A collab between Mosis Tosis and myself

"Here's to you, you old pile of shit."

A human woman and a male drell sat at the back of a docking bay on a pair of medium-sized crates, a small bottle of champagne and a pair of glasses between them as they watched work crews begin to enter the small volus transport that had been their makeshift home for the past two years. Home was putting it gently; the ship had a much larger cargo bay than living quarters, which would be best compared to a recreational vehicle you'd sooner find in the wilderness of some backwater colony than an interstellar capable transport. Both freelancers found their pockets a bit heavier after the transaction, along with some of the other boons that Administrator Torstin Var'uuk promised in the exchange for the small craft, something the man fancied for his own journeys across the stars. Whether for business or pleasure, the woman didn't care. She clanged her glass against her drell companion's and took a swig of the clear-gold liquid, something the pair had been saving for a special occasion. Selling off their livelihood on a gambit most likely qualified.

"This can't possibly be more stupid than when we started Nova, can it?" the woman asked, referring to the fact they were staking the data they received from Var'uuk was solid, and the people would actually show up to the meeting in a conference room at one of the lower income hotels in the district.

"Nothing could possibly be more stupid than Nova," the Drell said with certainty, taking a swig of his own. He thought for a moment. "Well, actually, this probably gives that little venture a run for it's money in the 'I can't believe I'm actually doing this' category." His dark eyes studied the craft below them, where the work crews were already starting to wipe away the sloppy paint job that lovingly denoted the ship as "The Jalopy." Tanya's idea for a name, of course. She was full of little jokes like that, the majority of them flying right over his head. He chuckled a bit as one of the workers banged his head on the ship's tiny airlock door. The Jalopy was a volus-made ship, and at well over 6 foot tall, Kosso had run into that same doorframe more times than he could count. The memory of all those bumps, bruises and curses left him feeling strangely attatched to the old junker. He turned to his human companion with a small grin.

"Still, it was a good run, wasn't it? Two of the galaxy's biggest badasses, kicking ass and taking names? Must have been some sort of fantasy for you. Not to mention your dashingly handsome partner and the joys of his company." He said, gesturing towards himself as he finished his drink. "You think you're going to miss it?"

A thin trace of a smile crossed Tanya Carson's face as she looked at The Jalopy, something that required more assembly and upkeep than a model kit for those OCD suffering kids who treated overgluing with the same gravity as a hull breach. The ship was purchased from the same merchant who sold them the Tyrus around 3 years ago, and he was none too happy to see Tanya and Kosso return, only a few hands short of a fledging mercenary company that punched above its weight and fizzled out far before it hit its stride. Turns out keeping a frigate manned and maintained with a skeleton crew cut into profits something fierce, and in the end, the turian government was making quite the racket about confiscating retired military vessels from private hands. It didn't help that Tyrus, the turian frigate that was Nova's home and pride, came with an experimental stealth drive that was quite illegal to own, but somehow the ship was released for sale under a small clerical error that didn't account for multi-million credit technology that the turians rather not had exposed. Whether or not Nova eventually collapsed and sold the ship after Tanya and Kosso left was anyone's guess, but the engineer never heard of any more unexplained daring heists that fit the profile, and none of her old accounts from the ship worked. She saw to that before she left.

She watched an engineer open up a panel on the hull only to have a hydrolic line burst under pressure. That was one of the many reasons she would not miss it. Back on Elysium a week ago, Tanya and Kosso went for resupply and parts for their aging ship when they ran into trouble with Siame Industries, the not-so-new kids on the block that decided to alleviate the Alliance's headaches about dealing with the lawless in the Attican Traverse. The only reason either of them escaped and didn't have their ship locked down was because the spaceport master directly benefited from the pair's smuggling enterprise more than a few times. They were one of the very few ways he could afford the medicine his daughter needed, who suffered from a degenerative neurological condition. He never asked how they got the medicine, which was how Tanya preferred it. Trade secrets kept her somewhat wealthy.

"If by miss it you mean wondering what loose screw is going to cause catastrophic cabin pressure failure or overload the kinectic barriers, then yes, I do love my puzzles. But let's face it, we were never going to fit a Mako on that thing." she said with a grin. It was an old joke between the two. Tanya had been campaigning for one of the armoured fighting vehicles for the past three years.

"Didn't stop you from trying," Kosso replied, rolling his eyes a bit. "Remember that Elcor on Omega who tried to sell us that rusty old chassis? As soon as he said the cannon still worked I swear I saw your eyes light up. Was almost glad when the Blood Pack finally showed up to collect their payment, and your infatuation with Krogans temporarily overrided your love for overrated land vehicles." He finished his drink, lazily tossing his glass away into a corner of the docking bay. It was the last piece of their old ship he'd been holding onto, and throwing it away felt cathartic. "Maybe one day you'll have your Mako, Tanya. You can retire, find a Krogan man who treats you right, and live out the rest of your days inside of a shitty tank. That's the life for you."

"Oh, come on! For half the price in parts and two weeks of work, I could have had that thing in pristine condition. As for your romantic advice," she drove an elbow playfully, but roughly, into Kosso's abdomen. "You can sod off. It was one time on Illium, I was shitfaced, and the guy was by far the most intelligent and technologically inclined I'd spoken to in months. Can't blame me for being curious after being stuck on a ship full of dullards like yourself, brooding over shopping catalogs for sunglasses."
Kosso's omnitool suddenly beeped, coming to life as a small, spherical drone materialized in the air before them. Kosso and Tanya greeted it with the traditional salute, the movement fairly routine after two years. "Colonel on deck," they said in unison, Kosso's eyes rolling even as he played along. "Something you want?"

The drone fixed it's one "eye" on Kosso, speaking with a low drawl. "If'n you would look at yonder schedule, you'll find that you're gonna be mighty late for your meeting if you don't get a move on, I do declare." Again, Tanya's doing. She said it was a Southern accent (whatever the hell that meant) and that it was reserved for the most dignified and respected of Humans. Kosso just found it annoying, but who was he to argue with Human customs? The drone was a Human creation, after all, built by Nova's medic in exchange for biotic lessons and then later programmed in full by Tanya at Kosso's request. After seeing all of the "professional tweaks" Tanya had installed into the construct with the sole purpose of annoying him, he made a mental note never to ask Tanya for anything ever again.

"Thanks Colonel," Kosso said, swatting the drone away as he rose to his feet. "Anything else?"

"Yes, it would so rightly appear that you also have several other appointments loaded onto your schedule for this afternoon. 'Kissing Tanya's feet' should commence at 18:00 this'n evening, followed immediately by 'being a general bitch.'" the drone crooned.

"Right....thanks, Colonel." He leaned down to help Tanya to her feet. "I seriously hate you, you know."

Tanya accepted the help to her feet, drained her glass, and threw it haphazardly over her shoulder, the glass shattering somewhere out of sight. "Don't forget the 2100 hour oil massage. I knew I forgot something. Ah, whatever. The South will rise again, or some shit." she said, making a mental note to have 'Colonel' make references to fried chicken repeatedly before taking on its next programmed persona - A German feces fetishist pornstar. She wasn't about to tip Kosso off to this impending shift, it was much, much more entertaining to watch him react when it occurred organically. "Sadly, we need to clear our schedule for this evening. I don't think our new friends are going to really be so accommodating." she said, wrapping her blue scarf lazily around her neck and adjusting the grey thigh-length coat as she led the way out of the docking bay. She pulled out a data pad from one of the deep coat pockets and started flipping through the lists of profiles that Kosso and herself picked out. A frown creased her features and she ran her free hand through the thick stylized mohawk on-top of her head, something Kosso eventually figured out was a tell when she was uncomfortable. "Did you have to pick batarians, Kosso? This one bastard has slaver written all over him." she said, grey eyes glancing over at the drell beside her.

Kosso's mouth set into a thin line, all joviality gone. As well as he and Tanya got along, he knew that their personalities had a tendency to clash on occasion, and an argument was never all that far away. He knew Batarians made her uncomfortable (and rightfully so, after what she'd been through), but he also knew Tanya was smart. He was sure she could get past her own disquiet if was necessary. He just had to pick his words carefully.

"You know as well as I do that beggars can't be choosers, Tanya." His hands slipped into the pockets of his long coat as he walked alongside her. Not for the first time since stepping foot on the station, the feel of his pistol-grip within his fingers helped calm his nerves. Always a bit too paranoid for his own good, Kosso really only felt truly safe on the Jalopy...and now the Jalopy was behind him, no longer a safe haven or a home. All the more reason not to piss Tanya off: he liked knowing she had his back.
"To be honest, I don't like it all that much either. I don't really like the idea of working with anyone on something this big, especially not strangers with loose morals and looser triggers. But you know the job, and you know the stakes. If we want to work with saints, well..." He opened the docking bay door, moving into the station proper. "...then we've picked the wrong profession."

Tanya sighed, knowing Kosso was right. She hated when that happened. "I know, neither of us would be doing this if we weren't for the fact that we're losing clients faster than we can make them and this is what, the third time this month we've almost been pinched by SI? Can't live like that." she stopped on another profile, a man with a cybernetic arm who was also an Alliance veteran and had his own run ins with batarian slavers. At least there was one kindred spirit on the list, 25 in all. There was a good chance a lot of them would walk out the door the minute they heard what Tanya and Kosso were about to propose, which was assuming they showed up at all. "And who would have thought fucking Mark Russo would have been on the station? It's weird, I never trusted the guy and thought he was a bit of a wanker, and right now he's the only name on this list I know. Hopefully he doesn't expect us to give him back pay from his probation period."

Kosso shrugged. "Definitely wasn't the friendliest of people, but the first time I met him was after he'd gone out of his way to fuck up Luek's big fancy party, so his heart must be in the right place. Strange that we'd meet him here again, but I guess there's some people you just can't escape." He grimaced, struck with a sudden thought. "Let's just hope Kasy doesn't make a surprise appearance." He opened his omnitool and ran through his own list of profiles. "Professional hacker, a medical technician, a hitman, more assorted mercenaries and bounty hunters than you can shake a stick at...quite a group. On paper, it almost looks as if we might actually have a chance." He fixed Tanya with an overly-serious stare. "We do have a back-up plan, right?"

"If Kasy does show up, twenty credits says it's because she's managed to piss off the Blue Suns again and somehow implicated us in it." she glanced over the profiles as Kosso was calling them out, their devices synced. "Yeah, quite the talent pool. It'll be interesting to see if they can play nice, or this is going to be officially far stupider than deciding to form a mercenary company with a few strangers while drinking heavily." she paused, considering her backup plan. "Do cyanide pills count as a backup plan? Because really, this is one of those all in, call their bluff bullshit maneuvers." she admitted.

"If there's anything you should have learned after a couple of years traveling with me, it's that I can call bluffs with the best of them. I think all of our poker games, and half of the cash in my account, can attest to that." He pulled up a digital map as the moved deeper into the station's poorer district, searching for the hotel they'd selected to host all of the invited degenerates. "Was never as good after I lost my shades, but I still have the skills." He grinned at her. "I'm sure you'll be quite impressed with me before we both die."

He stopped in front of their destination, a dilapidated old building well of the beaten track. The dirty neon sign hanging above the entrance marked it as the "Cartanega Inn: Low rates and no questions." "Seems like our kind of place..." Kosso muttered under his breath. He caught Tanya by the elbow as she moved to open the door. "You know...we don't have to do this. We can just bail out on our own meeting. Go find another ship, hell, go wrestle the damned Jalopy back from Var'uuk. We could just get out of here, and never look back. Find someplace deep in the Terminus Systems where they've never even heard of Siame. If you have any sort of second thoughts..."

Tanya's face was hardened with resolve. "No. We see this through. I'm tired of running, and I'm not spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder." she brushed Kosso's hand from her elbow. "And you know as well as I do that Siame's been probabing out the Terminus more and more. If we don't do this, nowhere's going to be fucking safe." she ran her hand through her dark hair once more, inhaling deeply. "Let's meet our misfits, shall we? We should be experts at rallying losers to our cause by now." she said, walking to the reception desk to sign off on the conference room.
_ _ _ _ _

The room, as it turned out, was surprisingly pleasingly furnished with stainless steel tables and high-backed leather seats, including some oversized ones for the bigger aliens in the off chance a krogan or elcor decided to use the room. Bottles of water, other refreshments, and a holoprojector finished off the round table look of the room. Tanya took a seat on the far side of the room, at the "head" of the table, Kosso beside her. "If this doesn't pan out, I'm blaming you." she said.

Kosso just rolled his eyes. "So, business as usual then?"

"Maybe we shouldn't have been so hasty to ditch the champagne. I have a feeling I'll be needing it after this." Tanya replied dryly.

One day ago, Illium…

This was a mess. Jaerdi had only left the meeting with his new employer, Khel Zhar, an hour ago, and already he had freelancers after him. He stood on the sidewalk staring at the burning wreckage of a skycar that had plowed into a building shortly beforehand. His pistol was in his hand, and a confused expression covered his green face, as though he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or just laugh at the ridiculous situation. As he stared, the doors of the skycar opened. Or at least did their best, given the poor state of the entire vehicle. Out of one door, a Turian body rolled out, hitting the ground with a thump and a moan before starting to feebly roll and twitch. From the other door, an Asari stumbled, bent over and cradling her arm in pain.

These two, freelance mercs who Jaerdi had neither seen nor heard about, had only minutes before been trying to force him to land his own vehicle - a human made kodiak shuttle. Eventually they’d become frustrated and tried to ram him. Of course that hadn’t gone well for them. As far as Jaerdi could see, they hadn’t even pierced the combat shuttles kinetic barriers, whereas their budget skycar had been reduced to scrap. He only bothered to land next to the wreckage to make sure there were no loose ends.

