friend of ours for you to show up for the job. He's at least good for that... among other things. A datapad should be at your place now with the rest of the info you'll need. It's password protected so you know, wouldn't want any wonderful ladies, or should I say grandmothers, knowing what you'll be up to. It's the date in which Nova was dispersed. Any questions?"

Roland sat for a moment, silent. "Yeah, I'm obviously not going in alone for something so risky, so who else is going?" Perry's grin widened. "Always the perceptive one, at least when not in a bar setting. I was supposed to add as an additional incentive that some of your old team will also be going along... including your wifey."
"Wifey? You mean Tanya."
"Yes, and you two were married. What, did you not think we had a licensed minister on that yacht of desire?"
"..."
"Oh, lighten up! You're being stiffer than a board; speaking of stiff, how about a drink? It'll be like old times."
"Sorry, gave that up a long time ago. About seven years ago to be exact. Could you think of any reason as to why I would do that?"
"Oh, shit, you thing I'm going to drug you again? That was just business, this is purely for fun. Maybe, if you loosen me up enough, I can take you back to my place..." She rolled her finger seductively down his chest, and by extension his tacky sweater-vest. "Sorry, nuh-uh, nooohohoho thank you. Even if I could get past the date-rape drug from our first encounter, I wouldn't do something like that now." A small frown. "I see..." She proceeded out the door but stopped at the frame. "Well, I guess I should leave now. Say hello to Rosa for me, I haven't been able to visit in the past month."
"Wait, you've been in my ho-" The door closed before he could finish his sentence. He was beginning to wonder if he should start drinking again, or how he was going to explain his absence to Albert, his patients and worst of all, his grandmother. And who was going to take care of his dog anyway?

-R'myr Household-
-Thessia-
-Three Weeks Before the Present Day-

Karmana D'salya made her way through the driving heavy snow that was usually present on bitterly cold days outside the R'myr household. Ahead of her, a large, well-built, well decorated house fashioned in a style that Karmana couldn't recognise (any human would see it as neo-classical) loomed in front of her, which was her destination. The trees were whitened with snowfall, and the path underfoot was slippery and iced over. Karmana, despite her hurry, was careful where she put her step, as one wrong step could lead to a nasty injury. She drew her thick, warm, brown fur coat about her as the wind picked up, blasting snow into her face... it really was freezing cold. Her fingers, despite being protected by leather gloves, were growing numb and stiff with the cold, but Karmana pressed on, through the worsening conditions. She kept repeating to herself, "It doesn't matter how cold it is, I've got to talk to Mari...", as a form of self-motivation, and she finally got to within 20 yards of the entrance to the house. There, she was stopped by one of Matriarch R'myr's guards. Cursing her luck, Karmana produced her ID, which the guard (human, strangely enough) accepted and allowed her through the checkpoint at the front of the house. The guard then hurried off back to his little control hut, eager to get out of the bitter temperatures and the blizzard that had made Karmi's life hell for the last half-hour. At long last, Karmana quickly ascended the steps leading to the great entrance doors of the R'myr household. Out of the snow, the house's entrance was covered by a great roof that was held up by huge white stone pillars that were easily ten times Karmi's height of 5' 7", and the roof itself was covered in red tiles... Karmana remembered seeing a picture of something similar in one of Marianna's history books about Earth that she loved reading... maybe they got the inspiration from that? Whatever the case, Karmana opened the doors to bet met by two guards, armed with assault rifles.

"Your name?" One of them asked, in a rather brutish, unfriendly manner... Fitting for a turian guard, Karmana thought.

"Karmana D'salya, I'm a friend of Mari's."

"Hm. Wait there a second."

From the second floor of the marbled atrium, up the red-carpeted stairs leading to the second floor of the household, a blue-skinned figure wearing a black leather jacket, jeans and a white buttoned shirt (with the top two buttons undone) walked over to the bannister and leaned over it to see what was going on. "Rhimus, stop menacing Karmi with your assault rifle... Honestly, what is it with you turians and pointing guns at things? Hey Karmi, come upstairs!" Marianna gestured for Karmana to come to her. Rhimus (evidently the turian) lowered his assault rifle and allowed Karmana entry into the house. Karmana, visibly shivering, ran upstairs as quickly as she could with her heavy boots on, and ran straight into the arms of Marianna. "Hey Karmi... It's been far too long since we last spoke, pal. Let's get you warmed up, it's lovely and warm in my room." Marianna released Karmana from her embrace and led her over to her room, through a heavy wooden door. Marianna's room was a large, well furnished room, with a marbled floor with several rugs, and four large glazed windows. There was an old-fashioned fire in her room, although there were also several large radiators as well which were pumping heat into the room. On the white-painted wall hung a large vid-screen, on which Marianna was watching some Earth sport, which Karmana identified as association football. Association football? The girl's lost it, I swear... Karmana thought, but said nothing as she was engulfed in a wave of soothing heat, which warmed her chilled skin, even though she'd been wearing her fur coat. Marianna had been lying on her sofa which was in front of the vid-screen, from the markings on the sofa.

"Mari, have you done your daily training?" Karmana asked.

Marianna snickered. "You're beginning to sound like my mother, Karmi. That's a bad, bad thing for you to sound like, too... Makes me want to make snide remarks at you and get shouted at for it... Ah, you've gotta love my mother - she puts up with so much crap from me it shouldn't be funny, and yet she still allows me to... ahem 'guard' her, which is her speak for 'doss about the house and train and keep yourself in shape until you get a real job' if you get what I'm saying." She threw herself down onto her sofa, apparently exhausted from some strenuous activity. "As for your question, Karmi - yeah, I have done my daily three hours, and I did it all in one go, after breakfast. Fuck me, that was bad for my system..."

Karmana sat down beside Marianna and draped an arm over her shoulders. On the vid-screen, someone was running away in celebration after scoring a goal, but that didn't matter to Karmana... she could tell her friend wasn't right. "Mari... is there something wrong?"

"Something wrong? No, no... what gave you that impression?" Marianna silently cursed herself. Way, way too quick to throw off Karmi. she thought.

"Come on, Mari... please don't hide things from me."

Marianna sighed heavily. "I guess if I'll tell anyone, I'll tell you and mother. It's regarding... what happened on that ship. You know the one, the one where Surisia was shot by that machine gunner..."

Karmana nodded... A painful memory to bring back, the boarding of the Hellspawn... "Yes... what about it, Mari?"

"Karmi, I-I've been reliving that day. Those screams... those horrible visions, those shouts of orders... that fucking cunt of a sergeant who was yelling at me to get down... Surisia's cries of agony, and you were hit too, weren't you... It-it's been making me cry, Karmi, and I've been having these nightmares about it! And... Oh, what's the use of crying about it, it's over and done with!" Marianna held back the tears, but only just.

"Marianna, you can't ignore this... it's a serious problem, you witnessed some terrible crap back on that ship, as did I. I mean, I've occasionally had nightmares, but... nothing on your scale, Mari."

"And another thing, Karmi... I agreed to join the expedition Saren Arterius is leading to some unknown planet called VOID. I don't know much about it-"

"SAREN ARTERIUS?! Please, for the love of everything that is sacred and holy on every planet out there, DO NOT GO ON THAT EXPEDITION, MARI! I've heard reports of what Saren's like! He'll gladly leave you bleeding to death in the wilds if it suits him! You can't... you can't be thinking of going, Mari?! Please?!"

Marianna sighed and embraced Karmana. "Don't worry, Karmi... I'll come back alive. I'll be fine. Mum had similar concerns, but I'll be good, don't you worry... I'll come back."

"Just so long as you do."

-Agebinium, Four Months Prior-

Everything about this mission had been absolute shit ever since his team had landed on the surface of this desolate rock. The instructions they had been given were vague at best, as they had only been told to find some abandoned outpost and retrieve the contents of a computer inside of it. For one they had absolutely no idea which computer they were even looking for, and considering how fast the silicate dust the planet blew around every five seconds, Gene had wondered at the time if the harddrive they were after would even be salvageable. As fate would have it, the outpost they were looking for was anything but abandoned, and now they were stuck in its narrow corridors fighting for their lives. In such close quarters, his Sniper Rifle was tantamount to useless and his Pistol quickly succumb to the dust and was just as worthless. With nothing but his Tactical Cloak and Combat Drone, he had managed to keep himself alive along with the help of his trusty knife, but things were beginning to look very grim. Sure, they had the upper hand in numbers, the pirates that had taken up residence being reduced to less than 4 and only two casualties on their side, victory was fairly much assured...but Gene saw the situation very differently.

His mask of serene calm had all but broken, and now with nothing left to hold his mental state in check, he was forced to observe all the death and carnage around him. Whether it had been caused by him, or someone else, he didn't know and quite frankly, he didn't care. There was so much blood...and people were still dying...so much...blood...blood everywhere...and then without warning, his vision went just as red as the blood splattering the walls and floor, and the rest was a blur. A swift movement, the deactivation of a tactical cloak, a guttural roar of pure rage, the sound of metal tearing flesh, the spray of warm blood; all of these things seemed to be happening in slow motion and fast forward simultaneously. Time no longer had meaning, only the task at hand, only the movements, only the repeated stabbing of the lifeless corpse he was straddling...and then he seemed to snap out of it. His vision cleared and everything seemed to hit him all at once like the swift blow of a professional boxer.

