On Board the Caelestis,
Omega

---

Naryxa moved barefoot through the cabin of her ship with a silence as if she were trying not to wake the dead. It had been a long day, docked on Omega. The Caelestis at rest while the Asari worked in loose clothing to push and pull at every sliver of dirt, in every crevice, across every surface.

The comfortably lived in smell had soon enough become replaced with the piercingly sterile scent of chemicals.

The last engineer’s coffee stains erased from her workbench, the chef’s lucky cloth squeezed of it’s dirt and folded away, removed from the bench. Even the medic’s bottle of whisky had been taken from the modest med-bay. One by one, Naryxa had removed the last pieces of their memory and tucked them away. A clean slate remained.

Naryxa had done it all herself, her skeleton crew had been relieved of their contracts -- and she assumed they’d all be carefree in dancing through Afterlife by now. They’d earned it, even if part of her hoped that the mechanic would come back through early for a familiar nightcap with the Captain… No, she expected that the Mechanic wouldn’t return at all.

Tearfully, she had brushed away some dried flowers from the mechanic’s desk. Too close. Too close, again.

In the corner, a waste bin full with more things. A sweater, a notebook, and litter and tiny trinkets that needed clearing out. A dried up plant that was beyond saving. It had pained her to throw it away.

It was the last, and only night she would be alone on the ship. She savoured it, watching out from the pilot’s deck, her feet up on the console as she babysat the drink in her hand. All of the fresh cold it had once been had left, warmed through by her palms now - a syrupy, strong mixture even after the oversized cube of ice had melted entirely within the little steel mug.

She turned her eyes from the dirty, overflowing pathways of Omega - and up to the sky, what little she could see of it from between the walls and rigging of the station. She looked at the nebula as it bled out all of it’s phosphorescent colour against the shrouding endless black. Not for too long, lest it stare back at her with all of it’s ominous wisdom.

Back at the streets then; at a Krogan stampeding across the walkway, belly laughing and cheered on by his friends. At a young Asari maiden clothed in a transparent jacket, revealing her shape through the cutaways of her outfit -- off to start a shift at Afterlife. Humans were lounging over the railings, looking down into the belly of Omega from the edge of the strip.

Every visit to the station played out the same raunchy scene. It’s why it was the perfect place to find new hires, and to drop off the old ones. Six years with that crew. Six. Two-thousand, one-hundred and ninety breakfasts. So many good mornings -- all circling back to one hard goodbye.

Naryxa tilted her head back and sipped. Only the pilot would be back, and thankfully he was the most difficult of them all to like. Abrasive, caustic, ill-mannered. She smirked. He was at least a keen judge of character; he’d gone through the applicants too.

”This one’s shite, ye dinnae want this cunt on the ship. AH dinnae want this cunt on the ship!”

She reckoned he’d be somewhere in Afterlife, in a puddle of his own piss by now. For a human, he drank as though he had the size and constitution of a Krogan and always acted surprised, the next day, when that wasn’t the case. Damn it, she loved him too, she thought to herself with a wry smile.

It was the last and only night she would be alone on the ship, Naryxa thought to herself again, closing her eyes from the flashing lights at last.

Her thoughts remained uninterrupted until she heard a familiar creak from above, followed by a thud in the air-ducts. She raised a brow and sighed through her teeth. Her hand turned to tip out the liquor into the waste bin - the soil soaked it up greedily and for a split second the stem of the plant twitched.

It was the last night she would be alone on the ship.

Almost.

A long time ago,

somewhere in the Skyllian Verge...

“NO!”

The scream came before the CT scanning nodes attached to her temple had even picked up any brain activity. In the blink of an eye, the shockwave of explosive biotic power tore through the room. Nurse Jamie, Sylla and Chester, those standing furthest from the epicenter, were thrown with their backs against the walls. Nurse Kanto and doctor Minzua had been much closer, monitoring her vitals, and were flattened against the floor, the invisible power dragging them along the length of the room until they slammed into a medical cabinet. And doctor Bruyne had been hovering over her while coaxing her out of the artificial coma. His eardrums were blown out as he was rammed into the ceiling and was held there by crushing pressure for three seconds.

Every glass object and surface in the room shattered into a thousand pieces. The door to the room was blown off its hinges and sent clamoring into the hallway, knocking down another nurse. The faux holo-windows and their idyllic representation of rural Earth were fried, their chips sending sparks arcing through the room. The CT scan went haywire, registering 97% brain activity before it was overwhelmed and caught fire. The bed buckled under the weight of the shockwave and its metal frame snapped clean in two.

Delilah herself levitated in the air, her face contorted in rage and agony, her body aglow, while the ear-piercing scream forced itself out of her throat with unnatural force, and the very air seemed to tremble in fear.

As soon as it had started, it was over. Delilah collapsed onto the sundered bed, Jamie, Sylla and Chester fell to their hands and knees, and Kanto and Minzua could breathe again. With a heavy thud and the painful snap of bones breaking, doctor Bruyne dropped out of the air and smacked onto the floor, hitting his head so hard he fell unconscious immediately.

Wild-eyed and terrified, Delilah looked around frantically with unseeing eyes. Her vision was blurred and her ears were ringing, and her chest rose and fell rapidly with each hyperventilating breath. All she could hear was the deafening wailing of the alarm klaxons -- the ship’s seismograph had picked up on the tremors and thought it was under attack. Black shapes shouting indiscernible commands and waving oblong shapes in her face stormed into the room and surrounded her. “No, please! Don’t shoot me!” Delilah wanted to say, panic overtaking her, but her mouth didn’t cooperate and all that came out was a strangled cry. She held her shaking hands, still fitted with a pulse monitor and an IV-drip, out in front of her face, only to find them abruptly cuffed.

