Isaac Santos leant his weight against railing that overlooked the vast cityscape of Omega. It was a cold and dark evening, such was typical, for Omega. It had only been five months since he settled here as a permanent resident. He had spent a fair amount of his time here prior to that, but he was always working around all areas of the Terminus Systems at that time. He'd got pretty badly injured on one particular operation and he had been forced to settle down for a while. He'd only really regained full fitness over the course of the last month, and in the time he had spent grounded on Omega, he'd settled in quite well and was finding work easy to come by as he built a name for himself in his local area.

He was outside of the Afterlife club - unlike most clubs on Omega, this one was restricted to people of importance. Isaac was not a person of importance. He was just another gun among thousands. Nothing important about that. Today was different though, he had an appointment. He was due to meet with Ticus Rakaelum, an intimidating and infamous crime-lord, one of the senior members of the crime outfit known as the Circle of Absolution. Apparently, the Circle only accepted the best, and clearly, Ticus liked to assess each candidate himself.

Isaac had clearly caught Ticus' eye on one of his recent jobs, and Ticus had sought him out. Well - a shady Salarian had sought him out, bumping in to him outside of his apartment. It was quite ominous that the Salarian knew where to find him, as he tried very hard to make it so nobody knew where he lived, so he never had to worry about waking up with a gun against his head, but somehow, the Circle knew where to find him. The Salarian was quick and assertive with his message, giving him a time and a place to meet with Ticus. The time? Five mintues from now. The place? Afterlife.

Isaac didn't plan on being late, nor early. He'd heard about Ticus. Most people had heard about Ticus. He was no fool, and he wasn't concerned with those beneath him. If you disturbed him outside of the time your appointment was arranged with him, it would be unlikely that he would take too kindly to you. Isaac wanted a good first impression, considering this may be his new employer that he was about to meet.

With the time growing closer, Isaac approached the entrance to Afterlife, the faint hum of fast-paced dance music vibrating through the closed door, in front of which were multiple bouncers, one of which had a datapad in his hand. Isaac approached him.

"Isaac Santos," Isaac announced himself to the man holding the datapad in his low, smoky voice. "I'm here too see Ticus Rakaelum."

The man glanced at him a moment. "Oh, yeah?" He nodded. "That Ticus guy is a busy man." The man looked down at his datapad for a few seconds before nodding once again. "Yeah, you're on here. Go on in."

Isaac nodded. "Thanks," he replied half-heartedly, barely taking any notice as to what the bouncer had said before making his way in to the entrance hallway of Afterlife and reaching another door, to the central room of Afterlife, which, upon opening, pushed several of Isaac's senses to their limits. Hypnotic, mesmerising music erupted from the room, twice as loud as what it had been before, pink neon lights scintillated endlessly from the centre of the room and the floor vibrated violently along with the music. It took a moment for Isaac to adjust to the intense yet somewhat addictive surrounding.

The bulk of the room was for dancing, drinking and conversing, but up out of the way were private booths for some of the more important individuals who came to Afterlife. Aria T'Loak, the self proclaimed monarch of Omega, had one all to herself. Another, the one that Isaac was now headed for, was occupied by Ticus.

After passing one of Ticus' bodyguards, Isaac climbed the stairs to his booth. It was small and private. There was one bodyguard up here, but other than that all there was was Ticus.

He was tall for a Turian, above average at least. His weathered, old, black skin was contrasted with white detail on his face. Aside from the armour he was garbed in, nobody would ever assume for him to be a soldier. He did not have a scar on his face. He was untouchable, after all. The first thing that jumped to mind, though, was how intimidating he was. It was intentional, of course. Everyone that Isaac had ever met on Omega had tried to make themselves seem scary, aside from the odd trader or barman. For some, it worked. For some it didn't. For Ticus, it most certainly did.

"Take a seat." Ticus spoke quietly. Isaac wasn't entirely sure if it was an order, or an offer, but he complied, sitting opposite from the Turian. "So," Ticus continued, staring down at his drink, of which he had his hand around, barely even taking a second glance at Isaac, probably out of lack of interest more than anything else. "You're interested?"

Isaac nodded. "That's right."

"Well, I'll be straight-up with you... what was it?" Ticus turned his head away from his drink and focused directly on Isaac.

"Isaac," he replied, unflinching.

"Isaac," Ticus continued without blinking. "I'll be straight up with you. We don't take any vagrant off of the street in to our ranks. We're a prestigious organisation in these parts. We like our people to have a certain level of quality. I've been told you have this quality, but..." Ticus hesitated for a moment. "I need to know for myself. I need proof that you're good enough. If you're going to work for me, you're going to be doing some... important jobs. I need to know you can get the job done."

"All right," Isaac didn't break eye contact with Ticus. Neither of them mentioned anything, but despite the fairly courteous conversation between the two, there was a battle going on - a stare off, of sorts. Ticus wanted to see if he could menace Isaac. But Isaac wouldn't allow it. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hmm," Ticus pondered this thought for a short while. "There's a small, abandoned infirmary, I'll send you the co-ordinates. The whole area has been overrun with Vorcha. Go anywhere near there and they won't be happy. In fact, they will try their best to see you dead. Go to the infirmary, kill anyone who tries to stop you, and download the information on the consoles there. Whatever's left there isn't worth much, so, if you don't come back to me alive, it's no loss to me."

"I'll get it done." Isaac nodded.

Ticus sighed. "Now get out, I've got other business to attend to. I'll meet you here, this time tomorrow... if you are still alive."

Isaac stood up and smirked slightly as he left. "I'll be alive."

"Uh, 'scuse me, sir," a voice came out from behind Ticus a few moments after Isaac had left. It was his bodyguard, a Batarian. Ticus was a very powerful man, which meant he had lots of enemies. He could never be too careful, especially when in a public location such as this, which was exactly the reason why he had some of his best men with him at all times. The bodyguard cleared his throat and approached the table. "Could I ask you something?"

Ticus gestured for his bodyguard to take a seat at the table. He didn't much enjoy conversing with his lackeys, but he did get satisfaction from making them feel small and outsmarting them, so he let the Batarian speak.

"Boss, isn't what you just said to that Human exactly the same as what you told the last kid that came 'round here?" the Batarian grunted at Ticus, questioning his motives.

Ticus' mouth turned up slightly, a wry smile, or whatever the Turian equivalent of such a thing can be described as, appeared on his weathered old face. "It's not exactly complex. Don't you see?" Ticus rolled his beady eyes. "Well, you are a Batarian, I suppose." He chuckled in a low, hollow manner, demeaning the Batarian with little reluctance. "This is how we separate the weak from the capable. Anyone who is fit to enter the Circle returns intact. Anyone who doesn't. Well. They were never truly apt enough to be one of us in the first place, evidently."

The bodyguard nodded slightly. Even with the aggressive and reactive attitude of a Batarian, the bodyguard neglected to react to the abuse that Ticus gave him. He knew any sort of retaliation, verbal or otherwise, would likely result in his brains spilling across the floor of the club. "I see." He scanned the room for a moment, as was his job, to protect Ticus, before directing his attention back to his boss. "How many usually come back alive?"

"It varies." Ticus admitted, showing little interest in the conversation. "Depends how many we send out there in the first place."

"How many did you send out?" The Batarian asked almost immediately. He was clearly concerned by this whole situation, as he too had been through the selection process. He reminisced back to his first assignment - a raid on a small pirate ship docked on Omega. He wondered if some of the people he had killed were Absolution hopefuls, too.

The Turian merely shrugged his shoulders in reply, as if their lives were completely irrelevant to him. "Maybe two dozen. The infirmary is deep within Vorcha territory - several of them will perish before they get to it. Half of those who reach it will kill eachother. Perhaps a handful will escape with the data." Ticus drained his drink and turned his head to face the Batarian. "You're irritating me now. Cut the chatter and get back to work. Go and get me another drink."

The Batarian stood up and nodded, vacating the table, eager not to offend his superior. "Of course, sir. Right away. Sorry to intrude sir."

In reply, Ticus raised his hand, as if to dismiss his apologies. "Where's my drink?" Ticus hissed, shaking his head dismissively.

The Batarian left disgruntled. But regardless of his distrust for the Circle and his loathing of Ticus, fear prevented him from ever acting out. Because of this, he would be forever loyal.

Isaac made his way back to his apartment at a fast pace, as he was eager to prepare for the next day. He wanted to impress. He wasn't scared of a couple of Vorcha, and that was all that this assignment consisted of, seemingly. He knew he could be in and out in little to no time.

After arriving at his apartment, Isaac laid out his weapons and armour before sitting down on his bed and holding his datapad. He had received the co-ordinates that Ticus had been speaking of, and as he had suspected, the only enemy he was likely to encounter were Vorcha, and he had dealt with plenty of them in his time. It was sure to be a pushover.

Isaac laid down his datapad and drifted off to sleep, resting up for the oncoming skirmish.

Afterlife. The biggest, noisiest nightclub on Omega. A place for people to while their lives away every night, drowning themselves in synthohol and illicit substances while, outside, life went on as normally as it could on a station like Omega. People arrived from other systems to start life, to escape a previous life, or even to end their own or be unwittingly ended by someone else. The cycle of life and death was definitely in full swing here, as many could no doubt attest to. Afterlife was where the Grim Reaper did business, with the amount of grim dealings between familiar faces conducted every night, with lives and credits being exchanged on such a regular basis that the two blended together, distinctions and lines blurred for the sake of personal gain and ambition, or for vengeance. Thus was the station of Omega, fragile in its physical existence in space, but a myriad web of connections within that kept it strong as one of he Terminus Systems' most powerful locations. Never, at any point or another, did the powerhouses that inhabited Omega doubt that the relative stability of the station was in part to their efforts to control whatever elements they could in order to achieve their own goals in the guise of furthering the station's progress. Such was life on Omega.

However, none of these thoughts passed through the head of one Turian that was making his way towards the club. His mind was focused on other matters, namely the job at hand. The music, though muted, was still intoxicating for him, and as much as he wanted to blow his recent pay on a night's worth of drinks, he shoved that thought away to concentrate on more important things. Like, for instance, remembering the name of that who he was supposed to be visiting here. At the front door he cut the regular queue, much to the displeasure of those waiting behind. The doorman gave him a weary glance and returned his gaze to the datapad in his hands.

"You got a reservation?"