He looked down at the body, his hands shaking so violently that the knife he had been holding fell from his hands and clattered to the floor. He...he had killed this man...so many stab wound in his chest...his face had been mutilated beyond recognition...it was like a horrible joke, but no one was laughing. He couldn't run, he couldn't hide, he couldn't put his mask back on and pretend he wasn't at fault...he had done this, with his own two hands he had stabbed this once living, breathing man enough times to carve a hole into his chest cavity...it had been him and no one else. Then the screaming started. Beginning as a slow, mournful wail, it quickly escalated into ear shattering screams of pure terror; even as his teammates pulled him off the body, it seemed to go limp in their arms, completely lifeless save for the screaming, and the screaming didn't stop until they had gotten him back onto the ship and he had been administered the heaviest dose of anesthetic the medical officer could provide, only a few CC's short of being a lethal dose; and so Gene slept, but even under the effects of the anesthesia, he still tossed and turned, the nightmares being unaffected by the drugs which had only served to trap him in his own personal hell.

-Citadel: Two Weeks Ago-

"Ah-ha...there you are you pesky 'lil devil~" Gene said with a small smile as he used a small can of compressed air to blow a small gathering of silicate dust out of the cooling vent of his Sniper Rifle. Ever since his leave had began, he had found one of the better ways to waste time was to visit the local firing range, and lately he had been noticing his Naginata had been overheating far faster than it normally did. It seemed that Agebinium was absolutely determined to continue tormenting him, even after all this time, and he couldn't help but sigh as he put the can he had used down. It had been four months since his mental break...four months of confinement on Citadel...three months of intense psychotherapy...and still no word on when he was going to be reinstated into active service...or if he was going to be reinstated at all. "Could you really blame 'em?" He questioned out loud as he stood up and walked over to what he generously called the kitchen his afforded apartment had provided. "You basically turned a man into ground beef...I wouldn't hire me back either, truth bein' told."

Still though, he could hope...maybe he would even be praised for such quick, decisive action? He stopped that line of thinking halfway through its process, deeming it to be far too outlandish a thought to even finish. If they were going to commend him, he would have thought they would have done it by now and simply brought him back once his therapy was deemed successful and that clearly was not the case at hand. He sighed again, deeply and with a great deal of regret behind it; he missed his quarters on the the SSV Euclidean, he missed Dean and the interesting discussions he would have, he missed being on active duty... Gene would have thought more on this, but a knock on his door interrupted his line of thought. He made his way over and placed his hand on the knob, peering through the peephole and seeing no one in the hallway. This worried him and he hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob apprehensively. Was it just kids playing a prank? Or was there something going on he needed to worry about?

After a few seconds of internal debate, Gene took a deep breath and turned the knob, opening his door just enough to peek his head out into the hallway. A scan from left to right revealed nothing and no one, and with his third sigh of the hour, he opened the door fully and stood straight. He wondered briefly just who had been knocking when his foot shuffled into something solid and papery in texture. Looking down, Gene saw a neatly wrapped parcel with his name and address stamped on it. His curiosity piqued, he reached down and picked it up, quickly unwrapping it to find a data pad which seemed to turn on the instant he glanced at it...and the message it had was rather interesting indeed.

-Citadel: Two hours later-

"A Specter askin' for me by name? Whoda thought it?" As dumbfounded as he was, Gene couldn't help but feel a certain sense of relief and excitement as he packed away his clothing for the trip. For one, he had been growing a tad stir crazy from having been confined to Citadel for so long, and secondly this sounded like a perfect opportunity to actually do something productive...not that the mission briefing had been very specific, but if a Specter was asking, then it had to be something important. He did admittedly feel a bit apprehensive, but that was far outweighed by his desire to get out and do something, and with his weapons now neatly packed, Gene rose to his feet and gave his apartment one last good look before walking out the door and locking it for the last time. "I'd say this place grew on me and I'd miss it...but Ma always did say lyin' was wrong~" He finished with a smirk as he walked down the ill repaired corridor leading outside, his mind firmly set on Anhur and what might be in store for him.

Illium, two weeks ago…

The amber light of a newly broken dawn glinted against the gleaming metal frames of the distant skyscrapers, as the newly rising sun scorched the horizon, and the cars of early morning commuters hovered precociously along the skyline.
Soon, a great warmth would sweep across the planet and envelope it in a heat quite unique to Garden worlds, and the streets far below would be inhabited by frantic shoppers of all species, sweeping the market stalls in search of equipment that, on any other world, would have been illegal.
But the day was still young, and Steveo was fortunate enough to wake when the cool breeze of civil twilight was still lingering on the air.

As always, he’d been awoken by the smooth tones of Asari jazz, a far more alien take on the Earth classic ‘Baker Street’, despite his distaste for their take on the genre.
Truth be told, he didn’t care for most Asari music- he was far more fond of Quarian compositions, and very old Earth music- but his father had told him once that nothing gets a soldier out of bed like a song he loathes, and damn if he wasn’t right.
After fiddling with his alarm for a few moments, he’d dragged himself out of bed and to the kitchen, where he prepared the morning’s coffee- a strong home brew, he’d be remiss to make anything else on a cool Illium morning- before opening one of his sliding doors, and stepping out onto the balcony.

Then, he leaned against the metal railing of his balcony, and looked around his neighbourhood, sipping his coffee in a jaded manner as he did so.
He’d been quite fortunate, all things considered, or at least he thought so.
After leaving Nova, his life was in tatters: His family wouldn’t speak a word to him, and with a hatred of other mercenary groups, he found himself unemployed and without a credit to his name.
Nobody with sense would touch him- Who’d hire a man marked by the Shadow Broker?
Things seemed bleak alright…

He sipped his coffee again.
Damn, he loved his coffee. It’d saved him from the pits of despair, and along with his Scorpion, it’d helped him rise through the ranks of Illium, to where he was now.
He didn’t live amongst the drug addicts and would-be entertainers of the lower sects anymore, he’d clawed his way to victory.
Many of the people who lived around him were asari who were living on daddy’s credits, but not him.
He hadn’t been given success, he dragged it kicking and screaming out of the dark, and nailed it to the wall.
But he owed at least some of his success to luck- he’d been helped by fortune, and his reputation preceding him in this case.
A politician was a dangerous weapon by themselves, so when one hires a hitman…
Well, Steveo had made his fair few credits off of a few dead would-be gangsters.

And now he was here.
Stood on a balcony hundreds of feet above, his eyes reflecting the glory of the Illium skyline.
And yet it felt… incomplete.
He’d don’t everything he’d ever wanted to do after Nova… he’d opened a business, and finally, he’d re-established contact with his family. But still, his victory felt hollow.
The large, green spheres that made up his eyes seemed to glow in the rising sun’s wake, but his mouth was curled into a contemplative frown.
Every morning he’d look at the splendour of the sunrise, and every morning he’d ask himself why it felt so… incomplete.

Even the coffee tasted bitter during this brief period of soul-searching, like a Krogan brew left out in the sun.
He turned his gaze to the thick brown liquid in his mug, and stared morosely at it for a moment. Then, he glanced around, and dropped it nonchalantly over the balcony.
The sound of shattering, and a disgruntled car horn honking, gave Steveo cause to leave, and as the warmth of the rising sun was beginning to make the planet swelter, he took the opportunity to wander back inside, and close his doors again.

A glance around his home brought a much needed smile to his face, at least.
It was a spacious place, typical of an Illium apartment- but that wasn’t what pleased him about it.
What pleased him was how it was decorated. Old, tattered Union Jacks were draped across the walls, and throughout the complex, glass display cases held relics of Earth’s past- Old weapons, fossils, maps and machine parts- all of which were quite kindly taken from his father’s storage locker.
It wasn’t the sentimentality that he adored, either. He did enjoy it thoroughly, but it wasn’t because of those objects in particular.
In short, he enjoyed being surrounded by, as an old girlfriend had once put it, “Useless crap.”
Something about it reminded him of his childhood- as his father didn’t often strive to make the house any less cluttered- and also reminded him of his stay on Nova, as his room, when one considered the armour, weapons and booze, was rather clattered itself.
It was even more clattered when it collapsed in on itself, although he didn’t like to linger on that particular detail.

As Steveo stared in appreciation of his various relics, something quite startling happened.
For the first time in what must have been a week, the doorbell rang.
Yes, a doorbell. Archaic as it seemed to some of the asari who lived nearby, Steveo found they had a somewhat quaint charm, it’s gentle chime being far superior to any voice-com.
Snapping from his daze, the Salarian looked himself over hurriedly, before making his way to the door.
He wasn’t wearing anything special- A set of tartan pajamas, made up of varying shades of red and green. They hung from his frame quite nicely- the bonus of being a somewhat muscular Salarian.
Still, he felt a little under-dressed, and so he seized a housecoat on his way, and slipped it on.
That was tartan too, albeit a mixture of blue and white, almost clashing with the outfit he wore beneath.

He pulled the door open slowly, and eyed his visitor.
An elderly turian stood before him, leaning on a cane, and looking rather suave in a well-tailored black suit.
He smiled, his mandibles rising quite high, to accentuate his happiness, “Hello, Steveo. Can I come in?”
Steveo smiled softly, before, by habit, he saluted, and stepped aside.
The turian chuckled, and walked in with a gentle shake of his head, “Stand down, soldier.”
“Sorry sir,” he put his hand down, and closed the door, “It’s a force of habit.”
“At least the training did you some good. Good to know you listened to me, sometimes.”
“Yeah, it’s nice to see you again… Dad.”