She was yanked out of bed and thrown onto the floor, the floor cold against her cheek, next to doctor Bruyne’s motionless body. Delilah blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision, and saw the slackness in his jaw and the blood dripping out of his ears. “Oh God,” she gasped, and tears filled her eyes. “Is he dead? Oh God, no, no, no… I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! I thought -- I was still -- no, no…”

Vaguely she could hear doctor Minzua above her, yelling at the navy armsmen in their bulky armor not to hurt her patient. She could hear the nurses crying in shock as they fled the room and spilled out into the hallway. She could hear the CT scan machine burning and the whooshing of someone using a fire extinguisher. And above all else there was the ship’s wailing still, each caterwauling whoop stabbing into her brain. But her watery gaze was fixed on doctor Bruyne, willing him to come back to life, to open his eyes, to take a deep breath. “Please,” Delilah said through split lips, tasting blood on her own tongue.

And he did, coughing and moaning and grabbing the sides of his head in agony, but he did. Relief washed over Delilah and she began to weep in earnest, each sob wracking her body, sending pain down her own spine where the armored boot of one of the armsmen held her pinned to the floor. As the doctor was helped up to his feet Delilah could see beyond where he had lain, and her own reflection looked back at her from the reflective metal surface of an overturned cabinet. A strange woman, familiar and yet alien, hairless and scarred, looked back at her.

And Delilah saw nothing there but murder.

Noise filled the artificial air of the enormous space station as vehicles rocketed through the skies above the bustling streets of the Wards, the residential centers of the Citadel. The breathtaking skyscrapers seemed to reach to the heavens leaving the common folk below to appear more like ants than people. In the Tayseri Ward a couple emerged from the Dilinaga Concert Hall, having witnessed famed Asari opera singer, Valismia Shize, play an incredible show. The two carefully moved down the front steps outside of the massive hall, among the crowd of thousands which had paid top credit in order to see the show. The Drell held on tightly to his lover's hand as they descended downwards, the human looking at him with a delighted smirk.

"I can't believe you cried, you still are!" Kara teased with a laugh as the doctor smiled back, tears still dripping down his face. They had been every since the most astounding part of the show, her finale.

"I wasn't the only one. It was just so beautiful. How couldn't you shed a tear at that?" The Drell asked with a teasing glance of his own as they reached the bottom of the steps and stood together on flat ground. Around them the crowd continued to disperse, a mixture of all sorts of races. C-Sec guards watched carefully from across the street, two Turians talking among themselves while they clenched onto assault rifles.

"I think you just liked it more than I did, Satka. But I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," The pretty human nurse replied with another smile as her bright blue eyes lit up at the sight of something nearby. "Here lets go this way."

"Wait what? Where? We can't just wander around here, might get lost." Satka replied as he wiped away the last bit of tears from his cheeks and eyes.

"Oh come on. You've lived on Omega how long? The Citadel is heaven compared to that." Kara replied with another laugh as she pulled his hand and led her partner towards another building across the street. She speed walked towards it, trying to avoid the crowds as they filled the roads. The nurse had to dodge a drunken Krogan who fell on the floor with a loud bang before he stumbled back to his feet as the two lovers passed by.

"Why the hurry, Kara?" The Drell asked as he looked at the passerbys around them, practically all of them ignoring the couple as they moved along the sidewalk. Before he could receive a reply he was pulled into a lobby. His eyes picked up the sight of a stressed out Salarian behind a front desk shuffling through several datapads while a line of visitors waited impatiently before the desk.

"You'll see..." His date whispered as she pulled him to the side then into an empty elevator. Satka wasn't sure if they were even allowed in here as the doors shut and it began to raise upwards. Then Kara planted a loving kiss on his blue tinted lips. "Just stop worrying, I promise you will enjoy it."

"I just hope C-Sec won't be dragging us back into that elevator." The Drell joked, though he was unsure if he was even entirely joking.

"Psssh, they got much bigger fish to fry anyway. No ones gonna arrest us or kick us out." She teased back which Satka met with an anxious sigh. One of the things he respected most about his beautiful partner was that she was a risk taker, trespassing in some random building on the Citadel was at the bottom of the most risky things she'd done.

"We're almost there." She added as her grip on his hand tightened and she looked into eyes with another cute smile. Then pulled him out of the elevator before he could even take in a real glimpse of what met them outside of it.

"It's beautiful." The Drell muttered as the two lovers looked down from the top of the highest building in the Ward. He stepped closer to his girlfriend, partly out of a sudden fear of heights which he'd just discovered he had.

"It is. They normally charge you 100 credits to come up here, well I just got us up here for free. Don't think anyone will be any wiser, all the staff is off duty partying it up I'd bet. Just can't stay up here too long but I thought it was the perfect end to a perfect week." Kara said as Satka capped off her words with a long lock of their lips as his hands danced towards her hips and two lovers embraced atop the skyscraper.

Then they broke off their kiss as Satka held her close to him and both of them stared out at the sight before them. The lights lit up the entire section of the wards in a variety of stunning shades. An artificial wind swept through the air and tinged the Drell's skin, enhancing the chills which crept onto the back of his neck. The sheer height from which they stood seemed to drown out every single tidbit of the noise of the bustling streets below. It was a beautiful silence that penetrated deeply into both of them and drew them even closer together. The doctor felt he could just stay there for hours, holding his beautiful love in his arms as any worries either of them had faded into momentary obscurity. He moved one his hands upwards and turned Kara's lips towards his own, then kissed her deeply once more.

---

The cloaked figure moved more akin to a ghost than a man as he traversed Omega. He stepped off the shuttle in silence, drawing almost no glances from the crowds which filled the streets as he walked among them. A simple backpack slung over his shoulder as he stepped wordlessly along the path. He knew these streets well even if it had been almost a year since he'd stepped foot on the exact location he now walked towards. A homeless Batarian called out to him as well as any of the other people as he sat in a pitiful pile on the cold steel ground. The vagrant made eye contact with him, his multiple sets of pupils momentarily locking onto his own black masses of eyes. The Drell then continued along his way, an outside sadness striking at his heart at the sight of the helpless Batarian. It was not why he'd finally returned to this accursed space station.