The Turian smiled as best as one of his ilk could and nodded.

"Yeah! I gotta meet this, uh, Ticus fella, Ticus Ra...something-or-other."

As he struggled to remember the exact name, the doorman sighed and scrolled through his datapad, locating the name in question.

"Is it Ticus Rakaelum, sir?"

Recognition lit his eyes and he nodded quite enthusiastically.

"Yeah, that's the guy!"

He started to enter but one outstretched arm from the doorman stopped him.

"I need your name, sir, otherwise you ain't gettin' in."

At that, the Turian stopped. Confusion flickered across his features before his thoughts caught up with him.

"Oh, right, I forgot. Name's Hazan Volintis."

---

One short search later and he was in. Now the music pounded through the air, shaking his bones, making him wish that he was here on leisure instead of business, although if he really were, he'd be back out there, waiting. He was quite the impatient one, really, and he didn't enjoy waiting. Still, here he was, in the heart of Omega, on the way to meet one of the people that made it tick and kept it alive. The offer itself had come quite unexpectedly, with a quite burly krogan thumping on the door of his measly rented apartment while he was changing out of his combat gear. Half dressed he'd answered and the krogan merely told him he had a meeting with the fabled Ticus in Afterlife, and to be there in roughly ten minutes. No time at all to prepare or look nice, he'd simply put his armour back on and left. A few minutes of walking and here he was. Simple, really. Now he threaded his way through the throng, gently bobbing to the music as he sought out the VIP booths.

Built into the areas above the club, the VIP booths were where the royalty of Omega conducted their business, he knew that much. Aria T'Loak, the biggest, baddest of them all, was up here somewhere, and he didn't want to accidentally run into her consorts and end up in a bag ejected into deep space. He was here to meet with Ticus and, as it turns out, he barely knew who the guy was. Never really cared much for knowing who the big shots were on Omega. His mentality was that if it pays, he'd do it. Anything to at least help him survive on this cold station. All he knew was that Ticus apparently was in one of the biggest, if not the biggest criminal organisation on Omega, short of contending with any one of the three mercenary groups that made the station their home. He had a business proposition for Haze, and he knew good business where he saw it, so here he was. Eventually he found what he gathered was his booth; from the outside he saw a very grim-looking Turian gazing out onto the dance floor, arms folded on the railing, drink on a table behind him. A lone Batarian stood watch at the door, no doubt a bodyguard, and as he approached the former tapped on the glass of the door and bade him enter. Just before he did, however, he was stopped by the bodyguard.

"Hey, be careful in there, new guy. Mister Rakaelum's not in a very good mood today."

Hazan merely nodded and stepped into the booth, its glass door sliding back into place a moment after. As far as first impressions went, being in Ticus' presence was a grim matter; he could feel the suppressed killing instinct roll off the armoured Turian even from this distance. Warily he approached, the sound of his bootsteps attacting the latter's attention. As the taller, older Turian turned to face him, Hazan extended a hand in greeting and smiled, or at least what passed for a friendly facial expression for Turians.

"Mister Rakaelum, pleasure meeting you sir, my name is-"

"Inconsequential. Now please, sit."

His greeting firmly ignored, Hazan took the proffered seat as Ticus sat opposite him. The whole thing made him very uneasy, way past the prospect of being paid handsomely for his services. Here he was, with one of Omega's big shots, unarmed and vulnerable. The whole thing stunk of a set-up, yet he calmed himself and gave his full attention to the elder in front of him.

"Now, mister..."

"Volintis, sir. Hazan Volintis."

"Yes, mister Volintis. A pleasure."

Probably more like an annoyance, he thought to himself. Through his thoughts, Ticus continued.

"Now, mister Volintis, it has come to my attention that you're...doing business here in Omega. Offering your services, and your gun, for credits, yes?"

Hazan nodded. Why would he discredit that?

"Well, we here in the Circle are on the lookout for talent such as yourself, though I have to be frank: your dossier doesn't exactly impress me. However, the people upstairs seem to disagree, which is why I'm here to offer you a simple job."

"Sure, sir, a simple job. What is it?"

Ticus cleared his throat and took a sip of his drink.

"There's an old infirmary and hospital in the Slums district, very run-down and mostly abandoned. However, the data terminals there still contain usable information, enough so that there are people out there seeking to obtain it for themselves. I want you to go in there, recover that data and bring it to me."

At that, Hazan relaxed quite a bit. Data retrieval in the slums? Easy enough, piece of cake!

"Well, no problem sir. Anything else I should know about-"

"Yes, if you'd let me finish. The area is heavily overrun by vorcha, no doubt potentials for the Blood Pack. They're highly territorial pests and will defend that location to the last if they have to. You will likely encounter some severe resistance on your way to the target locale."

Oh. That was the twist. Hazan sat straighter as he took in the information presented to him.

"Now, since you have showed up here, I am assuming that you are interested in this job. As such, I have a deadline for you. Take note of the time today, and I want you to be here, with the data, alive of course, tomorrow."

"Rest assured, mister Rakaelum, I'll get the job done and I'll be back here alive with that data. No sweat!"

"Mmm. There will be others, of course, who will be after the same data. If anyone gets in your way, do not hesitate to end them."

Resistance. Of course. Hazan nodded in understanding. He was no stranger to other parties butting in on his credit-earning jobs.

"Yes sir, mister Rakaelum sir. I'll get it done."

Ticus waved a hand at him dismissively as he stood.

"Good, now get out of my sight. I'm expecting company."

Hazan took that as his cue to leave, which he did hurriedly. Any place was better than in there. At least he had a new avenue of opportunity, and potentially more credits! Any credits were better than none, he always told himself.

---

Back at home, Haze took stock. With his armour off and in need of a shower, he laid out his equipment on his bed to take inventory before the assignment. He knew that early preparation was a key to success, not the ultimate do-all-end-all, but it was close enough. First, he inspected his weapons. The gear he had was a remnant from his former life as a scout and point marksman within the Turian military; a Mantis sniper rifle, machined to precision, painted in the same colours as his armour was. All his gear was in roughly the same colouration where he could paint it; his Mattock and Tempest were the same design and colour, each one a precision killing machine, save the Tempest, that was his backup in case he had to deal with things that had no concept of personal space. He had enough thermal clips to last a long time; these were clipped to rigs and harnesses that crisscrossed the back and sides of his armour. Beside that sat his visor, something he's picked up from an arms dealer in the Omega market with his first ever paycheck. It wasn't pretty looking, but it was a better eye than his at long distances, plus he could integrate it with his omni-tool to get information straight from the Holonet about what he was looking at.

Satisfied with the status of his gear, he refolded the weapons into their compact forms and stowed them away in his armour, which he kept in his closet. Then, tired from a day's worth of running around, he had a shower and collapsed in bed, sleep overtaking him within minutes. Nearby, his personal datapad pinged with the receival of information from the Circle, no doubt about the infirmary and its location in the Slums district, but he was already fast asleep. He'd worry about the specifics tomorrow.

Tomorrow, after all, was a new day.

The doom and gloom of Omega was really working double time today. However, none of it got close to Arisaka, stepping with an unusually peppy stride. She was born here, lived here and would now be getting a real job here on Omega. Of course, it wasn't her first job, she once worked at a gun store as a sales clerk is a much more dangerous place. Arisaka remembered the time someone tried robbing the store as she popped a Batarian candy into her mouth. It was a bit sour but very creamy and chewy, Arisaka had long forgotten the name of it, but it didn't matter, she had remember the wrapping well enough to buy it a stores.

Ahe hopped down the streets until she saw the the looming building of the club Afterlife, where only the powerful came to play.
"Ohh... so pretty..." Arisaka marveled at the lights has she felt a cold hand on her shoulder. She turned around and saw the heavily scarred face of a Turian holding a pistol at her spine, "Credits bitch, now."
"Sir, are you mugging me?" Arisaka looked innocently clueless.
"No, I'm going to go by a sandwich."
"Oh really? Do you have any of human sandwiches? I remember I tried a turian sandwich once, it tasted horrible!"
"Umm..." The turian was baffled by how clueless and hyper his victim was.
"Okay, let's see, I'll have with ham, and cheese, oh, and some of that Asari spicy sause, that's reall goooood-"

The mugger pressed his gun to Arisaka's hip, "Credits, now."

Arisaka sighed, with speeds unheard of for a human, she squatted down and drew her knives from her boots. Before the turian even knew what had happened, there were two alloy rods sticking out of his neck. "Should have bought me that sandwich." Arisaka said as the turian sank to the ground. Arisaka went on to happily hum her way to the nightclub.

---

"Yo!" Arisaka excitetly waved at the door guard.
"You have business here miss?" the guard replied, unamussed.
"Yeah, I'm here to see a Ti- Ti-, umm..." Arisaka searched her memory for the name of the person who wanted her to come here, "Tyco, Tycho Brahe? No, Titus? Titus Meade?"
"Ticus Rakealum" the guard correct her.
"Yup!" Arisaka swung her leg out and then stood attention, "Arisaka Hayabusa, reporting for duty!"

The guard just looked at her has he scanned her for weapons and opened the door, Why do all the weird ones come at my shift?

---

The music was intoxicating to Arisaka's ear, her heart beat to the pace of the music and the energy from the club goers invigorated her body. From her spot on the main floor, she could see the dancer's shadows above the circular bar, filled with people ordering drinks and hitting on each other. Lights swung all around to the electric beat as Arisaka unconsciously bounced on her feet to the groove.

Aria T'Loak sat one of the VIP platforms some distance away, Arisaka tried waving at her but got hostile looks from the guards. So she started waving at the guard. Eventualyl she moved on and met a Batarian in full combat armor and a drinking glass, "Going up? Careful, Mister Rakealum has been happier."
"Okay~!" Arisaka ignored the armored Batarian and opened the glass door to the staircase. After a short walk up a carpeted stair case, Arisaka saw the big man himself, Ticus Rakealum sprawled across a soft couch, drink in hand, "Sit, now."
"Okay~" Arisaka was oblivious to Ticus' serious commanding tone as she took a spot in the couch next to him. He smelled a bit weird to Arisaka, but its not like he need to know.

"Can I ask for you name?" Ticus tilted his head.
"Arisaka Hayabusa, sir!" Arisaka hopped up to attention, startling the guards and prompting Ticus to raise a hand to get the hyperactive girl to sit down.
"So, what is it you need me to do?" Arisaka took Ticus' drink from the table and drank it down in one gulp, "Fuuuahhhh..."