The Asari stumbled a few more steps toward Jaerdi as he looked on, before falling to her knees, probably from the pain. Obviously neither of them would be a direct threat to him at this point, but there was no point in letting them get away. They could try and get Illium’s authorities to fine him for assault next time he was there. Better to just clean up the mess now. He raised his gun to aim first at the Asari, and pulled the trigger. Then the Turian. He was still moaning, and the sound was getting on Jaerdi’s nerves. A quick gunshot fixed that though. Normally at this point he’d try to frame them such that it didn’t implicate his involvement, but he really didn’t have time for that kind of nicety. He had a meeting to get to on the other side of the galaxy. Instead he just dragged both corpses onto his shuttle, shoving them to the back of the passenger compartment, being careful not to get blood on his white suit. With no bodies to investigate and no contract to enforce, Illium law enforcement probably wouldn’t look too closely, and he’d be half way across the galaxy before it would matter.

Half an hour ago, Cartagena Station

“You have permission to dock” The voice rang out in the small cockpit. “Finally.” Was all Jaerdi said in response. The docking control had messed around with him for the last fifteen minutes asking for all kinds of ridiculous licenses, some of which he was sure were made up, before letting him dock. As far as he was concerned, the prick in docking control was just lucky the flying brick Jaerdi presently had for transport was unarmed.

Once he was landed, he quickly disembarked, bringing the large rectangular bag with his spare suits, bombs and sniper rifle with him and shutting the door before anyone could see inside. “Bye guys, see you on Omega!” He said with mock enthusiasm, waving at the shuttle. A moment later it dusted off the pad and began to fly back out into space, and Jaerdi turned away, muttering “What a bunch of idiots.” He made his way to the nearest viewing port in arrivals and departures then, and quickly spotted the slow moving shuttle once he arrived. Setting down his bag, he activated his omni tool and raised his arm to see it, poising a finger above one particular button. He returned his gaze to the shuttle and said “Nice knowing you. It’s been fun.” Then, with a silly grin on his face, he pressed the holographic button. A tiny beep was heard from the omni tool, and a moment later the shuttle exploded.

Present, Cartagena Inn

Jaerdi had been waiting at the designated room for ten minutes already when the contacts finally arrived. He’d kept himself amused looking at the various items he would be able to afford after the paycheck for this job arrived. The most expensive suits, luxury skycars and apartments on various paradise worlds. Not that he would get most of that stuff anyway, he loved his job too much to abandon it and settle down.

When Tanya and Kosso arrived he took a good look at them, trying to discern anything he could about them that his employer might not’ve told him. He was going to be working with these two, and he always made sure to know about those we worked with, on the rare occasion he didn’t work solo. Having other people around just tended to make things overly complicated. Still, he did work for a paycheck, and this one was big enough for him to overlook a few of the more difficult parts of the contract.

He didn’t say anything to the pair as they entered and talked between themselves. He was going to end up working with them whatever was said, because that was the job, and Jaerdi always carried out the job.

The vessel jerked as it hit turbulence. A suitcase fell off the stack and smacked Daryna in the back of the head. "Ow," she cried loudly. The Drell had stowed away on a transport headed to Cartagena Station. She had usually allowed herself to fly first class, but she was feeling the pressure of Siame these past few days. They were everywhere, in every shadow. If they could get to her parents, how couldn't they find her? The news of her mother's death and father's imprisonment hit her like a speeding thresher maul. Daryna had to check, doublecheck, and eventually travel back to Illium to make sure that it wasn't a false memory. After she knew the truth, Daryna didn't really remember what happened. Her life was plagued by false memories and encroaching depression. What she did work out was that she ended up on Dekuuna, the Elcor homeworld, and she found herself in the Great Barrier Reef of Australia, on Earth, on account of the extra items she found in her luggage. She was fairly sure that she could consider the time she scaled the walls of the Citadel's presidium a false memory.

It took a few days to get everything sorted out, but when Daryna finally managed she looked into Siame. She spent most of the money she had saved hiring people to look into their operation, trying to figure out where they took Khel Galdor. Somewhere along the way Daryna must have gathered the attention of other people looking to bring down Siame, as she got the call to Cartagena shortly after.

After the turbulence settled down, Daryna heard footsteps in a nearby aisle. "Who's there?" A deep voice called out. Daryna waited, still rubbing her head. "I heard you, ya filthy stowaway! Come out!" Daryna watched as a hunched over Batarian man came around the corner. "Ah ha! I got you!" Daryna rolled her eyes and in one fluid motion the Batarian slammed his head into the nearest shelf. He'd hurt, but wouldn't have any serious injury. Probably. Besides, the vessel was already landing.

A few minutes after the passengers unloaded, Daryna slipped off. For good measure, she alerted the guards that a certain Batarian attendant might need medical assistance down in the cargo hold. Daryna was mesmerized by Cartagena. She hadn't been in a place so dangerous, wild and free since she traveled with Khel Jarr... and she loved it. She spent some time aimlessly wandering around, visiting the bazaars and trying different foods. Eventually she remembered why she was there in the first place, and realized she was probably late. She ran to the Cartagena Inn, slipping in just moments before Tara and Kosso arrived. She was drinking an unknown neon green beverage with a silly straw, had a glowstick necklace on and cartoonishly large sunglasses on her face, but she got there in time.

When she saw Kosso and Tanya, as well as the other guests, she felt sheepish and out of place. She slowly took off her glasses and put her drink on the floor. She sat up straight and tried to look professional.

- Kovlov's House, Undisclosed location within the Terminus Systems -
- Five days ago -

A heavy-set human with a thick accent and a cigar between his lips sat in front of a computer, typing away on some job or another. Behind him were stacked crates upon crates of ammunition, weapons and modifications. The human was Ilya Kovlov, and this was Kovlov's House, the nickname given by associates of Kovlov to his central base of operations. Few knew of its existence, and fewer still its location. However, one of the people who knew of both Kovlov's House and its location within the galaxy was Henrik Andersson. He had been working with Kovlov now for the last 8 or 9 years, running guns beneath the noses of authorities throughout the Terminus region. However, as the years had gone by, it had become harder and harder to sneak through guns and equipment to other mercenaries and criminal gangs. For a long time, Kovlov thought it was just the Citadel finally cracking down on the influx of weapons into its space, but some eight months ago, he found out the truth behind the matter; Siame Industries, a PMC run by an asari matriarch, Rebekah Siame. Kovlov had lost several shipments of weapons in and around the Crescent Nebula, and all to the same company. To put it lightly, Kovlov was not pleased at this turn of events, and violently retaliated with attacks by his men on Siame holdings to try and teach Siame a lesson, but it had failed so far, and the shipment losses were rising slowly but steadily. But Kovlov would not give up without a fight - he already had The Enforcer on his books... why not let Henrik sort them out? And then word reached him of a new band of mercenaries being formed by one Tanya Carson and Kosso Irak... Henrik would find support there, for sure.

"You are sure you are good to go, Henrik?" Ilya took the cigar from between his lips and placed it into an ashtray on the desk, breathing out a cloud of tobacco smoke as he did so. "This can be very dangerous, you know what you getting into?"

Henrik took a swig from his whisky hip-flask. "You think I'm a novice or something, Kovlov? I know this business like the back of my damn hand. Besides, nobody fucks with the Enforcer and expects to fucking live. Not even you." Henrik had his Revenant in one hand and his hip-flask in the other, wearing as he did the standard Colossus heavy armour produced by Kassa Fabrication, and 'requisitioned' by Kovlov as a gift to the Enforcer for successfully hitting a rival's assets in the Omega Cluster along with a group of others.

Kovlov gave a derisive laugh. "As if you have power to back up claim. Heh, never mind... You leave soon, Henrik?"

Andersson nodded. "Three hours time." Kovlov got to his feet and walked over to Henrik, placing a hand on his shoulder as if Henrik were Kovlov's brother, which, to Ilya, he was near as damn it. Kovlov looked up at Henrik and nodded once.
"You enter lion's den now, Henrik. I need Siame to suffer, but first, you must mesh with group, yes? You must learn group and how group operates. Then, I give you contracts, yes?"

"You, the Lotus and the Widowmaker." Henrik shrugged and took another drink. "If I'm lucky, I can probably... ah, what's the word... 'acquire' another contact in case we run out of work."

Kovlov laughed. "Hah! Yes, you will get more in group, I make sure of it, Henrik! In fact, I had message from Widowmaker this morning! Very interesting, especially for you and group, because she mention something about a bank on Ilium, you know?"

Henrik frowned. "Tell me more."

"Widowmaker said something about Titan Bank on Ilium! You know Titan Bank, the one that never been raided right? I have many assets in Titan Bank under other names, and I go to Titan Bank lots of times to get money and make sure nothing is bad with Titan Bank. Vault is very, very big, yes? Big, thick door which is hard to get through, but it has lots and lots of money. But I not sure if Siame has holding there. Widowmaker said she thought so, but I not confirm it yet, so I can't tell you if yes or no. But if yes, could be very useful in taking down Siame, yes? Hit money, no more wages, guards go on strike, company collapses like house of cards! Kovlov has his revenge on Siame, and things back to normal!"

Henrik gave a wry smile and shook his head. "The Titan Bank is impregnable. Not sure anything but an army could get inside the Titan and rob it blind."

"But you are one man army." Kovlov chuckled. "Now, go. Meet group and find out about them. I give you contracts when you ready, yes? You go to Cartagena."

- Cartagena Station-
Henrik arrived on Cartagena in a shuttle Kovlov provided to see a shuttle explode in mid-space just outside the docking bays. Relying on the pilot to dodge the debris of the now-destroyed shuttle, Henrik gathered together his cases of belongings, including a case that held his guns and ammunition, donned his armour and waited until the pilot gave the all-clear to disembark. After the pilot had docked the shuttle, Henrik gave him a credit chit that contained 2,500 credits, and exited the shuttle carrying his cases of his belongings. Walking along the gangway towards the elevators to the arrivals area, he watched the shuttle take off, the pilot waving. Henrik smiled as he waited for the elevator to arrive to take him down to arrivals and checking-in. As he boarded the elevator, he looked about to see who was amongst the 'regulars' at Cartagena - not the usual crowd he mixed with, being a batarian-run station, but he hadn't encountered any issues as of yet.

As he stepped off the elevator, he looked about at the considerably-spacious arrivals lobby. He opened up his omni-tool and got hold of a map of Cartagena Station available on the extranet, before punching in the location of the 'Cartagena Inn', which was where he was to meet the group of mercenaries and criminals that comprised his latest group of comrades. No doubt they were expecting him. He made his way towards the Inn and out of the dock areas, into the residential quarters of Cartagena, whereupon he was confronted by three very angry-looking batarians. The leader cocked his head to the side - Henrik knew enough about batarian customs to know that this particular batarian was looking at him rather... disparagingly, to put it mildly. Henrik snorted derisively and made to push past them, but they blocked his way.

"You're coming with us, human." said the leader menacingly.

"I don't fucking think so, pal." Henrik swung his right fist at the batarian's head, striking him with a full fist on the temple, sending the unlucky batarian sprawling on the floor, whilst his two 'friends' backed away slowly. Henrik looked at the pair of them. "You want some, cocksuckers?" This sent them running for their lives, whilst Henrik walked over to the one on the floor, who was struggling to get to his feet. Henrik kicked him in the side to knock him on his back, before placing a boot on his chest, gradually applying more pressure. "You regretting this now, huh?" The batarian hissed and squirmed underneath Henrik's foot, which prompted him to place even more weight on the batarian's chest, causing him to cough and wheeze with the effort of breathing. After a couple of seconds, Henrik released the struggling man and walked away to the Cartagena Inn.

Inside the Inn, he saw a human woman - evidently Tanya Carson, from the description Kovlov had given him - and a drell male, who appeared to resemble Kosso Irak. This was the group. As such, he took his place at the table without a word and placed his cases beside his chair.

Vague memories that left a bad taste in his mouth were the only things that Iosif could dwell on for the course of the journey, the turbulent shakiness of the old freighter’s passenger cabin keeping him from grabbing more than a few minutes of sleep before jerking him awake once more. Instead, he found himself thinking back to where the whole damned thing had gone so wrong.

Iosif, the quarian and the salarian. Their freelance crew had a good thing going until the salarian had backstabbed them for a cheque from that damned corporation, and then he’d crossed the line even further by throwing him to the batarians for some extra credits. To shoot a man in the back was one thing, but selling him into slavery? Every time he tried to picture the salarian’s face, he’d end up distorting it until there was a battered pulp in its place. Hell, if luck somehow favored him anymore these days, he’d do a lot worse if his hands ever coiled around that bastard’s throat, but that was just a start. In the end, it all led back to Siame Industries and the asari bitch who called the shots, Rebekah Siame.

Granted, Siame hadn’t been the ones to put a gun at his back or pass the baton to the slavers, but if it wasn’t for their interference with whatever offer they made to the salarian, he’d have been living well off of all those blackmail files they could have sold to the Shadow Broker. Instead, the quarian was dead, the salarian was anyone’s guess and Iosif was shipping off in the passenger cabin of a rusted old freighter with nothing but bitter memories to keep him company. Most of his credits had been scrubbed from his offshore accounts whilst he’d been labouring away on Aratoht, and the salarian bastard had added insult to injury and sold off most of his old equipment, including the A-61 Mantis Gunship that he’d so beloved. Fortunately, he’d been able to buy himself the essentials with the credits that hadn’t been scrubbed from his ‘untouched’ accounts; weaponry and armour, a few other tools that he preferred to keep in hand and the rest he’d brought with him as spending money.

Sometimes he wondered if it’d been a wise idea to trash the shuttle that he’d jumped out of Aratoht with instead of selling it for scrap, but the slave transport would’ve most likely flared up on any competent slaver’s watch and brought the heat down on him, and that aside it was another unnecessary reminder of his ordeal; he’d already left the tattoo across the back of his neck to keep himself motivated whenever his pursuit of vengeance came into doubt.

