"That supposed to be a punch?" Kross smiled at the krogan and took the next one of the chin. He spat green blood and smiled again. "Nearly felt that one." 

Despite what some people might tell you, Afterlife is not the only place on Omega. It's one of the larger venues, definitely one of the more popular. But if you want loud music, strong drink and a coin-toss between whether you're leaving with a sexual partner or a violent attacker, you could do better. You could also do much worse. Kross had gone to one of those other places, Barbour. He'd had a few drinks, danced with a Batarian male(?), done some shameless things to the Batarian in the alley behind the club and then on the way home realized he was being followed by a bunch of heavies. 

A Krogan, two Turians. Couldn't see weapons. Seemed like they were mostly relying on the Krogan's size and their greater numbers to do things here. Turians to hold him, Krogan to beat him, try to make off with his valuables. This should be fun. 

The fight had broken out in a public intersection. The two Turians had come at Kross, only he had a foot and twenty pounds on them. The first went off the railing down into the ventilation systems, screaming. The second tried grabbing at Kross' wrists and got a meaty knee to the chin. As he reeled back, Kross grabbed his facial mandibles and yanked down hard, ripping the fleshy protrusions free in a shower of gore. The Turian fell back, clutching his face and screeching in a high piercing tone. 

Then the Krogan came in, a bullrushing mass that caught him in the side. The two of them grappled, trading blows. And all the while Kross was laughing. This was better than the Batarian. Two punches. Then Kross managed to get one of his talons in the Krogan's eye, forcing it back, bellowing. 

<<Message Incoming From Contact: "the boss">> cropped up across his AR overlay as the two of them rejoined and grappled again. How many kidneys did Krogans have? He figured just punching somewhere would probably hit a kidney. All those redundant organs. But as the message kept buzzing - not leaving a recording, Ticus must want an active face-to-face - Kross guessed he'd need to wrap this up quickly. He stomped out the Krogan's kneecap and used the opening to twist the neck right round, severing the spinal cord. Panting, exhilarated, he answered the call.

"Yeah, boss?"

<<Kross. Time for you to come in from the cold. There's work to be done.>>