Slowly, the turian nodded, before reaching into his coat calmly.
Then, he span around, and pointed his pistol square in Steveo’s face, “Lovely to see you too, but what have I told you about being unarmed?”
Something prodded against his chest, and the turian glanced down to find Steveo’s Scorpion pressing against his thorax. He smiled proudly, and retracted his gun, “You keep one in your housecoat?”
“I keep them everywhere. There’s one under the coffee table, one in the bread bin…”
The turian, Richter, nodded, throwing his cane to the side and straightening up, “I’m proud to call you my son, Steveo.”
“I appreciate it, but you could probably tell me that with a card or something,” he holstered his Scorpion in his housecoat pocket, “Opposed to, y’know, drawing a weapon on me every time we see each other.”
“Where would the fun in that be?”
“Well, my heart would stop palpitating.”

For a moment, Richter looked like he was considering it. Then he shrugged, and glanced around, “Where are the tea facilities?”
“The kitchen?”
“Yes, that. Where is it?”
The Salarian gestured to his left, where the kitchen and it’s utensils lay, and Richter strode out of the room, having dropped his harmless old-man act.
For a moment, there was silence.
“Steveo…?” the old turian finally called, having disappeared from sight.
“Yeah, Dad?”
“Why… why are there bullet holes in the wall?”
“The coffee machine got full of itself.”
“… have you spoken to that psychiatrist I suggested to you?”
“What? No, why would I? I’m perfectly sane, I’ll have you know!”

Richter popped his head out of the kitchen, and peered at Steveo intently.
“Maybe by the standards of a Bloodpack Krogan, but we live in the real world, and people in the real world don’t shoot their coffee machines. That’s just weird, son.”
“And collecting ‘Union Jacks’ isn’t weird?”
“Don’t you talk about my Union Jacks like that!”
Steveo cracked a grin, and waved a dismissive hand towards his father, whom scuttled back into the kitchen, before returning with a cup of piping hot tea.

“So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Dad?”
“Well Steveo, it’s about your business. I’m vaguely concerned for your safety.”
“Your vague concern touches me.”
“It’s vague because I know you can handle yourself, but let’s face it. A lot of young entrepreneurs on Illium have been getting… knocked off, shall we say.”
Ooh, Steveo knew all about that.
“Oh, you mean that vigilante?”

“If that’s what you’re calling him, then yes.”
“You realize he’s taking out drug dealers and other criminals, right?”

Richter fell silent.
“… Dad, do you think I’m selling drugs?”
“Well, coffee isn’t a big enough seller to buy a house like this, Steveo.”
“No, no! I do off jobs on the side, security work and the like. That’s why I’m still so fit at the ripe old age of over thirty.”
“Thirty isn’t very-“
“I’m not a turian, Dad.”
“Oh bugger, that’s right.”
For a moment, the two stared at one another intently.
“Did you seriously-“
“Anyway! Look at the time, must dash!”
“Dad, I-“
“Tata!”

Hurriedly, Richter rose to his feet and made his way to the door. Then, he reached into his coat again, but found nothing.
Turning slowly, he watched as Steveo kicked his pistol across the floor to him.
“You’re getting rusty, old man.”
“Watch your mouth, boy!” he warned, before the two shared a cocky smile.
“Have a safe journey home, Dad.”
“I will. Although the poor sod in front of me had coffee dropped on his car, the poor bugger.”
“Haha… yeah…”
“Wait a minute, you didn’t-“
“Ooh, look at the time! You better be going!”
Richter opened his mouth to speak, but shrugged in defeat, and saluted, before closing the door.

Steveo let out a little sigh, and threw a glance over his shoulder, before tightening his housecoat’s
sash.
“Sometimes I think I’m the normal one in this family.”

"I always thought family reunions were tedious affairs. Then again, I don't have a family, but that looked painful." A voice called out from the other room. Investigating the various piles of British memorabilia was Ryloc, holding up a bagpipe. "Seriously, this human cultural obsession is creepy, Steveo. This is the kind of thing that Perry would take off for her private time, I'm sure of it. What the hell is it?"
Steveo seized-up for a moment, his body unable to cope with the emotional whiplash induced by hearing that voice again.
Slowly, his hand motioned to retrieve the Scorpion from his housecoat, and he replied purely for the sake of distraction, "It's a bagpipe, it plays music. It's what non-sociopaths do when they need to pass the time."
"I'd put that down, if I were you. I'd hate to have to make your treasure stash here go out with a bang, but then again you're due for some spring cleaning." Ryloc said, attempting to blow into the bagpipe. A horrific sound came out of it and he tossed it back on the shelf, visibly perplexed. "And you're a terrible liar. I know forms of torture less painful than listening to that. And I'm not the only one who isn't all entirely well upstairs, it would seem. Dear old dad seemed to think shooting appliances is a big no-no, but he just needs to live a little, am I right? After all, he probably doesn't have much time left. Probably." Ryloc said, letting the implied threat sink in as he walked into the kitchen to overlook the Illium skyline.

"You'd be surprised," Steveo followed suit, careful to keep his distance, "He might look fragile, but I've seen that man put a Krogan in a headlock and make it call for mother," he eyed Ryloc suspiciously, "So, to what do I owe the pleasure? Did you just miss me, or is this a business call?"
"A bit of both, actually." the turian replied, turning his head enough to look at Steveo. "You've got ten good years left before the Spirits punch your ticket, and I'm sure you're feeling the pinch. Our mutual friend has been pleased with how you've conducted yourself since we last met, and has decided it is time to call in that favour. It's not negotiable, but let's put it this way; you've spent nearly a quarter of your life with us watching you, I'm sure you don't want to spend the last quater watching your back." he said, pulling up his omni-tool to transfer over the files. "Everything you need to know is there. And don't look so glum! You get to hang out with your old buddies from Nova! I know you salarians don't forget anything, so that name should still be fresh."
Steveo had just been about to pull out his Scorpion when Ryloc had made mentioned of Nova, and instead, he simply let it fall from his fingers, back into his pocket.
Then, he chuckled dryly, resisting the urge to wince as he felt his mortality hit him like a tonne of bricks.
"Damn Ryloc, you sure know how to make a man appreciate his life. Knowing the Broker as I do, I'm guessing this is a suicide mission, right? I either put my neck on the line now, or later?" he lifted his arm, and began taking the files onto his own omni-tool, "If me and Nova make it out of this, is the Broker gonna call off the twenty four hour surveillance?"

The turian shook his head. For once, his face wasn't plastered with mirth. "No. The Broker doesn't waste talent or resources unless he has to. If he wanted you dead, none of you would have left Bekenstein. You simply got involved in the wrong business. It was nothing personal." he returned his gaze to the skyline as Illium's son began to crest the tallets towers. "And yes. After your field-trip to Void with Saren Arterius, there will be a simple debriefing and all of you will be free to go about your lives as you see fit. It will likely be the last time you see me again, as much as it pains me to say it. It's been fun keeping track of your little adventures." he grinned. "You're quite the fiesty little shit, you know."
Steveo let out just the shortest of laughs, turning to the skyline himself. Perhaps for the first time in a very long time, he didn't want to put a bullet through Ryloc's head. It was a strange feeling, he had to admit.
"Getting involved in the wrong business is Nova's motto," he quipped, his eyes scanning the horizon, taking in the full glare of the rising sun's light, "It's almost sad that this is coming to it's end, though. I'm glad to have the chance to be free," he grinned, "But I'm fairly sure the Broker's agents make up the majority of my customers."
He glanced over his shoulder, to a picture taken shortly before the events of Bekenstein. During a drunken frenzy- a celebration for Nova's survival on the Citadel- Steveo'd photographed the entire crew, smashed out of their faces, but present all the same.
He smiled, faintly.
"And I wouldn't put my money on you being free of us just yet. Knowing our luck, we'll get out of this mess just to fall into a bigger one."
He turned his gaze back to Illium, and watched as the cars soared past in the distance, each of them reflected tens of times by the towers they weaved between, "Who knows? Maybe I'll break into your house for a drink."
"Besides, I need to be feisty. If you aren't feisty, the appliances expect you."

To that, Ryloc laughed, looking at the picture. "Good luck with that, I don't have a home. I was visiting with Tanya last week, she's as lovely as ever, you know. Also, you should respond to her extranet messages more often. She may put on the 'I'm a bastard, what of it' face a lot, but she hasn't handled isolation so well." he shrugged, studying the faces in the picture. "As for Nova's business practices, it's what we're counting on. Mercs with principals are a rare thing, and before we came and crashed your party, you did good work." he gave the salarian a pat on the shoulder as he headed towards the door. "Let me put it this way; don't take any more jobs that seem too good to be true, or you won't be seeing me again. Or anything else for long, for that matter. One final thing, the files are encrypted. The date Nova ceased to exist will get you in. Don't be late to Anhur. Your friends are counting on you." he keyed the glowing door pannel and slipped out into the corridor, humming a tuneless melody as he disappeared from Steveo's sight.
Steveo watched Ryloc leave in silence, and after a few moments of contemplation, nodded to himself.
He almost felt bad for the turian, in a way. True, he'd delighted in destroying their lives at some point, but clearly that was just business from his perspective.
Shaking his head slowly, he picked up the picture, and examined it closely.
The old crew, together again... that brought a smile to his face.
He placed the photograph down on his coffee table, and activated his omni-tool for a moment, before freezing.
"I... have more important things to do, first."
The holographic interface receeded, and Steveo made his way into the next room, where his personal computer was.
Then he sat himself down in his old leather seat, and began typing.