As he journeyed towards his destination the crowds of pedestrians shrunk further and further, noise itself seemed to evaporate in the stale artificial air. Though Satka felt his nerves worsen even as he moved further away from any strangers. Strangers were the most dangerous figures on Omega. One never knew their true intentions or affiliations until it was made clear. A wave of a hand could as easily be the drawing of a pistol in order to take a life. Still as he drew closer and closer to arrival he felt as if he was being pulled into a crowd which threatened to suffocate him, to pull the oxygen from his lungs and fill them with self inflicted pain. Satka forced himself to continue to walk forward, to keep his composure at least until he'd actually made it there. It was something he had to do before he departed on his new journey. Perhaps fate had brought him here as a way to free his mind and unshackle himself. Or it was one final tease of pain and failure to remind him of what awaited him. He spoke a silent, rapid prayer to the goddess of protection as his destination came into view.

Mother Arashu, cleanse me of these fears.

Satka's prayer did not properly prepare him for the wave of utter emotion which swept over him as he took in the wretched sight before him. The Drell had to force himself to stand firmly, having to suppress trembles which tore through his whole frame. Even though it had been long since the flaming embers had burnt out here he still felt the haunting whispers scratch at his very being. The memories crept back into his mind as they always seemed to, though as he stared into the remains of his greatest regret it seemed more as if they overran then annihilated his entire being. He stood still Even as Satka, forcing himself to resist collapsing into utter despair. His body betrayed him as his eyes bled tears which streamed down his cheeks before crashing to the floor. With each one that fell downwards he felt as if they made craters as they landed, angered at himself for reacting in such a manner.

"Kalahira, I can only hope they are in the eternal oceans beyond this life. Please let them know how heavily my failure to protect them weighs on me, merciful Goddess. I once more beg for forgiveness and will give myself to you when my time arrives."

Both of the Drell's hand had intertwined as he whispered another prayer, hoping the Drell goddess of the afterlife would not curse him with damnation once he passed into the next plain of existence. He clenched onto a silver necklace, the metallic chain spread throughout his fingers as he held onto the last remembrance of his fallen lover. Satka held her image in his mind as he stood among the rubble of his former life, his feet carrying him deeper into the wreckage of the destroyed hospital. Kara was not the only one to perish in the assault, every single one of his people they'd lost tore into him deeply. One of the greatest regrets was that he was unable to account for all those they'd lost. The explosion, then subsequent fires and chaos had made such an endeavor impossible. There was only rubble and dust now, malformed pieces of metal which once made up the proud building. Its remains were then unceremoniously torn through by Omega's denizens.

Satka came to the spot where Kara had fallen, where he held her that fateful night as she bled out from her gunshot wounds. While the disgusting Eclipse mercenary looked upon them with laughter underneath his helmet. The visions came back rapidly for the doctor, as he remembered every single second of that forsaken day. The incredible memory his species had been blessed with was also a curse, it was a miracle he was not convulsing on the ground in tears. In truth he'd relieved the incident so many times he had almost normalized it and gotten used to the horrifying imagery that came hurtling back to him. The feel of Kara's hand loosening as she died in his arms, the light in her eyes fading as her soul departed her physical form, the screams of his staff as the hospital collapsed around them and smoke filled the air. His hands shook as he clenched onto the necklace in one of his palms, recalling the exact moment he'd gifted it to her then peeled it off her body before he buried her on her homeworld of Eden Prime.

The drell's other hand began pushed aside rubble and digging through the dirt and dust as he knelt in the spot Kara had passed onto the next life until his fingertips started to bleed from scratching against the steel floor of the space station. As the crimson droplets fell from his fingers he placed the necklace down. Satka took a moment to settle his breath as tears welled on his eyelids before he covered the spot back up, then intertwined his hands once more to speak another prayer. The blood trickling from his fingertips of his trembling hands as he prayed.

"I shall never forget the fallen, Goddess Kalahira. Strike me down if I ever allow myself to forget them."

Then the Drell rose to his feet and let out a deep breath. He forced himself to step away from that accursed spot and from the ruins entirely. Satka gave one more looks towards it as he dried the last bit of tears from his eyes. A new journey awaited him, he would ensure he made those that he had failed proud. The doctor pulled himself away from the site of the tragedy and towards the Caelestis.

Illyria, Elysium, two weeks ago…

bang bang bang

A trio of shots rang out in rapid succession, the mass effect field protected target down range illuminating a bright cyan two close circles in the middle of the batarian silhouette’s ribs, and one more centered between all four eyes. Of course, the target’s façade and general aggressive disposition didn’t change; it simply looked like a black and white soldier locked in a never-ending stasis field, snarl permanently etched upon his features as he stared blankly through the shimmering shield at his assailants.

It was one thing Sabinus Tannyx had a hard time understanding about the humans he trained; they never chose to look at the targets as an actual life they were trying to snuff out with precise and uncompromising gunfire. Despite the horrors inflicted upon Elysium during the Skyllian Blitz, the security officers under Marshal Lamond’s employ never seemed to have the imagination to look at the target as anything but a two-dimensional cut-out… which was ironic, considering how many seemed to have no issue ignoring the men and women they slavered over in a Fornax magazine weren’t something they could interact with and could not do more than stare at static images or short video.

And yet, pornographic material was able to ignite the imagination and provide tantalizing stimulation whereas the image of an enemy who had ravaged their homes, killed loved ones, and actively provided motivation to not grow complacent in a galaxy where life was often cheap and expendable somehow eluded their ability to picture the target as an actual enemy, one they might have to slide an omni-blade through the ribs of or bash in his skull with the butt of a jammed rifle. It was for that reason Sabinus conducted team on team fire exercises with training rounds and hand-to-hand fighting drills. Humans seemed to respond better when a crisis was upon them rather than actively preparing for it, the turian decided.