Fortunately, his train of thought was interrupted by the sudden judder of the freighter’s engines slowing to a halt, and the automated intercom message which followed was enough of a prompt to let him know the ship had docked at its destination. With a grunt, he climbed out of his seat in the corner of the cabin and made his way towards the exit, throwing a nod to the volus captain who seemed to be taking notes on a datapad as he observed two krogan employees wheeling out a heavy-looking crate labelled with some kind of hazard warning. All things considered, the captain had only requested a slightly-extortionate fare for allowing Iosif a ride on his freighter, not bad for a volus.

As expected, the station was anything but remarkable - tiny and insignificant in comparison to the likes of Omega, with an even higher ratio of batarians than he was comfortable with these days, but with Siame Industries’ PMC investments targeting the criminal underworld where it hurt, Cartagena was a good spot to keep off the map. Unsurprisingly, quite a few people were becoming pissed off with the corporation’s encroachments into their endeavours and so he’d managed to find something of a mutual interest with two other freelancers - a fellow human with service history and some drell who she’d partnered up with in the business. Reliable from what he’d heard, but there was always a difference between hearing of and then seeing someone in action. Time would tell, he supposed.

Having once visited the location of the meeting on a previous occasion several years ago, he eventually came upon the grimy and suspect-as-ever Cartagena Inn, and after a quick encounter with the receptionist and signing off himself off, he stepped into the conference room, pulled out the closest chair and took his seat. For a moment, he glanced across the room to scan the other faces that were either arriving or had already arrived to see if he could get a read on them, before shifting his focus back towards the woman and her drell companion and throwing each of them a cordial nod.

“We need to get out of here!”

“Run!”

The screams of his men echoed in his ears, the sounds of gunshots filled his mind as he watched Batarians he had raided with for years fell to the shapes in the mist, their armour useless against the ethereal claws that raked them. Valok looked around him, there stood Zar’tarel Trazk, the bastard who caused the phenomenon that assailed them. He pushed past the few who stood between them, their rifles barking out a steady beat, even as their circle grew smaller and smaller. A slaver beside Trazk jerked as he was lifted into the air, before falling to the ground, a spray of blood erupting from his ravaged neck. Grabbing Trazk by his shoulder and forcing him to face Valok, he could see the stupid grin that showed sadistic and murderous emotions at the same time.

“This is your damned fault Trazk! Harm a human child and you bring demons on us!” he shouted at the raider.

“The demons can’t hurt me,” said Trazk, his eyes unfocussed, his voice calm and untroubled.

“I can!” snapped Valok, clenching his fist, the six inch blade leaping from atop his wrist, aiming for Trazk’s chest, to push under the rib cage.

The blow never landed, something gripped him by his shoulders, hauling him into the air as he fought to see what had him. The young girl, with dirty blonde hair, and a savage red line across her throat held him, her eyes were black, no white or any colour within them, her stare filled him with dread. One hand reached for his face, he felt their cold touch through the helmet of his armour, just above his upper right eye, then pain, he screamed out, he thrashed, but the pain didn’t leave or move, he felt the girl’s touch against his eye, wrapping her fingers around his eye, claiming it. He jerked in her grip, humanity were demons from the death itself, their dead could still take you! She reached for his upper left eye, despite his protests, then she jerked suddenly, he felt weightless for a moment, before he fell to the ground again. He looked up at the ghost that had claimed him, through his three remaining eyes,she swooped low at him, like and avenging angel coming to cast the unholy back into the depths of the underworld. He jerked again, the weightless feeling throwing his stomach to the wind. And he watched as the ground rose to meet him again, he clenched his eyes shut, and

-felt the cold metal beneath his skin. He shook his head as he struggled to his feet, staring at the cramp confines of the shuttle’s compartment. Crates that were filled with an assortment of items had fallen around him, and he was no longer in his seat. It had been some hours since he had boarded this shuttle, he must’ve fallen asleep. Opening the hatch to the cockpit, he could see through the sensor feeds that they had hit some pieces of debris that hovered around the docking bay to the station, some accident by the sounds of the operator on the other end of the communications.

“Get me on that station, and all debts are paid Gurat,” said Valok, to the Batarian pilot who’s family owed a vast sum of money to Valok’s own family.

“And my daughter?” he stuttered.

“Once I’m on that station I’ll send word for her to return home, she’ll be there waiting for you when you return,” promised Valok, he may well be a slaver, but honour had its uses.

The shuttle landed without any more incidents with the debris, and the docking bay was a usual hustle and bustle place as cargo was unloaded and replaced with other goods. Valok gave his thanks to Gurat and left the shuttle without a word to anyone, he would sign in with arrivals to avoid trying to surpass the system, if he was to be caught there would be questions asked as to why he was here. He’d been to Cartanega Station before, he knew they paid little attention as to why you were there so long as you didn’t cause trouble, cause trouble however and they’d let every law enforcement agency in the area know who you are and why you might be there. As he entered the lift, he saw the shuttle taking on more cargo to take back to their ship, Gurat would most likely be staring at him with hatred through the feeds.

When he arrived at Arrivals, he signed in with the clerk at the desk, before heading to a terminal to send a message home, to see Gurat’s daughter returned to her family after three years with his own as a slave.
“Gurat’s insurance to be refunded, no charge. See it done, V” he typed before hitting send, it was sent with an encryption algorithm that would see his household know it was him who sent it, he had no issue with Gurat anyway, the man was a fool, and learned the hard way to not spend more than you can afford. Valok had seen to it that they claimed his daughter as insurance rather than murdering his family to prove a point. Have something of value over your enemy sees him compliant rather than giving him a reason to fight you.

“Where’s Cartanega Inn?” he asked the clerk as he passed by.

As an answer she waved her omni-tool at him, sending the location and a handy map to reach it. Nodding his thanks, Valok made his way towards the Inn, the people of the Station didn’t care for him, not something he was used to, back on Khar’shadan he was well-known and respected, his family’s raids were often the most profitable, and many clamoured for their favour to get in on the slave trade with them. Here though, people pushed past him, shoved him, eager to see about their own days. It didn’t take him long to reach the Cartanega Inn, after pushing through some dense crowds and through rather interesting areas featuring asari, human and batarian dancers, he could see why this place was chosen as the meeting location. Low cost, plenty of eyes on, he wouldn’t be surprised if every criminal overlord on the Station knew of the meeting, little birds would squawk as it happened.

When he entered the room the receptionist told him of, he wasn’t surprised to not be the first to arrive. A salarian, two drell and three humans, the joys he would work with. Without a word he dumped his backpack containing his possessions that he’d pulled from his old ship before selling her wreck on the ground at the side of a chair at the opposite end of the table from the human and drell at the top. He couldn’t keep his disdain from his face as he looked at the human, and he leaned back in the chair as he played with the clinking tags that had become his trophies.

“How many more are we waiting for?” he grunted, letting his eyes read over those in the room.

Drell were well known for their biotics and athletic abilities, worthwhile slaves if you culd catch them young, humans were just a pain in the ass most of the time, and salarians talked too fast and died too young to be useful slaves, something he'd learned early on, they could be sold as tech specialists, performing repairs under the careful eyes of oppressors, but they lived short lives at the best of times, in the harsh times of slavery they rarely reached thirty, a hard race to sell in the slave business. Quarians were preferred for the tech by far, but getting them out of their suits long enough to get an implant in was difficult, most died from infection, those few who didn't earned a rather easy life as a slave, with masters unwilling to risk killing their new slave by beating them. Expensive by far, but well worth it. Krogan were wanted for the underworld gladiator rings, earning a living as a slave-warrior and getting fame and renown in the underworld meant life for most. A good fighter could lose but be spared, while a great fighter with no love from the people would find himself staring death in the face. Asari however, they could be "taught" to obey, but their biotic potential made them dangerous slaves, those few who are slaves must've been taken as children, long before their parents imbued anything upon them, not to mention trying to take an asari babe from her mothers was a extremely dangerous task. And as far as Valok knew, there were no turian slaves on Khar'shadan. Shaking his head from the slaver's thoughts, he continued to clink his trophies together, his eyes fell on the humans now and again, then the drells and the salarian, in that order.

The hunchbacked turian stepped onto the docks of Cartagena station with a grimace as pain shot up his leg. Stepping out of the vehicle he arrived in and down onto the platform hurt. Having to stretch his leg out while holding on to the handrails to the side of the shuttle's open door was something his muscles sorely disagreed with. Aran cursed his body under his breath, something that had become a habit many years ago. He hated traveling. Siame Industries forcing him off Omega was the worst thing that had happened to him in more than two decades of information brokering, hacking and cyber-warfare. In the safety of his living quarters in Omega, hooked up to the Extranet and Omega's internal digital communication pathways, nothing could reach him or hurt him. Now he was out in the wild, vulnerable and untethered.

He looked behind him to see the krogan he had fired to carry his equipment step out of the vehicle with a thud, a frown on his face -- something that Aran had quickly identified as disdain. The large, physically capable krogan obviously had no respect for Aran, the weak, half-broken, barefaced turian, but the creature was enough of a professional to make no snide remarks, which Aran was grateful for. The turian activated his Omni-tool and linked up with some of Cartagena station's networks, getting a feel for the place's wiring. It came as no surprise to him that the cyber infrastructure here was much less developed than on Omega. Aran felt curiously naked without the endless stream of data to pour over. There was a significantly more finite amount of digital traffic here. The krogan coughed. "Yes, sorry," Aran said and looked up the location of Cartagena Inn, his destination. That's where the meeting was supposed to be.

"This way," Aran said and started forward, his upper body swaying side to side as he walked, his limp evident. People of all races milled around in the station's spaceport and some of them turned to look at Aran. He pulled his robes closer around his body and pulled his hood down further over his face, blue eyes eyeing everyone around him suspiciously from the shadow of his cowl. The krogan followed without comment but Aran could almost feel his scathing gaze drilling into his back. As they left the bustling spaceport behind and entered the maze of narrow streets of the poor districts Aran drew less stares and the people's attention instead shifted to the krogan carrying a big crate. Three vorchas, lurking in the shadows, watched intently and bickered among themselves. Aran gripped his SMG tightly, the weapon hidden under his robes. No doubt the creatures were wondering what the crate contained, and whether or not it was worth stealing -- or, more importantly, whether it was worth fighting a krogan over. Ironic, Aran thought. He had bought the electronic equipment the crate contained from vorchas in the first place, who hadn't realized the value of the stuff. Aran doubted this pack would know any different. The creatures made no move, however, and Aran and the krogan were allowed to pass unmolested.

Before long, they arrived at the inn. Aran looked at it suspiciously. He scanned the place but found little digital traffic inside, save for a connection between what he guessed were two personal Omni-tools. He pilfered the connection and came up with a list of names, and was only a little surprised to find Sleuth, his alias, listed among them. This must be the guest list of today's gathering. Skimming the list, he saw a few names he recognized from his time in Omega's information brokering business, but no red flags. They were all criminals, which was a good thing.

Stepping inside the conference room, Aran looked at those who had arrived before him in turn, matching faces to the names on the list. The human female and drell male at the head of the table must be Tanya and Kosso, the two who had organized this meeting. Before saying anything, he turned to the krogan. "Put the crate down in that corner," he said, and fiddled with his Omni-tool for a second. "The credits have been transferred." The krogan nodded and did as ordered, before turning to Aran again. After waiting a few seconds for the krogan to leave, Aran motioned for the door. "You can go now." Seeming relieved, he did so and left Aran alone in this company of strangers. The turian turned to them again, trying to keep the anxiety he felt at taking this risk in check, and gingerly sat down on one of the chairs.

This bid for revenge was petty and unbecoming. A young Loral starting on his pilgrimage so many years ago would have been appalled by the extreme differences between then and now. He would have been ashamed to know the self-righteous Loral had stooped low enough to resort to needless torture and crime to get what he wanted. That, at the mere mention of being affiliated with Saime Industries, he was willing to commit atrocities for a petty vendetta. What was worse was the fact that he was just grasping at straws. People died looking for medical attention because he wanted closure. And for what? A bit of useless information and a few scrubbed bank accounts. He'd peddled them off to gangs and nameless mercenary bands who had a bone to pick with Saime, though it was useless and ended in failure more times than not. No one bothered to trace those transactions back to him because they either didn't survive the ordeal or it increased their need for vengeance. Mindless cretins.

Credits were credits.

Siame Industries certainly didn't hire idiots, which made a task like this a whole lot harder. One quarian, no matter his expertise, didn't quite have the potential to take down an army and he certainly wasn't fooling himself either. But, Saime, when they'd destroyed the small trade ship he'd made a home in, set Loral back years in his research. Alone without a ship, Loral had no way to get back on his feet aside from making money off of the info he'd garnered from time to time and the people who came in for actual medical attention. If Loral was anything, he was careful and he was stubborn, and any traces of—there was no use lying about it—murders he committed were taken care of with utmost efficiency. Call him paranoid, but Loral liked to keep what law enforcement there was on Cartegena off his back. Along with that, he continued his search for any incriminating info or any info that could get him closer to Siame. What he'd do when he got it he didn't quite know, but it had something to do with getting enough money or equipment and materials to get him back on track.

However, all that carefulness paid off. That, and being the sole survivor of a Saime Industries assault gave people the idea that he might be looking for some kind of pay back, or was at least upset enough to want to help someone enact revenge. Why else would he have responded to a call to arms of some sort. If one could regard a bunch of criminals and pirates gathering to take down a powerful and influential corporation as a call to arms. Loral couldn't complain, however, as this was exactly what he'd been hoping for, waiting for even.

A Few Hours Prior to the Meeting

"You'll pay, or you can find another doctor to harass," the mechanized trill of a threatened quarian resounded in the small, makeshift clinic, "or I can just kill you, if that makes this easier,"

A chuckle followed and the batarian situated on the counter top hopped off. "How about you fix me up and I won't drag you off to mine for my people, puny quarian. You won't survive a day."