"Hey Tanya... how're you?"

The Citadel, 2 weeks ago...

There was a reason being on the Citadel was an awful experience, and public transit was certainly one of them. Being the lone krogan in a crowd of two dozen people waiting for the same shuttle was an irritation at most, but at that moment, they might as all been poking at Urdnot Karnak with bayonets.


The krogan towered above most of the people around him, a perception most certainly enhanced by the two volus standing next to him, who happened to be the least obnoxious people standing, waiting for the high-capacity shuttle that whisked people around Arm 4 of the Citadel. It was a free service, provided by the taxes of the residents of the Wards and partly subsidized by the docking fees that non-government ships were charged in order to park. Karnak had decided hastily that paying the extra money for a personal cab was hardly worth the expensive, given how close his hotel was to the transit terminal. He had never been more wrong.


And so, as the long, sleek shuttle settled on the landing pad, the gates opened, permitting the wave of cheap, credit pinching residents of the Wards to embark, many pushing ahead of more timid or weary travellers in an attempt to get to preferred seating, be it more leg room, privacy, or proximity to the exits. None of the pushers dared to lay a hand on the bulky krogan, who sauntered onto the shuttle and found himself taking one of the few remaining seats, next to a middle-aged turian who looked like he hadn’t touched a gun since his military service. Joy.


It would take 34 minutes to reach Haplot Ward, a lesser-travelled one that primarily served as a warehouse district and storage of materials going to and from the Citadel that was fairly well removed from the big attractions, and so, rooms were comparatively cheap compared to other Wards, which was why the krogan bounty hunter took it in search of his quarry. As the loud din of voices of conversations of at least 40 other people filled the air, Karnak felt his patience running thin. It was going to be a long, highly unpleasant ride. For a krogan who spent the majority of his life alone on uncharted worlds, the amount of people and the crowds of the Citadel hardly agreed with his disposition. The years of service to Solar Expeditions and Acquisitions had tempered the krogan somewhat, and he had learned how to put up with annoying aliens and their high-pitched, chattery voices and found means to keep his temper in check. Compared to most krogan, he was not nearly as prone to anger and violent outbursts. However, that was like saying a salarian was less talkative than his peers; hardly noticeable.


Karnak came prepared for these situations of increased irritation and to made long travel less restless and produced a small case from the larger one he was carrying around, which contained a M-6 Carnifex pistol and a license to use it in the apprehension of his bounties, somehow issued by C-Sec despite the fact he was a krogan, a race not exactly welcome with open arms on the Citadel for more reasons than there were people living in the Presidium. And so, to keep himself from using the heavy pistol on everyone in the shuttle, he opened the smaller kit, which contained a small mass effect field carving tool and a variety of hard stones in various states of completion. The stone carving kit was a gift from Admiral Graves, an Alliance high-ranking officer who Karnak had rescued from some of the galaxy’s typical scum. The man was somewhat cultured about alien species and knew that krogan were once quite the masons before nuclear weaponry obliterated the nicer parts of Tuchanka’s culture altogether, and made the kit a token of his appreciation for the krogan’s efforts in saving the Alliance staff from the pirates. The thought made him smile. Karnak liked humans for the most part, and he especially liked ones that applauded him for use flamethrowers instead of shrieking like an asari hooker who had never had a krogan client. He had to pay double for that night.


And so, selecting an unfinished, heavy piece, Karnak began to work at carving simple curves into it before going to work on the detail, letting the world around him go out of focus as he concentrated on his task. The powdered shavings came off like snow, or the dust of a crumbling building in a war zone. Either was a far more relaxing thought than the three chatty human women talking about clothes, or men, or some useless shit they were planning on doing on the weekend. Probably hard drugs, it would explain why they had the energy to never stop talking. He returned to his work, shaking his head when an elbow caught him in the arm. From the turian’s lack of reaction from Karnak’s slow glare, Karnak assumed the idiot wasn’t aware that disturbing a krogan was more suicidal than playing that curiously hilarious came of Russian roulette with an assault rifle.


“Would you stop that? It’s driving me crazy.” The turian whined. Karnak simply stared at him, imagining his head painting the glass with his smug face from a well-placed head butt. “Krogan. Enclosed space. Highly agitated. And you want to take away the one thing that’s keeping my temper in check.” Karnak said, turning back to his carving. At least he knew what he was working on now. The krogan could have sworn he heard the turian swallow and shift uncomfortably. It was the last time Karnak heard any protests out of him.


As the shuttle came to Karnak’s stop, the turian was still in his seat, doing his best not to look at the krogan. The kit was put away into the larger case, and Karnak rose to get off. Before he departed, he handed the little stone pyjak to the turian. “For your consideration to my needs, and because you remind me of one.” He said before getting off of the shuttle and to freedom. He could have cheered as he walked the extra ten minutes and found his way to the hotel, where a less-obnoxious turian was working the desk. “Good evening sir, your day went well, I hope?” he asked.


“Better than I feared, worse than I hoped. Remind me to take a cab next time.” He said before taking the elevator to go up to the 45^th floor of the simply furnished, but well-tended hotel. It was little more than a convenient rest stop for weary travellers, and the staff didn’t ask questions. For people like Karnak who preferred to avoid the obnoxious crowds and didn’t generally mind longer transportation times to get to where he was going, it was ideal. A magnetic key card gave him access to his room, which overlooked much of the surrounding district with an entire wall of windows. Sky car traffic raced by, relatively unheard with the excellent soundproofing that most Citadel buildings came built with. A dial was mounted next to the light switch and Karnak used it to dim the windows, making them nearly opaque. There was nothing interesting to look at, and he wasn’t the sort of man who liked to be gawked at from afar.


The room’s terminal was blinking, indicating a new message. Karnak set down the case and sat down on the stool that was perched before the terminal. Hitting a few keys and navigating the menus that were all-too familiar with his time with his former company, he was greeted with a cluster of messages that were easy to ignore, at least three of them were from the CEO or other high-ranking chairmen of Solar Expeditions and Acquisitions trying to lure him back into that work. It was enjoyable, sure, but it wasn’t something a krogan wanted to be stuck doing forever, especially when he outlived 5 CEOs. He entertained their squabbling for a time, but now it was a simple matter just to delete the damn things without looking at them. But there was one that was different than the usual heap of extranet trash, and with curiosity, he opened the message.


20 minutes later, Karnak had collected his belongings and checked out of the hotel. As he made his way to his personal craft, he mulled over the information he was presented with. It was good work, something that catered well to his talents, and was probably far less tedious than tracking down people across the galaxy for a bounty. And if a Spectre was heading the operation, there was bound to be a lot of danger and life threatening situations, and with it, the credits to back it up. As he nearly knocked over a dock worker in his haste to depart, a devious grin crossed his face. Maybe his time on the Citadel wasn’t such a waste, after all.

It was a strange feeling being back on Anhur during a time of peace. As Tanya stepped off of the transport shuttle that had carried her from the passenger vessel high in Anhur’s orbit, she was immediately struck by how busy the spaceport was. Members of all species milled around and were moving to and from their destinations, although most of the people were batarians and quite a few humans. None of which spared the girl with the stylish, messy Mohawk a second glance as she gathered the crates with her equipment and tools from the cargo bay and had them loaded on a powered flatbed cart that linked into her omni-tool’s signal and followed her as she traversed the busy space port, renovated since the damage caused by the rebellion. It reflected a lot of the batarian emphasis on wealth, with large tiled pillars supporting the ceiling, the occasional fountain and rest area, as well as restaurants and shops to cater to just about any need for travellers. All of it seemed very high class, but affordable. Batarians were primarily a merchant species, a fact easy to forget given their recent history and their legalized standing on slavery. It wasn’t that way on every world, and winds of change were picking up across the Hegemony. Anhur was likely the first of many where people rose up for civil rights, and Tanya was proud to have been a part of that.


She wore a simple thigh-length grey autumn coat with three buttons and a belt fastening it to her body and a red scarf tied neatly around her neck, along with blue trousers and black ankle-high boots, a comfortable and practical ensemble for her journey, as well as something she enjoyed the looks of. It was something she usually wore when going out into the city on Elysium. Given how she usually dressed aboard the Tyrus, it was rather presentable and not covered in some form of mechanical fluid or carbon scoring, or on better days, paint. Then again, the only time she had to worry about going out in public was on shore leave. It was anybody’s guess on how those turned out any given time.


Things started to change to a more industrial appearance when she cleared the customs for the merchant vessel wing, where shipping and receiving vessels docked to move supplies and wares. Tanya’s permit for carrying around firearms was accepted without much of a second glance; it wasn’t uncommon for crew members on vessels to carry weapons due to the prevalence of piracy across the system. At least the Shadow Broker made things easy for her to even to get the ship in the first place, although she didn’t expect many problems about having her gear in sealed, locked cases. Other than a few quite mummers from docked crews of various ships, the only sound that was immediately evident in the usual sounds of a space port were the clipping of her boots and the whirring of the electric motor of the cart that followed behind her like an obedient dog.


Holographic signs illuminated the particular docking terminal each ship was assigned to, and after ten minutes of clearing customs Tanya found the one she was looking for, 46-3. Outside stood three men in armour with side arms on their hips, one of them had a data pad. She approached the turian man, who looked up. “You’re here for work?” he asked. Tanya nodded, and activated her omnitool, registering her clearance with the man. A soft chime was heard from the datapad, and the turian nodded. “Perfect. Welcome aboard the MC Cha-thrah, Ms. Carson. Head up the loading ramp and set your equipment up in section Delta, spot seven. You’ll see it marked on the floor.”