“You know, you’d think I’d be used to how well you can make that Kestral sing by now.” Marshal said, watching as Sabinus cleared and deactivated the weapon, the pistol collapsing as he set it down on the bench in front of him. “It’s going to be a damned shame to lose you. Still can’t make you change your mind, eh?” he asked with a melancholic smile.

“A turian on a human world was bound to overstay his welcome… not too many of your personnel are keen to spar with a turian who kicks their ass every single time.” He said with a toothy grin, the flanging of his voice adding a distinct contrast between the two friends. Born from two different worlds, two different people, Sabinus often wondered what Marshal saw when he looked upon him; a hard carapace, a pair of mandibles, a towering stature, and pointed teeth were enough to have the alarm bells in the human’s head scream “dangerous predator” or “unknowable alien”, but Sabinus had never experienced anything but kindness and warmth from Marshal and Lucy Lamond, a ready acceptance and ability to look past what he was and see who he was that still made the turian flush with shame; it wasn’t that long ago that batarian target had been a human one for him, and he was willing and able to kill the strange and dangerous aliens his people had had a brief conflict with. He knew he wouldn’t have been the first to extend a hand in friendship and acceptance, even though he nearly gave his life to save them. It was duty, nothing more. But for the Lamonds, it was a kindness they had spent so long trying to repay.

Sabinus sighed, turning to face Marshal. “You’ve been good to me, the clarity and acceptance and purpose you’ve given me… your friendship.” He gently corrected himself. “Life here is idyllic, peaceful, and dare I say enjoyable. But we both know I can’t let the attack on the Citadel be brushed off as a freak, once-in-a-lifetime fluke; I have a duty I need to do. There’s a lot of people out there like Lucy and yourself who don’t have a stubborn alien friend to take a bullet for them, and I want to do what I can to make sure that they will never have to find out they need one.” He smiled tersely, shaking his head.

“We turians take our role as galactic peacekeepers seriously, and if I can find out about the next Sovereign hiding out in the darkest corners of the galaxy, maybe I can give warning before something like the attack ever happens again. I may not wear a uniform anymore, and I might be operating outside of the law and Hierarchy jurisdiction, but I’m going to do my duty regardless. Besides, who doesn’t like sightseeing?” Sabinus chuckled.

Marshall nodded. “I know you don’t believe me, but I understand. Part of why I founded this company on this planet so far away from the Systems Alliance or Citadel Space wasn’t done out of a desire to get rich. The Skyllian Blitz proved that someone needs to stand up when there’s a void.” He said, setting a case on the table. “A parting gift. Open it.”

Curious, Sabinus opened the case with a thumb, an M3 Predator with a curious cobalt blue finish shone pleasantly in the shooting bay’s light.

“Lucy wanted to do something a bit more ostentatious, but I’ve seen your quarters; you live a Spartan existence when you don’t have to. Instead, I had it tuned and modified more towards competition specifications than the stock military configuration; new sights, a much better trigger, new turian ergonomic grips, a much more efficient heat sink, that sort of thing. Only liberty I took was the finish is made out of alloys that are unique to Elysium; you can take a part of home with you.” Marshal said, gesturing. “Go on, see how if you can make it sing.”

Picking the pistol up, Sabinus studied it in his hand, admiring the craftsmanship and just how new it was; he’d never had even held something that felt like it never been shot before, let alone one that had been tuned by armourers for spirits-knows how long.
It was comfortable, and it opened smoothly in his hand as it activated with an easily accessible thumb control. It was hard not to smile; it was a thoughtful gift that felt uniquely like a human take on a turian pistol. It felt appropriate.

With a sudden movement, the batarian was lined up in the ghost ring sight with ease. He took up what little slack the trigger had, and it broke cleanly.

___

Omega, now…

The Predator pistol dug into a human man’s neck, his hands held aloft as he was pinned to the wall by Sabinus’ forearm. The turian was well aware his friend also had a cheap volus shotgun pointed at him, a turian youth who wasn’t much older than the target of Sabinus’ ire, who looked to be in his early 20s.

Omega brought out the worst in people, and this certainly wasn’t how he wanted to handle this situation, Sabinus decided, but Omega demanded reactions rather than relying on rules and decency.

“Easy, scar-face; my friend will gun you down if you do anything stupid.” The human warned with a cocky smirk that was cut short by Sabinus’ armoured arm being driven further into his neck, causing him to choke.

“This isn’t going how your usual shake-downs go, is it?” Sabinus asked through his visor, his voice amplified through the helmet’s speaker. “Lone traveller with a big locked hard case must seem like easy pickings. Your friend might take a shot, but if my kinetic barriers don’t give out, how long do you think it would take me to deal with him when my finger only has to move a few millimetres to deal with you?”

“Put the gun down, kid. This isn’t worth the trouble.” Sabinus said.

The tension ebbed considerably as the shotgun went down. For his part, Sabinus stepped away from the human, who rubbed his throat, pistol still in hand. This was the moment to gain control over the situation. “I can’t let you have my belongings, but generally people don’t do something so risky unless they really needed the money. Let’s cut a deal.”

“I’m listening.” The human replied cautiously, looking up from his hunched over position. The other turian simply watched, stone-faced.

“500 credits to each of you if you escort me to the hanger I’m heading towards. Neither of you strike me as a bad kids, just survivors in a harsh environment. I’m not going to reward you for your stunt, but I will pay you for services rendered. Nobody gets hurt today, you do a good deed for compensation, and I go on my way. It’s the only outcome where you get anything of value.” Sabinus explained.
After a pregnant pause, the two hooligans looked at each other. The turian shrugged.

The unlikely trio carried on through the streets together.

Where the hell was he? Oh, right.