Loral made no sound, and simply took the gun he was holding and aimed it lower, a knife prepped in his other hand. The blade scraped along the edge of the table behind Loral, filling the room with an incessant screech. The batarian gritted his teeth every time metal hit metal. "Do we have a deal?" he growled and advanced, hands in a tight fist. Loral's jitters and need to move always gave people the impression that he was perpetually anxious and unsure of himself. He'd proven countless assailants wrong, and this man was no better.

Before the batarian could close the distance and act on his threat, Loral shot, the bullet lodging itself deep into the batarian's thigh. He cried out and collapsed, clutching his leg as the pain shot up his body. Eyes squeezed shut, he'd opened them to find the hazed figure of a quarian standing above him. Loral trained his gun on the batarian's head, allowing him to see clear down the barrel. The knife couldn't find a surface, but it was replaced by the clicking of the gun's safety. The batarian groaned in protest, but made no move to stop him as the pain overwhelmed him.

"I'll add that to your bill?" he said, "Or is the previous wound your limit. If so, I'm afraid I don't give handouts, especially not to people who threaten to sell me into slavery."

The batarian gave a pained nod. "You're scum."

"Is that a yes or a no?" he clicked the safety off his pistol one last time, waiting as the batarian was visibly struggling with the decision. If there was a race more prideful than the batarians, especially when it came to aliens, this was a prime example. This man was actually contemplating whether he'd rather die by the hands of an alien or have his life saved by one. Impatient, Loral gave off a warning shot, barely grazing the back of the man's head and then resumed his incessant click of the safety.

"Yes, yes," he said in desperation, taking a moment to curl further into the fetal position.

"Good." Loral gestured at the makeshift cot in the corner, "get on the bed; I have a meeting to get to in a few hours."

Present - The Meeting

It was never a matter of whether or not Loral could hold his own in a fight—aside from the fact that he probably could give at least supporting fire, if not more—Loral had a set of skills that was useful to any type of crew, whether it was filled with a bunch of bloodthirsty krogans or biotically dominant, asari commandos. The fact that his prowess in a gunfight was at least on par with a colonial militiaman helped, if not a little. If they had an anatomy of any of the known species in the galaxy and provided their wound wasn't just a gaping hole in their stomach, then Loral could patch them up. That's where his expertise laid; it was at least enough to garner the attention of a small pirate gang looking for help. Whatever they wanted to call it didn't matter to Loral. A paycheck was a paycheck and he was certain he'd at least be safe from the heavy firefights, if not simply thrown in the medical bay for the eternity of the mission. The thought made him groan quietly as he made his way through Cartagena station. If there was anyone who wanted to find actual, solid ground it was probably Loral. Being cooped inside a space ship for the entirety of his life and then finding the pleasures of solid ground and wide open spaces gave Loral a small rush of excitement. The thought that this could be his chance excited him even more. But what reeled him in was the thought that he could get closure and possibly further his research—research he'd devoted his life to.

The batarian that sought him earlier had paid in full and promptly left without much fuss, obviously healed, though he left as if he'd suffered a worse injury than the one Loral physically gave him. Patching him up was simple, though his hands were still stained with the red of batarian blood. It was sterilized—he'd not have left if they weren't—but quarian suits tended to stain like any other fabric. In short, he'd not had time to wash it and it evidently irked him from the way he rubbed his hands together every two seconds. He sooner forgot about it than he realized and was scuttling through the station with his bloodstained hands near his helmet like he just regretted murdering someone. It gleaned more than a few concerned looks, though most people on the station tended to mind their own business, however odd it was to find a quarian running manically through a batarian controlled station.

Like every other person, he'd been given direction to the inn they were to meet at, which was a few floors below where he set up his small clinic. The neon sign that hung over the entrance was loud enough to grab Loral's attention the moment he turned the corner. Finding his way in, the receptionist pointed him in the direction he sought and gave him the room number. She seemed adamant enough about not wanting to know why that many people were gathering in said room and he'd made an effort not to push her further.

Stepping in, he almost regretted his decision enough to immediately walk out. The sight of these types of people rubbed Loral the wrong way; to think he was on their level was a mix of fright and excitement. Of course, he was a medical technician, so whether he was a criminal like them or not probably didn't matter. It was just a matter of whether or not he could do his job and whether or not he would do his job for these particular people. For Loral, the answer was yes.

After the door slid shut behind him, Loral made for the nearest empty chair and kept to himself. There was no reason to talk, so he didn't, and rather resigned himself to observing everyone from behind his visor. Loral's visor was thick enough to keep what would be blatant staring concealed. His eyes fell on the hunched over turian who looked more out of place than he did, though he couldn't quite understand why. He didn't make a move to pry any further and simply averted his attention to who he assumed to be Tanya Carson and Kosso Irak, the two who'd assembled the motley crew, and waited as quietly as he could, though his hands found the table to his side to be too appealing. The tapping filled the room, though Loral took no notice.

Head down and hood up: a simple mantra that had served Kali well on Omega. She had received a degree of combat and stealth training before departing the Flotilla, but the odds would still not have been in her favour against many of the hardcore malefactors and career mercenaries that flocked to the criminal underworld's twisted reflection of the Citadel. As such, she had learned to hide - to seem unthreatening enough that she was unnoticeable, despite the scarcity of quarians in these lawless regions of space. She still drew stares as she walked down the street, her stride quick and fluid, but the eyes of the krogan warriors, batarian slavers, and vorcha thugs would usually slide past, coming to focus on something beside or behind her. It still astonished her how much one's appearance and attitude could be used to shape whether they are noticed and what impression they gave - and at 5'3", slight of frame and invisible behind her visor, it was not difficult to avoid her presence even registering with less observational people.

Kali had more to fear than usual on this day, however. Today, she crossed a line. The daily, run-of-the-mill dangers for a quarian alone in the Terminus Systems were many and varied, but despite having been surrounded by dangerous individuals and gang life on Omega, she had managed to avoid becoming embroiled in any such activity herself. She had never seen the attraction in doing so, a quarian to the core - she had no desire to harm anyone else, to be negative for the community around her, nor to break the law any more than her research had already necessitated. Now, however, she was on her way to - with full knowledge - meet a collection of hardened criminals; those who had spent their entire lives thieving, killing, and selling good folk into slavery. Kali was no coward - her bravery in travelling to one of the most dangerous regions in the galaxy and defying quarian and Council law to follow her beliefs and interests demonstrated that. Nevertheless, a nervous fear, a sort of slightly heady anxiety, held an icy grip on her as she walked the streets of Cartagena Station.

She fought her fear both internally and externally - the latter by occasionally, almost subconsciously brushing her hand against the pistol concealed at her hip, and the former by reminding herself of why she was here. She may fear the people she was about to meet, and she may fear that she was making the wrong decision by finally crossing the line into full-out criminal activity, but it was for a good cause. Her anxiety was briefly overshadowed by a flare of anger as she remembered all Siame Industries had done - were still doing - and all that they planned to do. To rob people of their homes, to ostracise them where once they had belonged, to destroy an entire way of life... Kali had her problems with much of the Terminus and its inhabitants, but to cast out all who lived there, to crush them and their free spirit beneath Rebekkah Gaela's heel, was abominable. It was not only for her friends, but even for her enemies, that Kali wanted to combat Siame's march upon the Terminus - to protect not just individuals, but also the very right to belong, the very concept of home, itself.

As her uncharacteristic anger died and her nervousness returned, so did her concerns. It worried her that she was not even entirely certain how they had obtained her name, or known of her desire to combat Siame - she had not thought she'd garnered enough attention from the criminal contingents on Omega, or anyone else, to be on a goddamn mailing list for recruitment for an illegal undertaking. She assumed that her subtle inquiries regarding Siame must have travelled further than she had planned - otherwise, she could only theorise that somebody had pieced together what she was researching from comments made on the rare occasion she went through the hassle it took for a quarian to get drunk, or from her purchasing history at the kiosks around Omega, and knew she was not totally averse to breaking the law. Either way, they must have thought she would be useful - she had garnered a rather unique skillset, due to the combination of her rather unusual area of study with the technological capability the majority of quarians possess, after all.

The hotel was just up the street, now. Being able to see it only made the situation more real; her uncertainty, more defined. Her feet clacked on the sidewalk, seemingly creating a symphony with her racing heart, the beat of her body seeming overwhelming as she felt her mind go blank but for one thought: am I doing the right thing? She knew there were terrible people in the hotel she was now standing beside, but she feared the repercussions for her own morality even more than she feared them. Physical enemies she could defeat or escape from if things went South - but her own demons would pursue her, unrelenting, were she to regret her actions later. And - though this had not stopped her before - who knew what the consequences would be if anyone on the Flotilla were to hear of her actions...

Steeling herself, Kali crossed the threshold of the hotel, and before she had a chance to lose her nerve she found herself speaking to the receptionist and being directed toward the meeting room. Hesitating once more outside the door, fiddling nervously with her belt, she resisted the urge to touch the pistol at her hip for the thousandth time - and before she could psyche herself out, she did her best to gather the same sense of certainty and strength of purpose that had driven her here in the first place, and opened the door.

Intuition took over now that the moment of decision was past. Not wanting to look at her potential teammates just yet, she kept her gaze lowered, instinctively making herself small and unobtrusive as she quickly located a trio of empty seats and, walking on light feet, planted her behind in the central one. For a moment she kept her eyes on the table, tense - but she fought to ensure her nervousness was only palpable to her, and not to the men and women around the room, and forced herself to look up to the head of the table, acknowledging those who had presumably organised this little meeting.

"To the Hegemony!"

Kesik raised his own drink to meet his host's, the dirty glasses clinked together and both Batarians finished their alcohol is silence. This was Raggobar Fire Brew according to the over-sized bottle sitting on the table, but most aliens would simply call it; "Batarian Ale." Most of what was found outside of Hegemony space was diluted, generic-brand swill, mixed with some flavored liqueur to make it "enjoyable." Some barrels of original craft-brew would make their way past customs from time to time however, allowing Kesik to enjoy the bitter taste, a rare treat these days.

Two months ago, the locations of three outcast colonies in the Traverse were publicly released alongside a list of wanted men and women hiding among them. Bounties were posted by the Council and the Hegemony alike, turning a peaceful corner of the galaxy to a hunting ground for Batarian exiles as Siame Industries stepped up to claim the rewards. Only a few managed to make it out of the destruction alive, forced deep into the Neman Abyss by the perusing mercs. They told their story to those who would hear it, stirring even more dissent against Siame. The story eventually reached sympathetic ears, someone who chose to act against the slaughter, Kesik Bal'uim

More favors were asked than Kesik would ever like to admit, but he was eventually able to pick up a trail. The proxy account responsible for the information leak,was traced to an extranet alias, some basement-dwelling Salarian hacker. After some "persuading", he gave up the job's payment information, pointing the blame to some Turian fuel tycoon named Sulinus Dalarkin, an aspiring business partner to Siame Industries. The rest was relatively simple, after a few calls to victim families and discrete funding from one of Dalarkin's competitors, Kesik lead a lynch mob against the Turian's manor, justice was served.

As it turns out, that kind of behavior can attract like-minded individuals, bringing Kesik to Cartagena Station. His host was a fellow Batarian named Parem Sas'corr, half-brother to one of the outcasts killed during the raids. Kesik had been staying in the cellar of Parem's apartment complex for the last 3 days. Cartagena was a sanctuary for criminals, sure, but you could never be sure how much people would pay to have you killed. There was a chance that this gathering was a set-up, that a bunch of Siame commandos would rush the room as soon as everyone took their seats. Kesik needed to be cautious, he needed to make sure that he couldn't be traced, that he had somewhere to hide if things got messy, that was his way.

After finishing their drinks, the two Batarians embraced by clasping each-other's shoulder. and tilting their heads ever-so-slightly before Kesik exited the dusty office. Parem was a zealot, caught up in the glory days the Batarian people without ever having lived through them. He was rude, mistreated those living under his roof, and had a drinking problem, but,he had taken Kesik into his care, (if only to have someone to swap war-stories with) and thus deserved respect. Children were playing in the halls, they passed Kesik in a rush, looking up with wide grins then scampering away when Parem shouted from his office.

Kesik hefted his duffle bag over his shoulder and mad his way out to the street, his destination was close enough for travel by foot. This part of the station was known for a faulty lighting system, the low-power glow reminded Kesik of dusk on Khar'san, a slight drowsiness washing over him as he made his way alongside the rest of the pedestrian trafic. He wearing a simple, lime-green outfit, his armor, weapon, and anything else of importance was in the bag. Kesik's thoughts wondered as he walked, frowning when he guessed what would await him at this meeting, he was families with these kind of gatherings. His peers would be some of the most talented individuals this side of the galaxy, and they would stick out like sore thumbs. Employers never seemed to understand that a badass name and custom-fitted power armor did jack-shit when a situation turned ugly. They hired flashy professionals with large reputations and larger bounties. The worst part was that these groups rarely included Batarians, despite the fact that they were the majority in these parts of the galaxy. Racist bastards. Kesik had contacts and favors where others had weapons and armor, he could vanish in plain sight, he could become just another face in the crowd if needed, could every mercenary at this gathering say the same?

Frown turned to smile as Kesik imagined who would show up. let's hire an angsty teenage Krogan with gold-plated armor and a hammer-wielding Volus as his partner. Hell, there could be a fucking talking Varren in there for all I know. Kesik reached his first stop, a personal storage business two blocks from the Inn. He swiped his Omni-Tool past the payment booth and stored the bag containing his armor and Kishock in the locker, slamming the door a few times before it closed completely. You could see the Cartagena Inn from here, and Kesik was no longer a wanted terrorist, he was another Batarian civilian, one of millions on the station.

Kesik walked though the front doors and preformed a gentle nod as he passed the receptionist, she had pointed him towards the conference room without any exchange between the two. Just how many aliens are going to be here? As the door slid open, Kesik scanned the wall before anything else, noting any side doors or additional entrances, anything that could be used in an ambush, he was pleased, this was a good enough room. He paid little attention to the others in the room, the human female at the front gave him a look that dripped with hatred, and Kesik responded with a near invisible head tilt to the right. He could care less about the others recruited for this little mission, he was not here to make friends or money, this was to clear his name, and stop violence against his people.