Ticus wasn't amused by the girl's alchol consumation, but ignored it for now, "I can assume you know why you are here."
"Candy?" Arisaka looked very hopeful.
"Hell no," Ticus crushed Arisaka's hopes and dreams in one fell swoop, "I want you to go find me a piece of data."
"Ohhh, exploration!" Arisaka's hope returned, "Where?"
"No where special, just the slums, but-"
"What is data about? Is it documents? Oh, maybe its your love letter to Aria! Or maybe its seven terabytes of porn!"

Ticus went to slap the annoying girl but she had already done a perfect flip to the other side of the sofa, "You're going have to be faster than that Mr. Ticus."
"Tch." Ticus grunted as he sat back down, At least she appears to be flexible enough, "Anyways, the data is of no matter to you, all I need if for you to get it. There will be vorcha there and possibly some others, the disc is quite valuable you see."
"Remind me why this porn is so sought after again, does it include Aria or Commander Shepard?"

Ticus restrained his desire to pull out his pistol, "No, it does not have porn, just go in there, get me the disc and we'll see from there."

Arisaka raised her hand, which Ticus had to respond like a school teacher to get her to talk, "Yes, what is it?"
"How will I get there?"
"Find your own way."
"How many other people are going to be there?"
"Just a lot."
"Okay, now, how many of those people do I get to kill?" Arisaka just lost all traces of "innocence" but her cute voice still remained, giving her quite the creepy look by saying something so serious with such a light hearted smile.
"All of them." Ticus liked the tinge of instability this girl had.
"Okay~~" Arisaka got up and walked, smiling at the Turian as she waved to him goodbye.

"Sir," Ticus's guard turned his head to his boss, "Do you want to mental scan future initiates?"

---

Arisaka walked down the dusty street back to her apartment, the body of the Turian who tried mugging her was still on the ground, nobody had cleaned up yet. But then again, not many people did anything on Omega unless it benefited them first. Arisaka kicked the corpse before leaning down to pick up the weapon that miraculously hadn't been stolen. Upon closer look, she could see why. It was a broken M-6 Cariflex, the firing mechanism was misaligned and wouldn't fire. To other it would mean a difficult task of having to repair it to market quality, but to Arisaka who worked with weapons for a good few years, to would be an easy fix. If she managed to fix a broken shotgun that had been blasted to pieces with duct tape, a welder and lava lamp, this should have been easy enough for her to fix eyes closed.

One train ride later and several flights of stair up, Arisaka arrived at her humble abode. It was a small place, barely larger than a studio. Much of the things in the room where either reclaimed, built, stolen or jury-rigged. It wasn't the prettiest of places, but Arisaka found comfort in it. She hopped over to the workbench that was next to the open window with a view of the Omega skyline. As she took out her tools, it seemed that it would be another night with less then five hours of sleep, good thing Arisaka could operate on only three. As the tools worked away at dissecting the firearm, she began to hum,
"Happy Synthesizer, for you I'll play this one time melody. In hopes that you will one day reach deep into your heart."

A chill running up her arms, Mira shivered, leaning back from the metal railing she had been putting her weight on, staring off into the starry sky, her mind swept in the current of passing ships. How she longed to be there, not any place in particular, just adrift amidst the stars, far away from the din of pain and greed on Omega. Her fists clenched, brilliant green eyes shutting tightly closed, blocking out the abrasive sights of the obtrusive planet, if but for a moment. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Mira drifted away from the railing, stepping slowly back into the motion of the crowds, of the planet, before reopening her eyes.

'I normally don't have the time to waste on those such as yourself, Ms. Vadri. But, as it just so happens to be, I think that you could be of a certain use to us. So, I'll give you a chance.'

One chance, one last chance. She felt her throat constricting again, threatening to let lose a scream that desired nothing more to sing into the night sky, echoing listlessly on deaf ears. She was all alone. Taking a brief look around, at the many different faces around her, she couldn't help but take note of how alone each and everyone here was. Their faces were worn, almost lost of all light, it left one to wonder if they had ever had a fire in their eyes before.

'Thank you, I won't let you down. I shall come back with a promising report, I swear it.'

By the Goddess, she was in over her head. Perhaps she should have just asked them to end it, to spare her of this pain, of knowing that the galaxy above was always there, yet always out of reach. Letting lose a shaky sigh, Mira became one with the sea of different faces, molding with the flow that carried her towards her new home, a small and lightly decorated apartment. The only time she spent in here was to meditate, read, or drown in her pain. She'd never gone to slip away to the drinks offered at Afterlife, the Goddess knows what they put in them, rather she would rely on her self-made galaxy, harbored deep within the reaches of her mind, the memories of space, the heartbeat of the galaxy creating a soothing wave of calm to wash over and lap at her every nerve. Tomorrow, she would go investigate and terminate the Vorcha, sounded simple enough, but she knew as soon as she locked her eyes with Ticus, he was not to be trusted. He was suave, but he was no diplomat, that she was sure of. He had few tells, as one of his stature was definitely well protected behind a wall of impenetrable lies, and power. Yet, warning bells went off in her head, as they most likely should have, he was, after all, a mob boss. Still, something didn't settle well with her.

Trying her best for the rest of the night, the young Asari slipped into her meditation, becoming one with the stars. Whatever may come tomorrow, she would deal with upon the dawn, hopefully she would be able to rise to the occasion. With effort, she might be able to work herself out of the Circle, a dull hope, but a thought that helped ease her nonetheless. Whatever was to come, she decided, she would face with the tenacity and valor only an Asari could possess. She would prove herself to this Ticus, but for tonight, she would be one with perpetual space. In the furthest reaches of that space, began a dark cloud, slowly infesting her once colorful and bountiful galaxy, it was searching...for her.

Omega was the definition of a shithole. If anybody tried to deny that, then they'd be lying. Marcus Vanir knew that as well as the next person, but he had stayed here for a couple of years because despite of the level of crime and lawlessness, Omega was probably the safest part of the galaxy for someone like him. Being a deserter of both the Alliance and Cerberus was a lethal combination that meant damn near every human in existence would have some sort of personal grudge with him; He knew for a fact that the minute he left Omega, he'd have both groups on his tail fairly quickly. So he stayed. It wasn't the nicest place to live, and the work was immoral and often quite gruesome, but the sheer safety and anonymity the place granted him was more than enough of a reason for him to set up his home there.
Or so he thought. Recently, he’d heard news of Cerberus agents inquiring about him, searching the planet for him so they could make sure he never let out any of their secrets – not that he had ever been a high even rank to know anything too confidential. After all, he had served under the resurrected Commander Shepard himself; that alone was probably worthy of him getting a Cerberus hit squad after him. These rumours had led him to pursue options he would never normally have considered, which in turn sent him crawling to the Circle of Absolution.
Of course he had heard about the Circle during his time here, it was one of the most notorious factions on the whole planet. Thankfully, he had managed to stay under their radar for the majority of his stay – until of course circumstance forced him to contact them. He was currently on his way to a meeting with a turian named Ticus Rakaelum, who would supposedly be supervising his initiation to the faction. Afterlife was another place he usually tried to avoid. It had a reputation for being the haunt of many high profile crime bosses – exactly the sort of people Marcus had attempted to avoid until now. He approached the door and was stopped by a bouncer, who simply stared at him. Marcus stared back for a few seconds before speaking.
“The names Vanir, I’m here to see Rakaelum and don’t pretend you don’t know.”
The bouncer nodded once then stepped aside, allowing Marcus to enter the club. The atmosphere was overpowering – the flashing lights and pulsating music would overwhelm anybody. He refused to get caught up in it though, knowing exactly where he needed to go. Striding over to a private lounge, he was instantly greeted by a batarian bodyguard.
“Marcus Vanir, here to see Titus Rakaelum.” He grunted.
“Ah yes, you’re expected.” The bodyguard intoned. “He’s just through those doors.
Marcus was slightly taken aback when he stepped into the room. He had heard plenty of rumours about the turian but had never actually seen him. He was older than he had imagined, but the air of authority he projected was unmistakable.
“Mr Vanir, take a seat.”
Marcus did so, and waited for the turian to speak again. He knew enough about people in command to understand that they preferred to talk rather than listen.
“I have to say,” The turian said, “You have quite the impressive resume. Ex-Alliance, ex-Cerberus, you seem to have a reputation for abandoning your duties. I hope that won’t be an issue here.”
“No sir.” Marcus grunted.
“Excellent. I’m taking quite a large risk on you, Mr Vanir, and I expect it to pay off. Now, I hear you have a specific request about your manner of payment?” Ticus said inquisitively.
“That’s right, sir” Marcus said in a monotone. “I don’t care too much about credits – I have enough to live off. I want protection. Cerberus are already after me and I don’t fancy being killed by them.”
Ticus paused, pressing his fingers together in quiet contemplation. After a minute or so he spoke again.
“If you prove reliable, I can assure you that nobody will bother you: Cerberus, Alliance or otherwise.”
Marcus let out an internal sigh of relief – that was all he had needed from these people.
“Thank you, sir. So, what are my orders?”

Why oh why did she come to this despondent place to begin with? Sela walked through the lower markets as her eyes took in the various vendors. When she first got here, she combed through each of the tech sellers, and she wasn't impressed. Either the tech was severely overpriced or was simply a cop out of the real thing. She argued with a store seller once. Incomprehensible, idiotic batarian. He was far too basic to understand a single word she spoke. While it was inconsequential, she had left without another word. Truly, the standards in Omega were staggering to say the least.

Today, however, wasn't just any normal day. Several days past, a batarian had approached her. A spokesperson of the Circle of Absolution, he extended her an invitation on behalf Ticus Rakaelum. Though a new citizen to the lawless Omega, Sela knew of the Circle. The criminal syndicate's reach extended far. How far? She didn't know. On occasion, Sela entertained the thought of breaking into their database. Getting on their bad side, however, wasn't what she wanted as of now. So when the invitation for the meaning was delivered, she was quite surprised. What did this organization want with her? Her research? She'd wreck techno-havoc - physical violence - before she'd give up her VI or other projects that her people considered too radical. The bosh'tets.

