Things seemed to be turning out better than Loral had first expected. That wasn't saying much, though, as Loral often expected the worst outcomes, especially when he didn't quite trust the expertise of others. That was more his fault than their's. Trust wasn't the issue, but more or less Loral's stubborn pride. He liked to hold himself above others in some respect and that was usually efficiency and responsibility, though he refrained from showing that unless it went further than subconscious habits and thoughts.

The hacking team was gone before the fight had begun, Aran giving out orders as the rightful leader of their small squad. He paid attention, giving little thought to Kali's subtle gazes. They seemed more cautionary and didn't warrant any attention other than she was familiarizing herself or was thinking too deeply, especially since he could only tell she was staring if her visor was directed at him. Of course, Loral couldn't blame her nervousness, if that was what it was, especially since this seemed far from what she should or would be doing. Maybe she was desperate. Quarians, especially younger ones, tended to keep to themselves most of the time, just out of necessity. The harsh treatment their species usually received was enough warning for anyone stepping outside of the flotilla. He doubted Kali differed from the usual suspect Quarian on their pilgrimage. This was far from what he would have done for his pilgrimage. if he'd been given a choice. Everything about that situation and those dangers had been forced upon him. Were he given a choice now, Loral would have denied having to traverse such lengths for a simple gift.

Bullets and shouting ripped the qurian doctor from his thoughts, pushing him against a trio of toppled crates to avoid injury. Even with his pistol out, Loral did nothing to aid their bodyguards, as they seemed under complete control of the situation. A few guards didn't seem like much of a fair match, to be frank. Looking around, Loral kept tabs on the turian, Aran Nykerius, and the young quarian, Kali. If a stray bullet so much as grazed them, he'd be by their side in a heartbeat to patch them up. Loral always kept spare equipment, as much as needed should an emergency rise, though not necessarily a firefight. It would last at least a few wounded and one in need of an actual hospital, which, he was certain, was enough to keep their bodyguards up and alive or any of the two hackers from certain death, so long as he could follow up with actual treatment. It was as prepared as he could possibly get with what supplies he had. He just hoped an individual's life wouldn't depend on whether or not they secured the ship. From the looks of it, if they couldn't do that, they'd might as well all be dead or worse.

Upon entering the administrator's office and exiting battle, Loral quickly turned to seal the doors shut behind them. If things got sticky, it'd give them time to finish whatever they were doing before turning their full attention to what was forcing its way inside. Loral worked as Aran talked before turning his attention to the job he'd been assigned. Upon completion, Loral slid to Kali's side, giving her a nod as his omni-tool interface flashed to life. Maybe his presence would help her work, or maybe not. Just as long as she could complete her task. The good thing was that they weren't under a hail of bullets and were given ample time to complete everything. Looking at her now, he didn't quite know if she could handle that much pressure.

Attaching his device to the systems in front of him, Loral managed to wire himself into the Hangar's entrances and exits, as well as the blast doors that lead to the vacuum of space outside, in case things turned extra sour. It took awhile taking care of the simple tas, seeing as he wasn't as much experienced as his other two compatriots, but Loral managed to seal as many doors into and out of the hangar as possible. That would likely keep C-Pat busy whilst the others on the floor took care of Siame and the ship. He'd just have to keep his eye on them and his finger close to his comms in case the hangar was breached. He seemed to finish closely after Kali had announced her own task completed.

"All done," Loral called out, looking at Aran and then the administrator they'd held up. He was contemplating knocking the man unconscious or tying him up, but thought better. At least this one was rational and somewhat compliant, if not visibly upset.

Looking at the doorway, he hid furrowed brows and a concern look behind his visor. "Hopefully, our bodyguards made quick work of their task," he said, "otherwise, I'm certain there'll be plenty of C-Pat officers knocking down the hangar bay doors. I don't think many of us would get out alive in that situation." His fingers tapped the glass of his helmet, making a soft padded noise that filled whatever silence there was between the three, plus one.

"I guess worrying doesn't matter right now," Loral cut in. He brought his gun up and moved toward the door, stopping to give both Kali and Aran a quick glance. "I'll keep this secured and locked down, if you two need more time. I can't be of much help anymore; it'd take more time we don't have," Loral said before tapping a few commands into his omni-tool. The door sprung open and he walked out before he sealed the room back down.

The hall he'd stepped into seemed empty for now, aside from a stray body that Mark and Jaerdi barreled through on their way to the HQ. Out of everyone, currently, Loral shouldn't be the first choice to stand guard in most situations, but, as luck would have it, this situation seemed to be among the few rare ones in which he was forced to. The tool displaying info in an orangish glow above his arm was still bright and alive, making sure he kept tabs on the doors and whether they were compromised or not. Oddly enough , the hangar and surrounding area seemed somewhat remote of any patrols or C-Pat guards, for that matter. At least, from what he could deduce from the information he was being given. It was either that or they were all preoccupied with Jaerdi and Mark. But still, they were so close to the headquarters too that they should have been knocking on the sealed doors the moment Tanya had opened fire. It didn't seem much of a coincidence either, but Loral stopped himself their before he traversed too far out of focus. It didn't matter, as long as everything was going according to plan.

As the humans say, "Never look a gift horse in the mouth." Whatever that meant.

I always hated firefights....

Despite Tanya's assurance, Kesik Bal'uim was still very uncertain just how the faux prisoner exchange would be playing out. All he had was the word of a Human and backup from a drunk Batarian of questionable loyalty. For all he knew, this entire thing could have been an elaborate plot to turn him in. and Kesik had fallen right for it. He began to tense up just as the Asari merc was walking forward, this one is most likely the leader, she should be the first to go down. When his cuffs were released Kesik would get in close, maybe pull a shot off to disable any biotics this merc might have up her sleeve. He could use her body as a shield, or a bartering chip if things got sour.

As the two mercenaries evaporated in an explosion of blood and gore in front of his eyes, Kesik realized that he had much to learn about this Tanya Human. He shot a look at her as he was thrown behind the crates they had been sitting on just earlier, a look that was just as angry as it was curious. But finding a pistol thrusted into his hands, all he could muster was a low grunt, this day is becoming more and more unorthodox. Just as Tanya began to duck down to take cover, Kesik took a firm two-handed grip of the pistol and shot up out of the cover.

Time slowed down as he bent his knees and began to turn, the pistol tight in his hands. One of the many benefits of four eyes was the ability to take in more visual information than most aliens, and a wider line of sight both horizontally and vertically. The first thing he saw was a wave of civilians, either fleeing the hanger or ducking for cover and Kesik hoped that this little stunt wouldn't cost the lives of any innocents. However, these were not your standard pedestrians, these were the people of the Nemean Abyss and they knew how to cope with a standard firefight. Kesik even spotted one of his fellow Batarians behind a support beam, taking pot-shots at one of the Siame grunts with a dusty pistol.

Continuing his sweep, Kesik spotted his first target, Human, thinner than most he had seen, tight-fitting Siame armor, some human-made weapon with a high-end scope on the rail. This was their marksman, excellent. The little pyjack was back-pedaling into one of the corners of the hanger, his eyes darting in every direction, this could be a serious problem if he wasn't taken down right away. Kesik moved his feet into a square stance as he raised the pistol, using his lower eyes to target while his uppers continued the sweep of the area. Two shots center mass to take out the shield, followed by a finisher in the neck. Kesik got the little pest just as he was raising the rifle, and he sent another shot into the merc's exposed armpit, just in case.

Keeping the pistol up, Kesik sighted the other Turian at the airlock of the Salarian ship and took a quick shot at his head. Next was one of the Asari, aiming to the left of his position. Getting their attention on the center of the hanger would open them up for the rest of the team to take the mercs down. Kesik twisted, finally coming back down under the cover just as he heard the all-too-familiar whiz as rounds flew over his head. Leaning against the crate, he looked over to Tanya with a half-smile.

"Your turn."

It was good to know that at least Tanya was easy enough to talk to. It would have been a long, boring ride if most of her new comrades were as quiet and stoic as they'd seemed during that initial meeting. At least she knows how to smile, Saseen thought approvingly. She'd intended to inquire after some of the other woman's previous 'stupid plans' -there had to be some good stories there- but before she could, the batarian who'd be playing their prisoner showed up. Tanya's response to him asking for a blade instead of a gun made the asari woman chuckle.