Kesik found an empty space on the wall next to the where he entered the room and leaned against it. He relaxed a bit upon seeing another Batarian. Good. Let's see if this is worth coming to the station.

The cherry at the end of Mark's cigarette flared a bit in the shadow of the alley as he took a deep draw on the tobacco. The smoke wafted gently past his granite like features, and slicked back hair. He'd let his beard grow out too, and it was a offering a bit more than a five o'clock shadow at this point. The dark, monochromatic pattern of his scarred armor blended well with the shadows, and one more light would hardly be noticeable amidst all the neon and artificial lighting that was so prevalent these days. His eyes swept lazily across the street that the Cartagena Inn was located on as the minutes ticked by, discreetly observing those that made their way towards the building.

It was a mixture of surprise and extreme annoyance when he'd gotten the message from Tanya. She and Kosso hadn't seen fit to bring any of the old crew from the Tyrus along on their little vacation, and now all of a sudden they decide his services might be helpful? Who the fuck did they think they were? He hadn't bothered replying since receiving the message, and he had half a mind to just throw a grenade into the room out of spite.

Still, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't genuinely intrigued by what could possibly cause them to request him so casually. And it's not like he had anything better to do at the moment, what with the Council races cracking down on the Terminus systems with their new attack dog, and the big merc outfits hogging the few jobs that were left these days.

Mark was a damn sight better than any grunt the Blue Suns or Eclipse could loan out, but clients liked having insurance for failure, which is something the big groups could offer in a way a one man show couldn't. Blue Suns troops could be held accountable for failure. Mark (not that he'd fail in the first place, but still) could just disappear. Just one human with no one to answer to fading into the galaxy. Mark liked it that way, but clients didn't.

A commotion down the street drew his attention. Looked like a group of batarians felt like nabbing some cargo. They had to be the dumbest slavers to ever grace the four eyed species blood line. Or maybe they were just overly ambitious. Not only did they approach their prey from the direct front, but they picked the biggest, most heavily armored human in sight. After a brief verbal exchange the human threw a wide hook that any half competent fighter would see coming from a mile and have time to laugh at before promptly blocking. But, he knocked his new acquaintance to the ground and the other batarians backed off. After some theatrical intimidation the human went on his merry way and entered the Cartagena Inn, just a few doors down and across the street from Mark's location.

Sloppy. Mark thought, effective. But sloppy. Chances were good this was another merc that Tanya had contacted. No wonder they'd had the nerve to come calling like nothing had happened. He wasn't sure why it bothered him so much. No. That wasn't true. He knew exactly why, but he'd be damned before he ever admitted it.

More people entered the Inn over the next half hour or so than would be normal on another day, but most would look at home on any other station. A rather decrepit looking fellow with a cloak being the exception. He even had a krogan following with some bags. Didn't seem the mercenary type though.

Deciding that the meeting was legit and not some ploy by an old enemy to take him out (he wasn't sure which scenario was worse), Mark flicked his cigarette away and made to enter the inn himself. Still, he had his Mattock, Phalanx and knife locked securely to his back, thigh, and chest respectively. Could never be to careful. And having been living on Cartagena for a couple months and done a favor or two for a few of the higher ups in this backwater cesspool, he'd earned the privilege of walking about as such. Flaunt it if you got it as the saying went.

As he entered the conference room, some of its occupants were expected and others were a surprise. He noted Tanya and Kosso at one end of the table and made a point of picking a spot at the opposite end. He plopped himself into one of the chairs and put his feet up on the table, lighting a fresh cigarette as he went.

"Well well," Mark mumbled gruffly past the cig loud enough to be heard, "You guys actually showed up. I'll be honest, I was half expecting you to bitch out before the ball even got rolling. So color me impressed!" He laced his fingers behind his head, fully prepared to make this as difficult as possible for everybody involved. He gazed flatly at the two ex-Nova members.

"You can even take that as a compliment if you like."

'Karr's' was a shitty little bar near the docks on Cartegena Station. It consisted of little more than the actual, physical bar, the stools in front of it, and a small handful of tables with mismatched chairs. A row of TVs displayed sports and local news for a disinterested clientele. This clientele consisted primarily of batarians, most of whom seemed to be dock workers or criminals of varying occupations, with a few other races scattered about. Aside from the droning of the TV, the room was mostly silent. This was a place where most people went to escape their troubles before returning to a shitty job or a shitty home, not to socialize. That made the aggravated groan from the only asari present all the more grating.

"Ugh! You win again!" Saseen exclaimed, rubbing her eyes. She took another brightly colored shot from the row of glasses in front of her. The bartender seemed utterly exasperated by this point.

"For the last time, I'm not playing your childish game," He growled, reaching under the bar for a glass. She'd been in there every day for the last two weeks, and it always came to this before his shift was up.

"Borok, my friend, you're damn near unbeatable," she continued, as if he had never spoken to begin with. The bartender groaned, and Saseen took another drink. "Y'know, Winning a staring contest against a batarian is pretty high up there on my list of things to do before I die." He did, in fact, know this. She'd shared that little factoid every time she declared a round of the ridiculous game, inevitably, lost.

A few moments of silence passed, and the overworked Borok hoped against hope that it would last. If there was a type of drinker he hated, it was a talkative one, and this one was dancing on his very last nerve. "I've been thinking, and I've decided that the 'disinterested prick' bartender stereotype doesn't fit you at all. You should really try being one of those helpful, friendly ones who dispense words of wisdom and shit. I think you'd be a lot happier," She informed him. At his glare, she added, "Oh, don't look at me like that. I'd betcha anything that you're gonna miss me after today." Though he hadn't cared enough to comment on her noticeably improved demeanor that day, this was a statement that did spike his interest. To miss someone generally required them being gone; even this chattering asari had to understand that.

"Why is that?" He prodded.

"Aha! See, I can tell already how you're dreading seeing me go! Well, don't worry, friend. See, I've got a meeting about a potential job later today. But if that doesn't work out, I'll be right back on this stool by this evening." She emphasized the statement with another drink.

"How much later?" Borok asked, trying not to look overly eager. Saseen looked over at one of the screens playing a news channel. Her eyes narrowed as they fixed first on the Siame Industries logo behind the news anchor. They searched for a second before settling on the bottom corner where the time was displayed.

"Shit! Dammit, I gotta go! It's been fun!" The asari slid down off of the bar stool, gave her 'friend' a half salute as a farewell, and ran off. Borok almost protested that she'd yet to pay, but he would've kept his mouth shut even if he hadn't remembered that they had her credit chit on file and could still charge her for the drinks. Funny that he now found himself hoping that her meeting would go well, if only because it would mean that he wouldn't have to see her again for a while.

Saseen's chosen haunt was only a few minutes away from the Cartegena Inn. She'd scoped the place out as soon as she decided to attend the meeting in the first place. Her scope wasn't too thorough -she wasn't enough of a planner to care about looking for back exits and the like- but she'd at least wanted to make sure that the place actually existed, and that she had a good idea of where it was. The crowd wasn't quite thick enough that she had to push and shove her way to her destination. Still, though she didn't quite run through narrow streets, her hurry was pretty clear. Every time she was late for a scheduled appointment, she cursed herself and swore that it would never happen again. Unfortunately, it seemed that those vows were always forgotten by the next day.

Maybe when I'm a matriarch I'll be able to keep track of time, She thought as she arrived at the rather unremarkable building. She slipped in, exchanged a brief word with the receptionist, and headed towards the conference room. Given the large crowd she found inside, she guessed that she was probably the very last to survive. She looked towards the head of the table and gave an unapologetic grin before finding a seat between a nervous looking quarian and a human whose demeanor made her question whether it was him or the drell man and human woman at the front who was in charge of it all.

The room was full up to the brim with well equipped, well armed criminals. A few stood out to her -across the table from herself was the second female drell she'd seen in her entire life- but she wasn't overly concerned with the lot of them. Sure, she'd scrounged up her armor from a local vendor, and her only weapon was the Phalanx pistol on her hip, but she still honestly believed that, if this were a trap, she'd be able to carve a way out. Hey, Saseen V'nalas was nothing if not confident to the point of foolhardiness. As it was, she leaned forward eagerly in her seat, ready for the meeting to begin.

One by one, the contacts filed into the room – far more than Tanya had anticipated. Outwardly, she was calm, even aloof; but inside, her heart was pounding and there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She was never one for public speaking, and in this case, it was more like trying to sell a seemingly suicidal idea to a bunch of strangers who were, for the most part, far more lethal individuals than she ever was. As ever, Kosso’s presence was more than reassuring. Back on Tyrus, she was happiest tucked away in her own corner of the cargo hold, listening to music no one else on the ship could tolerate while buried in the guts of some machine, not a leader or socialite.
Sure, there were times where the Systems Alliance marine reared her head to take charge, especially if she was the only one with the technical knowhow to accomplish something, but this was another beast entirely.

The fact that anyone showed up, let alone filled almost all of the anticipated seats, surprised her. It was a confirmation of sorts that she was doing the right thing, and if a bunch of backwards bastards on the run from whatever law the galaxy could throw at them decided to at least entertain the idea of pooling their expertise to ensure they could continue business as usual instead of being slotted in the back of the head or thrown in prison, and that was enough for her.

She studied the people coming in, putting names to faces from the data her and Kosso obtained from Administrator Var’uuk and their own database stolen from the information heist on Kahje two years ago. She caught the nod from the Slavic man, Iosif, and returned it in an equally affable manner. The man was a career pilot of small craft, gunships, mainly, but he was also a likely candidate for a backup pilot on any interstellar ship they came across – it wasn’t as if they’d be commandeering a large military vessel like a cruiser with a handful of disgruntled criminals. The man also had a rather foul experience at the hands of batarian slavers, if the news reports were to be believed. Push come to shove, if the batarians couldn’t be trusted, he’d at least be a sure gun on her side. She wasn’t above planning for the worst.

Ah, there was Mark. Tanya and Kosso’s former colleague looked as unimpressed as ever. She raised an eyebrow at the older man. “And you haven’t punched anyone and it’s been 15 seconds already. You must have taken up meditation in the past couple years.” Tanya smirked at her old comrade, as short lived as it was. “I’m proud of you for such Zen disposition, Mark. Your Cro Magnon ancestors would be proud.”

The next to catch her eye was one of the batarian assholes, Kesik. Their eyes met, his face an unreadable mask but an almost invisible cant of his head to his right wasn’t lost on Tanya. She made a very conscious effort not to over exaggerate a tilt of her own head down to her right shoulder to tell him to go fuck himself. See Kosso, I can be culturally sensitive, too. she thought, before dismissing the thought. Despite her vocal protests against having batarians invited to this meeting, Tanya had an ulterior motive; she really wanted to be able to look them in the eyes and not see monsters that killed little girls for a change, and working with them was possibly one of the only ways to accomplish that Herculean feat. She didn’t know much about either of the batarians other than their skills came highly recommend on the market and Kesik was very likely a wanted slaver; he likely was going to like her plan the least of anyone in the room, but she was determined to go into this the same way as she went into Nova. Everyone gets a clean slate. The past doesn’t fucking matter. she reminded herself, hoping repeating that mantra enough would erase some of the stains of their presence. However, Kesik wasn’t the one Tanya was most concerned with.

That would be Voluk; there was no doubt in Tanya’s mind where he learned his skills. She caught the batarian’s eyes wandering around the room, leering predatorily at the various people seated around the room, as if sizing them up. It wasn’t a look of aggression that filled his eyes, as far as she could tell. It was almost a hunger, years of experience condensing people into commodities instead of living, thinking people who lived lives and had families. She felt the familiar pang of panic creep up her spine as memories of Mindoir started to creep back, but she forced herself to focus elsewhere. The batarian would be an asset or she would be rid of him, one way or another. The ghosts of the past need not be disturbed again, and Tanya needed muscle for this mission, people who weren’t afraid of getting their hands dirty and being strong enough to punch above their weight. While Tanya doubted Voluk earned his skill and reputation by anything other than slaving, they were indeed skills she could use. And who could say? Maybe spending time working with aliens instead of trapping them in nets and selling them in auctions would change his ways. The Terra Nova native chose to believe that Voluk’s shitty life choices were due to the batarian Hegemony’s relentless propaganda and inflexible caste system more so than him actively enjoying the suffering of others. Time would tell, and Tanya was determined not to fuck this up by letting her trauma dictate her choices going forward.

The next to catch her attention was the salarian, Jaerdi Longassname. Like most salarians, whose culture dictated that your full name must include everything from what galactic cluster you were born in to the make of your first sky car and where you lost your virginity, Jaerdi struck Tanya as a sharp-witted man who didn’t dwell on the past and viewed any carnage they may have cost with little more thought than winning a few credits on a Quazar machine. The salarian was a well-dressed guy, obviously acquainted to high-income tastes, and if the dossier she had in front of her could be believed, the guy was a hell of a hitman who got around. If Siame Industries had someone who needed to go missing, Jaerdi would be exactly the kind of guy who proves you get what you pay for with security. This was a small team, and everyone had to punch way above their weight to make a dent against the looming leviathan that Rebekha Gaela spent the last several centuries amassing. She could see the salarian as an individual that needed very little to keep him content.

Also in the strong arm category was Henrik Andersson, the great bearded wonder. Looking somehow more unkempt than Mark’s caveman façade was the Earthborn Swede who would look just as at home in a men’s fashion magazine or a cardboard box on the streets. It was funny how a change of clothes could make someone either look alluring or repugnant. He was one of the easier dossiers to put together, and nearly all of his employers seemed to have glowing recommendations for the man for his unflinching ability to get shit done, even if his moniker of The Enforcer seemed better suited for one of those masked wrestling leagues more so than a hardened gun-for-hire. He wasn’t ex-military, so his training was rather unorthodox, forged mainly through experience than training. The guy likely wasn’t afraid to do some rather morally grey shit that would make most career soldiers balk. You don’t survive decades in the mercenary business by being meek or dumb. Nobody sitting in the room fit that description; the dipshits didn’t last long after the crackdown following the Skyllian Blitz.