“How many are expected?” she asked.


“Forty-three altogether, fifteen of them have already showed up. The boss is aboard, but don’t expect to find him. He keeps to the bridge most of the time and you’re signed on as a mechanic and engineer, so make yourself at home.”


Taking his instructions, Tanya headed up the loading ramp and quickly found where her gear was to be stored for the time being. Having accomplished that, she took time to take stock of her new home for the next several weeks. Compared to the Tyrus, the cargo hold was positively cavernous, given that it was designed to ferry supplies and equipment across the galaxy, and since it didn’t serve as a military stealth vessel, its design didn’t have to factor that into account. An elevator connected the four floors, the first being the cargo hold, complete with storage for the supplies required to sustain the crew for the trip, including food and medical equipment, and a medical bay, to boot. There were three transport shuttles lined up in the center of the cargo bay, along with four military-grade buggies that were of batarian design. The second floor housed the sleeping pods, communal showers and washrooms, mess hall, and an actually nicely furnished common area with plenty of entertainment options, seating, and even a bar for the off-duty crew members. The Third floor was navigation, engineering, life-support, and other work stations related to the running of a ship, as well as the bridge. The fourth was a ship conference room and staterooms for the captain and the executive officer. It was comfortable, but hardly private.


And so, having had her quick run of the ship, returned to the cargo bay to see how her equipment fared during the trip. Others who had shown up were doing the same, with a few exceptions. One, a krogan, appeared to be passing the time by carving something out of stone. At least she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed art. It took her a few moments to realize he was carving out a small version of the Citadel, surprising her. He was actually quite talented. He must have realized he was being watched as he looked up and made eye contact. “If you think this is impressive, wait until you try my cooking.” Seeing Tanya’s uncertain expression the krogan looked down, returning to his craft. “And no, that wasn’t sarcasm.”
Tanya had to grin at her new ‘friend’, her thoughts turning to Nova. Suddenly, she felt a surge of excitement. She was actually going to see her friends again after so many years. Suddenly, the whole arbitrary and likely lethal mission didn’t seem all that bad after all.

-Tuchanka-
-Three Weeks Before Present Day-
-Blood Pack Territory-

Helina watched as Gregot Sarv entered the large chamber, in what had apparently been a krogan hospital, but looked more like a reinforced bunker to Helina and her five sisters throughout the chamber. Their disguises had worked well so far, vorcha and krogan weren’t always the brightest of sparks, but Helina knew to not be overconfident about this krogan again, she’d paid for that once already. Her armour had been repainted for this mission, mimicking the colours of the Blue Suns mercenary group, as were her sisters, they had expected the Blood Pack, and natives of Tuchanka, what had been a surprise though was the three dozen Eclipse members prowling the chamber.

It had been seven years since Nova had been scattered to every corner of the Council space, and maybe even beyond, Helina didn’t have the whereabouts of everyone from the old team, though she had tried. She smiled as she half-listened to the Eclipse member prattle on about how his mechs were the equal of any Alliance marine squad, the fool. Alliance Marines may well be new to the galaxy, but they had shown the turians up on Shanxi, and even the asari respected these individuals in combat, although they didn’t use biotics extensively, they worked like a well-oiled machine, grinding their opposition to the ground.

Even though she was talking with other members of this gathering, Helina constantly watched for signs of her team throughout the chamber, Taliya and Dorean were both on the left flank, subtly guarding the left exit, Becca and Vilo both watched the right exit, and Helina and Trina both moved throughout the middle, slowly making their way towards the krogan battlemaster. Helina excused herself from the Eclipse and his small entourage, slipping between groups towards the krogan, who was standing atop a raised dais and surrounded by four krogan Blood Pack, and talking with an asari and two salarians from Eclipse.

Out of the corner of her eye, Helina saw that Trina had been caught by some Blue Suns member, who was making her movements difficult, time was running short. Helina flitted between another two groups, and was at the bottom of the dais when Sarv suddenly swept his arms wide, shouting for attention. Helina froze in her steps, and she could hear the surprise in her sister huntresses as they all suddenly had guns drawn on them. A trio of vorcha pointed Storm-variant shotguns and Predator-variant pistols at her. Sarv grinned as he saw all the huntresses being herded towards Helina, the chamber had nearly a hundred occupants, including the asari commandoes, most were vorcha and krogan, but those official Blue Suns and the Eclipse were all clustered together now, their weapons drawn but not raised.

“And see here my brothers? Once more the asari send their commandoes to eliminate me, and once more I have them within my grasp!” he declared.

Helina tensed, feeling the unkind presence of a krogan closing behind her, Becca was thrown beside her, Trina and Vilo were forced to their knees, the barrels of shotguns and rifles placed against their temples. From her position, Helina couldn’t see the other two huntresses, but she knew they were in similar positions. Sarv stared straight at her, his poisonous green eyes boring into her own.

“You still think I didn’t know about this mission? I have informants in all commands, I have spies in every company, I know everything you do, Helina Ilius, and I remember that you caused me embarrassment many years ago, which I intend to have my revenge for shortly,” snarled Sarv.

“Try it, reptile, I’ll break more than your balls,” snapped Helina, pleased to see the outrage in Sarv’s eyes.

“My, my, Helina, I don’t remember such garbage coming from you back in the day,” whispered a voice Helina remembered vividly.

The Eclipse asari turned towards her, and Helina’s eyes widened in shock as she stared into the eyes of her long-dead friend and comrade, Juno T’Roque. Her facial tattoos were the most striking, no longer only mildly visible, but shockingly bright against her midnight purple skin, and her eyes were no longer warm and full of life, but cold and filled with malice.

“How…. I watched you die….” whispered Helina, this turn of events unable to be processed by her mind.

“Easy, we faked my death, dearest, I was tired of you ruining my profits with Sarv, you and our other sisters. I finally managed to arrange the capture of you, but I had wanted the others too, but they died rather than being captured. So I watched every moment of torment etched across your face, every act was more pleasurable for me and Sarv than you will ever know. To see the high and mighty turian-born asari brought lower than an Omega whore, it was precious,” said Juno, the cold light of her eyes piercing Helina’s own icy blue eyes.

Helina opened her mouth to respond, but the words stopped in her throat, as those details she had passed off as coincidence suddenly fitted into the picture in her mind. Everything, from the Red Sand factory to the slaver band they had broke up. The reactions of krogan to Juno’s presence, they had thought her a traitor, which in turn reinforced Juno’s trust with her team. Their sisters had died because she wanted profits!

“You stupid bitch, you are the cause of our sisters’ deaths? You are the one who allowed the weeks of torment that neutered bastard inflicted upon me?” snarled Helina, her biotics flaring in response to her anger.

Shotguns racked as her watchers readied for her to move, and Juno grinned towards her, Sarv at her side.

“More or less, although Sarv was the one who thought it would be a good idea to abuse you, and I must say, I agree with him after witnessing it,” answered Juno.

Sarv opened his mouth to speak, but the words were caught in his throat as Helina suddenly surged forward, a pale blue corridor forming from between the three vorcha connecting to the yellow and black armoured asari beside him. Both asari flew past him, and into the wall, which, reinforced as it was, cratered with the impact, shouts of surprise and outrage were echoing around the chamber as everyone watched the two asari pummel one another. But even as Helina had launched herself into Juno, her fellow huntresses reacted, spinning on the balls of their feet to get beneath the guard of their guards. Vorcha fell with snapped necks, and krogan were hurtled through the air as the famed asari biotics played their parts.

Juno parried Helina’s right hook, deftly twisting around the strike to kick the back of Helina’s left knee, bringing the raging asari to one knee. Helina blocked the overhead chop with her forearm, and pushed out with her free hand to knock Juno back from her. While Helina had preferred close-ranged combat, Juno had always preferred a ranged role, and to compensate this back in the days when they had been battle-sisters, Helina had taught Juno numerous tactics for CQC, all of which Juno was applying now. Helina saw the omni-tool on Juno’s wrist glow, and rolled to the side, just as a fiery pulse impacted where she had been a second before. Drawing her biotics into her hand, Helina “threw” a pulse back at her fellow asari. Caught off guard, Juno was thrown from the dais, and landed in a heap in the dusty ground below.

Helina turned on the spot, her eyes searching for her sisters, and she could see dozens of vorcha were dead, and the barks of shotguns and rapport of the pistols echoed in close bursts. Her sisters were breaking into knots of the enemy, and the Blood Pack were firing at the slightest glimpse of the asari commandoes, blowing chunks from their own ranks as they sought the asari. Deeming that her team could handle the situation without, she turned back to Juno, and in the micro-seconds it had taken to find her team, the former commando had managed to hurtle another fiery orbs towards Helina. The orbs impacted at Helina’s feet, throwing her backwards, right at the feet of the krogan bodyguards of Sarv.

The krogan leaned down, and gripped the asari by the throat, holding her up with one clawed hand, and drawing his free hand back, ready to smash her skull. Helina’s foot came around to connect with the krogan’s chin, snapping the head up, and stunning the krogan enough to loosen his grip on the asari. Even as she fell from his grasp, Helina’s hand slipped into the equipment pouch on her belt, pulling a number of small circular devices from it. Thumbing the activation button of the first one, she whirled inside the guard of the first bodyguard, her hand flashed towards the krogan’s face, and he pulled back from the strike, and retaliated with a wild swing. Helina wasn’t there, she’d already twisted past him and into the second bodyguard, throwing her fist towards this one as well, the krogan didn’t back away, he thrust forward into the strike, hoping to catch the slippery asari in a bear-hug, but once more the asari had vanished. The third bodyguard tried to bring his shotgun to bear, but the asari slid between his braced legs, even as the fourth followed her with his rifle. Several shots sprayed from the rifle, and Helina’s shields flared brightly as she twirled towards him, her hands flashing again, and the krogan was pushed back against the other bodyguards.