As she drew closer to her destination, Sela felt violent pulses crash against her lithe frame. Even from all the way out here, Afterlife's music held such power, such presence. She hated the noise. Walking up to the bouncer - a filthy batarian - she cleared her throat as he looked at her. "I have an appointment."

The batarian gestured to the massive line behind her. "Says every single low life waiting to get in," he said. "Quarians aren't common around here. You lost, migrant?"

Sela sighed as she scratched the side of her mask. It as closest thing to scratching her forehead without risking a weeks worth of infection. "Stupid alien," she said. "I have an appointment with a turian. Ticus Rakaelum. I suppose a flea such as yourself should know who he's connected to."

"You've got quite the mouth, migrant."

"And you seem to lack a brain, doorman."

The stare down lasted for another minute as the batarian finally looked at his data pad. He scrolled through no doubt looking for her name. Grunting, he motioned her in. "You're clear. Go on in."

Sela pushed past him as she walked. "About time you trivial fool."

---

"Tread lightly. Mr. Rakaelum's had better days."

"Noted," Sela said as she moved past the batarian and approached the turian. My was this creature simply intimidating. "Ticus?"

The turian took a sip from his drink as he looked to the chair. "Sit down."

Normally, Sela would’ve ignored the order completely, but she didn’t need this person’s displeasure. Eyeing the seat, she sat. Sela was silent, waiting for Ticus to speak. She hated talking to organics. Illogical, in comprehensive, manipulative.

Ticus took another sip from his glass as he placed it back on the table in front of him. “When you came on my radar, I was surprised the migrant fleet let someone like you leave.”

“They had no choice in the matter,” Sela replied. “They couldn’t understand my vision, so I left. Simple.”

“And now here you are.”

Sela shrugged. “Here I am. Now, why am I here? My time’s precious. If you wanted idle chitchat, I’m sure those dancers would suffice. Sad little things.”

She met Ticus’s cool stare from behind her mask. While she tried to exhume calm, Sela was very uncomfortable. She promised herself that she would be in control of her speech - just this once. She failed miserably.

“Normally,” Ticus finally said, “I would have little rude individuals - like yourself - removed. Luckily for you, you’re a person of interest. As you say, I’m not looking to chat. I offered you an invitation to my organization. However, I want to see how … resourceful you are.”

Sela scoffed. “What do you need? Identities stolen? Upgrades?”

Ticus shook his head ever so slightly. “There’s an infirmary. An abandoned one that the Vorcha took over. There’s a certain piece of data that’s of interest to me. You don’t need to know more than that. You’re going to retrieve and bring it back to me. The coordinates will be sent to you. If you live and have the data, come find me. Same time, same place. If you die? That hardly matters to me.”

Sela mulled the information in her head as she remembered her days in the Migrant military. She could do it. Sure. It’d be the perfect setting for testing out her new toys. Oh, she had many. “Subtly or a blanket massacre?”

“Assume anyone you encounter as unfriendly.”

Nodding, Sela got to her feet. “I’ll get you precious data.” Without another word she walked away and past the bavarian that stared at her wide eyed for talking in such a affront manner to his boss. She stopped briefly and regarded the body guard. “Like a scared little mouse,” she said before walking away and eventually out of Afterlife.

She hated the place. Filthy and unkept. Disorganized. Chaotic. Orderless. Decadent. Sickening.

—

Entering her apartment was a deathtrap - if one didn’t know what to look for. Sela - paranoid about everyone she saw - had set up multiple safeguards to the entrance of her home. There were sensor droids everywhere ready to stun, set ablaze with electricity, or simply torment an intruder until she switched it off. They were her latests toys, but they had to earn their keep. In exchange for their synthetic lives, they kept her safe. It was a fair bargain. However, unless the intruder was a skilled hacker - expert anyway - getting through the front door was as successful as trying to walk through a titanium wall unaugmented.

With her omni-tool activated, Sela quickly disarmed the locks as she walked in. Her drones immediately materialized from their canisters as they moved about. When they saw her, they beeped in joy. Personality was one of the things she was trying to give her little pets.

“Glad to see you too,” she said to one as she locked her apartment and went to a back room where her research was. There was so much tech lying around, it was easy to get lost. However, she knew the path. Her place was a humble thing; however, the tech wasn’t. Borrowing from well off people funded the majority of it. Sela chuckled. She thought of it as an unconscious donation to science.

Approaching a console, Sela typed in a sequence of commands from her omni-tool as a feminine hologram popped up from the stand. “Good evening Suri. How’re we feeling today?”

“Pleasant, creator Sela,” responded the VI. “Diagnostic on systems are within acceptable parameters. Will you be modifying today?”

Sela pursed her lips as she brought up a screen and looked at the coding. The file — to say the least — was extensive. “Still having trouble with the entity command. Personality seems to be coming along. The modifications I made yesterday. Have you tried interfacing with the dummy programs I uploaded into the virtual space?”

“There is an error in the entity program. Analyzing now. Vocal inflections are within acceptable parameters,” reported Suri. “I have compiled a report for you review. Overall, interfacing with the dummies was successful. Does creator Suri wish for a report?”

Sela waved Suri off with her hand as she tapped her helmet. “I should have the port finished soon. In meantime, prep for integration. How long?”

“A day, creator.”

Impatient to see if her countless days of labor would pay off, Sela busied herself with another project as she heard her omni-tool beep. It was the infirmary. “Begin the prep now, Suri,” she said as she opened the file and looked at the coordinates. She typed in her console as a map of Omega — the uncensored blueprint — came up. “Tomorrow will be the day.”

Looking over the blueprint, she uploaded it to her omni-tool as thoughts of how to use the environment came to mind. She smiled as she put the console on sleep. “I’m getting some sleep, Suri. Alert me of any notifications.”

“Yes, creator Sela.”

God she hated that. She needed to break the entity error quickly.

Leaving the room, she locked it down as she went to her bedroom. Walking to a cabinet, she pressed a button as her Locust, Phalanx, and several other goodies rested neatly on the cabinet. They were her weapons, modified by her very hands. Smiling, she checked over her little pretties as she placed them back on the shelf and closed it.

Making her way over to her head, Sela laid down as she let out a sigh. As the stress from the day seemed to melt away, her thoughts went to tomorrow’s incursion. The excitement of trying out her experimental was almost unbearable. Odd as it was, she was looking forward to the show.

Krem quietly gazed from a cracked and broken window within one of the many ruined apartments that laid waste among the chaotic planet of Omega. The amber glow of his datapad illuminated the ravaged dining room, scarred with the painful memories of the past of many residents who stayed here as dry blood, bones and liquids of unknown kind soak and stain the walls, Krem stared and sighed, finding the area around him disgusting as many would. Krem wasn't like regular Krogan and despite having the anger and rage of a Krogan he displayed a high level of morality that many Krogan wouldn't share.

Krem slowly analysed all the information he took down about his mission, where he needed to go, and what he needed to do. He let out a long sigh, and slumped against the wall which caused the weak, flimsy material to crack against his heavy weight.

"An infirmary... For what? What does this bastard desire? For all I know this could turn out to be a massive trap... and if I die, nobody is going to stop crane."

Krem clenched his fist tightly but relaxed, scratching the plate on his head, he slowly approached the door to the ruined apartment, walking out into the dying streets of omega's worthless world. A world full of disease, murder, corruption and cowards, his shotgun by his side, as he headed further into omega's streets, thinking to himself.

"No money, no transport... nothing. If this doesn't work, and if this Turian bastards lying... I won't be responsible for what I-"

Quickly aiming the shotgun behind him, losing his train of thought, he felt the presence of a scurrying rat quickly approaching him from behind... He was another worthless omega scumbag, a disease ridden, crazy human come attempting to stab a Krogan in the back. These people were more than just reckless and stupid, they were completely insane. The Krogan knew how unpredictable the scumbags of Omega were, and he knew well the rules on Omega and thus, without hesitating, his shotgun let out a loud electronic screech as the spread centralized and ripped its opponent to ribbons in a single shot, blood splashed like a torrent over the dirty walls and over Krems armor, the dead man giving his last few pathetic twitches before ceasing to shift, his dead corpse causing Krem to look down sorrowfully, as he turned to walk away somewhere safe for the night. Krem whispered one thing to himself as he moved on.

"I'm sorry..."

"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.>>

Marianna had never understood the appeal of Omega Station. It was a rat-infested hellhole of iniquity, sex, drugs and illicit dealings. Oh, and plenty of gunfire. It was the sort of place that would truly be the last thing on anyone's mind who wanted to make a living. And yet that had never stopped the thousands who moved there, hoping, searching, even scrambling for a scrap of a living. Perhaps Marianna would have been one of those people who did just that if she hadn't been able to rely on her mother for aid- No. She shuddered at the thought. Maybe slavery wouldn't have been so bad after all, compared to life on Omega. Could always have found a decent owner. It didn't matter now, she had equipment, she had some money and she had a plan in her mind. She looked at her reflection in a pocket mirror that Karmana had given to her, and sighed. 250 years of drifting aimlessly about the galaxy was finally catching up to her, it seemed. The years had taken their toll to be sure. She was no longer the fresh-faced youngster who eagerly awaited her military service any more, she was by most people's standards a veteran of anything and everything the galaxy could throw at a person. Marianna knew of some in her position who would have taken a gun to their head and pulled the trigger. She'd considered it herself, after all, shortly after the collapse of Sunfury and the deep depression she found herself in after the deaths of those she'd called brothers and sisters in arms.

Small wonder I thought like that if I keep on going back to the past... I can't change what happened. I can only change the future, not the past. Take the lessons learned and move on, Mari. She blanked out the thought of Sunfury from her head and returned her attention to her surroundings. A small merchant ship en-route to Omega. It wasn't much, but it was incognito, to be sure. Merchant shipping was the easiest method of ingress into Omega and probably the safest- a bleep from her omni-tool. Incoming call from... her mother, eh? She must be serious about giving a damn about me, we haven't talked this much since I was a little girl. She patched it through with a wry smile. "Keeping up with me, are you?"