Rounding out the table were the quarians, Loral’Zanis and Kali’Zael, both selected for their specialized expertise and partially because of Tanya’s fondess for quarian ingenuity and adaptability. Past Kosso and Roland, one of the only members of Nova that Tanya had a fondness bordering on friendship with was the quarian Tzvi‘Nahal nar Neda, or just Savvy to Tanya. Most quarians Tanya encountered were honest, hardworking people dealing with one of the shortest sticks in the galaxy and somehow making it work. Loral was a couple years younger than Tanya, but somehow he came across in her mind as a much older and composed gentleman who apparently fucked up bad enough to eat an exile. However, the man had ample experience in the medicine field and given what the group would soon be doing was bound to result in a few wounds here and there. The fact he had worked on alien ships as a medical officer was a boon; he was familiar with physiology past quarians, and being quarian, he was likely obsessed with sterilization and cleanliness. He wouldn’t get much of a chance of that if he was needed as a field medic, which was a likely possibility. Tanya knew all quarians went through combat training before departing on their pilgrimage, so it was a matter of seeing how much Loral remembered.

The other quarian, Kali, was perhaps the least likely person to be in this room – as far as Tanya could tell, the girl had no criminal record and she appeared quite uneasy in present company, something Tanya could tell in her subtle shift in body language she had picked up on serving with quarians in the past. There wasn’t much on her other than she lived quietly and unassumingly in a somewhat respectable apartment in Omega and not a single shred of evidence could be found on her doing anything even bordering illegal. Either she was the most low-key criminal in the galaxy, or she had some other motive for wanting to get some payback on Siame Industries, and whatever that could be eluded Tanya entirely. However, it was her skill with technology that mattered to Tanya, not her reasons for latching onto a stray signal looking for a crew to strike back against the miserable SI bastards. Whether or not she’d be out of her league remained to be seen, but one didn’t tend to survive on Omega without being a little bit prepared to be exposed to the rougher edges of the galaxy.

Also hailing from Omega was the turian hacker, who operated from the handle of Sleuth. The decrepit-looking turian fancied himself an affordable information broker and from all accounts, there wasn’t many systems he couldn’t break into without a little time and patience. Aran Nykerius wasn’t very formidable looking, his body misshapen in a cruel way that no turian woman would likely find attractive. However, there was an intense intelligence in the man’s pale eyes, and looking at him was enough to convince Tanya that the man was already running dozens of thoughts through his mind about his new surroundings and the people around him. While Tanya was an adept hacker in her own right, her personal field of expertise was as a mechanical engineer, building and repairing tangible machines. Men like Sleuth, by all accounts, took it to a whole new level. The fact the man was not ashamed of his physical frailty was somewhat endearing; the man knew his limits and wouldn’t let pride get in the way.

An enigma in the group was a drell woman named Daryna who had a curious blue hue to her complexion Tanya had rarely seen in a drell before. What made her stand out was her reputedly astounding biotic abilities, including the quite uncommon ability to manipulate people’s minds. If I had her talents, I wouldn’t have been stuck in half the jams I’ve been in. Tanya thought, reflecting on the times that she had to bullshit her way through a checkpoint, through an inspection, or in the worst scenarios, shoot her way out. It kind of creeped her out that Daryna was capable of entering somebody’s mind and controlling them like a puppet, almost to the extent that the batarians sitting across from her did. However, the drell had a reputation as a thief, which meant solid infiltration abilities and her biotic abilities would give the team a much needed edge in combat. Tanya’s gaze lingered on the girl a bit longer, noticing how distinctly uncomfortable the girl looked; it wasn’t unlike the younger quarian, Kali. Tanya wondered how much real danger either of them had been in, but she could definitely understand where their unease came from. There were some seriously hard men and women in the room.

Perhaps one of the most important figures to Tanya and Kosso’s plot was Saseen V’Nalas, the asari biotic who had a history in piracy and commanding ships. While both former Nova crewmembers could fumble their way through a turian frigate’s controls, most of Tyrus’ flying was handled by the VI, Captain. She spent her career navigating the galaxy, running the ins and out of a starship, knowing how to intercept merchant vessels and avoid the various militaries and mercenaries that huntered her. The asari woman experienced far more years plying her trade than the vast majority of the others in the room, with the exceptions of a few krogan and asari who filled out a few more of the 25 seats in the room, along with a few more humans and other aliens of various skills. She mainly seemed to be here on account of no longer having a ship. It was mainly because of her that Tanya was certain that the first phase of the plan would work.

Tanya sighed and rose from her seat, holding a hand over a balled fist to keep herself from fidgeting overly much as she addressed the group assembled in the room. It was time.

“The Galaxy’s always been a dangerous place, full of opportunity, adventure, credits and purpose for those of the mind to look for it. The people gathered here today, the only thing we share is skirting galactic law and the fact that some asshole with a lot more money than any of us wants us dead. So shall we get started, or do you want to wait until more of us wind up dead before deciding we should do something about it?” She asked as a way of introduction, not bothering to butter up the assembled crowd. She had a feeling they responded more to action and decisiveness than sweet words. Her grey eyes scanned the various faces in the room, perhaps skimming over the batarians a bit more quickly than the others. “Everyone here is here because they have a bone to pick with our dear friends, Siame Industries, unless of course you’re here for that swinger’s convention, which is the next hall over.” Tanya said, only half joking. There actually was a speed dating group set up in the next hall over.

“For the rest of you, what I’m about to propose probably won’t sit well with people who need to plan things out days in advance, because in a bit less than three hours Siame Industries is going to be here looking to apprehend this guy,” Tanya said, pointing at Kesik. “Based on an anonymous tip. They’re under the impression he’s here alone, laying low, and after seeing how Siame Industries usually handles individuals in controlled stations, they’re going to be most likely landing with a single small ship, most likely a Corvette, and flaunt a warrant for so and so’s arrest. It would be boring if it didn’t mean we all didn’t know somebody who got grabbed like that. Ladies and gentlemen, I propose we steal that fucking ship.” Tanya said, leaving her position at the “end” of the table and she made a show of walking around the table. She activated her omni-tool and the room’s projector came to life, the lights in the room dimming simultaneously. Floating in a ghostly orange was a three-dimensional layout of the station, which was soon expanded to focus primarily on the hanger.

“Kosso and I had to sell our ship to get cooperation with Administrator Var’uuk, who hates the Siame bastards as much as us. He’s the one who informed them that Kesik, the batarian sitting over there,” she gestured again with her hand, making sure everyone got a good look at him. “Was seeking refuge at the station. Since Cartagena Station’s in a rather lawless corner of the galaxy and takes perverse pride in their discount brand C-Sec called Cartagena Patrol, they’ve been very reluctant to let Siame Industries have a presence in the Nymean Abyss. Sure, this station gets hit by pirates something like every other week, but don’t tell C-Pat that. They’d sooner let a gunfight erupt in the station than let Siame Industries muscle them out of a job. And that’s rather what I’m counting on, and it’s why we called you all here.

“And so, we come around to why each of you were contacted. Some of you have obvious combat skills, which are necessary going toe to toe with professional mercenaries, especially if we want a chance of even making it off this fucking station, let alone trimming branches off SI like the galaxy’s most pain in the ass houseplant. Some of you are tech expects that I’m told can get into any system devised, others have experience infiltrating undercover, and a select few of you have experience with ships. Look around you; chances are, the person next to you is a master of his or her craft and is goddamn good at what they do. Kosso and myself? We’re smugglers, part-time bounty hunters, and former mercs for hire that pulled off some pretty crazy shit that pissed off a lot of the wrong people in our days. We know how to sneak around the galaxy and avoid the heavy-handed shit we’ve seen Siame pull off so far, and I’ve lost count of the amount of blockades we’ve run. You lot come with us, and we just may get places.” She said, glancing at the quarians as she passed.

A few more taps of the omni-tool and a few locations on the station’s schematics lit up. “But we can’t plot our little revenge fantasy out unless we get off this station. We’re going to need a variety of skills to pull this shit off. First, when the SI ship docks, we need somebody to access the station’s lockdown systems and keep that ship from leaving if shit goes South in a hurry, likewise, we need to intercept any incoming our outgoing communications from the ship; SI ships rarely travel alone, and I’m willing to bet no small amount of credits there’ll be at least two support ships keeping watch in case something goes wrong, like a bunch of assholes stealing their multi-million dollar vessel. Our success depends on being able to keep the other ships in the dark until we can make a clean break for the nearest Mass Relay. If we pull that off, then that’s when we can start getting really naughty.

“What you see highlighted on the schematics is Administrator Var’uun’s office and C-Pat headquarters; it would be in our interest to try and discourage him from reacting… negatively to what we’re about to pull off. He knows a bunch of people are planning on moving against Siame Industries, but he isn’t quite aware that it might well lead to a shootout in the hanger. To keep C-Pat from interfering, we should have access to the hanger from the rest of the station isolated, so someone who’s skilled in tech needs to handle that, otherwise we’re going to risk getting in a fight with C-Pat and whoever the SI landing party is. Not good odds and I plan on living to see another day.

“For those of us not batting eyelashes at an over entitled administrator I just sold my piece of shit ship to for information and a few credits, keeping discount C-Sec from piling on us, or keeping our new ship from getting away from our grabby hands will be in the hanger. Our guest of honour, Kesik, is going to play the role of a captured bounty and will be awaiting turn over to the SI guards with two of his,” Tanya made exaggerated quotation fingers, “’Captors.’ Once SI’s mooks are out and the ship has communications isolated and is locked down, the rest of the assholes pretending they’re uninterested loiterers spring into action, neutralize the SI agents, and we storm the ship, taking it by any means necessary. We get our pilot to the cockpit, set a course, and recall anyone not aboard the ship to hurry their asses aboard. If everyone does their jobs right, none of us gets hurt, we get a new shiny ship and with it, the coordinates of several Siame Industries assets, key personnel, and the ability to plan to be a few steps ahead of the bastards for a change. Let’s see how they like being fucked for a change.” Tanya grinned. “So, do I have your interest?”

She returned to her seat, propping her boots up on the table. She noticed a few of the seats that were previously occupied, the occupants clearly not a fan of her pitch. Those who remained, however, at least were entertaining the idea. It was a start. “I see a few of you aren’t cowardly shits, that’s good, because we’re all about to embark on something incredibly stupid that’s going to likely have a big, fat target painted on all of our backs. But fuck it; I’m tired of running, and I’m tired of fighting with you guys while we all have a mutual enemy that wants our heads on a spike. Either we keep doing things as we have been, or we set our shit aside and get this done. If any of you lot who are interested in joining this little venture have anything to add, now’s the time to do it, because we only have a couple of hours to set up, get our belongings ready to go in the hanger, and give Siame Industries one hell of a welcoming party.” Tanya looked over at Kosso. “Anything I missed?” she asked.

Aran listened carefully to everything Tanya had to say. Truth be told, the bravado oozing from her words worried the turian slightly. People with outrageous plans like this usually didn't have a very long life expectancy in this corner of the galaxy, especially not when going up against goliaths like Siame Industries, but on the other hand... she did sound a little like she knew what she was doing. At least she had the good sense to call this meeting before doing anything rash on her own. Aran considered seeking aid from more experienced individuals to be the first sign of intelligence, which is why he was never quick to dismiss any potential clients as stupid. They came to him, after all. And Tanya certainly didn't strike him as stupid.

He decided to shelve his worries about her as a person for the moment and instead turned his mind to the actual plan of action. Stealing a ship from a starport wasn't the most incredulous of ideas. It seemed viable, especially after Aran took another look around the room -- many of the people gathered here looked exceedingly dangerous and very capable of handling themselves in a shootout. He remembered Mark Russo's name from a few years ago. The turian and the human had brokered jobs a few times, with Aran acting as the middle man between organizations or gangs that stood to profit from a little organized havoc, and mister Russo himself. The human had returned the favor once or twice by taking out individuals that Aran considered a liability to his operation. He could be trusted to get the job done, and Aran assumed that he wasn't the only one in the room.

With the more physical side of the affair put to rest in his mind, Aran considered the technological challenges that had to be faced. Keeping the station under lockdown and the support ships in the dark... definitely possible. The trick was getting Aran to the appropriate consoles. High-level command stations had a tendency of being untethered from the rest of the digital infrastructure to avoid being hacked remotely, so he'd have to be there in person. Aran detested the thought, but if he could get an escort, he wouldn't have to do any of the fighting to get there himself. He looked at Mark Russo again, thinking it over for a few seconds, before clearing his throat and speaking up.

"You have my interest," Aran began. "And my support. If you get me to the station security command center, I'll keep the station on lockdown and any support gunships off our backs. However," he continued, and wriggled uncomfortably in his seat, "I'm going to need some help." He looked at Mark Russo again, meeting the human's eyes this time. "Some of you may know me as Sleuth. I'm a hacker and damn good at what I do. What I don't do, however, is fighting. So if any of you ladies or gentlemen would be so kind to... ah, escort me, that'd be most appreciated." Aran drummed the three fingers of his left hand on the tabletop and looked over to the crate of equipment in the corner of the room. "And someone needs to carry that to the hangar," he added with a vague wave in the direction of his belongings. He looked at the rest of the group, hoping these people would acknowledge the importance of helping him do his job. If they could keep any scorn for his physical frailty out of it at the same time, that'd be even better.