The three finished discussing what exactly would be happening when the pickup commenced. Saseen's job was mostly just looking convincing until the fighting started. Definitely something she could manage. She idled about with the others until a salarian corvette arrived on the scene. The sight of it filled Saseen with anticipation. So it was a salarian ship? That wasn't what she'd been expecting, but it was interesting all the same. She'd only flown salarian vessels a handful of times in her life, but she knew that they'd be hard pressed to find a better ship for getting small groups in and out unnoticed.

The mercenaries were the usual fare: some asari, plus a couple of turians and humans. They carried the top of the line equipment that could be expected of anyone on Siame Industries' payroll. Tanya did the talking with the asari and turian who'd approached to make the exchange. The trick with the omni-tool was a neat one and, again, Saseen found herself admiring those more tech savvy than herself. She didn't have long to do so before the shooting started. The other woman made quick work of the asari and the turian before and pulled Kesik behind a few crates. Saseen ducked behind them as well, leaning around one side to return fire until the batarian was uncuffed with a gun in his hand. Finally, the order was given: "Get moving! Secure the docking arm!"

She nodded and took a quick survey of the docking-bay-turned-battlefield. Her eyes flitted over their opponents before landing on an asari who'd positioned herself a bit behind the rest. She was close to the docking arm and, more importantly, a pretty decent distance away from most of the other mercenaries. Saseen gave a smile and a little half salute before ducking out of cover. Bullets whizzed around her, but only one grazed her before biotic energy flared around her and she charged, a blur of blue that hit the enemy asari with enough force that Saseen could actually hear the cracking of her ribs during the first impact, and the crunch of a few more bones as she hit a piece of a equipment behind her and collapsed to the ground. The other mercenaries hesitated for just a fraction of a second before several took a few shots in that direction.

By that point, she'd already found cover behind a low wall on the edge of the ramp leading up to the docking arm. She leaned against it, taking a deep, steadying breath. That's one. Counting her biotic charges in combat was essential to keep from over-exerting herself and causing serious damage to her body. It was the one thing that she simply could not be reckless about, as she'd learned after having to spend a few weeks in recovery after going too far past her limits during a raid on a cargo ship. For shorter fights, she rarely went past three. Longer fights, four. Anything past that was stretching it, unless charging was the only thing she did, and she had plenty of time to rest in between.

The mercenary she'd knocked down groaned from her spot on the ground, a couple of feet around. So, she'd probably live, even if she did have some major injuries. Something like relief flickered over Saseen's face before she peaked around the wall and let off a few shots in the general direction of where most of the mercenaries had taken cover. From what she could tell, only one remained directly between herself and the docking arm, a turian. Just before she could hit him with a biotic pull, his skull was shot clean through. His body hit the ground roughly. Well, that was that, then. She took a moment to focus strengthening her barriers, and then she spoke into her omni-tool. "Moving to secure docking arm." Another charge brought her to the mouth of the docking arm. That's number two. With any luck, she wouldn't need to use the third.

Mark was starting to feel uncomfortable with all the mad dogging that was going on. Not in the low-self-esteem-uncertain-of-one's-self way. More like the paranoid time-to-put-a-hole-in-this-guy's-head-just-in-case kind of way. And the shots he'd taken from his flask weren't helping. He got the feeling from the female quarian first. It was something about how her head tilted ever so slightly in his direction. And now it was the damn turian. At least he didn't bother with subtlety.

The time was fast approaching when Siame's goons would be showing up and the hacking squad was finally complete, so Mark opened his mouth to tell everybody the game plan. But just as he was about to speak Aran piped up. He lit up another cigarette as the turian explained his strategy, which was basically the same as what Mark had come up with, but with the addition of scrambling C-Pat's comms. Mark was annoyed to say the least and he snatched the device from the turian's palm with a growl, "Will do, mom," before sliding the object into an available pouch on his breast plate.

He knew the plan was sound, but he didn't appreciate taking orders from a turian. Gimped bastard acted like he'd earned command too. Despite his prejudice, the job would get done. While he didn't look it, Mark was too professional to let pride hinder a mission.

A few minutes later and they were on their way to the docking control center, Mark Jaerdi in the lead. They passed a couple employees on their way through the halls and got confused looks, but were otherwise uncontested. He pulled the rifle off his back as they approached the door to the control center and glanced back at Jaerdi and the others. "No killing. C-Pat's cooperation only lasts as long as Siame is a bigger pain in the ass then we are. Now stack up on either side of the door and keep your heads down." He took up position on the left corner while the salarian took the right and the techs stood against either wall. Mark let his rifle hang from his torso with a sling and pulled a flashbang from one of his many pouches. The sling was old fashioned, having fallen out of favor with the introduction of mag locks. And he'd had to modify it to work with the rifle, but it was still a hell of a lot faster than having to reach over his shoulder every time.

He looked up at Jaerdi and gave him a nod, "flash and secure them while they're disoriented. Would you do the honors?" Mark said as he jerked his head toward the door controls. When the doors slid open Mark yelled "FLASH OUT," and tossed the grenade into the room. It clattered innocently across the floor before exploding in a flash of light and sound that even effected the Mark and company a bit. The room's occupants screamed in agony as their senses were assaulted and covered their eyes or ears in a vain attempt to ward off the attack. Most fell to the ground in shock but some remained on their feet, barely, and stumbled around blind and deaf, reaching for anything that would help them keep their balance.

As soon as the grenade had expended it's payload, Mark rushed into the room rifle barrel first yelling "ON THE GROUND NOW" in case somebody had been lucky enough to avoid the brunt of the grenade's effects. None had however, so Mark pushed his rifle to hang behind his back and began kicking the standing occupants to the ground and cuffing them with zip ties that he'd stored in yet another pouch. He gestured vaguely to the rest of his victims and said "keep these guys covered till I get to them." He assumed Jaerdi would realize that he was speaking to him, seeing as he was the only other person in the room not moaning on the ground. Then, for the techs benefit he called out "room clear!"

The turian moved pretty quick for a cripple. He and the other techs skimmed through the room and down the next hall without so much as a howdy do. Instead, Aran called over comms to tell him to go install the device. "I know what I'm doing," Mark snapped back, "just try not to have a heart attack before you get the docks locked down." He disconnected and stalked back out the way he came, not bothering to see if his salarian cohort was coming along. "Do this, do that," he grumbled, "damn bird. Like this was my first OP or something."

It was something incredible to see motivated individuals spring into action. She offered Saseen a little smirk and a half-assed salute as the asari took off in a devastating biotic charge, a technique that even after watching it be done several times over her life, she still couldn’t wrap her head around somebody launching themselves over a large distance, unaffected by the world around them and universal constants like gravity were thrown completely out the window. Tanya knew that people often looked at her technological prowess with the same sense of confounded awe, but at least she wasn’t breaking the laws of physics every time she opened her omni-tool. It wasn’t long until Saseen’s voice came over the omni-tool, “Moving to secure docking arm.” The asari said confidently.

Beside Tanya, Kesik was making the most of his situation, wielding the loaner pistol confidently as he engaged the mercs. Tanya wasn’t concerned about their position being overrun, indeed there was a hell of a gunfight going on and the others in the hanger were keeping Siame Industries’ mercs in overlapping fields of fire, almost a textbook ambush. The only way for them to get out of it was to retreat back to the ship, but thanks to Saseen’s aggressive assault, that window was being closed off. When Kesik took cover to avoid retaliatory fire, he offered her what looked to be an amused look. That was surprising, considering how unhappy he was about the whole situation five minutes ago. It went to show how far lending someone who should be your mortal enemy a gun went.