Sarv stood there, Trina held within his grasp as he stared at the four Blood Pack warriors who the asari he had wanted dead for so long had managed to make them look like varren chasing a fly. The asari in his grasp struggled, and he tightened his grip, placing the barrel of his pistol against her head. Helina turned towards him, her eyes filled with the same cold light that Juno’s had, a trait he found rather attractive in the Eclipse asari, or rather in his mate. Sarv watched as one after the other, the Blood Pack warriors suddenly burst into flame, shock featuring across his face until he saw the small circular device on the fourth krogan’s chest, the blinking device suddenly erupting in flames. Military-grade incendiaries, she’d managed to place the lethal devices on each of his bodyguards while she had been attempting to strike them.

Sarv growled and threw Trina back into the throne of his dais, and he roared as he charged forward, pistol barking in his grip. Helina surged forward again, her biotics were shockingly powerful, and she hurtled into him once more. The biotically charged asari smashed into him, but the krogan braced his feet, the stonework beneath him cracking and his feet gouged thick furrows in the dais, but he wasn’t thrown off balance by the vanguard asari. He brought his fist crashing down onto Helina’s head, pushing her down to one knee, but she flashed upwards again, dealing Sarv a vicious upper-cut. The pair exchanged blows like duelling titans, Sarv, hatred seething within him, could not help but grin at the worthiness of this battle. Helina twisted from his grasp, swiping towards him with a flash of metal. Orange blood sprayed from his wrist as the military-issue combat knife flashed again, echoed across his thigh. Helina twisted, turned, and whirled around, the knife flashing at every opportunity, and Sarv grunted in pain as he was slowly shredded.

Juno slammed her boot against the throat of the commando, whose body twitched as the last vestiges of life left the body, and turned to look atop the dais. Sarv was on his knees, bringing a shotgun from its place on his back to bear, the weapon already firing as it focussed on Helina. The asari leapt into the air, the shot scattering beneath her, and obliterating the stone throne that was Sarv’s, even as the asari landed, Juno could see the strength at which the knife would land, powered with biotics, the twelve inch blade plunged into Sarv’s eyes, and the krogan’s arm fell slack.

The commandoes were better than Juno had predicted, two were down, and a third was wounded, but Helina had shocked her most of all. Vorcha gathered around Sarv, trying to slay Helina in close combat, but the asari was not to be trifled with, she was sparing her biotics, and using the knife to its best ability, piercing vital organs and severing arteries. Within moments, half a dozen vorcha surrounded their stricken leader, and Helina stared at Sarv with the cold determination of a killer. Sarv struggled to look at her with his one remaining eye, and then Helina used her biotics again, she pulled Sarv into the air with her left hand, while her right hand flaring brightly before hurtling all its strength into the krogan. His body unable to move, held in place by Helina’s biotic field, the powerful shockwaves erupting from her other hand demolished his body, his chest crumbled and burst, the blood misting for brief seconds, before the shockwaves destroyed that too.

Juno cried out in outrage, her Carnifex pistol barking in her hand, and another of the commandos was thrown off her feet, the shield had taken the brunt of the impact, but blood pooled beneath her. The remaining Blood Pack and other mercenaries split, hurrying into the exits, the six asari had slaughtered dozens of them, and had barely even begun, the other commandos turned their weapons towards Juno, weapons taken from the dead guards, and a storm of metal overrode her shields. Glaring at Helina, standing where Sarv had once been, the two locked eyes for a moment, and they both knew there and then, that one of them was going to kill the other. Juno’s lieutenants started to pull her towards an exit, even as the last of their mechs were dispatched.

Helina stared after Juno, but didn’t move, she would find her one day, but for now she needed to recover, using her biotics so much had left her feeling drained, and even now she felt the impacts Sarv had dealt. After several more desperate minutes, the chamber was empty, the Blood Pack, the Blue Suns, and the Eclipse had all fled, leaving behind a carpet of dead. Helina’s sisters gathered their dead, Trina and Becca had died trying to keep Vilo safe as she worked on Talia. Helina shook her head, it would be a long day after this, but the shuttle was already inbound, looking at her omni-tool, Helina noticed the blinking icon of an urgent message waiting for her, the sender was unknown.

Interesting, she thought, very interesting.

Five Years ago

Zhar walked through the corridors of his shipyard, listening to the chattering of the over-enthusiastic human as he described the many and varied modifications that had been made on the first ship to grace the yards slipways. He walked with a limp, and the clacking of his heavy cane in time with his step was quite audible in the metalic corridors of the space station. It was entirely feigned, but it made any who didn't know him underestimate him even more, and so he had adopted it into his mannerisms. His cane also had practical uses too, a miniature mass effect field generator having been built into it with several pre-programmed modes that could be activated at a touch of a button.
At his side was a tall Asari wearing a thin, flowing dress of the type fashionable among the higher classes of Illium at the moment. At his back was a many legged Hanar, who's biolumenescence Zhar could see, with his modified eyes, as expectant. The trio where being led by a small human male wearing thick spectacles who seemed to intent on telling Zhar about every bolt and weld that they had made on their latest, and first, project for Sen shipping. He was only half listening to the human, his thoughts having wondered to the volus for whom the company was named, Colu Sen.

There were few beings in the galaxy who Zhar considered to truly be friends, but the Volus had been the first. Colu Sen had taken Zhar in on the Citadel when no-one else would, seeing him as more than the brutish Krogan he had been physically. Because of the Volus, his first business partner, Zhar had learned about Galactic Finance and shipping, and he had been constantly building on that knowledge ever since. That Volus was the only reason that Zhar had even had a chance to become such a major corporate power on Illium. That Volus also now had two companies named after him, and a larger than life Platinum statue dedicated to him in the foyer of Zhars corporate tower in Nos Astra, moved there from its original site in Zhars old corporate building in Nos Parnello. That was the limit of Zhars tribute to the now long dead Volus, but it was still exorbitently expensive, and exactly what he would have liked. His other two true friends where walking with him now.

Eventually, they arrived at the large viewing platform that overlooked the drydock slipway. The shutters were closed, and room had yet to be fully furnished with the opulent fittings that had been planned for the executive area of the station. The Shipyard was Zhars latest endeavour, and this ship was its first. It had yet to make any profit yet, as the business was still only starting up, but it had the Shadow Brokers blessing, so it would invariably make profit once it had started in earnest. Zhar had, on something of a whim, decided to employ almost exclusively humans, in an effort to try to bring the adaptability humans seem to be exhibiting to one of his own companies. That was why he was having to listen to the droning of this human shipwright right now. The man had a good, if short, record, but he was not very good at selling his plans to a prospective employer. Thankfully for him, he was already employed, and the modifications he was describing where not designed by him.


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The human was now standing by the control to open the shutters with Zhar and company standing facing him and the viewports. As he pressed the control and the shutters raised slowly, he said.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you the SSV Auckland”
Zhars first thought was that at least the human was capable of the most basic of dramatic techniques, but that thought was quickly swept aside by the sight of his new ship. It was a Systems Alliance Geneva-class Cruiser that Zhar had bought when it had been about to be decommisioned. However, now, it was much more. It retained the familiar silhouete of a Geneva-class, but it was heavy with modifications. The ends of the Mass Accelerator cannons poking out of the bow where decidedly more square and Krogan in appearance. It's forward surfaces where heavily armored and the telltale signs of an improved GARDIAN defense system could be seen by the trained eye. Perhaps the most noticeable modifications where the many small fins protruding from the aft surfaces to radiate all the extra heat, a fragile but necessary modification for the ship to function at full capacity. It also included, hidden beneath the 'wings' a moderate hanger bay to contain additional fighters and auxiliary craft. It was a truly magnificent sight.

The trio stood for a moment looking on in silence as the human shipwright shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. The Hanar, Anonaymer, was the first to speak up.
“This one is impressed by the magnificent example of spatial engineering it has been presented with. It anticipates the assumption of captaincy with great joy.”

Anonaymer had been with Zhar for forty years now, most of those spent as pilot for his personal frigate, the Silea, which had now been sold to the Shadow Broker. They had developed a friendship over that time, and when the Silea had gone to the Broker, Anonaymer had stayed with Zhar. He was now to get captaincy of the SSV Auckland.

Zhar could tell that Anonaymer was genuinely pleased with the ship, his eyes having been genetically modified to percieve Hanar biolumenescance after he was scammed out of some money by a Hanar business excecutive several centuries ago. He was quite impressed himself, the humans had carried out his wishes exactly, but had applied small intuitive modifications to the flaws that Zhar had purposefully left in the plans in order to ensure peak efficiency. This was exactly why he had hired so many humans into his new company. He decided not to say anything yet however, other than to ask for the tour.

The human showed the trio around the ship, describing all the work they had done to bring the ship up to cutting edge standards. Zhar had made most of the plans himself, so he paid little attention to the human. As the human finshed talking about the bridge and announced that the tour was over, Arleya spoke “So, was it all worth the money? Not quite the same charm or... intimacy as the Silea.”