The first person to arrive (literally, considering he was there before the hosts) at the meeting, the Salarian hitman Jaedi Tal, was making Kosso nervous. The salarian himself hardly gave him a sideways glance, appearing for all intents and purposes as if the circumstances didn't faze him in the slightest, but Kosso could feel his anxiety rising by the second. The gun at his hip gave him some solace, but not enough, and Kosso knew that if needed drawing his position at the table would severely handicap his reaction time. All his instincts were screaming at him to get up and find a more comfortable stance on two feet, so that's what he did. A water cooler in a one corner of the room seemed a decent enough excuse, and he stood to fetch himself a cup, ignoring the look Tanya gave him as he did. She was used to his constant worrying and incessant need for caution, but had never had much luck convincing him not to be so "paranoid." At least she didn't say anything about it this time. The water looked like shit, and tasted it even worse, but he drank it all the same as he took up position behind and to the side of Tanya, leaning against the far wall. Here he had a much better drawing angle on his gun, and a clear view of the door as the potential conspirators wandered in.

First was the female Drell, wearing some ridiculous looking attire. Oh, goddess. A Drell wearing sunglasses. Talk about the perfect setup for a joke. Indeed, Tanya was already turning to him, a slight grin on her face as she opened her mouth to make some clever quip. A sharp glare by Kosso stopped her before she could get the words out, and she just shrugged instead, the grin never leaving her face. The Drell herself wasn't much to look at once you got past the strange attire: Scrawny, with little in the way of armor, armaments or anything threatening. But if what they said about her abilities was true...well, Kosso wasn't sure what to think about all of that. He didn't even really believe her supposed talents were even possible, but in the off chance they were, the Drell would undoubtedly be a useful ally. Or a dangerous enemy. The thought of someone being able to reach inside his head and rearrange his thoughts like cheap knick-knacks sent a wave of terror down his spine, and he was glad when the next person entered and he had something new to worry about.

The tall bearded man (Spirits, I had no idea humans could get so hairy) was undoubtedly the man known primarily as "The Enforcer." An intimidating name for an intimidating man, and one that Kosso had heard before during his travels around the Terminus Systems. As a contract killer, mercenary, and solider for hire, Kosso distrusted him on principle. As long as the pay was good, he could be sure to get the job done efficiently and without emotional complication, and there was certainly something reassuring about that. However, he didn't think he'd ever be able to feel safe working with a man that was on someone else's payroll. A few credits in the wrong direction, and suddenly allies turn to enemies. And Siame has a lot of credits.

That same distrust went double for the Salarian. That one practically oozed danger: in his well-fitted suit and his air of patient nonchalance, he cut a striking figure that Kosso was sure he didn't want to turn his back on. He'd spent a few good years dodging hitmen and assassins, and still this one managed to make his skin crawl. Maybe it was just the realization that he'd actually be working alongside someone who would unashamedly and unflinchingly murder him if paid enough, or maybe it was just those dark eyes of his, quick and careful despite the posture of indifference he was projecting.

The next through the door was another human, easily identifiable by the bionic hand protruding from one sleeve as he gave the two hosts a quick nod and moved to take a seat. He's polite, Human, has a love for starships and hate for Batarians...Tanya must be in love. The thought made him strangely uneasy. Two years of traveling alone with Tanya, he'd finally found someone who he could trust, and who trusted him in return. Now the sudden thought of losing that bond due to the invasion of one of these strangers made his heartbeat start to rise. You're being stupid. Stow your jealousy away and focus. A lifetime of trying to suppress hurtful memories left him well-practiced in smothering his emotions, and soon he had successfully discarded that strangely worrying thought process. Concerning Losif himself, Kosso had few fears beyond those that were standard by now. The man was skilled, and would make a valuable asset to his team if he played along. There were plenty of potential "applicants" that had Kosso far more concerned...

...like the Batarian who entered the room next. Given what they knew of his history, Kosso expected Valok to be a cut copy of the stereotypical Batarian, and so far he wasn't disappointed. All of the bastards eyes were moving, roving over the faces of the others in the room with a sort of cold hunger. If that guy isn't a veteran of the slaving business, I'll eat my coat. Guess you were right about this one, Tanya. Kosso met his gaze without blinking when it came his turn to be sized up, but the Batarian apparently wasn't interested in holding a staring contest with a "lesser" being and just continued his silent appraisals elsewhere. Real charmer, that one.

Valok's only gave a cursory glance at the next applicant to answer the conference room, and Kosso could see why. The Turian was hunched over and limping, relying on a Krogan lackey to carry his things. This could only be the legendary "Sleuth," Aran Nykerius. "Sleuth" was another moniker Kosso had heard during his travels of the galaxy, and had more than once done business with the man (at least, indirectly and through alternative channels) back when selling Eclipse's most valuable information had been his primary source of income. To be honest, this man, for all of his fraility, scared him more than most. There was nothing more dangerous than a man who knew how to use (and steal) information. If he had a choice between the two, Kosso would rather make enemies with a raging Krogan: at least he knew how to fight an actual, physical enemy. Aran's style of fighting was abstract, complex, and invisible. Kosso wondered if Aran remembered him from their past dealings. Surely the man went through hundreds, if not thousands of clients, customers and sellers in a year. What were the odds he remembered one Drell? If he did though...that could become a complication. Better to cross that bridge when he came to it.

The meeting was graced by the presence of not one Quarian, but two. Kosso had really only worked with two other Quarians in his life, both during his time on Nova. One had been a real asshole that tried to blackmail him, and the other had been unceasingly annoying, always pranking, laughing and generally being a nuisance. He really didn't have high hopes for these two, but nothing about either them jumped out to him immediately as a potential threat. The older one, Loral, was a bit of an enigma. Though he apparently worked as a doctor now, he'd done something in his past to warrant an exile from the Migrant Fleet. Kosso didn't know much about Quarian culture, but he knew enough to know that was a pretty fucking big deal. The guy seemed harmless enough now, if a bit fidgety, but Kosso made a mental note to keep an eye on him and maybe do a little digging on his past. Maybe the other Quarian knows something about him. Her record, on the other hand, was practically spotless. In fact, of everyone in the room, Kali seemed to be the relatively young and innocent, which of course made Kosso trust her even less. She's got to have some sort of motive, and chances are, it's something sinister. Why else would she choose to willingly work with these assholes?

As if on cue, another Batarian entered. With two of the four-eyed bastards in the room, Kosso could tell that Tanya was on edge, though outwardly she was holding herself together remarkably well. She even returned the newcomer's head tilt with one of her own. On the one hand, he wanted to reach out and slap her for adding even more tension to the already tense meeting, but on the other hand, yeah, fuck that guy. Given what they knew about Kesik's history, she had the right to be a little testy, though Kosso worried that her stubbornness might get them into trouble later on down the road. Still, he trusted Tanya, and he actually expected her to make every attempt to actually tolerate the Batarians before inevitably lasping back into hate. Hell, at least if it comes down to a fistfight I'll be comforted with the knowledge that the guy deserves it. As it was, Kesik took his seat at the table without further incident.

Mark. Fucking. Russo. This guy was like a bad dream you just couldn't stop having. Last time Kosso had seen him, he'd been cracking skulls along with the rest of the Nova crew. The years apart apparently hadn't improved his disposition much. "I'm surprised you showed up as well, Mark," Kosso answered the man's retort with a sly smile. "Must be unemployed again. Tell me, did you leave your boss bleeding and broken on the sidewalk outside, or was this last one smart enough to fire you before you went beserk and started throwing punches?"

Last through the door was an Asari, Saseen. Experienced pilot and fighter with a glowing service record, she'd be a serious asset to the team, especially if they could pull of their first big caper. Her late arrival didn't bode well for her commitment to punctuality, but that wasn't exactly why Kosso wanted to work with her so she let it slide. To be frank, he was glad to see an Asari: their longevity usually meant they possessed great amounts of experience, and experience was invaluable. Hell, she even sort of looked like-

Blue skin. White smile. Gestures towards the curve of her body. Lithe and dangerous. Gun in hand. Smells of smoke and perfume and sweat. "How can you even compare?" He smiles back. Knows he can't.

-Kosso shook the memory away. Damn He'd thought he had them under control, but let his guard down for one second and they slipped right back in. He missed his sunglasses, now more than ever. When he'd been wearing them, he felt safe, secure in the knowledge that no one could see his eyes when they danced to sights and stimuli that were only in his head. When it was just him and Tanya, he hadn't felt like he needed them, but now...he'd just have to be more careful until he could find another pair.

With everyone in the conference room, Tanya gave her speech. Kosso knew most of it was ad-libbed. Tanya had a natural talent for these sorts of things: she was honest, friendly, and people were inclined to trust her. She'd even won him over somehow, which was truly a superhuman feat. Whether her charms worked on the applicants gathered here today, he couldn't quite tell. A few got up to leave when she outlined the stakes, but that was to be expected. The rest seemed at least willing to entertain their admittedly risky plans if it meant getting back at Siame.

"I don't have much else to add," he said with a shrug when Tanya handed the baton over to him. Then, thinking of something suddenly, he spoke up. "We don't have to be friends here. We don't have to like each other, hell, we don't even have to tolerate each other." His glance wandered towards the Batarians during those particular words. "What we do have to do is take down Siame, or at least put a sizeable dent in their operations. Anything that has the potential to jeopardize that mission is unacceptable. If you're here, that means you're smart enough to realize that none of us can do this alone. Now that we actually have a chance, I'd rather not throw away my life for a stupid reason." He finished his water, realizing he was out of words. "Basically what I'm saying is, let's not fuck up."

Kesik would have preferred if this meeting had been a Siame ambush, any outcome would have been better than his current position.

Upon hearing of his role of the plan, Kesik's initial reaction was one of shock. He wore a vicious scowl on his face and pointed a finger at Tanya, ready to call her out and end this foolishness before it began. However, he soon found that his role in this undertaking was less voluntary than he would have hoped for. Kesik was the 5th most wanted individual implicated in the Skyllian Blitz, and his work with pirate bands was almost as high-profile as his individual work in the last 2 years. The price on his head would indeed cover any extra expenses for Siame Industries to send a well-equipped force if they had learned of his location. This Human's plan was solid, if not completely insane.

So instead of interjecting and telling Tanya exactly what he thought of her at this moment, Kesik stood still at the back of the room, fixating a stare directly at her. In any other scenario, he would have been one of the others leaving this room. A good plan required time, patience, and resources, this was too sudden, too reckless. On the other hand, forcing a deadline on would recruit only the most dedicated individuals to the cause, ensuring the best possible team would be formed. Ignoring the torrent of looks that came his way, Kesik listened the proposed plan.

Any force that Siame sent to Cartagena Station would be well equipped for combat, as well as any emergency situation. The team would be in a good logistical situation if they were able to capture a mercenary ship. There was a chance that Siame would attempt to buy off members of the Cartagena Patrol, they would need to deal with that potential problem. Someone would also need to ensure his equipment found its way to the ship if the plan worked. Kesik would need someone he could trust if he had to be working alongside a Human as obviously racist as this one. The other remaining Batarian at this meeting would be his best chance, Kesik made plans to seek out his kinsman as soon as possible.

And thus, despite every fiber of his being, Kesik agreed to stay and participate in this plan. His scowl dissipated, replaced with an eerie, forced calm. He took an empty seat in front of him, leaning forward. "My captors should be humans," he said in a voice that was far softer than normal, "easier to believe that way."

He would remain silent for the rest of the initial planning, but he maintained a fierce stare on Tanya.

Valok watched as the last vestiges of the criminal underworld piled through the door, a variety of races, skills and liabilities crossed the threshold of the conference room, a couple of quarians, which he doubted knew which end of a rifle was used to club an enemy to the ground, but the one that caught his eye was the turian, hunched over and requiring a krogan to carry his equipment spoke volumes of just how desperate this venture was. Shaking his head at the turian’s arrival, he watched the latecomers enter, ending with an asari who was rather sweet on the eyes. Turning his gaze back to the human he assumed was Tanya Carson, and her drell compatriot Kosso Irak, those were the two who had called this meeting together, their plan would decide just how far Valok would go for his revenge. The speech was rather more than he expected, the plan however, left much to be desired. As a slaver he knew just how hard it could be to keep a ship of any size from crying out for help, let alone a corvette, granted it wasn’t as large as the freighters that he had often targeted, they were military vessels, every system would have secondary locations it could tap into, emergency power conduits to bypass damaged areas of the power supply, and worse was the armoury, which could have a multitude of heavy weapons nestled neatly in their racks. Granted the advantage of surprise would aid them, but they would need to make sure enough people got aboard the ship to take it, and to keep her from calling out for her sister ships to save her. The plan was certainly bold, almost batarian bold, but bold could only get you so far, the shambles that was the Skyllian Blitz was proof of that.

Looking back from Tanya to see what the faces of the others would tell, Valok was unsurprised to notice that some of the seats were now empty, no doubt fearing for their lives in such an unorthodox plan. The more he thought about it however, the more it seemed likely to work, they wouldn’t need a large crew, enough to keep the ship running, and enough to keep Siame Industries fearing for their interests. It would be similar to a Thresher Maw being picked apart by a swarm of firewasps, death by a million stings. Granted they wouldn’t be able to make a million stings, but they’d certainly give that asari bitch an itch.

“I’m in,” he said, leaning back, looking over to the batarian that was to be their bait. “One condition though, I stand close by my brother batarian there, I won’t have him getting killed because of others,”

While he respected that each had their own reasons to be there, a fellow batarian was a perk the others couldn’t provide, and to lose said perk due to a trigger-happy fool or just a human was not an outcome that he would stomach easily. Better to be close enough to help out rather than sitting side-lined baby-sitting one of the quarians in some grimy access tunnel with nothing more worrying than an idiotic vorcha to keep his attention. Such thoughts brought a shudder to his frame, he’d rather be knee-deep in mud and blood than sitting in a tunnel with a pack of vorcha to keep company, as entertaining as it would be, give him a tough slog through difficult terrain with heavy weapons fire pouring over him and he’d be happy. It was only after this decision that the name the turian used clicked in his mind: Sleuth. Even on Khar’shadan rumours spread of the information broker who could learn everything of you within a few hours, all transactions, majority of locations of where you lived, by the Pillars Valok had even heard this turian could tell you how many times you paid for the services of some asari “dancer”.