The small holographic representation of Marianna's mother gave a chuckle in response. "I try my best, Marianna. I have information you might find useful about this turian you're going to see. Ticus Rakaelum, remember the name?" Marianna nodded in response and leaned back in her chair. "Rakaelum is a man of considerable importance in the Circle of Absolution, which, as you know, is a fairly large criminal organisation operating throughout most of the Terminus Systems. They're big, they're heartless and they go through members like a combine harvesting grain, as the humans say. Rakaelum himself is a bit of a shadowy figure, former leader of a smuggling group and a mercenary by trade, it seems he's ended up on the wrong end of a takeover - he's now working for the Circle in recruitment on Omega. From recent knowledge, he's been undergoing a bit of a recruitment drive at the moment, taking on a bunch of people. I've arranged for you to speak with him regarding your entry into the Circle. I think you're going to have to undergo a bit of a test to get in, they're not accepting any old ingrate off the streets of Omega."

"Hm. Not your usual recruitment methods on Omega, then. Anyone who's lived there for any length of time should know their way around a gun and how to use it. Part of the lifestyle over there, I thought."

"Whatever his reasoning is, you're to meet with him in Afterlife. You can't miss it, it's practically the face of Omega-"

Marianna waved her hand in the air in frustration - did her mother really think that after 250 years she wouldn't know of Afterlife? Give me some credit, mother... "Yes, yes, I know of Afterlife and how to find it. I have prior concerns such as accommodation and whatnot, have you arranged all of that?"

"Wouldn't have sent you without doing so, Mari. I'll upload the location of your safe house to your omni-tool over a secure network. It's not much, but you won't need much. I doubt you'll be on that rock for long. Rakaelum sounds like he means business. I just hope it won't conflict with RSC, because we don't want a repeat of-"

"-Sunfury." Marianna spoke at the same time as her mother did. "I understand." Looking around, she noticed the ship beginning to slow. "I think we're arriving at Omega. I will speak to you after my meeting with Rakaelum."

"Take care."

"You know I will." With that, Marianna cut the communication and packed her bag. It wasn't much - her guns, some maintenance equipment and some supplies. It was all she needed - with any luck, her time on Omega would be a short one, and they could leave quickly. With any luck. Something that had deserted her most of her life- And there I am thinking about the past again. Bloody hell, girl, don't you ever learn... The door opened and the merchantman, a short and older-looking human, appeared in the doorway.

"We're pullin' intae Omega space. I'd be gettin' yer bags ready, lassie, ye journey's over."

"Thank you." Marianna watched as the merchant disappeared down the corridor, probably back to the bridge to take over from whatever apprentice had been watching the ship whilst he was talking to her. It didn't matter.

---

- Afterlife, Omega Station -

Afterlife was, as her mother had said, the face of Omega. Marianna hated it before she'd even entered the building. She could hear the rhythmic pounding of the music from the inside - it permeated your whole body with the vibrations. The batarian doorman looked understandably miffed with his job - he'd probably had to turn away every species in the known galaxy trying to get in, and sometimes had to use force from the looks of his armament. Marianna had some sympathy with him: just another soul trying to get by in a hostile galaxy. She approached the entrance and stopped before the bouncer, who looked up at her and rolled his eyes. "Can I help you, blue-skin?"

"You can. Marianna R'myr. I have an appointment with Ticus Rakaelum."

The doorman sighed visibly and sagged. "Another one? Fuck, what's this guy up to... Yeah, go on in, you're clear." With that he stepped aside and allowed Marianna through the doorway into the club. She was visibly armed to prevent any... unfortunate happenings whilst she was inside. Immediately the smell of sweat, drink and numerous pheromones surged over her as she entered, but Marianna was used to worse. Afterlife was one of the better clubs on Omega, though that wasn't saying a lot. Slipping through the crowds of dancers and drinkers, she made her way over to the 'restricted' section of the club, and headed for Ticus Rakaelum's booth, upstairs. She found it guarded by a single bodyguard, who held his hand up. "No further unless you're on business with Mr. Rakaelum. Which from the looks of it, you are."

"Marianna R'myr. I have an appointment."

Another datapad produced, another scroll through, and another name found. She was beginning to wish she hadn't used her real name... Made it easier for others to track her down. Never mind, that had to fall by the wayside. "So you do. Your weapons, Miss R'myr. Nothing personal, Mr. Rakaelum doesn't like to take any chances."

"Understandable," was all Marianna said as she handed over her rifle, pistols and assault rifle to the guard, who placed them over to one side and stepped away from the door. The guard spoke as she walked by. "I'll warn you, he's a busy man and he's probably not in the best of moods having to deal with so many people." Marianna didn't respond as she walked into Rakaelum's booth and came face-to-face with arguably one of the most important men on the station. He turned and looked her over.

"Marianna R'myr. The Widowmaker, if I'm not mistaken. Please, take a seat." Rakaelum gestured to two seats over a glass table, to which Marianna responded quickly by... well, doing as she was told. She couldn't risk making a faux pas with this one. "Now, in the interests of time, I'll make this brief. I have read over your dossier and was in contact with somebody who had employed you before. Your record of service is... let us say unlucky."

"Half of everything is luck, Mr. Rakaelum. It comes with the job title."

Rakaelum nodded. "Yes, quite. I have a task for you. There is an old, abandoned infirmary that has been infested with vorcha. A woman of your experience will not need an introduction to vorcha. Suffice to say, they will not take kindly to your presence. There is data there that I require, and I want you to return it to me."

"I doubt vorcha are my only problem." Marianna's tone was measured, even. She watched what she said.

"If you see anyone, assume hostility. That will be all. I will be in contact tomorrow, Miss R'myr. I want that data." Rakaelum dismissed Marianna with a wave of his hand, to which Marianna responded by getting to her feet and walking back down the stairs to where the guard was standing outside the booth. She glanced in his direction, which was met with an outstretched arm of weapons. A brief smile crossed Marianna's face as she reclaimed her guns and began to make her way to wherever this 'safe house' was that her mother had told her about...

---

It was a small apartment in a block of flats. Nothing major. Having set her pack down on the bed, Marianna looked out of the window to the Omega skyline and sighed. "So this is what I've ended up with. Taking a fucking fetch-job on the arse-end of Omega. Glorious. A job is a job, I suppose... not been able to hold one of those for a while." She continued musing to herself about her situation whilst she laid out her weapons on her bed, before closing the blinds in front of her window. A bleep from her omni-tool. That must be mother. And indeed it was.

"I hear your meeting with Rakaelum went well."

Marianna shrugged and sat down in a chair. "About as well as it could have gone..."

Isaac awoke with a jump. He did that sometimes. His sleep was rarely satisfactory. That was part of his life though. Not only did he have to be alert and a light sleeper if he wanted to survive, he was also plagued by the nightmares of all the dark shit he'd seen over the years. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but he was used to it by this point. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and pulling on a vest, realising that he had work to do today, then proceeding to spend around an hour preparing himself for the day ahead. Hopefully it wouldn't be a long one... a quick trip in to Vorcha town, then out. He'd dealt with Vorcha before. They were unsophisticated, a minor threat. He could get in and out if he did it cleverly.

After having suited up in his old, chipped, black armour, Isaac set out towards the co-ordinates that Ticus had given him. It was quite a way away, he had to take transit there, and the transit didn't go directly to the Vorcha area, so he was forced to walk some part of it. By the time he reached the entrance to that sector, it was pretty much midday. It wasn't a problem, since he had several hours before he had to meet with Ticus.

The first few minutes in Vorcha territory were oddly quiet. He then discovered an unsubtle amount of Vorcha corpses as he progressed through the tunnels. Someone had been here recently. He also noticed a Human body, which surprised him. It was fresh. Less than an hour old. It was still warm when he leant down and searched for a pulse. But there was no pulse to be found.

He did encounter a few Vorcha, around two dozen - as even if someone had been here, this particular area was quite open and had a large population of Vorcha. But their small numbers meant that he passed through them with ease, killing each one as if it were a simple chore. He chuckled to himself as he grew closer to the Infirmary, noticing that he had enough clips for his assault rifle to kill around five times the amount of Vorcha he just had.

Isaac looked down the street. He could hear something... gunfire. An explosion. It didn't sound like Vorcha - and it wasn't. He was now about three minutes away from the Infirmary, but in the area surrounding it, there were people - dangerous looking. Isaac spotted a Batarian, who was facing off with a freakishly large Turian. He was pretty sure he also saw a human who was in cover nearby. As soon as Isaac turned the corner and caught the group's attention, he got a target on his head. "More?!" he heard the Turian bellow, who pointed his rifle in Isaac's direction. Isaac quickly dived behind the closest cover available - a small crate, avoiding a shot that would have likely put him out of action had it hit him.

"I guess this might be a little bit more interesting than I thought," Isaac laughed breathy in a manner, a soliloquy to himself. He never backed away from a challenge. He relished it. It gave him a chance to look even better in front of Ticus. His orders had been to take out anyone that stood in his way, and he was willing to do exactly that. He wouldn't feel guilty. After all - they shot first. He dipped his head out from the side of the crate to line up a shot, just in time to see the Turian lining up a grenade launcher towards him. Quickly, he slid out of the way and found himself a point of cover behind a wall, narrowly avoiding the grenade that proceeded to destroy the crates he had been behind. Maybe this could prove to be a challenge.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned around and unleashed his pistol to fire two bullets the Turian's way... one in the head was enough to silence him. There were at least two other hostiles, though, so Isaac had no time to celebrate his kill, quickly returning to cover and waiting for another opportunity to shoot. The thing that was bizarre, though, was that none of them seemed to be working together - all shooting at one another. Isaac considered leaving them to kill eachother, waiting until he could enter easily, but he decided it would be more fun to get stuck in.

The previous night-

In the year 1449 of our lord and saviour, upon the distant realm known as the Omega our hero competes in a tourney to test his might against those who would besmirch the name of the great King Henry VI Lancaster...

"Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh fuck." The words were mumbled under the young man's breath as he held the sword in trembling hands. Cold sweat poured down in his face in the ill-fitting helm. Everyone in the stands were cheering, stamping their feet as they awaited the confrontation and the inevitable bloody end the man would face. Looking around, he saw that the door was slowly opening and the announcer had taken to the stage.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and scourge of the galaxy!" His booming voice carried throughout the arena in the deep slums, the crowd roaring as they took to their feet. The lights dimmed and silence slowly settled over the crowd as they awaited his intro to the main event.