Tanya offered a series of approving nods in return. “Ask and you shall receive,” she said, fingers moving in sequence with her omni-tool activated. A combat drone materialized in front of her. Tanya snapped her fingers at the drone, as if to catch its wandering attention. “Shithead, sick ‘em.” She ordered. The drone wordlessly levitated in the air and moved towards its targets, a salvo of microrockets being launched towards the SI troopers. She turned back to Kesik. “I’ll race you. Last one to the docking arm loads the luggage.” She said, keying the cart to wheel itself over to the ship as she vaulted over the cover with well-practiced agility and charged hard towards her destination, shotgun at the ready. As she ran, she activated cryo-rounds, the servos in the Katana whirring as its element-zero field provided the energy required to supercool the metal block that acted as the weapon’s ammunition source. She fired as she moved from the hip, the spread catching the exposed mercs in a crossfire as their attention was on other, more immediate threats. Her buckshot caught one of the men in the leg, causing it to freeze over and the victim to scream out in agony. It was short-lived suffering as Valok’s Keshock rifle thumped from an unseen position and a barbed rod lodged itself in the man’s skull, snapping his neck back. Tanya turned away, inhaling sharply, willing herself not to think of Lewis, her squad’s sniper back in the marines and one of the many friends she had to bury on Mindoir. He died much the same way the SI merc did, and it was hardly a pleasant way to go.

The job, Carson. Your friends can’t die more than once, you stupid emotional asshole. she thought, shaking her head as she hurried to the docking arm, the numbers of mercs now dwindled to next to nothing. Now came the fun part; clearing the ship. She reached Saseen and slapped her approvingly in the arm. “Nice moves. Remind me not to challenge you to a foot race, you cheater.” She said with a playful grin. Tanya activated her omnitool’s comms as she watched another merc detonate under the force of one of Shithead’s rockets. “This is T, we’re moving to secure the interior of the ship. Start getting your asses back to the hanger, preferably not hitting the giftshop on the way out. The bus leaves in ten, ladies and gentlemen.” She said, killing the channel. She gestured with the shotgun to Saseen.
“We’ll get started, the two of us should be able to deal with most of the assholes left on board, and I imagine Kesik and friends will be able to provide a hand when they finish mopping up. I’ll take point, seeing as I might as well be the de facto captain.” She said with a shrug. “First thing’s first, let’s go find you a cockpit.”

The two women moved up the docking arm in a typical military “leapfrog” formation, each hugging a wall and moving up several meters before taking post and letting the other woman move up from hers until they reached the ship, which was fortunately left open. Tanya didn’t want to try to hack her way into a sealed ship, and cutting off comms was thankfully enough to keep the ship from locking down. She offered Saseen a quick nod before entering the breach.

Salarian ships were a bit unlike what Tanya associated with an Alliance or even turian vessel, instead of the hard geometric shapes, the interior of the ship almost felt like a semi-claustrophobic hospital ward with sterile whites and hard looping curves that gave each section the impression of being inside of a curved tent, and the various panels and instruments seemed like they were designed for much more narrow hands than what humans were accustomed to. Obvious alterations were done in some sections to be more accommodating to the alien races that helped crew the ship under Siame Industries’ ownership. Overall, the inside seemed to have an identity crisis of several conflicting ideas of what it should be inside, even if it was entirely functional.

Unfortunately, it was impossible to know what the exact layout of the ship was as there was no way to anticipate exactly what kind of vessel would be docking at Cartagena station. Tanya had brushed up on mainly asari designs, given SI was founded and run by an asari, so finding herself aboard a salarian ship was something of a wrench in the gears of her largely improvised plan. Moving straight through the hull, they ran into no contacts. However, soon the hanger opened up before them, which was largely occupied by a salarian dropship, a model Tanya didn’t readily recognize, but it was nice to know that the team would have options if they had to go planet side. Maybe they left the owner’s manual in the glove box, she thought with a smile. Entering the hanger, there was a few shouts of alarm and Tanya and Saseen took cover behind the dropship as a thunder of feet came from an upper level. There came a shout from a distinctly turian voice to drop their weapons.

“Fat fucking chance.” Tanya growled, swapping her shotgun for the M-15 Vindicator on her back. Her thumb flicked the fire-selector switch, changing the weapon to automatic. Peering out from behind cover, she fired a suppressive burst at the group of four mercenaries who were bearing down on her position. As the heat gauge approached full, she launched an incendiary projectile from her omni-tool before taking cover again to avoid retaliatory fire. She was rewarded with the panicked, pained screams of one of her victims who was now most likely witnessing her armour being melted off of her body as the superheated bomb did its work. Tanya turned to Saseen. “There’s three more that I can tell. Try to get up where they came from and I’ll cover you; find the cockpit, and get rid of anyone still in there. You should also be passing through the CIC if this ship makes any fucking sense. I’ll hit these fuckers from behind, so it should buy you some time.” She sighed, pumping herself up for action. “Remember when you asked what the stupidest thing I did was? This is getting up there.” She said with a weak laugh before preparing to lean out again. “COVERING!” she shouted, leaning out and firing another suppressive barrage at her targets.

Just on cue, Tanya and a few of the others had made their advance - now it was Iosif's turn to push through to the docking arm. This time, he decided, he'd introduce the SI Grunts to some heavier firepower and with that he slid his M-6 back into its holder before the familiar whirring and hisses of the M-8 Avenger's internals grinding into motion became music to his ears. Service rifle at the ready, Iosif punched in the bind he'd set for his tech armour on his omni-tool and within moments he found himself bathed in the fluorescent yellow glow of this added layer of protection - now it was time to move. At that, he vaulted over the crate he'd been taking cover behind only a few moments before and let off a burst of fire towards one of the few remaining mercs that hadn't been dealt with, a few of the rounds punching through his already tattered shields whilst the second burst that followed caught his neck piece, leaving the merc writhing on the ground to choke on his own blood.

Elsewhere, he spotted the batarian, Valok, bring one down with a well-placed harpoon through the skull and for once, he didn’t take the sight of a kishock or its use as a bad omen, whilst another comrade of the SI grunts was cut down by a volley of returning fire by the other batarian, Kesik. As he pushed on further, Tanya's voice made her presence known across the channel yet again in the form of her announcement that they were moving to secure the ship and, not wanting to be left with two batarians as his only company, he decided to push on ahead and leave those two to handle the mop-up. Besides, he viewed it as an opportunity to briefly survey the ship before they made off with their stolen corvette.

Following the same path that Tanya and her asari companion had taken during their forced entry, Iosif wasn’t altogether surprised by the ironically ‘alien’ architecture of the corvette’s interior, the sterile curves and slender designs that salarians seemed to prefer over the uniform grey, straightened corridors that most people expected to find on turian and human vessels. Any pilot worth their salt could recognise what kind of vessel a ship was based on its design, and there was a reason he’d anticipated seizing it from those Siame bastards once he’d laid eyes on it. Well, aside from the fact he wanted to put a dent in their operations.

Also unsurprising; the salarian architecture became a little too evident as Iosif passed through yet another corridor, noting down the fact that a few of the interactive panels and switches sported indentations that were obviously designed for slender hands, but if the most trouble they’d face with the vessel was occasionally struggling to open an access hatch then they’d have hardly any trouble whatsoever, at least when it came to the corvette.

Distant gunfire echoing from a corridor which led to the hangar marked where his new-found comrades had headed, and within a few moments he’d reached the airlock. Not wanting to get caught out in the case that a few stray rounds managed to punch through both tech armour and shields, Iosif timed the whirring of the airlock door as it unsealed and parted, before quickly making a beeline for the nearest form of cover - yet another crate, this one a few metres from the hangar entrance. Just as expected, his favourite alliance veteran and her asari companion - Saseen was her name, he only just recalled - were engaging another team of SI mercs which had the advantage of height over them. Tempting as it was to steal more than a passing glance at the dropship they’d taken cover behind, the three remaining mercs who were opening fire on their position took priority - and so he followed up Tanya’s move with one of his own.

“Suppressive!” he announced to the other two, just before directing an overwhelming discharge of electricity towards the turian merc’s vicinity, causing his rifle to overheat mid-firing and his shields to overload, the latter of the two delivering a nasty shock to its owner and leaving him staggering off his feet.

"Covering!"

Tanya's voice crackled over his comm line, nearly drowned out by a background of gunfire. He could hear those gunshots for real; they echoed from the ship's hangar, muffled, heavy bass beats that rolled against the sound-sensitive tissues of his cheek, reaching into him and stoking the fears that were burning inside his head. I should be there with her. Another voice, strained, erupted in a burst of static. "Suppressive!" Losif's voice didn't do much to ease his worries. Tanya had cover and comrades...but it seemed like poor substitution for a trusted friend at her side. He could only hope that she'd be alright.

