The picture that greets you on the other side of the door is deceptively simple, at first glance. A comfortably large and well-furnished apartment – brightly lit in contrast to the district outside – converted into a respectable-seeming, but not particularly noteworthy office. Beds and some other amenities have been removed to make way for a large and intricate computer terminal (perhaps the most conspicuous element in this room), but there is no shortage of chairs and tables; there is also a small physical library on the left side and a bar on the right.

In addition to the two you saw standing outside and the big turian who led you in and now stood back and glowered with suspicion, there are two more turian bodyguards standing watch on both sides of the long, narrow desk that separates you from your apparent employer. Needless to say, by Omega standards employing five well-armed turian guards is if anything rather modest for a successful businessman, and fewer than one might like to have on hand when meeting four armed and dangerous mercenaries. Either those Citadel agents are very keen on flying under the radar or there is more to this office than meets the eye – probably both.

While the turians provide the security detail, it is perhaps no great surprise to anyone who knows how the Council races prefer to distribute their duties among themselves that the rest of the office’s residents are all salarians. There are three of those. The scrawny, gray-skinned salarian in light armour was sitting at the terminal when you came in, and did not even seem to notice your arrival, being wholly immersed in his work; from his odd hand movements and unblinking eyes, the more perceptive and experienced of you would surmise that he was currently interacting with some sort of cybernetic interface. The remaining two salarians are behind the desk, and both have bluish violet skin with darker spots in the upper part of their respective heads, towards the horns. Indeed, they look quite similar to each other at first glance – except for the drastic differences in their manner of bearing. While one of them, likewise dressed in light armour, is standing at the back of the desk and to the left with his arms crossed, examining the four new arrivals with unmistakable skepticism, the other one wears a black and white business suit and sits in the rotating chair right behind the desk. His hands are folded together and for a moment you think you see a rather world-weary expression on his face. Walking closer you can see the faint traces of old scars on its left side.

As you approach, the salarian in the chair reaches for a small plastic bottle, opens it and deftly removes a round white pill, placing it in his mouth. A few moments pass before his eyes light up, a light, wry smile appears on face and the salarian straightens up, examining the lot of you. “Welcome,” he says, as the door closes firmly behind you. “I am the Director of Project Viper. You may call me Director Aparakis. You don’t need to introduce yourselves; life is short, and I already studied your dossiers.” He speaks quickly, maybe a bit more quickly than the average salarian, but his voice is strong and clear.

“[i]They[/i] might want to introduce themselves to each other, though,” the other blue salarian chips in. “They look like they never met each other. Are you sure they’d work together as a team?”

The Director gives him a chilly look for half a second, then looks back towards you. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Now, first of all, we need to finalise our agreement. I trust that the recruiting agents who gave you the terms of your employment have explained what sort of work we expect you to do for Project Viper. That being said, I would prefer to be absolutely certain that there would be no misunderstandings before I give you your first task. Do you have any questions? Anything I could clarify, perhaps?” While his words are courteous, the way his eyes flit back and forth between the four of you betrays his impatience.