"It is time for the moment you have been waiting for. Since the age of ten, he was trained to be more than just a simple man. He was to be the next in a long line of noble knights, protectors of the realm, and always prepared to give their life in service of our king. It is said, that the day he earned knighthood, he single-handedly held the walls of Caux against the storm of Frenchmen rebelling against our good king Henry VI Lancaster. Others say of how he refused to leave the field of battle until all English wounded had been safely recovered, despite taking three arrows to the chest and a spear through the shoulder. He is a true hero of the realm, and defender of the Catholic faith against the heathen Ottomans, and the rebellious French. Good men and women of the realm, I present to you, Sir Geoffrey Neville Cockburn, knight in the service of our lord King Henry VI Lancaster!"

Roaring applause and chants of "Sir Geoffrey!" arose from the crowded stands as a monolith of steel and flesh marched out from the dark hall, his polished armor gleaming in the now undimmed lights as he lifted the face of his frog-mouthed helm. Setting his tower shield into the ground with a single stabbing motion, he took his morning-star from the hook upon his belt and planted the head into the ground, kneeling to say a prayer before battle. Upon completing his prayer, the Krogan stood and faced his challenger, looking him head to toe and eyeing the French heraldry about his armor with particular distaste. "Hark! What kind of monster sends mere babies to fight me?" He bellowed, holding his morning-star aloft to the crowd as he gave them a show. Laughter echoed from the people gathered there, knowing that this was less a fight, and more an execution.

The young man grimaced as he felt the laughter spearing into him, throwing caution to the wind as he charged at the Krogan. Sir Geoffrey saw him coming, however, and turned on his heel to evade the sudden lunge, bringing his mace down overhead to slam into the man's exposed back. There was a loud crack as the weapon impacted the man's armor, and then a sudden snap as the field activated around the head to buckle and explode the thin steel inward with a wet crunch. A cry of pain escaped the man's lips and blood spurted out across the interior of his helm, the wound very much a fatal blow. Geoffrey walked around the corpse-to-be and planted his food upon his upper back, looking up to the announcer as if seeking permission to give the lord's mercy to the poor man. A nod was enough for him, and the mace swung down to explode the man's head across the nearby wall in a crackle of electricity and gore cooking in the flash.

Before turning to return to his quarters, he found one within the stands who was not cheering, merely looking down on him with an analytical gaze. He was being judged, and from the way the Turian turned away and exited, it seemed that Sir Geoffrey had met some standard...

---

Some time later, he found himself at the door of Afterlife, a look of disgust on his face as the loud music assaulted his ears and he tried not to look upon the carnal sins underway inside. He was stopped before entering, a Turian guarding the door and looking more confident than he rightly should stopping a Krogan.

"Line's back there big guy." The guard said, gesturing towards the line and a few faces that seemed a mixture between scared and angry.

"Apologies good sir, but I am Sir Geoffrey Neville Cockburn, and have a meeting with Sir Ticus Rakaelum. The lord is awaiting me, and so we must not tarry." His mannerisms were genuinely apologetic, and courteous, an action that made the Turian hesitate to check the list. Finding the Krogan on the list, he opened the door, saying nothing other than giving the knight a nod as he parted. What the actual fuck. The Turian thought to himself as he took the next person in line, adding this one up to the list of oddities he had seen during the day. Perhaps it was time to transfer to the Citadel after all.

Inside, Sir Geoffrey made his way up the stairs according to the direction of a bouncer just inside the door, giving a slight bow to one of Aria T'loak's guards he had passed. The Asari gave him a strange look halfway between bewilderment and irritation, though the look was soon past as he reached the platform with the armored Batarian. Giving a bow, Geoffrey awaited his allowance beyond.

"Uhm. I take it you are the Krogan here to see Mr Rakaelum?"

Geoffrey's look of confusion alarmed the Batarian for a moment, as he was well within arm's reach "No my good sir, I am Sir Geoffrey Neville Cockburn, knight of the realm and beholden to our lord King Henry VI Lancaster. Lord Ticus Rakaelum requested my presence as a favor to our noble king."

"Riiiiight.... Go ahead inside. Careful, 'Lord Ticus' is not in a pleasant mood." The Batarian shook his head for a moment and pinched himself to test whether he was truly awake or living a terrible nightmare, trying not to look back as Geoffrey passed him into the private booth. Taking a knee before Ticus, Geoffrey bowed his head and gave his respects "My lord, I have come to render my services as requested."

"Take a seat." Ticus said quietly, narrowing his eyes as he looked down at the kneeling Krogan. Of course, Geoffrey complied with the request, believing Ticus to be a lord of the realm as his announcer had introduced him as hours earlier.

"I'll be straight and to the point. Someone of your skill-set could be of use to me and my... 'Realm'." He said the last word with hesitation, seemingly unsure as to whether or not to play into the Krogan's mindset. "More to the point, if you so chose, you could be given a place of permanence within my employ."

Sir Geoffrey nodded towards Ticus, seemingly deep in thought, thinking over the proposal. "From what I have been told, you are one with honour and in good favour with our lord, King Henry VI Lancaster. It would be my honor to take up my mace in your service, my lord. Tell me what heathen or rebel dares to defy you, and they will be dealt with as you please."

A smirk crossed the face of Ticus as Geoffrey accepted the offer, and soon after the knight-Krogan was on his way back to the arena to rest for the night and begin his task in the early morning. A long journey lay ahead of him, and whether he knew it or not, he had unwittingly just signed himself into the service of a criminal organization, a betrayal of everything he believed in.

Arisaka skipped down the battered roads as the day had just begun, listening to the beats of an Asari DJ called "Muv-Wuv". Ignoring the glares she was getting as she delved deeper into hostile territory. With each growl, she hummed, with each glare she smiled, with each pair of lustful eyes she stroke a pose. With that one person who tried to mug her, she gave him half a clip of SMG to the face. Just like any other day, her go-lucky attitude could not be shaken.

Following the coordinates, she came across a large sewer grate. Although she could be wrong, Arisaka decided not to listen to her GPS which was pleading her to not go into the sewers. With a quick fiddle with her knives, the rusted grate dropped open and Arisaka helped herself to entering. It was dark and dingy and cramped, nothing Arisaka hadn't felt before as a slave working on communication lines and sewer tunnels just like this one.

One soft footstep at a time, she listened in on any noises that could arise, and it paid off.
"Get moving you idiots!" a Vorcha hissed.
"We're trying if you would get all those drug out of your eyes!" another one hissed back.
"Yes, why don't you come help instead of standing there getting high?" there must have been a lot of Vorcha in the tunnels today.
"Because I'm not high! I'm simply enjoy myself!"
"If we don't pack this shit up right now, we're going to get our asses kicked! Everyone else is already further ahead!"

Arisaka laughed as she heard the conversation, Vorcha were so funny sometimes. So funny to the point that she forgot they could hear her.
"Hands up human." One of them pointed a shotgun at Arisaka as she was still laughing, "I said hands up."
"Maybe she's a druggie who wondered in." one of the Vorcha suggested.
"Like hell she is, we locked that grate, or were you too high to remember?"
"Good sirs, are you threatening me?" Arisaka jumped up, slightly starling the gunman.
"No, we're going to give you flowers." one of them sarcastically spoke while he dropped his head in a disbelieving look.
"Oh, do you have any of those Asari roses? I guess Human tulips would work too, but-" A gun went off right next to Arisaka and interuppted her, "That wasn't very nice."

Arisaka grabbed the gun of the Vorcha closest to her and head butted him. As he stumbled backwards, she shot him right in the head with his own gun, leaving a bloody streak across the ground as he flew back. The Vorcha to his right opened fired with an assault rifle, sending a hail of bullets towards the girl, but not fast enough. Arisaka dashed to the Vorcha as he reloaded and mounted his shoulders, and with a quick crack, she broke the Vorcha's next. The last one must have forgotten his gun and ran back shouting, "We've got an intruder! We've got an intrud-"

Arisaka grabbed the back of his head before stabbing it with her knives, Proceeding to use his shoulders like a gymnastics bar, she flipped over the poor bastard and pulled her knives out from the back of his head and relocate them to his eyes. With one last scream, he sunk to the floor.

She turned around to see Vorcha flooding the length of the tunnel, taking cover and shouting orders at each other. "This should be fun." Arisaka equipped her Hornets and walked toward them in the most innocent way ever. The Vorcha were going to have nightmares about that face as she mowed them down, assuming any of them survived.

One hour later Arisaka was enjoy a nice nap, she had gotten out of the tunnels, leaving a trail of Vorcha bodies behind and decided a nice relaxation period was needed. But she did prepare incase anyone was still alive and tried following her. She had found a grenade on one of the bodies and hooked it up a simple trip wire. Crude, but effective.
"One, 21 guns, lay down your arms, give up the fight~" Arisaka sang to herself as he busied herself by sharpening her knives on a small sharpening stone she had on her.

Hazan was up early the next day. Why? To get a head start, of course. With a mineral bar and a dextro-amino nutrient shake for breakfast, he wasted no time in preparing himself for the fight ahead. He calibrated the sighting of his visor and then synced the tactical readout with the digital scopes of his sniper and his battle rifles. Once done, he pulled on his armour, mostly lightweight nanofibre weave that could withstand most small arms fire and glancing blows, paired together with the heavier plas-steel shoulder pauldrons, arm and leg bracers, and lastly his "collar", a mix of lightweight alloy metals and ceramics, with inbuilt data readouts on the inside displaying his shield strength, cloak module cooldown timer, compass and other navigational data. This data was also synced with his visor, so he had full tactical capability, even on his own. He was used to it anyway, had to be, ever since he crashed here. With no support from Palaven to be expected, Hazan was "enjoying" his permanent residence in Omega, free from the rules and regulations that would've hampered him had he survived and returned. Volintis Security Solutions would be happy to see him leave. He'd even looked up himself on the holonet a few days ago, found the news article on the attack on the recon ship he was on, noted that there were no survivors from the victim ship, judging from the search of debris made by a scout ship from Palaven a day later. No one clocked the lone escape pod that had blown from the ship before it blew up. His disappearing act was complete, in a way he didn't really expect, but here he was.