The docking bay had been a mess of heat and noise, awash with flashing gun barrels and echoing shouts, but the interior of the ship was quiet and peaceful in comparison. It was through those hallways that Kosso prowled now, one hand clasped around the hilt of his pistol, the other poised ready at chest level to lash out at any potential ambush. He was moving quickly, opening each door as he came across them, sweeping the interiors quickly with a raised gun before moving on. Tanya and the others were occupied in the hangar, but open spaces and sustained firefights didn't quite suit Kosso's style. He was better here, in the cramped corridors, securing the rest of the ship so that his compatriots didn't find themselves flanked and outgunned by any stragglers. A necessary job, and one that was proving to be largely uneventful. Back when he was with Nova, he would've taken right to it, glad to be out of the danger zone, but the only thing he'd felt when splitting off from the main group was a twinge of guilt.

A door to his left opened suddenly. A Turian came rushing out, one hand reaching to unholster his gun, the other fumbling at the fly of his pants. Behind him, Kosso could see the pristine whiteness of a bathroom. Oh for fuck's sake. The Turian's eyes met his own. They were wide with shock, and his mouth was stretching into an "O" shape as he tried to formulate a shout. He never got the chance.

Kosso's forearm shot out in a blur, catching the man's throat. The words on his tongue morphed into a dull grunt and a spray of spittle. He staggered backwards, onto the bathroom tile. Kosso made to follow, bringing his gun to bear, but the door was beginning to slide shut already, blocking his shot. Cursing under his breath, Kosso kicked a foot out to wedge the door open as he slid inside, where the Turian was already regaining his composure, the barrel of his gun swinging upwards with alarming speed. Kosso swatted his arm away casually, stepping closer into the man's instep. One of his hands reached to grasp the back of the man's crest, and with a sharp yell he was pushing downwards, smashing the Turian's face into the edge of a nearby sink. There was a sickening crunch. The man's form went limp, slumping unceremoniously to the floor, leaving behind a bloody dent in the stainless steel sink. Kosso didn't take any chances; a quick shot to the head meant he could be sure the man would stay down.

It was over within seconds. Afterwards, Kosso realized he had blood on his fingertips. He took a quick second to wash them off in the sink he'd just damaged. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror hanging above, stony faced. His sunglasses were dark and unexpressive, and he could see the Turian's dead body in their reflective surfaces, distorted and darkened. Poor guy never stood a chance.

Then he knelt, lifting a limp arm and activating the man's omnitool. He wouldn't be needing it anymore, but Kosso might find some use from it. Now, if Tanya has taught me anything... A short moment of fiddling and prodding, and then he had what he was looking for: a map of the ship. It was marked with a mass of extraneous data, meeting times and ship regulations, but Kosso still saw what he needed. He committed the lines of the map to memory with a glance before closing the program and dropping the dead man's arm. It was past time he got down to real business.

To his surprise, there was someone in the hallway when he exited. An Asari shouted at him from the end of the corridor, bringing an assault rifle to bear. Kosso had only a second to duck back into the bathroom, lashing out with one arm emblazoned in blue light. The Asari saw the attack coming and neatly shrugged it off with her own biotics before resuming her barrage. It was all Kosso could do to snap a few shots at her from around the corner, but she was closing fast, her own biotics flaring as she laid suppressing fire down on him.

Fuck me, why did I tell Tanya I thought this was a good idea?. His eyes roamed the room, but he found no other means of escape: just a few urinals, bathroom stalls and a dead Turian. Like hell I'm going to die in a fucking bathroom, he fumed, opening his omnitool and loading a program he dreaded. Colonel materialized in front of him, looking strangely smug for a drone. "If'n you're in need of assistance, fella, I'm the drone for the job. I say, I-"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not really in the mood for the whole spiel right now." With a sudden kick, Kosso sent the drone crashing into the hallway in a blast of biotic energy. "Go get em', Colonel!"

Colonel, of course, didn't stand a chance. No sooner than he made his spectacular entrance and the Asari had shot him ten times through, chewing through his fabricated shell with an efficient burst of gunfire that caused the drone to fall apart instantly. It was just the distraction Kosso needed. He swung out from the doorway of the bathroom, flicking on arm upwards to send a blast of energy careening towards the Asari's chest. She moved to block it again, but it caught her before she could counter. Instantly her body went rigid, locked into a solid stasis field.

Kosso never stopped moving. The Asari had closed a lot of distance; now he closed the rest. Already she was breaking free from the stasis, her own biotics ripping outwards and tearing the field to shreds, but Kosso was well prepared for that. He slid as he neared her, letting his momentum carry him over the polished metal floor. His slide tackle caught one of the Asari's legs, sending her sprawling. Kosso turned as he passed her, pushing himself seamlessly back to his feet. His gun was arcing upwards, finger on the trigger. She saw it all, eyes wide. "Wait-"

Her shout was cut short by the crack of the gun. She didn't say anything else after that. Kosso brushed himself off, checking over his shoulder for anymore surprise arrivals. So far, so good. Maybe now that all this fun is over I can actually do something useful. The ship's floor plan was laid out in his mind's eye, every detail precise. Hangar. CIC. Auxillary passage. Past engineering, shortest route. His plan set, he began to jog. The CIC was his target now. Saseen was supposedly making her way there, but if it was heavily guarded he couldn't expect her to take the whole place by herself. And with the CIC secured, maybe they could finally get this ship out of here.

Kosso sighed. Every second that passed made that hallex in his bag seem like more and more of a good idea.

Her part in the mission completed, Kali felt somewhat lost. Unwanted thoughts of the carnage below had intruded and distracted her even during the action, and being left purely to her own devices with a captive hostage and the uncomfortable company of Sleuth ensured that her nerves were not much damped. Loral, the one familiar in this ocean of uncertainty, leaving was the worst part. She was slightly unnerved by her growing dependence on the other quarian for comfort so soon after meeting him, without having shared even a word with him, but it was far eclipsed by her need for something solid among an ever-changing and unpredictable, dangerous situation. It was for home and home ideals that she was participating in this reckless venture; the faintest taste of it helped to keep her strong.

In an attempt to burn off some nervous energy, she kept shifting her position around the room - first remaining near Sleuth at the terminal, then pacing for a moment, then moving to press her back to the corner out-of-sight and out-of-mind and with the safety of being able to see the whole room and a solid guard at her back. The sounds of Mark and Jaerdi's rampage had long since faded, and the silence was profound - and try as she might, she could not break into that pervading, oppressive, charged silence with either the increasingly distressed Administrator or the enigmatic information broker. In the end, she found herself muttering at Sleuth to keep an eye on the hostage and heading for the door, frustrated with herself for letting her inexperience and nerves show but - as all people, human or quarian or turian - a slave to her innermost insecurities.

The sight of the body made her pause a moment, but her irritation at herself allowed her to shrug it off, the hot emotion burning away the cold shock. Instead, she moved to stand opposite Loral, pointedly not looking at him by keeping even her visor turned down the corridor - keeping watch, quiet and professional, that's how she had to appear. She didn't much want to be left to her own thoughts, though. Thinking of the (relative) innocents Mark and Jaerdi were slaughtering would only shake her resolve, and she knew her will had to be iron to carry through any "greater good" tasks required of her. Thinking of her companions below, fighting and maybe dying, disturbed her too - not only for their deaths, but also in the consequences of their failure. Action - the external - can supercede the internal, brush it away like a cobweb. Even idle conversation was better than the tension of just waiting, and she felt easier trying with Loral than she had in the other room.

"How'd you end up out here, caught up in this?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tanya was surprised Iosef managed to reach the hanger so shortly behind herself and Saseen. The Slavic man provided suppressive fire of his own after dispatching one of the turian mercenaries, joining Tanya’s own suppressive barrage, forcing the SI troops into what meager cover they could have. Kosso lead Saseen to the upper deck and towards what she presumed was to the CIC and cockpit, so it fell to her and Iosef to mop up. Two on two weren’t bad odds, especially when they had the advantage of positioning. As Iosef kept the SI mercs’ heads down with accurate bursts, Tanya broke from her cover and moved back to the ramp leading to the enemy’s level, letting loose a five round burst every few seconds as their cover grew smaller and smaller. One had taken notice of her approaching and rose up to engage. Tanya had anticipated this and used Sabotage, shorting out the electronic components of the asari’s assault rifle and causing it to overheat, locking out the firing mechanism as the weapon attempted to prevent catastrophic failure. The asari was quick to her biotics and Tanya found herself enveloped in the disorienting and horrible sensation of a biotic push that lasted only a few moments before smashing hard into the bulkhead of the ship, her armour absorbing the brunt of the impact but her vision still dimmed and stars filled her field of view. She started moving before she could see properly, bringing her weapon to shoulder.