She was the youngest of six sisters born to a Batarian father. They were all cutthroat seekers of wealth, fame and power and two of them hadn't survived each other. Zhar had met Arleya when she had assisted him in a mission on Illium two hundred years ago while running from a bounty hunter who was chasing her for stealing money from one of her sisters. Both Zhars target and the bounty hunter had ended up dead, and after some quick talking on Arleya's part, Zhar had hired her onto the staff of his penthouse. She kept a life of relative luxury while staying off the radar of her sisters. She had become more involved with the running of the companies as time went on, and eventually figured out that Zhar was an agent of the Shadow Broker. After the confrontation, she was technically left in the position of servant, but became something more akin to a partner to Zhar.

“It was worth it. But if you'd prefer, we could hire a frigate from Asari high command and take a cruise.”
“No need, plenty of places we havn't been to on Illium yet.” She said with a wink.


Two weeks ago...

The Interior of Zhars penthouse was illuminated a glorious golden-crimson by the setting Illium sun. The wall fountain that currently provided the only sound in the penthouse appeared as though molten gold through it, and all was peaceful as the profit figures for the week just passed where illuminated on the large holo-screen in Zhars study.
The Heat in the streets below would be recedeing as the sun set, but Zhars penthouse maintained a pleasant and comfortable temperature. Nonetheless Zhar felt chilled to the core. He had just received an 'invitation' to join a secret mission.

From a Spectre.

And not just any Spectre, but Saren Arterius himself, the Councils Turian Prodigy. He was also brutal and merciless in his methods, not hesitating to sacrifice civilians to get the job done.
This did not, in itself, concern Mr. Khel Zhar as he watched the Illium sunset. What concerned him, was that he would be just another potential sacrifice.
The other thing that concerned him were the implications of an invitation from a Spectre. Firstly, it meant he had been noticed by a Spectre, which was a dubious honor at best, especially when ones place of residence was known as 'The Civilised Omega' and 'Bridge to the Terminus.' Zhar followed most of the Citadels laws, but he had taken advantage of Illiums less strict laws from time to time.
The Invitation itself meant that either they were considering him for Spectre candidacy or that they needed skillful yet expendable labour. Zhar was a Krogan, and so could never become a Spectre, which meant that he fell into the 'skilled yet expendable labour' category. An unpleasant thought, certainly, but also slightly insulting.

At that thought a gentle chime sounded across the penthouse signalling that there was an important matter requiring Zhars immediate attention. He strolled slowly into his study and tapped the button on the holo-display above his desk. A soft Asari voice came over the speakers:
“Mr. Zhar, we have a Turian at reception insisting on seeing you immediately.”
“Have you got his name?”
“No sir, but he says his initials are S.B. He has quite vivid red face paint.”
“Ah, good. Send him straight up.”
He then shut that call and opened up a channel to call in the drinks.
“Arleya, bring up a bottle of 37-Thessia Red, and a glass of Ryncol, as well as that Turian brandy we've been aging.”
He didn't usually drink Ryncol, but with both a letter from Saren and a visit by Darius Ryloc, he thought he was going to need it tonight.

He waited at the balcony until the door to the lift opened, and then he walked purposefully over to greet Ryloc.
“A pleasure to see you again Mr. Ryloc. I hope you've been enjoying your stay on Illium?”

The turian agent walked in at a leisurely place, looking around at Zhar's rather equisite penthouse. "Do you know what the sad part is? I can't walk into one of these places without determining every point of entry and stress points that would cause the most structural damage if I rigged it with explosives. I guess it's my way of saying I like what you've done with the place." Ryloc said, approaching the rather presentable krogan in an equally presentable suit of his own. "You know me, though. I'm never in once place long enough to really enjoy it, which is probably for the best. The locals tend not to enjoy my company for long. Can't imagine why. I just payed a visit to our old friend Steveo Viktoran, by the way. The best trips to planets is seeing the people who can't stand you." he said, accepting the glass of brandy from the asari servant. He grinned and winked at her as he took a drink. "So, was this made a week ago or been sitting on the shelf for three hundred years? I honestly can't tell the difference."

"One hundred actually. Most Turians cant finish a bottle of this particular vintage, I would be impressed if you can Mr. Ryloc. And I have no illusions about the security of this structure. Thats why men like you take paychecks from men like me." He said downing the almost comically tiny glass of wine in only one extended 'sip'. This Turian could be quite agitating at times, but his good qualities usually made up for it. "I trust that Mr. Viktoran is still breathing for now? He's been quite useful as of late." The Turian at least made himself presentable, the suit he was wearing was an adapted human style, the kind that Ryloc seemed especially fond of. But he was obviously not just here for a social call. Broker Agents didn't have time for such things. "As much as this is entertaining, why don't we take a seat and discuss why you are really here. It is concerning Saren is it not?" Zhar said, walking to the comfortable set of form fitting couches that faced the setting sun. Arleya ignored the Turians wink and poured another glass of Thessian Red for Zhar, as well as one for herself before handing it to him and standing respectfully back from the two Agents.

"I wouldn't count on it, not because I do not wish to impose, but I tend to keep my vices under control, especially when I'm working. And there are no men like me, Zhar. It's why the Broker wanted me to pay you a visit while I'm in town." The turian located a plush looking chair and set himself down into it, mocking fanciness by swishing his glass around in hand. "And yes, Mr. Viktoran is in good health and since you haven't heard of any creative crime scenes, I think you'll find I haven't been plying my expertise on Ilium. At least, not lately. There was that bachelor party last month... never mind." He nodded when Zhar got to the point about Saren Arterius. Despite his titan efforts to appear civilized and formal, Zhar still retained the blunt, brusque qualities his species was inherent to. "Since you know all about our Spectre friend, I assume you know that you got the short straw and are going, right? We're in a trade where we know everything and anything worth knowing, and you're needed to keep our good friend Ingrid in line and well as make sure the Nova kiddos show up for class. I'm here to make sure you get the idea that it's not negotiable."

For all his attempts to blend in to high society, the Turian was as crude and unfeeling as ever. "I see. I am frankly quite surprised at the lack of untraceable explosive attacks of late. I'd heard it was the season for them." The Turian, for all his uncaring attitude, was, in this case frustratingly right. The team that was infiltrating Sarens expedition would need someone to keep it in line, and he was a natural choice for it. "I will schedule an early holiday then. Would you perhaps be joining us at all? I think you'll find my new ship to quite luxurious. More so even than the Silea was." It was a good excuse to give Anonaymer a chance to earn his copious pay. And traveling to Anhur might even give them a chance to conduct some target practive on an unwitting pirate on the way. But of course he couldn't exactly infiltrate with a cruiser, and so it would have to be sent back once they arrived. Preferably before the Spectre decided that it would be a good idea to comandeer it. "I of course, will contribute the usual funding to a mission that I am a part of, but I would like to know a little more about Ingrid's situation. I was aware she had a 'falling out' with the Broker, but I wasn't informed that she had been captured."

"What can I say? I enjoy luring people into a false sense of security before making the magic happen." Ryloc grinned, drinking. "Besides, the Broker has me running around doing other things that are decidedly not killing people. I think he may be fluffing me for promotion now that Malik's retiring." The turian watched Zhar for his reaction. It probably was the last thing he would have expected. "And no, I will not be joining you this time around, as great as it would be to catch up with old friends, and I wouldn't count on using your fancy new Alliance Cruiser for this, it is very hush-hush. You get to ride with the rest of the proletariat in some old beat up batarian merchant vessel that doesn't even have private rooms." he paused, mulling over what he knew about Ingrid, which wasn't much. "I'm afraid I'm just as much in the dark as you are about our clown-haired friend. It would seem Reginald, her walking killer sex toy? Got slagged during a mission, and other agents had to extract the VI core and data banks from the mech. Apparently love was in the air that night, as well as a healthy dose of insanity, she killed those agents and ran off with the parts of Reginald that still worked and basically decided to take her odds against an Employer who simply can't be eluded, as you well know. For whatever reason, she wasn't flayed alive and has been given a second chance to not fuck up, which is where you come in. The only reason she's alive is because her years of faithful service, and for whatever reason, the Broker's been awfully forgiving of people of late. Ever since we broke Nova and picked up that relic, anyways. You're still in good with the Broker, as far as I can tell, and this isn't meant to be a punishment. You're simply the best person for the job and you have the strength and cunning to back it up, plus sometimes you need a reminder of what the field looks like, hiding behind your gilded walls and sultry asari... have you broke one of them yet? Seriously, you krogan are fucking huge."

"It must be quite tedious for you to not be involved in surprise demolition parties. I imagine it will only get more boring as you get assigned a desk job." He had his glassed refilled once more, then said "Arleya, feel free to take the rest of the bottle for yourself." He considered for a moment, then continued "Perhaps I will have to leave the Auckland behind. I will take one of my fastest shuttles then, and travel light. Needless to say, I am not looking forward to living aboard such a poor quality vessel for any length of time." He drained his glass of the weak Asari alcohol and then reached for the traditional Krogan tankard of Ryncol that had been waiting to the side. "I had always thought that Ingrid was slightly insane, but this brings new meaning to the term. She should have known better. She is incredibly lucky that she did not recieve a one way trip to meet the Broker in person." He took a swig from his Ryncol and looked fleetingly at Arleya, before replying once again "My friend, you have your very own gilded walls as well, they are just made of the smoke, fire and blood brought about by high explosives. And as for the Asari... I've had four-hundred years of practice in the avoidance of breaking them."