With rifles folded and stowed in their slots on his back, Hazan stuffed his Tempest into his thigh holster and set all his gear right. Time to set out. It was early in the Omega morning, before people even woke up normally, way earlier than his deadline with Ticus. He had all of the day to retrieve the data and return to the club. Easy peasy lemon squeezy. He wondered to himself about the origins of that phrase as he walked out the door of his dingy apartment, getting himself a flying cab to the Slums. The place wasn't a close walk, he knew that much, and with the rudimentary maps of Omega and the area that he'd dug up from the holonet, he had a little plan in his head for what he'd do; overlooking the block where the infirmary and hospital was, there stood a smaller apartment block, abandoned, obviously. It didn't have any sightlines into the building proper, but it did have a clear view of the entrance, plus it was a short run away from the hospital doors. From that vantage point, Hazan banked on his showing up to the party early to get to his spot, setting up overwatch and then downing anyone that was going for the data. Once he knew that the way was safe enough for him, on with his personal cloak module, in he went and out he came with the data, fast and away before anyone else could kill him. In theory, it was a safe plan. In practice, he knew that there would be as many holes as there were people gunning for that hospital.

A few minutes later and he stood in the entrance to the Slums. A decrepit...pit, simply put. The only people that lived here were the desperate, poor, depressed, or those with things to hide. Or vorcha. There was always the vorcha. Haze sometimes got puzzled about them, they were vermin, yes, but they were also sentient vermin that could employ themselves in mercenary groups and also handle basic firearms. He'd even seen one of them rock a Mantis with sizable accuracy, up until he'd filled it with a few holes. The Mantis the vorcha had dropped was the one he was using now, with a few tweaks and fixes to make sure that it didn't blow up in his hands or something. A new paint job and voila, one new Mantis sniper rifle ready for the steady hands of the Ghost himself, the moniker that he was trying to sell as his nickname here in Omega. Silent and deadly, or so he hoped. This job was to prove to himself that he could handle his mantle well enough. With confidence in his step, he drew his Mattock, gear from when he was still a scout, and set foot into the hot zone. No turning back now.

---

Two hours. Two long, fruitless hours. He was beginning to think that sniper surveillance was a waste of time, He could've gone to the infirmary and gotten the data and been home relaxing with a synthcaf and another issue of Firearms Monthly on his datapad, but this was the price to pay for his well-founded paranoia. He knew well enough that vigilance in a position such as his was key, and he couldn't afford to slack off. Weary, he took his eye off his scope and moved away from the window, relaxing a little as he allowed himself a small break. My instructors in boot camp would've killed me for this, he thought to himself as he moved to a shadowy corner of the room to stretch and loose the kinks in his joints, but then again I'm no recruit any more. I'm free.

He sat down on the cold plas-steel floor and leaned against the wall. His vantage point was an empty apartment that looked over the wide boulevard and stairs that led down towards the infirmary. The block itself was seated on that stretch of walkway, and if he simply went downstairs, out and headed right, he would take ten minutes to be there. Easy, really, judging from the maps he had, hopefully the scale of which wasn't wrong. But he couldn't concentrate on the fine details. He was tired. Waking up early was a remnant of his training from the boot camp on Palaven, but as much as he was drilled into it, his body was never really used to it, so fatigue set in pretty quickly if he had an early day. Which was what was happening now. Sleepy and lethargic after two solid hours of doing absolutely nothing, he began to drift away into a light sleep, which did nothing to help the fact that, shortly, he would be in grave danger.

Suddenly, it seemed like a magic hour was upon the district, as spats of gunfire erupted in different sections of the neighbourhood. Screams of pain, anger and anguish rang out soon after, interspersed with the cracks of rifles and the roars of shotguns. Angry snarling could soon be heard all through the district, signalling the arrival of the sentient vermin that would soon be swarming all over the neighbourhood, intent on destroying the intruders on their turf. Haze's fatigue, however, got the better of him, as he soon sank into a deeper sleep, which made him fail to notice the commotion inside the apartment block he was in. Downstairs, several vorcha were massing, firing their pistols and submachine guns at some foreign threat as they retreated into the complex. The angry cracks and rattling of gunfire shook the structure slightly, even as the vorcha pulled back upstairs, while their unknown pursuant gave chase.

Footfalls closing in on his location woke Hazan faster than the angry snarls and growls of the nearby vorcha. With swiftness he jabbed at his personal cloak module and disappeared completely from sight, save for the slight distortion in the air that marked his position, as three vorcha stumbled into the room. One of them was bleeding badly from an inch-wide hole in his shoulder, a wound recently sustained in a gun battle of sorts, and the other two were supporting him. Outside, Haze could hear the tell-tale roars of a combat shotgun, maybe a Scimitar or a Predator, he wasn't sure, and the pained cries and whimpering of injured and dying vorcha. Then he heard a sound that he didn't want to hear at all.

The very distinctive roar of an angry krogan.

Something heavy slammed into the opposite wall, and the roaring grew louder as the krogan came closer. The three vorcha in the room fired potshots at it, wherever it was past the doorway, but failed to stop him from charging straight into the vorcha he had thrown into the wall, crashing into it with a screech of steel as the whole thing bent heavily inward. With a rallying cry the two uninjured vorcha ran outside to avenge their fallen comrade while the one lone casualty laid in a heap on the floor. The sounds of battle gradually faded away, though not entirely, which was all the chance he needed to escape. The vorcha on the floor, however, was a little problem. If he uncloaked and ran out now, he'd surely make some sound and alert the others to the sniper's presence. He had to solve the problem somehow.

Then a plan sprang into focus in his head.

Not exactly perfect, but a plan nonetheless.

From his position in the shadowy corner of the room, Hazan stood and slowly advanced forward, stalking towards the bleeding vorcha even as the latter struggled to its feet, a hand jammed against its shoulder as it staggered backward, out of balance. Hazan saw this and stopped, the smaller beast gently bumping into his chest. Immediately it gave a yelp and sprang forward, and what it saw terrified it to bits. Hazan decloaked, emerging from the shadows into the light shaft cast by the open window, a hand deftly tapping his omnitool, making a bright crimson silicon-carbide blade spring forth from his right arm. The weapon shone in the dark room as he advanced forward, stalking towards his prey. The vorcha was frozen stiff with fear, paling further even with blood streaming through his fingers, dripping gently into a dark puddle on the cold, steel floor. It gibbered and slowly backed away as Hazan brandished the weapon, bringing it close to his face so that it lit up his features that were scrunched into the turian approximation of a snarl. Then he charged.

---

The building was no longer safe. This, he knew. The krogan had long since gone, probably heading for the data or for death, who knew, but Hazan knew that he had to advance on the infirmary as well, braving the gauntlet that was the main boulevard that led downward towards it. His cloak module was recharging as well, even more fuss, stuff that he didn't like. He'd make do though, he always did. Even now, as he stowed his Mantis and whipped out his Tempest, he saw a small battle raging in the street; a pair of salarians were busy fighting against a turian and two humans, both teams equal in strength. The ensuing stalemate fight was occupying most of the front entrance, nice as a distraction, but he had to get past that to get moving. Watching the battle, he noticed that the salarians did have some form of an advantage: one of them was armed with a particularly wicked Scimitar shotgun, normally a weapon suited for a stronger krogan, but the thing was just as deadly in the hands of the speed smart salarians, even if the thing weighed more than he could probably carry. The other team also had a trump card: a biotic that was currently shielding his teammates from the devastating fire of the shotgunner, all while letting his buddies return fire from under the shield. If he could tip that power balance somehow, he could resolve the battle on the street and be on his merry way in no time. He made a decision quickly, for if he stayed any longer someone might notice him and he'd become another target.

He retreated a ways away and hid behind a fallen pillar, bracing his rifle atop the concrete and steel structure as he took aim at the salarians. As much as he wanted the smarter duo to survive, he couldn't chance having the heavy firepower against him later. With crosshair centered on the shotgunner, Haze took a breath in, let it out slowly and squeezed the trigger. The Mantis bucked in his arms as it spat a high-speed metal slug at his target, splattering the salarian's brains out all over the pavement a mere half-second later. Surprised by the sudden death, the other salarian panicked and abandoned his cover, making the other team give chase. The biotic's field dropped, which gave him all the opportunity he needed to enact the other part of his plan. He racked the heat sink release, ejecting the steaming hot sink as he deftly slammed the bolt back into place. His aim shifted to the biotic, and even as the man straightened and grabbed his rifle from the floor, another shot rang out and a fist-sized hole tore through his throat, messily releasing his head from his neck. The turian caught sight of his buddy biting the proverbial bullet and yelled out a warning.

Another reload, another heat sink, another aim shift.

The other human, distracted by his friend's yell, was killed by the salarian returning fire with his pistol.

Haze's next shot found its way into the salarian's shoulder, spinning him around and collapsing him in a bleeding heap.

Another reload.

The other turian spotted his hiding spot and advanced towards him at a frenzied pace, obviously anxious to end the fight quickly. Which he did as a round tore through his knee, severing his leg at the joint and dropping him straight to the ground with an inhuman scream. Haze racked the bolt on his rifle and loaded a few more fresh sinks into the gun, watching as the last mark struggled to rise, even as his dark blue blood pumped vigorously out onto the floor. With rifle in hand, he stood and walked over to the fallen turian. Never in his life had he had to fire at one of his own kind, until recently. He'd learned quickly that turians on Omega were usually selfish assholes or some other type of jerk that either ended up rich and famous, or most times dead. As he approached the dying soldier, he kicked away his rifle, a bog standard Avenger, and stood above him. A grim sort of pity went through his mind; here he was, a stranger on a foreign station, shooting at people that were just as likely to kill him as he was going to kill them. People he didn't know. Maybe they had families. Lives. He didn't know, and it wasn't his job to care. The only thing he cared about now was the credits. The Circle had given him this chance, and he wasn't one to squander it.

"V-V-Volintis..."

Huh?

"Huh?"

The turian on the floor coughed and stared up angrily at him.

"T-that paint...Y-you're Volintis....p-part of VSS..."

"....yeah? So?"

"So? So you must be their missing son, Hazan."

So. The folks were looking for him. He wasn't exactly thrilled to learn the news.

"And what's it mean to you?"

The turian looked away.

"Your family hired me and my buddies to look for you. I had a few contacts that said you were in Omega, doing business for some shady people, so it wasn't that hard to find you. We got word that you were heading this way, so we wanted to meet you halfway and maybe get you back home somehow, and well, wouldn't you know it, the prodigal son just slaughtered my team."

Haze felt embarrassment and shame grip him tightly. He'd just shot people that were coming with peaceful intentions? Maybe even to help him? The thought made him so mad.

Spirits. This job's a fucking nightmare.

"W-well...what if I don't want to go back?!"