When her vision started to recover, she noticed the asari already had her weapon on her, but the nervous glances to the weapon suggested she was still waiting for the final moments of the heat sink to unlock the firing mechanism. Fuck it.Tanya thought, centering her sights on the asari’s skull and squeezing the trigger. The turian-made rifle bucked in her shoulder and the asari dropped from Tanya’s optics, a purple blood splatter in place of what had once been someone’s face on the far bulkhead. She scanned for more hostiles, but Iosef had managed to dispatch the remaining mercenary. Tanya rose to her feet, shaking her head clear. She fucking hated biotics. Turning to Iosef, she thumbed towards the entryway that Kosso and Saseen had disappeared to. “Come on. Let’s go see what trouble the others got themselves into.” She said, swapping to her shotgun.

As it turned out, the trouble turned out to be a standoff between Kosso, Saseen, and five unarmoured crew members; two salarian, a human, an asari, and a turian. The turian was the only one with a submachine-gun while the rest were armed with pistols. All parties stood on opposite sides of the CIC, the deactivated galaxy map between the attackers and defenders. The sight of two more heavily armed and armoured intruders did little to steel their resolve.

“So, as you probably guessed, you guys were set up and we’re taking this ship. The question is, how much do your value your lives to keep it? Judging from your uniforms, you’re the captain, XO, navigator, chief engineer, and… I don’t know what the fuck you are.” She said to one of the humans, a buzz-cut hardass of a man.

“Weapons Systems.” He scowled. It wasn’t a good look.

“Wait one.” Tanya opened up the comm-channel on her omni-tool. “Ship is secure; it’s time to get the fuck out of here, ladies and gentlemen. We have in our possession the people who operate this ship. What I want from you guys is to know if you think you’re capable of running this ship without them. Start making your way back here now; it’s only a matter of time before the Administrator starts getting upset with us for trashing his station.”

_ _ _

“The Administrator should have known better than to trust a human!” The batarian voice over the omni-tool boomed. Captain Hoshik held the omnitool away from him, as if Deputy Administrator Bar’an’s volume was enough to cause hearing loss. The truth in the matter was he didn’t have time to deal with a bureaucrat’s whining when several of his officers in the precinct were down and several more were at risk, as well as the general public who was caught in the crossfire. At least they knew who the perpetrators were, or at least their aliases. Unfortunately, Cartagena Station wasn’t a part of Citadel Space; it wasn’t as if they could call C-Sec and ask to see their files. The batarian police captain called over his sergeants, who were directing the individual operations.

“Sir, I appreciate your concerns about dealing with criminals, but I have a job to do.” He cut the communication and prayed he had more than five minutes before the overbearing bastard tried hailing him again.

The joint hanger E-15 and E-16 was close to being accessed; it was locked down by whoever was in the security room where some of the most intense fighting was happening. A group of sixteen armed and armoured officers were waiting until the technician managed to override the blastdoor lockdown, which estimates said was anywhere between five and ten minutes.

The administrator’s office was currently being stacked by Special Tactics and Response officers, where breaching charges were being placed on the ceiling and door. A pair of riot shield carrying officers would be the first into the breach and the two teams of four would enter at both points after flashbanging the room. Hoshik called the team leaders.

“Saber, Status.”

“Saber 1 Ready.”

“Saber 2 Ready.”

The Captain only paused long enough to inhale deeply, anticipating the worst. “Execute.” he said, turning to the vidscreen connections on his omnitool as he watched the assault on the administrator's office unfold.

At first, she listened quietly out of respect. Without realising it or thinking it through, she had clearly touched on a very sensitive subject. She even felt irritation at herself for her callousness, her frustration at her own nervous energy morphing. But Loral kept speaking; and as he did, the sharp points of light that were his eyes held hers, and she could not look away. Something akin to a cold horror passed through her, crystals of ice threading through her spine - a sudden shock of wariness; a realisation that the instinctive trust she had felt had been a grave error, as she contemplated what she may have revealed to him unknowing of his true nature. Sobering and caution-inspiring is the thought of alternate realities in which ones lack of wariness brings all to ruin.

He was right. Exile was a greater punishment than death among the quarians, for it symbolised a rejection from the core of the quarian culture. Family; togetherness; community: the ideals of the quarian race. To be purposely excluded, to have those ties mercilessly cut, was a terrible prospect. For most, anyway - and for those few to whom it did not matter, it was deeply symbolic to the rest of the species. It was the ultimate condemnation, a declaration of the absolute and abject failure of a quarian by the standards and values of the culture they were born into. Home was everything to them; to be denied it forever was the harshest and cruelest of things. More than boogie-monsters under the bed or bed-bugs in home's brightly-coloured quilts, it was exile that quarians learned to fear. That, and disease.

And yet - and yet - despite herself, Kali could not help but to feel a twinge of kinship. Loral's open callousness chilled her, but his exile in itself... Kali had not truly considered it before, not daring to really face the truth of the matter, but were she to be caught doing what she had she, too, would likely be exiled. And yet she knew she was doing the right thing for her people; and she knew she wished them no harm, indeed, the exact opposite. Were she to be caught, she would become fuel for the education of the next generation, another case example to demonstrate the horrors of exile and of betraying the Fleet. Kali, too, had shunted aside the lessons she had been taught as a child in favour of her own idea of what was right. Without knowing what precisely Loral had done... perhaps he was simply a man hardened by a hard life, explaining the callousness. She would be careful, in future, but she would not add another note of condemnation to the symphony of the galaxywide quarian population's.

Of course - and Kali did not think about this - she was going out of her way to explain Loral's failings away, giving him far more understanding and liberty than she had any of the hardbitten criminals she'd been so wary of downstairs. Though she thought she was throwing up walls and reneging her trust of Loral, in reality she still gave him more quarter simply by accepting that there may be more than meets the eye. She needed to have someone to relate to, and the mind is terrifyingly good at self-delusion when one does not keep a close eye upon it.

Tanya's call came through on the comm, and with the sound of another voice some of the intensity was broken. Outwardly, she merely nodded, and said: "I am sorry for asking. That was... intrusive of me." And she finally looked away, internally damning her natural inquisitiveness. "You heard Tanya. Who knows what mischief Mark and Jaerdi have gotten up to; we'll have to rendezvous back a-"

And from the room behind them came a colossal blast-wave of noise and heat. Kali cried out - in shock, too caught by surprise to be truly fearful - and reflexively grabbed at her pistol. A moment of hesitation as she heard shouting inside, but she quickly re-oriented herself and pushed down her hesitance as much as she could, refusing to be rendered inadequate by uncertainty as she had during the hacking. Something about the presence of immediate danger clarifies the mind; adrenaline surges and the world turns to amber, even familiar things seeming like alien fossils preserved and kept still, unable to move through the thick treacle. She had millenia to compose herself, and compose herself she did. She caught Loral's eye, hoping he would think the same as her - they couldn't run, for if they counter-hacked and opened the hangar doors the whole mission was screwed. With only a hint of trepidation, she took cover on one side of the door, and opened the door back into the room.

She stopped thinking.

The room was swarming. Sleuth, it appeared, was already down - whether dead or not, Kali couldn't say. The scent of the chemicals from the flashbang that had blinded him lingered in the air. The Administrator was nowhere to be seen. Five, six... CPat officers flooded the room, with others taking cover by the holes from the breaching, in squads of four headed by two with - riot shields? Shit. Immediately, Kali tactically scanned them, relaying the information to Loral. The riot shields were strong, but enough force being applied could still shove back or even break the bones of the officers holding them. There was a narrow slit in the shields to be seen through, and they had no kinetic shielding - a shot or two through there would bring them down easily. They were vulnerable if flanked; unfortunately, from Kali and Loral's position by the door, there was no safe way to take advantage of that.