"Life is what you make it, Zhar. You of everyone should know that. I also know you think of me as a simple-minded idiot, but you don't survive long in this trade without a sound mind. I'm rather adaptable, you see." Ryloc smiled, noting Zhar telling his servant to take the remainder of the bottle. Handing out scraps must have been quite a generous offering for the man who could afford expensive liquors like cheap restaurant food. "And that's the spirit! You'll have an opportunity to reconnect with how the remainder of your species gets by that manage to get off Tuchanka. Maybe you'll appreciate that silver spoon you wipe your ass with... or was it eat? Easy thing to confuse, I'm sure. After all, I can't think of a more suitable task for someone who has someone clean his clothes for him who has long forgotten what it's like to live off of nothing. I think you've been getting soft in your penthouse here, hiding behind the best security money can buy." he shrugged, rising from his seat. "And perhaps you mistake my preferred method of execution as a fetish of sorts. It's business, nothing more. Of course, I enjoy it, but I don't thrive off it and need it to survive. I just do what's required of me." the turian said, walking towards the exit. He turned, smiling maliciously. "Oh, and one last thing. I may have told a little white lie earlier. Malik did retire already, but his position has been long filled. Let's just say I would be mindful of your words, Zhar. You never know when your handler may drop in for a visit to ensure every piece of his operation is in place. Thanks for the drink!" Ryloc said, raising a hand in farewell before leaving the building, the half-empty wine glass still in hand. He struck up a solemn song that he sung to himself, but his voices carried on through the building. It was a Turian funeral dirge.

Zhar didn't respond as the apparently rightfully arrogant Turian left his Penthouse. He simply drained the rest of his Ryncol in one go, taking comfort in the burning sensation of the strong alcohol flowing down his throat. He couldn't tell if the Turian had something against him or if he really was just the best man for the job, but it didn't really matter. A job from the Shadow Broker was a job that one carried out despite the risks, motivations or sacrifices, something that Ingrid had apparently failed to learn during her time as an agent. He made a mental note of the dirge the Turian was singing as he left so he could have it played when he attended the Turians funeral in a few decades. He sat back and enjoyed the rest of the Illium sunset, likely the last one he'd see in quite some time, before calling Arleya over again.
“Arleya, prepare my fastest shuttle to depart tonight. We are going to Anhur.”
“This job seems awfuly like that one to take down the Mercenary group seven years ago Zhar. You had better come back in one piece. I'd hate to have run all your companies myself, my sisters would be after my head before the day was out.”
“I will come back my dear. I always do. With luck I wont need to fix any scars this time.”


Present day. Anhur.

The shuttle touched down softly at Anhur spaceport and Arleya needlessly said “We're here” from the cockpit. Zhar had taken his fastest shuttle, but Illium was a long way from Anhur and it had still been a long trip. He hadn't been to Anhur before, but his Batarian trade route did pass by this planet, and he'd been given an executive pass for customs. He left the ship and picked the crates of his belongings out of the cargo hold and placed them on the automated flatbeds that seemed to be standard issue for moving luggage. Normally he wouldn't have to do this himself, but normally he traveled with a Cruiser and it's full compliment. He suspected that this sort of thought would be occuring quite frequently over the next few days.

He passed through the well decorated spaceport, putting on the act of leaning on his cane for support, taking his time to admire the Batarians methods of showing off wealth. It was quite impressive, if a little flashy for his taste. But at least they had wealth, it was more than could be said for the majority of his own race. All they had were the ruined husks of nuclear bunkers and irradiated, crumbled cities.

Customs had several long lines of people waiting to get through, but Zhar simply showed one of the guards his pass and was directed to a much shorter line of predominantly Batarians that was really just a formality. When they where joined by a Krogan, a few of them looked stunned, one even tilted his head slightly to the right, a gesture Zhar knew to be something of an insult among Batarians. He returned the gesture in kind.

Once through customs he quickly found the ship with the map on his omni tool. As he approached it he examined the ships exterior in an effort to glean whatever information he could about it. It was a Batarian freighter, as Ryloc had said, but it showed signs of recently being damaged. Not a particularly uncommon thing in this area of space, but still concerning. It could be blown out of space with a bare minimum of fire after all. That was not how Zhar wanted to be going out.

He approached the guards by the open cargo ramp just as a human female with a ridulous haircut walked into the ship. He remembered the hair as belonging to one of the members of Nova, the de facto leader, Tanya Carson. So one of the old members of Nova had arrived already. That was promising, with any luck they'd be able to leave soon and get the mission over and done with. The guard acknowledged his clearance as soon as he brought up his omni tool “Welcome aboard the MC Cha-thrah, Mr. Zhar. You'll be staying in section Delta, spot two. Don't go looking for the captain, he'll find you when he's ready.”

He went into the ship, still putting on the act of depending on his cane, and looked around. It would be hard to stay in the confined quarters they'd given him, but he was perhaps better prepared to handle it than another Krogan might be. On his way he noticed a Krogan carving the citadel out of a small piece of stone talking to the human, Tanya. He ignored them, but was glad to see that the other Krogan seemed to have something to keep him amused other than fighting. The last thing he needed was to waste time proving that he was 'true Krogan.'

-Shipyards, Anhur-
-Present Day-

A lone asari walked down the docking bays, muttering furiously to herself. She was clothed in a white shirt (with the top two buttons undone) and black jeans and a half-zipped black leather jacket, with black boots and gloves. She had two pistols at her sides, securely mounted in holsters for protection from any... unsavoury characters. It was safe to say that this particular asari was used to being treated rather poorly by batarians.

"Docking station number... oh, what was it? Think, Marianna, think!" This was all that could be heard from said furious asari trying to remember exactly which docking bay the MC Cha-thrah was stationed at. 45-1... 45-2... 45-3... "No, it wasn't 45. I think it was 46..." she muttered to herself. Marianna checked her omni-tool for her map - the Cha-thrah was indeed stationed at docking bay 46, at 46-3 to be precise. Humming a tune softly to herself, she turned sharply on her heel and walked back to the central docking hub, looking for 46. Her eyes scanned the various numbers - there was 46, over to her far left. Sighing, Marianna took hold of her suitcase and walked over to the docking area... How she hated some planets... Marianna looked up information on the Cha-thrah on her omni-tool... Batarian merchant vessel, bound for an unknown destination... Hrm, sounded like a reasonable cover story. At least Saren knows how to cover his tracks - one good skill you learn from being a Spectre, I suppose... However, the word 'batarian' still stood out to Marianna like a sore thumb. The last time she was on a batarian ship, she was in chains awaiting to be sold into slavery... A memory Marianna would rather forget, but one that continually haunted her to this day. Shaking her head slightly to try and 'rid' herself of the memory, Marianna made her way through the docking bays to 46-3, and was approached by three burly-looking turian guards, who nevertheless she towered over. Marianna flashed up her omni-tool to get some information regarding the MC Cha-thrah again, as the lead guard spoke.

"Excuse me, ma'am, we're gonna need some I.D. before we allow you to board this ship." The turian was polite, at the very least. Marianna looked at the guard and then at her omni-tool, which had now changed to give her identification - the turian's data-pad gave a slight 'ding' noise. "Miss R'myr, it's good to have you on board. From the looks of your history, you're gonna be a gunner on this trip?"

"I shoot things for a living, pal." Marianna smiled and nodded at the turian's gun. "Nice touch. Rosenkov Karpov VII pistol. Slightly less accurate but harder hitting than a Razer VII."

"You're a sharp one, asari. Your skills'll be welcome onboard. Stow your equipment away, we'll be leaving in a few hours. You might wanna take some time to get to know that boys'n'girls you'll be rubbing shoulders with for the next who knows how long. The boss 'is' onboard, but he'll be on the bridge for most of the time, and... well, I wouldn't waste his time if you get my meaning." Marianna nodded knowingly in response to that last statement. The turian gestured to his fellows to stand aside and allow Marianna onto the ship. It was a fairly... standard, metallic construction, hardly pleasing to the eye, but it would do. She found the elevator to the crew quarters... First floor, cargo hold - undoubtedly where all of the stuff was stored. Damned large, but it 'was' a merchant vessel after all. Second floor - crew quarters... that was all that interested Marianna beyond that point, though she knew top floor was captain and XOs only. Third floor was probably something like the actual functions a ship needs, like the C&C, the gunnery stations and whatnot. Stepping out into the crew quarters, she saw a handful of people had already managed to get onboard. Sleeping pods... brilliant. Hardly the equal of her bed at home, but it would do. Marianna shrugged and selected a pod, before returning to the cargo bay to set her equipment down. She checked her assault rifle and her shotgun - both were in good working order, but needed a bit of fine-tuning... what turians would call 'calibrations'. She had a high regular income from RSC, but Marianna figured she'd need to... be economical with money, if only to keep Matriarch Lylissa happy. She watched from a distance as a Krogan and a human conversed, the Krogan cutting some stone with mass effect fields and the human just talking... Or was the human even talking? Marianna shrugged and re-assembled her assault rifle after fine-tuning the thermal extraction systems, before turning her attention to her shotgun. She fine-tuned the spread slightly, trying to keep the gun as accurate but as hard-hitting as possible... Marianna knew the workings of her gun inside and out - it came from her days in the military and also her mercenary days.

Finally finished with her guns, Marianna strapped them both to her back and walked over to the Krogan, examining his little figurine. "Aesthetically pleasing, I'll say. Good handiwork, good craftsmanship. You're quite the mason."