The Vorcha’s eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room instantly, the mines of his past far darker than this mere lodging. It was a tiny and cramped domicile but he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was of the perfect size for him to curl up for sleep and write on his computer, and naught more was needed. He couldn’t fathom why other races seemed to enjoy living space so much larger than themselves. A bedroom was a room for a bed, it wasn’t a place you should be able to run about wasting time with nonsense that wasn’t using the bed. For all the hatred his kin received for supposedly being irredeemable savages, it sure seemed that the other races were far more disorderly and illogical in their processes than his kinsmen were. Perhaps in their long lives they would lose sight of what was truly important. It certainly seemed that they were far more wasteful of their years than the Vorcha. Indeed from his experience the fact Iryk’s species lived a mere twenty years on average didn’t stop them from leading lives as full and experienced as others. After all, it would explain how his kinsmen born but a single solar cycle ago were still more than capable of making veteran Citadel race marines wet themselves.

Moving his body out of his nigh spherical shape Iryk turned to his computer, reviewing the works on it. It was… a manifesto of sorts, he supposed. It wasn’t consistent in tense or exact subject or mood but he felt he had to write it. Even now just past the very door of his room was the exact reason why. His kinsmen were happy where they were of course, but they lived ignoble lives. Like greedy carrion they picked on the not yet fallen, on the weak and desperate and poor. It wasn’t of course always violent, not all Vorchas were pirates and raiders. But those that weren’t did not overcome this status. Few trusted Vorcha enough to expect any of them to do anything civil and professional and thus the few who tried would get turned away and be left only the option joining the same life of piracy they had tried to avoid. While the vengeance upon the other peoples of the galaxy that this entailed did broadly appeal to Iryk, he knew it was a small victory on the backdrop of the everlasting defeats.

Organic work, that was the term that had so enamoured him. Where liberation by everlasting violence had failed, it could be created from the ground by labours. It would take much effort, but just as he had ascended from mere slave, to pirate, to respectable mercenary, so too could his brothers and sisters become merchants, scientists and leaders. If anything, the fast reproductive cycle of the Vorcha would allow them in the future to become the dominant race of the galaxy, a population boom that would see them become the archetypical race of the Milky Way. But there were many steps on the road to this bright future and his job now was to record them all.

Perhaps one day when he had enough money he would return to this… hospice of his race when he had earned enough money and take it over. From there he would naturally groom the youngest present into embodying the legacy that he wanted. Though he knew he couldn’t convince everyone present of his dream he knew he only had to convince someone strong enough in both mind and body to make all others submit to it. The Vorcha would be uplifted whether they liked it or not.

A notification was received, and checking it Iryk giggled happily. The Caelestis had docked, and his new job was starting soon. It was good work, reliable and well paying. Perhaps more importantly the contract was far less dangerous than his previous job cutting throats in the night for people that wanted to settle a score. No longer would Alliance troops be eternally chasing him, this was something resembling a real position. After paying for his stay and giving a few kind words to the owner of the establishment, Iryk was soon on his way out and heading towards the docks of Omega.

Omega was a diverse place, perhaps the most diverse in the galaxy. But nevertheless he stood out. Bulky almost as a krogan, yet hardly taller than a volus he was black. Not the black of some batarians or turians or humans, it was the true black of light no more; as if a shadow was walking. He wondered if the Captain of the vessel would rescind her cosmopolitan tolerance of a Vorcha once she saw exactly what she was paying for. After all, there were no unions on Omega he could go cry to if he felt an injustice was done. But then again, he supposed that anyone who got to be a Captain would more likely have done all their homework than not. Well, if not then there were other ways he could get his due. However until such treachery did indeed happen there was no point imagining the retribution it would prompt of him.

As he stood before the vessel in the dock, it was less impressive than he had hoped but it was still a decent looking ship. He knew he would make his living space in the Engine rooms of course given that he had little patience for common dormitories and they were usually too roomy for him anyway, but over all he reckoned it would not be a bad experience. He would be more than happy to ply his trade of violence in the voyage, but likewise he would be just as glad to have a peaceful time wherein he could focus on completing his magnum opus document.

Others seemed to be interested to the Caelestis as he headed to board it, the crew he would be surrounded by seemingly a rather diverse one. Momentarily he was reminded of his now so distant past, but he shook the unproductive thoughts out of his head. Going into character as Iryk the Butcher from Iryk the Pensman, he stepped aboard the ship that would entail a most unforeseen experience.

C:\Users\Shy\Locations\Milky_Way\Shadow_Sea\Horizon>time
The current time is: one_week_ago_

Fireworks of sparks erupted through the still air of the Pretoria, a hot blue welding torch sending them scattering and dancing against the cold aluminum floor of the engine room, it’s screaming heat making the metal whine in terrible and macabre harmony with the screaming of men from behind. The figure hiding behind their mask stopped their work for a moment as if to appreciate their handiwork before resuming. The screaming continued. In the med-bay there were three people, two men and a woman, trying to hold down a fourth man writhing and squirming and agonizing on a sterile bed. The racket was cacophonous as the flailing pushed over racks and tables, tools falling over, and the cries of the injured begged for the pain to stop.

“God, oh God! Please! Get it off of me!”

That voice belonged to Adam. He was one of the people acting as muscle on board the ship. Relatively new, but had been around longer than the engineer. The man’s arm was covered in residue from an incendiary round shot at him in an earlier firefight. A corrosive and self-igniting gel adhered to his skin and continued to dissolve and burn his flesh. They finally got him strapped onto the bench and the ship’s medic immediately got to work on him. One of the men, the captain of the ship, was still out of breath and panting as he stomped out to meet the engineer working on one of the control panels. He was beet red in the face and furious.

“Shy!” He shouted from around the corner before zeroing in on her. He was a large man, fit and athletic. He used to be a soldier, and it was obvious by how he kept a tight ship.“Shy, what the hell was that? What are you fucking thinking?”