Secondly, she Overloaded the kinetic shields of one of the squads, packed so tightly together in the small room that the radius enveloped three of them. That would stop them advancing until their shields recharged, giving them time to take out the riot shields. And, with a flurry of pistol shots, that's exactly what she began trying to do. The thought that this was her first experience of pitched battle barely even crossed her mind.

It wasn't long before Iosif and Tanya had been left to handle mop-up work whilst Saseen and the drell headed off to annex the rest of the ship for the Systems Alliance of Let's-Fuck-Siame, and so he quickly took an opportunity to close in when a brief window appeared. Of course, it wasn't long before he noticed Tanya setting her sights on a target, so he threw yet another suppressive barrage towards the two remaining opponents and whilst Tanya had chosen the joy of dealing with an asari, Iosif was left to tackle his fellow man. The distinct crackle and hiss of a prematurely overheated rifle from the former was Iosif's cue to turn his sights on the latter. Punching in yet another one of his favourite omni-tool binds, a crackle of flame licked across the unlucky bastard's visor and left him disoriented, giving Iosif a window to finish him off with another burst of fire from his M-8.

When his eyes shifted across the room to scan for Tanya and her asari target, he witnessed her shaking off the aftereffects of a biotic blast. Obsserving her direction, he answered with a simple but effective nod and followed suit, once more opting to give his Avenger a rest from anymore heat build-up and slipping out his M-6 for some close-and-personal action, just in case any of the remaining crew - if there were any - still wanted to fight a lost battle. At any rate, it seemed he'd spoken too soon when they stumbled upon Kosso and Saseen engaged in a standoff with the remaining crew members; a poor excuse for a defending force if he'd ever seen one. None of them seemed to be equipped beyond their sidearms, and it seemed as if they could've made short work of them if they decided to pull something stupid.

Unlikely when it came to Siame and their professional image, but all the same he gave each of them a look over. Neither of the two salarians didn't strike him as hardened veterans outside of a ship, whilst the turian seemed oddly 'alien' outside of any armour, yet all the same he didn't strike Iosif as a softie somehow. The buzzcut weapon systems operator struck him as a hardass type who's temper threatened to get the better of him, but the one that Iosif was weary of the most was the asari. In the end, it fell down to the simple matter of biotics. It was probably one of the few things he actually hated about asari and with good reason, so he kept his sights set on that one just as a precaution.

After Tanya eventually spoke up to ask which of their motley crew was actually qualified to help run the ship, Iosif quickly gave an answer. "I say we can, and from the looks of it we've got all the right people. Aside from that dropship back there, I can handle co-piloting, navigation and so." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the ship's original navigator offer him a death glare. That warranted a smirk, at least. His own 'fuck you too, Siame', even if it was just one gesture at a time.

The plan was going reasonably well so far. Jaerdi and Mark had entered the precinct with relative ease and accomplished their objective (of course, Jaerdi always accomplished the task he was being payed for). Jaerdi also accomplished his own objective - hacking into the C-Pat system and installing a worm that would systematically remove him from the systems before deleting itself. He hadn’t designed this program himself, he wasn’t really that kind of engineer, especially when he had the capital to get other people to do it for him. In fact it was all going rather too well for his liking.

No sooner had he finished that thought, than a far off blast could be heard from the direction of the administrators office. He quickly checked his omni tool for the status of his fellow team-members. Sleuth’s vitals were in a bad way. Normally Jaerdi’s instinct at this point would be to get away from the witless police force while that was still an easy task, but as much as it pained him to admit it, Sleuth was probably worth some daring heroics to at least attempt to save. Unlike the Quarians, Sleuth was a definite asset to the team and Jaerdi was not in the business of wasting good assets.

Of course he would also make sure to swing everything significantly in his favour before doing anything actually dangerous. His contract said ‘by any means necessary’ after all.

Tapping into the C-sec system once again, he located the squad that was attacking the office. Once he had typed a message into his omni-tools voice synthesiser, he thumbed through the list of voices he had on file. He initially thought of ‘soon-to-be-broke Volus,’ but went past that one when he realised the administrator was not really in a position to be giving orders. From there the next one down was conveniently ‘angry Batarian boss.’ While he didn’t know if the troops boss really was Batarian, it was likely enough that he went for it. The message was simply telling the troops to capture their targets alive rather than kill them, all delivered in a delightfully furious Batarian drawl. Whether it worked or not, it would at least confuse them for a short time.

With that, he took his Locust SMG in both hands, stood straight and in his best impression of a staunch Salarian infantrymans voice exclaimed “Time to hold the Line!”

It didn’t take him long to reach the scene of the battle. He was swift on his feet when he needed to be, one of the advantages of wearing nothing but a stylish suit. Leaping into cover before he was seen, he poked the tip of his omni tool out from behind the wall to observe the troops. The Quarians were giving a good accounting of themselves, all things considered. Not enough to win on their own of course, but they’d definitely slowed the killing momentum of the C-pat troops. His position behind the frontal assault focused group allowed him the perfect chance to deal some serious damage. He attached his gun to his belt for a moment, though didn’t shrink it, and pulled two fat, disc shaped objects out, one in each hand. Fusion grenades.

In one fluid motion, he swung around from his cover and flung first one grenade - frisby style, into the furthest cluster of troops, then the other, an underhanded throw into the closest pair of soldiers. Rather than bouncing, the Grenades stuck at the locations they first landed. Once back in cover, he yelled out “Depp fried cops coming right up!” and tapped the button to detonate the grenades. A throaty roar erupted from around the corner, a ruddy red glow visible from the corner of his eye. What fusion grenades lacked in radius, they made up in sheer capacity to erase things from existence. When Jaerdi poked his omni tool around the corner this time, he noticed three less C-pat men, with the survivors all in varying states of singed but alive and capable, all moving to adapt to his position. That was unfortunate, he had managed to encounter some actual effective C-pat troops. This is why he usually left well before cops arrived. Worse, Sleuths vitals had flatlined in the time it had all taken. Keying his coms to the Quarian pair, he spoke quickly “I think we’ve held the line enough today. Time to go, before they recover!”

Stolen Corvette, Somewhere in the Eagle Nebula…

“And we lost ‘em.” Saseen announced after the Corvette had slipped out of FTL travel after making a pair of Mass Relay jumps from the Nemean Abyss. Tanya slumped back in her captain’s chair, exhaling a sigh of relief. The mess on Cartagena Station was behind them, the light Corvette they had stolen from Siame Industries was now safely in the team’s possession. All that remained was to reprogram the ship’s IFF signature and keep monitoring Siame Industries’ communications to keep off of their radar until it was time to strike. A lot of the team was injured escaping the hanger, the C-Pat response much swifter and more violent than anticipated, and there were casualties from all parties involved. Valok and Kesik, the two batarians, died in the hanger after being caught in the open by C-Pat’s response team. Sleuth was a bigger blow; the hacker’s skills were a vital part of the operations moving forward, and the malformed turian had been taken down when C-Pat’s response team breached the Administrator’s office. The rest of the team had managed to escape more or less intact, save Henrik, and if all went well, the information left behind, such as lodging records and security footage, would have been erased. There wasn’t much Tanya could have done about meeting Administrator Var’uuk in person, but she had used an alias and a secured account to secure the funds for The Jalopy. While she didn’t doubt the batarian was fuming and would stop at no ends to discover her and Kosso’s identities, there wasn’t much an isolated station like Cartagena could do; it didn’t share databanks with anywhere else in the galaxy, and that’s precisely why Tanya had picked it to launch this escapade. Crime happened there all the time; a few gunfights weren’t going to draw the attention from the Council.

It would barely register in the minds of the people Tanya wanted to get the attention from. They would be changing that in due time, all uprisings took time to gain momentum. For now, being alive was enough.