“And I ain’t baby-sitting the turian,” he growled, scratching just above his upper right eye.

As much respect he had for Sleuth, if that was who the turian truly was, he was not going to sit around watching him play away on his omni-tool and with his crate of scrap, not when there was real down and dirty fighting in the thick of a battle to be had.

Daryna felt herself shrinking more and more into her seat as she observed the people around the room. She was almost tempted to leave right then and there. But when Tanya started to speak, her apprehension seemed to melt away. Tanya was so strong, so confident that they could get the job done. That Daryna could help get the job done. The drell had never been valued much by anyone other than her parents, and she was unused to such praise. Master in her craft? Considering that manipulate was a rare biotic ability, it was possible Daryna was better than most biotics, but to call herself a master... she considered quietly correcting Tanya to the people sitting near her, but she decided that she'd let the reputation ride for as long as it could. Just wait until they see me in a fight. I won't tell them I've never killed a man before, but I'll improvise hope it just comes naturally to me. Now that I think of it, I've tried that tactic before. Didn't work out so well. She held up a hand to her mouth to cover the laugh from her own joke.

After Tanya finished, Daryna began to clap. She only got out three before she realized she was alone, and quickly stopped herself. After a few others voiced their support and the girl got the feeling that she needed to finally commit, she stood up. "I'm committing everything I have to fighting Siame with you." She declared proudly. She didn't say that she kept all of her most treasured stolen goods back at her parents' house, which Siame found and promptly confiscated everything. Daryna also shared a bank account with her parents, and after Galdor's arrest Siame had drained everything. "Siame kidnapped my father and killed my mother. I'm with you until he's free and her death is avenged." Daryna had thought it all planned out. She was going to stay with these people until she discovered who hired Siame to imprison Khel Galdor. It was probably someone who was suffering during his black market funded business, or someone from his earlier days of pirating and general lawlessness. Either way, Siame was sure to have the records somewhere. As for Weliyah, that was also easy. She was guarding some rich asari charged with corruption (with about 20 other mercs) when Siame busted in and killed them all. Daryna would find out who ordered the attack and kill the person responsible. "I could probably get onto their ship before any of you. Maybe I could get the pilot to landlock the ship before you make your move."

Daryna began to fish around in her backpack for something. "This isn't much," she was explaining as she was searching, "but it's all I have left. Siame took pretty much everything from me." She finally pulled out a small cooler. "I picked these up from a salarian doctor. Three genuine krogan testicles. Perfect condition. I know it's one short of a full set, one kind of ruptured while I was trying to convince the good doctor to let these go. I figured that you could sell these and buy a good rifle or something. If you'll take them. My gift."

Remaining quiet as the rest of the motley crew filed into the conference room, Iosif continued to analyse the other individuals seated across the table from his person.

First and foremost were the two that were responsible for bringing him here: Tanya Carson and Kosso Irak. The former of the two he'd taken a liking to almost instantly, if only for the fact that she was a fellow human in a place dominated by alien faces and the fact that she also happened to be a veteran of the Alliance, like him - albeit with her limbs intact. From what he could tell, she was sociable enough to return a simple nod without ignoring him or passing an awkward glare, and there seemed to be a vague aura of optimism to her person that wasn't too common amongst freelancers in times like these. For what it was worth, she seemed trustworthy enough. For now, at least.

Kosso was an unusual face for him altogether, a drell. Granted, he knew enough about the drell from what he'd seen on the media and heard from others working in the freelance business, but he'd seldom seen their kind in person before. Once or twice perhaps, back when his own crew had operated before the salarian bastard had turned on them, but otherwise they were almost completely alien to him. From the little he'd actually witnessed though, they were highly efficient at whatever task they were pushed to, though whether the same could be said for this Kosso was as-of-yet unknown to him. Time would tell, as he'd tell himself.

At any rate, the two of them were the least of his concerns when it came to watching his back, if only for the fact that they'd probably be more occupied trying to keep the others in line.

Funnily enough, there happened to be yet another drell within the room, yet this one was female. And, for some reason, she was wearing sunglasses. It was a peculiar sight, if only for the fact he'd never actually seen a female drell before, not even on the media, and for some unusual reason she seemed to stand out with the fact that she was wearing sunglasses. She didn't exactly strike him as a dangerous one but then, that was often how they preferred it - beware the quiet ones, as they often said. Either way, he'd given her little cause (as far as he was concerned) to cause him trouble, so for the time being he remained optimistic.

And yet somehow, this optimism quickly dissipated at the presence of the next arrival. Well-dressed, well-equipped and well-mannered, the salarian seemed to match every stereotype attributed to universally famous assassins and intelligence operatives from all walks of life. Regardless of whatever profession he'd chosen - and Iosif was almost certain the salarian was a contract killer - it was clear that he was a dangerous individual, and one to be kept at a safe distance. The salarian reminded him all-too-well of a certain betrayal that had left him out to dry for a long while, and he'd no intentions of going back there again.

Fortunately enough, the next one to catch his eye was enough to distract him from the matter. After all, there was a multitude of words used to describe the bearded man known to most of the well-informed freelance networks as the Enforcer, a fellow human who'd made a name for himself running a variety of professional jobs that needed only one thing from him: Muscle. Least to say that back when Iosif had been doing his own jobs, he'd been careful to avoid crossing those who affiliated with the man out of a well-earned respect and caution for the Enforcer that had been tempered by years of stories from those who'd found themselves on the winning sides of whatever contracts he'd taken. As far as Iosif was concerned, so long as he didn't cross the man or disrupt his interests, he'd have little more to fear from him than he already did.

Another human face popped up in the room, another veteran by the looks of things, though he couldn't be certain of it for sure. The man was a soldier, that much he could tell, and he seemed to know the two others who'd been responsible for bringing them together, which could only mean that he'd proably be about as trustworthy as Tanya and Kosso were, for what it was worth. Next came an asari who struck him as another traditional mercenary type with a hint of pirate to her presence, and he could easily tell that she was a fellow pilot. Chances are he'd get along with this one, but her kind were best known for their tendencies to be as deadly as they were attractive, but ultimately Iosif figured that so long as he avoided crossing the asari there'd be no trouble found here.

Turians weren't an entirely uncommon face in the freelance business, though most of them had usually been given cause to drop out of the military in the form of a discharge or other social stigma, but this one was unlike any other he'd ever seen. Hunchbacked and about as imposing as a terminally ill hanar, the turian looked more suited to hiding in a dark, dank cave on some forsaken world out in the Terminus Systems than in here, and maybe he was - he was obviously an intelligent individual, if only to compensate for his failings in other matters that had almost certainly made him a pariah to his own people. At any rate, this one deserved a second glance when nobody else was looking.

The next two individuals were less likely to quell what optimism he had for this 'enterprise'. Quarians never were ones to do such, for that matter - though he often felt something of a muted sadness whenever he was reminded of Rael'Dorvah vas Selai. Annoying and boastful as he was sometimes, Iosif had grown fond of the quarian's quirks and his death at the hands of the salarian had only added to the raging fires of vengeance that he'd planned to release once his hands were clamped around that bastard's throat. These two quarians he knew little of, as you never could with their faces obscured from view. One looked fairly young judging by her size and the look of her suit, on her pilgramage maybe? He'd learned enough from Rael about them to know that a lot of young quarians usually wound up away from their own kind as part of some of coming-of-age ritual, but why anyone would hope to gain anything for a pilgramage here was beyond a doubt. The other one was visibly older, and altogether seemed to have a more dubious outlook than the other. Rael had been exiled from his people for a major fuck-up, maybe this one was in a similar boat. Whatever the case, neither of the two concerned him so much as the next would.

Yet, out of the blue, he couldn't help but notice an elephant in the room, or two.

Batarians. Try as he might to avoid the sight of them, the four-eyed bastards always weaseled their way into view one way or the other. One of the first few things he'd noticed in the room was their presence and it had taken every ounce of willpower for Iosif to restrain himself from muttering a slur within earshot or resting a hand on his holstered pistol to make a physical statement, so instead he'd shifted his attention towards the others if only to temper his restraint. No doubt that at least a few of their kind would've taken issue with a do-gooder company like Siame Industries for all the little strikes made on their interests, but Iosif's reasons for being here were more a personal focus than one of business, but then he was unsurprised and similarly unimpressed - they were batarians, after all. The first of the two to catch his eye had a war-tempered look to him that vaguely reminded him of the pirates and warlords that he used to rain hellfire down upon from the cockpit of a gunship during his green days in the Alliance, and struck him as more of a mercenary type than the less-favourable 'loyalist' batarians that he'd seen more than enough of for one lifetime. At least that one would've been able to handle a weapon, by the looks of things - and so long as Iosif watched his own back around him, he'd get by well enough.

However, the same couldn't be said for the other batarian seated across the room from him. One glance was enough for him to make up his mind on that one being a slaver, and he'd seen that familiar look many times before during his unwilling time spent on Aratoht. The one you'd see on the faces of the overseers during those long shifts in the mines, or the shuttle-runners who'd look you over with a cold, calculating sentiment as they decided what your 'worth' was. Least to say, it was enough to cause the resurgence of a few memories which were better left repressed. That one especially would need an eye kept on it, and Iosif was determined to make a less-than-subtle gesture with a slightly more pronounced tilt of the head towards the right than his fellow Alliance vet, Tanya, had shown. If the overseers on Aratoht had taught him anything, it was that the four-eyed bastards saw it as their own personal 'fuck you', and he figured that once the batarian saw the tattoo that the slavers had burned into the back of his neck, he'd realise that it was a bad idea to give him any trouble.

Ultimately, he decided to push the batarians from his thoughts and listened to Tanya's proposal with careful consideration, leaning forward and lightly drumming the fingers of his cybernetic limb against the table. Eventually, once Tanya had finished, he offered a thin smile and gave his own answer to her pitch. "Not bad, I like it." He glanced back over towards the others for a moment, again suspicious eyeing the batarian as he grumbled about not having his 'batarian brother' killed because of 'others', before shifting his focus back towards the drell woman. Hearing her story out, he felt some sympathy and was somewhat pleased to know he wasn't the only one who'd been screwed over because of Siame having a hand in things, even if her 'offer' of a few suspect organs was a little eccentric. Shrugging at that, he shifted his focus back towards Tanya and nodded in agreement. "Likewise, I've got my own issues with Miss Rebekah Siame that need settling. For what it's worth, you've got my backing."

Batarians always rubbed Loral the wrong way and being stuck on a station full of them didn't do much for his mental health. It was perfectly fine to be paranoid twenty-four/seven when there was a perpetual threat of being sold into slavery. Just like his situation on the station, the situation Loral was currently caught in couldn't be helped; a batarian directly across from him and one right behind him, slouched against a wall. If he had a say in it, he'd say 'No,' purely out of a need to get at least one good night's sleep. They didn't seem to budge, however, and his senseless tapping soon turned into a nervous tick. It wasn't hard to make Loral nervous, but it wasn't exactly the easiest thing either. Actually working with batarians, instead of working on batarains seemed to rub him the wrong way. The others attending the meeting didn't particularly garner any of his actual attention, though. For the most part, these were just average criminals, regardless of their actual 'service records' looking for a quick buck or some actual revenge—he'd bet more on the latter. They were also not potential slavers. The thoughts weren't racist when the probability was actually pretty high. Slavery and the Hegemony went hand in hand; everyone knew that.

Despite his gut feelings, Loral turned his attention toward Tanya as she began to talk. He had no particular opinion on her, other than that she seemed to be rather hyped on the plan, or on something else entirely. Of course, there was also the fact that she was attempting to pitch a sale to her would be investors. It took guts coming to a bunch of criminals with something this heinous and expecting people who weren't mentally insane to bite. Maybe agreeing to suicide missions was one of the numerous symptoms of insanity. But, Tanya and her companion seemed to have had this planned to the tee, or at least that's what she made it out to be. The thought that this was just the first step in their plan and the rest was maybe just a bunch of improvisation made Loral fidget in his seat and turn toward the other quarian. The possibility of seeing someone of his own species taking this positively would be enough for him to further humor the idea, the problem being that it was almost pretty difficult to judge a quarian's thoughts without them vocalizing it. Loral simply slumped further into his seat, his hands fiddling over his chest.

Everyone, once Tanya finished proposing her idea, chimed in their support or left altogether. Loral staid seated, watching people walk out the door without a word. He wanted to do the same, but found it difficult to stand. Thoughts of being stuck on the station the rest of his life, however long or short that would be, kept him anchored. This was a decision not many people were given and definitely not one to be made hastily; they were given days to weeks to think about this. It never really hit Loral until everyone was either shuffling out or filing in. And he had absolutely no time to mull over the pros and cons of all that was proposed.

I hate doing this, he thought, standing finally. His eyes wavered and he almost advanced toward the door before the words finally forced themselves out of his throat. "I don't think anyone would want to be babysat by a batarian. Not many people like implants forced into their skulls," he said, turning toward Valok, "regardless, I'm not as renowned as our turian friend or as experienced in combat as the rest of this group, but I can aid as a field medic should things turn sour. I'm also reasonably knowledgeable in hacking and electronics, so if we need another hacker I can provide aid." Loral turned his attention toward the other quarian seated not far from him. "I don't suppose you're more experienced than I? I'm certain we can do as the batarians and stick together. For our first real skirmish, it would be wise to keep our heads as clear as possible. I've no objections to anything right now; I'm still having second thoughts myself."

Setting his hand against the back of his hooded helmet, Loral gave a sigh, "Siame took from me the only home and family I knew outside of the fleet and set my research back decades. I have as much reason to want revenge as anyone in here. Rest assured, if I'm along for the ride, I'm staying indefinitely."