The engineer behind their welding mask didn’t respond, but continued their work with the torch in large insulated gloves that went up to her elbows. The Hawaiian styled print on their button-up shirt a stark contrast from their industrial appearance. The lights flickered as the ship began taking off the ground.

“We had it! The deal went through and we could have walked away with what we needed without any problems! What the actual hell were you thinking?”

Still, the only answer he got from the engineer was them turning off the torch and prying open a panel from the wall before they buried their hands into the wiring on the other side. They grabbed their tools and began going to work.

“Of course, I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re a Goddamn selective mute.” He sneered, before his voice eventually resumed his full-throated shouting. “Well I hope you’re happy about this, starting the bloody fucking firefight that might cost one of our own his entire fucking arm! The least you could do then is learn how to pick up a gun yourself!”

The screams from the other room punctuated the captain’s shouting rant, but as the engineer silently resumed their work, his fingers were twitching for his sidearm. “God damn it Shy!” He screamed. “Give me a fucking answer before I jettison your weird, retarded ass into fucking space!”

Shy’s fingers moved deftly even in her gloves, and almost as soon as the captain shouted his threat at her, a distant voice called out from the cockpit, “Bishop, something’s wrong. We’re losing power to all systems!” Just as soon, the lights on board the ship blacked out, and the g-forces on board suddenly shifted upward. Shy hurriedly shoved the wires back into its compartment and leaped for the knife switch, using her weight to pull it down before she could fall away from it. A burst of sparks exploded from where she was working in a brilliant arc flash, and power was suddenly restored to the ship as the lights came back on and the ship’s automatic stabilizers kicked in. In the brief period of weightlessness that came with falling at terminal velocity, the much larger captain, Bishop, fell on top of Shy. The two were both groaning, Shy moreso as he rolled off of her.

“What the actual hell just happened?” He asked, wide-eyed and on edge, though he wasn’t expected an answer. This time he got one.

“They sabotaged the ship.” Shy grunted as she pushed herself onto her knees. Sitting down, she pushed the welding mask up. Soot marking the ordinarily fair tone of her face. Despite all that had happened and all that was said, her countenance appeared flat. “I could tell by the sound coming from the drive core. We should have enough power to sustain life-support and C4I services for now.”

The rage that was on her captain’s face softened, but his brows were furrowed and twitching. His eyes vibrating, not looking at any one thing in particular. Confused. He shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering, “How long have we…?”

“After we landed.” Shy answered. “Must have been after we left to meet with the Suns.”

“And the shootout?”

“Drones.” She said, lifting up her arm -- and wincing from a burning pain in her elbow -- to show off her omni-tool. “They’re tied to my omni-tool and set up to automatically respond to threats. One of them must have detected movement and an energy spike in one of their weapons while it was aimed at us, so it reacted before it could be discharged. They were also responsible for laying down the suppressive fire that let us all escape.”

“Shy, I…”

“It’s okay.” She said, her tone clipped. She looked toward her elbow where she felt a burning pain. It was from that arc flash earlier, she realized. She held her elbow in her gloved hand and turned back toward the captain. “You can just drop me off at our next stop.”

---

C:\Users\Shy\Locations\Milky_Way\Omega_Nebula\Omega>time
The current time is: present_

Shy always did have something of a black thumb -- she was an engineer, not a gardener -- but Bishop kept a tight ship with the same crew for a long time, about a year or two, and a week ago she was the one link in the chain that made it all fall apart after a month. Part of it was because it was such a bad job that resulted in permanent bodily damage, but a bigger part was that the rest of the crew apparently recognized that they would’ve been dead without her and she got chased off the ship anyways. Never mind her mechanical expertise or the security detail provided by her tech that they learned to appreciate, her and the captain never got along very well anyways. That was just the way things went with her, and now she was back on Omega. The dead end of the galaxy with no way out.

She sat at a table in a club, which was probably one of the safest places she could be, even if it wasn’t necessarily safe for her credit chit. Everything she owned she was either wearing or was collected in a big duffel bag on her lap. With her feet on the table and leaning back into her chair, she was staring at a screen projected from the omni-tool on her wrist, scrolling along looking for jobs. A lot of faces she recognized, some were people she worked with in the past and people who eventually got rid of her. Some faces she recognized as people who turned her down. Sometimes it was for being human. Sometimes it was for being young. Sometimes it was for being a woman. Usually it was for “being weird.” They never had to say it out loud. She could remotely access their datapads. Eventually she learned to just stop doing that.

Most of the job listings were fronts for gang activity and that wasn’t a gig that she was about to get involved with. Others were from Citadel trade stations, and she wasn’t on good terms with those people either. Eventually, though, she found a listing asking for volunteers to investigate a distress signal in the Asgard system by an asari captaining a ship called the Caelestis. She sighed and applied for the offering. It’s not like she had any other options aside from getting poorer and poorer with every minute she spent unemployed on Omega. She wondered, at least, if the captain being asari meant they’d make any more sense than the last dozen or so employers she’s had.

If there was even a drop of salarian blood in them, maybe it’d be enough.

_{featuring the sublime and sensual @Stormflyx}

---

Present day,

Omega

“Come on, man,” Delilah muttered to herself and groaned, scrunching up her face, as she pulled out a wrinkled pair of men’s undergarments from beneath the bed of her small room. She’d spent the last few weeks of her latest shore leave with Jameson, but she’d kicked him out the day before and told him to clean up after himself. Evidently, he had done a shitty job of it. She rolled her eyes and tossed the boxers into the trash before washing her hands one more time. Water dropped quietly from the tap, one drop every few seconds, after she turned it off and glanced around the room one last time, the only other sound to be heard aside from the constant, droning background noise of Omega. Spotless, just like they’d taught her at Jump Zero. The elcor concierge would be pleased. Delilah wondered if he’d talk to himself when he inspected the room. “Pleasantly surprised; the room looks to be in good order,” the woman said in a monotone voice and sniggered.