The dying turian laughed, a mirthful, humourless laugh.

"Y'know...your folks are worried for you. They know you didn't perish in that pirate attack, and they're scouring the entire Terminus System looking for you. Not in person, but they've sent teams everywhere to find you."

As Haze watched, he raised his head up and stared right at him.

"I don't know much about your family, kid, but I understand how much you mean to them. It'd be great if, y'know, you got back to them somehow, instead of living life in this shithole."

If turian cheeks could flush, they were certainly doing so now. Haze looked away, trying to hide his emotions. The dying turian gave another cough and collapsed gently on the floor, barely enough energy to keep himself up on his hands. The blood pouring out of his severed leg had reduced to a trickle, but enough of it pooled on the floor to make Haze understand that the male he'd shot was going to die either way.

Just then, he felt a tug on his ankle. It was the turian.

"Listen, kid. If you do make it out of this shithole one day, go back to your folks. Then maybe we wouldn't have gone out in vain, eh? Now end me, and get going. It's too dangerous to stay out here."

He couldn't lose it here. Not now, while opportunities were just waiting to be taken advantage of. He calmed himself, drew his Tempest and aimed it at the fallen turian's head.

"I...I can't go back. I have a job to do. I'm sorry."

Haze pulled the trigger. His Tempest barked.

Then silence amidst the chaos.

He swallowed, silently burying a sob as he knelt and closed the eyes of the fallen soldier he'd never known. Then, inspecting the corpse, he found the turian's pistol, a sleek Stinger, painted a bright red. He folded it and stowed it in the empty holster on his left thigh, a memory of his mistake. Then, with his pride firmly buried, he forged on, exiting the apartment block to make his way down the street towards the infirmary. He had a job to do, family or no, and he'd die before he gave up on it.

1/2

Marianna didn't sleep. She never did when jobs were the next day, it always seemed a waste of time, and anyway, the adrenaline in preparation for the task at hand prevented her from resting. All 'night' she had been preparing for the mission, disassembling and reassembling her weapons and maintaining them in case one of them had developed a fault (it turned out her ammunition block for her left-hand pistol was out of line slightly leading to an imbalance in the shot distribution), and waiting for morning so that she could get out there and get that job done. She had considered heading immediately to the hospital, but figured that others would have had the same idea, and therefore she reckoned she'd wait for the moment. She wasn't stupid; she knew that Rakaelum had offered this mission to others - she'd been able to figure that out fairly simply - and she also knew that they would have been given the same instructions as she had. Shoot on sight. Assume hostility. Whatever version of it he'd said to them. It was a survival of the fittest contest, which was oddly stringent for an Omega recruiting centre. Usually, Marianna thought, you could take any old person off the street because nine times out of ten they'd be able to handle themselves around guns and gunfire, so this sort of selection process was strangely taxing. There was definitely more to this than a simple mercenary group trying to get some more muscle. This was something else, but exactly what Marianna wasn't sure of. I'll probably find out in due time... Probably. Let's just hope I don't catch a bullet in this maelstrom of a job.

A bleeping from her omni-tool indicated that it was time to get ready. By standard time, 0330 on the 16th of December, 2185. Even if she had slept, it would only have been 5 or 6 hours. She was better off going the full cycle and getting her head down when she didn't have a job looming over her, she thought. Looking into her pack, she went about making herself a sandwich for breakfast and washing it down with a cup of human tea. She enjoyed human cuisine, on the whole. It was varied, and almost always delicious. Probably not all that good for her, health-wise, but health be damned, she was here to enjoy life, not count calories. Besides, a soldier like her needed all the energy she could get, even snipers. Donning her Colossus armour, Marianna slipped out of her apartment at 0345 and disappeared into the Omegan early morning. She'd been able to source in-depth maps of Omega from her mother (I keep saying this, but she really *is* giving a damn...), and thusly had figured out the route between her safe house and the location of the infirmary, which, as Rakaelum had said, was fairly deep inside old, abandoned slums of Omega, lost to vorcha and god-knows-what else that lived in the darkest alleys of the station. Part of the challenge was getting there without attracting the attention of every vorcha in the district, as well as anybody else who had decided to venture out this early in the morning, but Marianna had a plan - it involved copious quantities of knifing - as to how to silently work her way to the infirmary. As for staying hidden, well, that depended on her own skill. She'd have to trust to skill and a little luck to get through this. Weapons folded away and in their holsters, as well as her twin knives, Marianna was ready. She hoped. Moving towards the older parts of the district she was currently in, she had been able to route a way through a disused and mostly-ruined factory that she hoped was not particularly full of vorcha and vermin, as well as several old, abandoned tunnels through the rock.

It had taken a fair amount of time to reach the abandoned factory, twisting and turning through the strangely-quiet streets of the station. Quiet on Omega meant one of two things - an ambush waiting to happen, or a lack of activity, and for the most part, Marianna had been able to reassure herself it was the latter, for the former hadn't happened in the time it had taken her to get to the factory. She'd turned off a side street down another alleyway, and with it lost anybody who had been tailing her (you could never be too careful on Omega), and entered the factory from a side entrance. Immediately, her recon hood was able to spot three vorcha who looked to be chattering away off in a corner, seemingly unaware of her presence. Marianna's hand strayed to her Kovalyov, but she stopped herself from arming up for the moment. There was clearly no need to attack, the vorcha hadn't seen her and they were no threat at the moment. Looking around, she could tell this was a former assembly line - rows of machines, mostly half-disassembled probably by the current occupiers (Vorcha were always good with machines...) lay silent and limp, whilst consoles were dark, dusty and powerless. The lights were off, though Marianna doubted they were supplied with electricity any more anyway. She noticed more vorcha off in the distance, standing guard over... something, she couldn't quite make it out. Again, didn't matter. What did matter was the approaching sound of gunfire - gunfire that seemed to be fairly heavy-duty to boot: assault rifles, the odd heavy machine gun, pistols... And that was right when the vorcha in the factory started to get up and go. None of them saw Marianna slipping from machine to machine behind them, as several heavily-armed thugs battered down the front door and opened up with a hail of gunfire, killing and wounding many of the vorcha who had mustered to defend their patch of land. The leader of the thugs, a... batarian from the sound of his voice, yelled out commands to his comrades, ordering them to search for anything valuable before they took over the factory as a base of operations. This was only slightly inconvenient to Marianna, who had planned to return this way after getting hold of the data, but there were ways around it. For now, she kept her head down and continued on her way through the factory, down into a tunnel system, which, according to her schematics of the Omega station, should lead her directly to the infirmary.

At least, that was the plan. Plans had a nasty habit of going wrong. Especially when the one making the plan has had no sleep and it's 0500.

The night had gone by in a blissful meditation, all worry faded along with the hours that ticked by. It hadn't taken long for her to notice something off, though. The space within her mind no longer held the many colors of hope she looked forward to seeing each and every day, she could no longer see the faint light coming from her home. It was all incredibly fuzzy, but if she tried to focus, there was nothing to see. There was no darkness in it's place, nothing. It was as if that part of space had never existed, transparent, another piece of the endless universe. Reaching her hand out, fingers brushing against the blur, she could hear the faint hum of a ship. The whisper of travel, of movement in this space, in her mind. Blues and purplish hues tinted against the dark, painting over the lost reaches of her eternity, fixing yet another broken visage. This wasn't the first time that she had lost something here, and it wouldn't be the last. The longer she remained in Omega, the more her mind faded, the once vibrant colors of hope drowning in darker shades, splattering themselves across the remnants of what once was, and what would never be.

She was slowly losing herself, choking on the reality of the pain harbored in Omega, in the world. Each day, the lost feeling in this planet slithered into her mind, blanketing what hope she had left piece by piece. It was only a matter of time now before she too, was lost in the darkness.

When she managed to fully pull herself from the meditation, Mira came to with a fierce shudder, gasping in the polluted air, hand shooting out and coming to a rest on her pistol, just an arms length away. Breathing heavily, she lifted the gun and stared straight into the barrel, light blue eyes narrowing, observing the gun as if through a lens. Biting down on her bottom lip, Mira flipped the gun over in her hand, fingers locking around the handle, her heart beating like a Krogan war drum. Her pointer finger inched towards the trigger, running over the jagged patterns of her false initials, which had been carved crudely into the otherwise pristine metal.

"It's time. There is no need to delay the inevitable." Sighing into the dim room, breath hovering in the chilled air, Mira lifted herself from the ground and stored the pistol in the waistband of her pants, grabbing her vest and throwing it over her shoulders, dressing quickly before leaving out into the world that awaited.

Arriving at the plant half an hour later, her every fiber on a delicate edge, a string pulled tight against a sharp blade, Mira held her breath, taking in the vicinity. The sounds of distant gun fire didn't help to appease any worry she had about the mission. Though, if there were gunshots, that did hold reason to suggest that there were also other's besides the Vorcha in the factory. After all, with that many bullets being fired, it couldn't have been the Vorcha offing their own forces. No, it was as she had suspected from the start. Ticus must have sent others as well. Clenching her jaw, Mira reached into her pant waistband, slowly sliding the gun out into the open, the metal gleaming as the ray of light bounced from it's surface.

Keeping in mind that there would be others, Mira decided to take a non-violent approach first. It was the Vorcha she was concerned about, and even to a point - all she truly needed was the information that Ticus had called for. Get in, grab the information, get out. Hopefully she could manage to do so without drawing the attention of those who had been sent by Ticus. They would leave her in a horrible position, as she wouldn't allow herself to fire upon them without due reason, but still...It left her life virtually at their mercy, a risk she was begrudgingly willing to take.

While in the factory, the young Asari carefully slid among the shadows, and whenever she had encountered any kind of Vorcha resistance, (which thankfully for the other distractions earlier), facing small pairs at a time, would use her biotic abilities to throw her opponents into the air before they noticed her presence. Her abilities would always be the first resort, anything lethal, her gun in particular, would always be a last-resort option, one she might never use. Hopefully.

Winding her way around the ghostly building, slipping besides the whining machines, Mira checked one last time at her Omni-Tool, giving a relieved little smile when her eyes locked on the orange map below her. The infirmary was close now, but their appeared to be a lot of static in that area as well, so she couldn't make out anything within the area itself. With a resigned sigh, she closed her Omni-Tool and continued onward, bringing her gun close to her chest. She had a bad feeling about this...