“Well, that crazy shit’s behind us.” Tanya said to the crew assembled around the CIC and cockpit. The SI crewmembers that they had cornered here had been released instead of executed. There wasn’t much they could say that the rest of Siame Industries didn’t already know, which is that one of their ships had been stolen. After skillfully dodging the larger, heavier ships that were acting as escorts for the corvette, Saseen had skillfully piloted the ship to the Mass Relay and raced to the next relay with Iosef acting as a navigator. All the others could do were monitor the ship’s already excellently maintained systems and hope they made a clean break-away, which thankfully happened. “You all did damn fine work, and now we’re out of the fire, we can take some time to breathe and make our next plan. I propose we scour the ship’s systems and find what juicy information we can find about Siame Industries and start hitting them where it hurts; take out key personnel, supply depots, headquarters, you name it. The more Siame bleeds, the more people will rally to our cause. I also want each of you guys to see if you can’t dig up some contacts who will be willing it to stick it to these wankers, because as much as I love the romantic notions of a lone ship taking on the Evil Empire, that’s a great way to get us all killed in the most embarrassingly pointless way possible.” She said, looking at the gathered faces. She couldn’t get a read off of most of them; her people skills still were fairly hopeless. “We all joined up for this knowing there’s a chance we could all die, and we’ve already seen the truth in that. I never thought I’d feel bad about seeing dead batarians, but Kesik and Valok both believed in this enough to have given their lives so we could carry on the mission. After we get settled and somebody scrounges up something to drink, we’ll have a bit of a memorial service for them and Sleuth. Nobody who signed on for this is going to be forgotten, I promise you all that. We can’t change what happened or ever make up for the loss, but we can honour our comrades in arms. Let’s not let their sacrifice mean nothing. Siame Industries will pay for that and for forcing us into doing this in the first place.” She said, rising up from her seat.

“Alright, this shit’s getting heavy.” She said with an apologetic smile. “We’re still all strangers here, and I aim to change that. Let’s settle in our new home and figure out where the hell everything is. The way I see it, there’s about twenty sleeping compartments, ten per side of the deck, so we at least get to pick which tiny and crammed hole in the wall we want to call home. I’ll take an end one close to the hanger, where I’ll be working when duties up here don’t require my attention.” She said, looking around the CIC. “Oh, and I have no idea what the fuck this ship’s called, so if any of you can come up with something better than the first vulgar thing that comes to my mind, we’ll rechristen it after getting utterly shitfaced tonight.” She said as a way of dismissal and she made her way to the lower deck where everyone’s containers and the sleeping quarters were located.

After dragging her equipment to the hanger to set up a workshop for later, Tanya took her personal effects to an end cabin on the Port side of the hallway and took a few minutes to check to see if there were any security systems in place for each of the room. Finding none, it became quickly apparent that a simple sliding door without locks was the only privacy any of them were going to have. Each of the sleeping cabins was quite crammed and Spartan, a small desk and chair were attached at the end of the single bed, a standing locker was at the back wall where a crewmember could store his or her armour, up to four weapons, and other equipment in the primary compartment. The three drawers at the bottom were for clothing and other personal effects. It was about shoulder and a half width between the wall and the bed, as space was at a premium. It was hardly the comparatively luxurious room she had on the Tyrus, where she had her own personal shower and room to set up a painting easel. Military vessels ever took consideration for personal expression. Going through the drawers of her new room, she was suddenly presented with the condensed life of a salarian crew member. The personal effects would find their way to the airlock soon enough.

Having peeled herself out of her armour, Tanya had set to work unpacking her equipment in the hanger near the gunship, more as a relaxing exercise than one of necessity. Back on Tyrus, her workshop and digging into the guts of some piece of machinery had been her refuge from the troubles of the day, of which there were always many. For nearly a solid month after joining Nova, Tanya had barely spoken to anyone on the team past work related issues. After missions, she’d either retreat wordlessly to her cabin or her workshop and bury herself in something to keep everyone at arm’s length. She had always been mechanically inclined, ever since she was a teenager. Even in military service, she enlisted as a combat marine instead of a mechanic or combat engineer and still somehow found a way to gravitate towards repairing war materials. In some ways, it was the only thing that kept her mind intact and moving forward when the world seemed to be falling apart around her. Christ, Mindoir feels like a lifetime ago… I probably should have seen a therapist. she thought, smiling as she pulled up a box filled with upgrades and components for Shithead, her combat drone, recalling the close call she had on Kahje when her, Kosso, and the rest of Nova were attempting a daring information heist on a hanar crime lord that ended up sinking his entire damn ship. It was the only time, so far, her IFF signatures gave out and her combat drone tried to kill her. She resolved to not overwork her omnitool to the point of failure again after that.

Her thoughts moved to the team Kosso and her had assembled, a bunch of criminals through and through. It was an odd sensation, starting fresh again with all new people. She had barely gotten to really know and accept Nova before deciding to jump ship to stay ahead of the law. She paused her work, deep in thought as a realization hit her. She was falling back into old habits, isolating herself. How the hell was she going to lead these people or even have them trust her if she shied away from talking to them? She was going to have to make changes, or she was going to get everyone aboard killed for being a shitty example.

“Ah, fuck.” She muttered, setting down the parts box and looking towards the gunship. She’d do a quick look-over to figure out exactly what they had on their hands before trying to see what SI had squirrelled away in their onboard systems. Taking the ship was the easy part.

Talking to people was going to be the hard part.

With Tanya's rapid co-ordination of their hijacking job, things quickly fell into place for the team - Iosif among them. Throwing the remaining crew members off their own vessel had given him a certain level of satisfaction that would only be met when he claimed one of their cabins for his own use. It'd be like another one of his own personal 'fuck you' gestures he was getting into the habit of offering to Siame Industries, and it wouldn't have been the last of them either. After that, running the salarian vessel's navigation systems had taken a little getting used to, but by the time they'd given Cartagena a farewell kiss he'd gotten the hang of it, for the most part. Now came the part where they could take a few and enjoy the brief fanfare they'd earned.

This was one for the records. Well, at least for his own records anyways - Iosif hadn't pulled off a successful job like this since his last info heist. Still, it wasn't anything that would've made the front pages on any of the Citadel Headlines, maybe a fluffer article to keep some tabloid afloat between its next half-naked asari pinup. At any rate, it made a good comeback and as far as Iosif was concerned, that was reason enough to give himself some kind of credit. Him, and this motlet crew he'd joined up with. Who knew, maybe things with these guys would turn out alright after all. Then again, Jedrah was always going to remain at the pit of his mind as a permanent reminder of how much trust could be worth.

It didn't exactly hurt, however, that the two batarians wouldn't be joining them on the vessel. As much as it put a dent in their whole operation against Siame and as much as they'd stuck their necks out and been burned for it, Iosif found a slight sense of relief in their absence, even if he wasn't going to advertise that particular detail to everyone else. One of the batarians had definitely struck him as the slaver type and even after they'd supposedly proven themselves with their last job, Iosif remained unsure as to whether or not he would've had to put the bastard or his would-be 'fellow brother' down at some point or another. All the better they were gone, he supposed.

Having quietly sat through Tanya's little speech, he figured it was time to grab a decent bunk before the others staked their claims. Conveniently, quite a few of the sleeping quarters were closer to the hangar - where he planned on spending quite a bit of time, if that salarian dropship was anything to go by - and so he wound up claiming the next compartment after Tanya's. Luckily for him, he'd not exactly been carrying a great deal of personal effects or equipment. Most of what he owned he was wearing, armour and weapons included. Anything else he'd need could probably be taken from the contents of whatever the ship's previous occupants left behind, or otherwise earned over the course of this endeavour.

Stepping inside the cabin, he found an appropriately compact space; a bed, desk and a chair all crammed together, accompanied by a storage locker against the wall. Hardly a luxurious space, but one to call his own - more than what could've been said for anyone who'd experienced life in a batarian slave mine. A few minutes of searching through the locker revealed the previous occupant to be one of the human crew members and amusingly enough, one who particularly enjoyed reading the exotic pleasures of Fornax Magazine. Unfortunately for him, that's where the amusement ended as whoever the man had been also happened to be a few sizes larger than him when it came to clothing. A little annoying for Iosif, as he'd come aboard without any extra baggage, but he figured that one of the other cabins would turn up with a few sets of clothing that matched his size close enough.

Before he planned on slipping out of his armour, Iosif went to check the sliding door that guarded entry to the cabin for any kind of security measures or locking device. Troubling enough, it lacked either - but Iosif always had some kind of contingency in place for situations like this. Aratoht had taught him to sleep with one eye open and as a rule of thumb he always kept a sidearm within reach, just in case the day came when it'd need use. So long as he followed the same doctrine here, he'd get along fine. With that thought out of the way, he stripped out of his armour and stowed it inside the storage locker along with the rest of his equipment, save for the sidearm which he kept holstered at his side and his trusty welding tool.