It was early morning on Omega, or whatever passed for early morning on a space station like this, and Delilah had made sure she had gotten a good night’s sleep, a healthy meal and an extra boost from some mildly questionable, uh, supplements. She wanted to be in perfect health for her first day on her new job, and to be as presentable as possible. Having cleaned and packed, Delilah swallowed away her fear and stepped in front of the mirror, her mascara at the ready as if it was a weapon. She quickly, but expertly, applied her make-up and fluffed up her hair for maximum volume, holding it in place with a few dashes of hair spray, all the while trying to ignore the murderous glint she saw in her reflection’s bright blue eyes or the hungry grin that tugged on her mirror image’s lips. She finished just in time, as she did every morning, before the ice-cold claws of panic could climb into her throat, and turned away from the mirror with trembling fingers.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm herself, Delilah smoothed over the black and gray fabric of her best clothes -- a typical spacer’s ensemble, vaguely reminiscent of Alliance navy uniforms but decidedly more stylish. She inspected her nails one last time and nodded, satisfied. There was nothing left to do but leave. Putting on her coat and popping up the collar against the unexpected gusts of cold air from the system’s oxygen-recycling pumps that one became accustomed to walking into while navigating around Omega, Delilah grabbed her meager belongings, shouldering her backpack and hoisting up her travelbag onto her elbow. She winced slightly beneath the weight and hoped the Caelestis wouldn’t be moored at the arse-end of the docks.

The Omega spaceport was abuzz with activity and the thrifty hum of business, an electrical undercurrent that permeated the air. Deals were made, transport was arranged and crews were assembled. Delilah loved this part of the job. The tentative excitement, the tingling thrill of the unknown. What was her captain going to be like, or the rest of her crewmates? Was it going to be a long haul or an easy job? And what about this distress signal, hm? Professional curiosity meant that the comms specialist couldn’t wait to get her own hands on the broadcast’s datastream and frequencies. She daydreamed about encrypted subliminal messages and hidden coordinates while she made her way over to the docking bay where the Caelestis was to be found, and it wasn’t until she laid eyes on the ship that she snapped out of it.

The elegant, long prow of the salarian-made cruiser gleamed in the artificial lighting array that spun overhead, its underbelly dimly illuminated by the holo-glow of the landing strip. Delilah recognized it as an old model and a bit of a rarity these days, but a fine vessel and a beauty in her own right. “Hello there, old girl,” Delilah murmured and smiled up at the ship before she tapped her omni-tool a few times to send a short message.

“Hi captain, I’m here.”

The blip of the message came through obtrusively to Naryxa’s own omni-tool, stowed away on the desk in her suite. She never did like wearing the thing when she grounded. It was just weight and flashing lights. A tattooed turquoise arc that made for an eyebrow raised curiously, and she placed down the puja that was in her hand, that she had been drawing lazily around the edge of a copper singing bowl, staring mindlessly out of her window at the virtual view of a vast mountainscape.

“I’m here,” she repeated out in acknowledgement of the message as the last long vibration from the bowl played out her exit. Her feet found shoes in the doorway, and she moved quietly down the hall towards the arrival.

Naryxa had dressed herself appropriately in a black bodysuit that felt almost too formal for her, but was correct for the day's affairs at least. She needed to make the impression of a captain and with this contoured silhouette, she absolutely did. Powerful, sharp shoulders, outlined in white striping that drew out the mellow lilac hue of her skin.

As she made her way, she found herself stopped in her tracks- and her hands were instinctively brought to her lips. “Oh no,” she sighed; staring down at a plant that appeared to have been thrown from it’s decorative alcove. Not just any plant either, an Earthen delight, specially grown for the unusual colouring. Her prized Monsterra, with the split white and green leaves - sprawled out now across the floor in a heap of soil, amidst a shattered pot.

“Delilah, is it?” Naryxa called out - knowing she would be about halfway to the girl. “Don’t be shy - follow my voice,” she said, frowning down at the mess.

“Yes ma’am,” Delilah called back, having stepped aboard the ship. Its elongated shape made it easy to navigate and she had little trouble finding the asari captain. On the way there, Delilah sniffed the air and appreciated how clean it smelled. Most spaceships stunk like the fifty-year-old footlocker that they were. And she liked the salarian design of the place, too. It was clean, functional and elegant. Nothing like the bulky and industrial machines that humans often made.

She came upon the captain inspecting the fallen plant and Delilah quirked a brow of her own at the sight. “Uh, hi,” she said raised one hand in a languid wave. Tearing her gaze away from the dirt on the floor, she looked at Naryxa properly and felt herself straighten up a little immediately. The asari was beautiful and impressive to behold, her posture immaculate and her form striking in the bodysuit, and knowing that she had several human lifetimes worth of experience under her belt didn’t help to soften the impression. Delilah cleared her throat and conjured her best, professional smile.

“Delilah Reed, reporting for duty,” the human adept said. “It’s nice to meet you, captain. You, uh… had a little accident there?” she asked and gestured at the tragedy on the floor.

“Someone had an accident…” the asari answered, narrowing her eyes down at the ground, and then taking a long glance down the sterile corridor. “Hmmm.” After a pause, the spell was broken, and Narxa returned her gaze to the human in front of her, and it was all of a sudden far less piercing, in fact she even smiled just a little as she regarded Delilah with her observant eyes.

“She is tough, she’ll persevere,” Naryxa said with a smirk as she stepped over the plant. “I still have to learn not to leave the nice ones in the path of reckless hands,” she chuckled. “So you are to be my new communications officer…” the asari said as she strode onwards, expecting the woman to keep up. “You’re quite young, but very accomplished from what I gathered from your dossier. You have experience of ships like this?”

Of course an asari would feel that Delilah was quite young, even if she herself didn’t feel that way anymore after passing the big three-o a few years ago. “I do,” she said as she struggled to keep up with the captain. She was still carrying around her luggage, after all, and sent hopeful glances into every room they passed with the wish that one of them would be crew quarters where she could dump her things.