Until now, however, it hadn't occurred to him how he actually looked with the various layers of equipment stripped away. His 'casual' wear effectively consisted of a set of khaki cargo pants, a pair of military-spec boots and a black vest with some faceless clothing company's logo printed on the front. It gave a particularly graphic view of his cybernetic arm, where it was joined to the organic tissues of his shoulder, in addition to the barcode those slaving bastards had tattooed across the back of his neck to mark him as their property. All in all, not a particularly handsome sight, but Iosif hadn't signed on for a modelling contract. The only thing that actually bothered him was the fact that this was his only change of clothes, but with any luck he'd find an alternative from one of the others if he asked later on.

In the meantime, he decided, he'd head over to the hangar to find out what to expect with the salarian dropship that was practically waiting for his attention. After all, he'd be piloting the damned thing. When he finally reached the hangar, however, he noticed Tanya had already started off or at least she was about to, judging by the equipment she'd left lying around. Putting two-and-two together, he figured they shared the same idea, and with that he spoke up. "So, are we taking a look at this or not?"

"Kosso..." she says, sadly. Words slur with blood. Her hands are pressed to her navel, tight against the skin where something is seeping through her fingers to drip soundlessly onto the tops of her shoes. I bought her those shoes for her birthday he thinks, the thought fresh and absurd and wholly out of place as he rushes to catch her when she slumps towards the ground. The green pair, with the straps in that pattern she likes.

She's lighter than she should be, a breath of fading air in his arms. Her eyes roll around, seeing nothing. When he presses his own hand against the dampness of her stomach, she blinks slowly and looks up at him as if he's a stranger. "Kosso?" She says again, confused. Her mouth is trembling, the corners twitching. She's either trying to grimace, or to smile. He doesn't know which is worse.

Around the two of them, shadows are moving. A siren cuts through the clamor of his thoughts. He looks up to watch the other mercs step away, eyes wide, eyes closed. When he looks back down, she's gone. A pool of water lies in her place, oily and glistening. He can still feel her blood running warmly on his fingertips.

He stands quickly, turns to move away. The environment is dissolving, changing. The open spaces of the ward are being swallowed, replaced by cramped corridors and closed doors, walls stained dark and silent. Somewhere the steady beeping of a heart monitor echoes, calling him. He runs. Each door opens to a new hallway, each hallway leads to more doors. Each step is soundless, the carpet soft and wet beneath his feet. The beeping in his ears stays steady, no matter which way he turns. Each distinct “ping” drives a spike of pain through his head. He feels panic growing, throbbing somewhere behind his left eye. Each breath hurts, lungs strained and damp. There’s water on his lips, in his eyes, in his veins.

Finally a door opens to a room that seems familiar. A ship's mess hall, chairs askew, half-finished coffee still steaming on the table. One whole wall is missing, ripped apart as if by some giant and terrible beast, and beyond there is only the yawning void of space. Tanya is standing there, gazing out with arms crossed. She turns as he enters, kills him with a grin, crooked and sad. She shrugs. "I think we're fucked." She says, as if it should be obvious. Behind her, the stars are moving, roiling in the waves of a fresh storm. He opens his mouth to shout a warning, but the saltwater waves come crashing through the breach, roaring. He loses sight of Tanya in the foam and thrash, and then the ocean takes him, tearing at his limbs even as it reaches cold fingers down his throat. The water rushes down, filling his lungs, spilling in waves through his veins. It surrounds his heart in a cage of salt and fury, and then it squeezes tight.

Kosso woke in a whirl of tangled sheets and frantic breaths, gasping. One hand clawed at his breast, trying senselessly to dig through and rescue his heart. His throat was convulsing, desperate to cough up a torrent of saltwater that didn't exist. Damn it, pull it together! He swung himself out of bed, still wheezing. The room was dark and unfamiliar, filled with clutter to trip over as he made his way over to the desk. Eventually he found the room's only chair, and he settled into it with none of his usual grace. He sat there for a long time until his pulse finally slowed and the shadows of his dream had lost a bit of their edge.

Damn. He hadn't had a dream that bad since...well, since he left Nova. All of a sudden, he missed the Jalopy, missed it more than he thought was possible. Never should have sold that junker. Never should have agreed to this. Never should have...fuck. His thoughts trailed off as he struggled with past mistakes. No. I'm just being stupid. Get a grip, it was only a dream. Nothing new.

But it had been something new: Tanya had been in this one. He remembered the way her face had vanished beneath a wall of cascading water, and a chill shot up his spine. Suddenly the room seemed unbearably dark. He fumbled around the desk surface until he managed to find a light switch. The compact desk lamp flicked on, illuminating the tiny room in a dim glow. It could hardly be called a "cabin," small as it was, but it suited Kosso just fine. He actually liked the spartan aspect of it: less distractions that way. From what he could tell, the previous occupant had been an Asari (the same Asari he'd shot outside the bathroom on the lower deck? It did no good to dwell on that possibility), and she hadn't had much use for decorations. A true military spirit, that one. Everything here was up to code, straight and rigid and perfectly placed. It felt cold, and did nothing to comfort him now.

The majority of his stuff that didn't belong in the room's tiny wardrobe had fit into a single desk drawer. He opened that drawer now and extracted a tiny white bottle. The pills inside rattled against the plastic, staccato and somehow foreboding. if ever there was a time for this stuff, it's now. But something else caught his eye as he unscrewed the bottles lid. There, in the drawer, tucked away in the back, was a splash of color. He paused, stared at it for a moment, and then screwed the lid back on with a sigh before tossing the bottle back in the drawer and drawing out the colorful object.

It was a painting, less than a foot across on any side. It depicted a Hanar, rendered in soothing pink watercolors, being torn asunder by a terrifying creature with dark, beady eyes and a thousand horrible, hooked teeth. "A shark," Tanya had told him when she gave it to him a few weeks after their mission on Kahje. She'd been smiling then, and though he'd tried to hide it, so had he. He smiled again now, looking at it.

"Fine then," he said, after a moment of introspection. Rising, he placed the picture on his bed. When he returned, he'd find a way to affix it onto the wall. A distraction, maybe, but a welcome one. Returning to the desk, he closed the drawer with the Hallex. The drawer beneath it caught as he did so, clicking open. Inside, like a gift from the gods, was a half-bottle of Asari Whiskey. Well well, not such a military spirit after all. Guess this is just what I need. It tasted like fire, a blossom of warmth in his mouth and in his chest that helped to drive out the taste of seawater that still lingered there from his dream. Alright, he thought, capping the whiskey and moving to exit the room. Guess we'll try this a different way first.

His room was two doors down from Tanya's, with Iosef's between them. That sight put a damper on his relatively chipper mood; he'd wanted to claim that room for himself, until that damned human had staked it out first. Now he was an entire room away from the one person on the ship he actually trusted, and one room was enough to make him nervous. He shook the frustration off.

Tanya didn't answer her door, so he knew there was only one place she could be: the hangar, probably tinkering with some machine. The ship might change, but Tanya never did. The whiskey felt warm in his hands. "Well, I suppose she can suffer my company," he mumbled to himself with a quiet smile as he went looking for the ship's elevator.

But when he arrived in the hangar, he stopped at the doorway. Tanya was there, alright, but so was Iosef. The two Humans had their backs to the door, looking over some metal...thing, lost in their own world. He watched them for a moment from the door, one hand around the alcohol and one in his pocket, curling itself repeatedly into a fist. There was a feeling in his chest he couldn't recognize, something he wasn't sure he'd ever felt before, or at least hadn't felt for a long time. He considered entering, making some quip. Tanya would turn, with a smile, maybe, a smile that would widen when she saw the whiskey. But something made him turn on his heel and stalk back into the rest of the ship.

He wandered aimlessly then, for a few minutes that seemed longer than they were. Eventually he found himself in the ship's mess hall. The empty tables and chairs reminded him morbidly of his dream; he wasted no time in finding a glass and filling it to the brim with alcohol. Then he settled onto one of the metal chairs and gulped whiskey for a while in silence, trying to think about nothing, and failing.