“I first worked on a cargo freighter but I’ve been on smaller crews and ships since then,” Delilah explained, audibly out of breath but soldiering on anyway. “Crews where it was just me manning the comms, too.” But Naryxa would know all of that, if she studied her dossier closely.

“Right,” Naryxa answered with a nod, looking across at Delilah with a smile. She began to slow down as they stepped into a communal space - with a counter for cooking against the wall. “The kitchen, obviously. It is stocked, so please help yourself to food and drinks when it pleases you. I’m not…. Asking you to work shifts,” she added, placing an elbow down on the bench and relaxing for the first time since Delilah had arrived. She’d sized the woman up enough by now. “There may be tasks that I’ll ask you to do throughout the day, but they’re to be completed at whichever pace suits you. All I ask is that they’re completed.”

“I try to plan a sit down team meal a few times in the week. Our pilot happens to be a decent enough chef. The last crew would eat breakfast together each morning,” the asari smiled. “Do you like breakfast?”

Delilah nodded along as Naryxa outlined the specifications of the job. It sounded reasonable enough, as the job notice had already hinted at the fact that the position was for more than just a communications officer, and she appreciated that the captain was generous enough with her trust not to enforce a schedule. The communal space wasn’t anything like a bunk, but Delilah couldn’t bear it anymore and gently lowered her bags to the floor, rubbing her shoulder and trying not to grunt in front of the captain.

The question about breakfast blindsided her a bit though, and she blinked. Nobody had ever asked her about breakfast before. “Uh… no, I guess not, actually,” Delilah admitted and chuckled. “I get nauseous if I eat anything before I’ve had my coffee, so I usually just… don’t. Not until lunchtime, anyway.” Then she smiled and shrugged. “But I don’t mind the company, so I’ll be there if that’s what the crew likes to do.”

“Well I’m not one for eating early either,” Naryxa responded with a quiet smile, watching as Delilah placed her bag on the floor. “I also partake in a liquid breakfast, but I’m a painfully late riser - so it’s unlikely you’ll find me here in the morning.” The asari opened up a cupboard, and removed two clean cups, sliding one into the tray of a machine beside her. With a chuckle, she pressed a button and brought the machine to life. “I hear the coffee onboard is actually, quite pleasant.”

At first, the machine seemed to cough out the first drips of the espresso, before settling into a steady stream, strong enough to fill the space with the arome. Naryxa watched as the rich brown drink began to turn golden and velvety into the cup. “Take a seat,” she said, casting a quick sidelong glance at Delilah but not much more than that. She was curious about the woman. “Now,” she began with a honeyed breath - removing the cup of coffee from the machine to sit it on the table. “When I advertised the position, there were… Quite a few other similar openings, shall we say.” The asari took her own seat at the table, crossing one leg over the other, and once again placing an elbow down in front of her. “Some offering some exceptional remuneration for a woman with your experience.” There was no question, but an answer was expected in the silence.

Doing as she was told, Delilah sat down opposite Naryxa, observing how elegantly the alien took her seat and feeling a momentary pang of jealousy. She placed both of her arms on the table and leaned forward a little, relieved to take the pressure off her feet. “Well, yeah, there were,” Delilah said as she cocked her head at Naryxa, the ghost of a smile playing around her lips. She almost followed that up with ‘what about ‘em?’ but decided it was too soon to start antagonizing her new captain. “But none of them mentioned a distress signal,” she said, and then her smile fully materialized. “And none of them were captained by a former Huntress.” She laughed. “I did my homework.”

That made the asari smile, and her eyes sparkle. “I lived that life long before you were even born.” Her head tilted to the side as she found herself relaxing more in her seat in the young woman’s company. “It was a long time ago, a long and dangerous time ago. If you truly did your homework you’ll know that I retired that profession to hide in a lab, and behind a desk.” Naryxa took in a deep breath, watching Delilah, observing her in the chair, the slightest change of expression across her face. She wondered about the scars, but knew not to ask - rather, to wait to be told, at a later time. “The signal,” she eventually said, “I think most of this new crew thought the same thing. I’ll play it for you later, when everyone has arrived and settled in.” She felt a tingle across the back of her neck just thinking about it, and her eyes briefly narrowed again as she let the ghostly sensation fade.

“Do you have any questions? Please - feel free to put me on the spot while it’s just you and I,” the asari offered, changing the subject.

She had lots of questions about the job itself, like the equipment she’d be working with and the nature of the distress signal, but she figured they could wait. Delilah interpreted this as an invitation to ask about the captain herself. “Sure,” Delilah said and slowly leaned back in her chair, eyes darting around the kitchen while she thought of something to ask.

The captain had seemed intimidating at first glance, but her warm and open demeanour was reassuring and Delilah felt more comfortable being herself. “Ah, right. Well, you mentioned this yourself already, kind of. What made you choose this line of work, after a lifetime -- well, a series of lifetimes to me,” she said and laughed again, “of war and science and… dancing, is that right?” Delilah’s eyes gleamed with something mischievous as she tried to imagine Naryxa in that kind of outfit. It turned out not to be a very hard thing to imagine.

“It is surprisingly not an uncommon venture for maiden asari, we want to explore, and be free. We are restless. Dancing is an exciting career, a chance to meet so many unique individuals. It’s not unusual for asari to find a break from dancing through the connections they make,” Naryxa explained casually, only emphasising how absolutely normal it was. “I loved it,” she laughed. “If nothing else, there was plenty of money to be made, and it was fun. I remember it all with joy and fondness.”

She chuckled, as if she had recalled a memory or two as she had been speaking. “As for this… I had lost my mother, I wasn’t sure of my purpose. I had come into credits, and suddenly… The Caelestis came to me-” she waved her hands around her elegantly, as if demonstrating her surprise to Delilah. “How could I not?”

It was almost impossible for Delilah to imagine a society where it was normal for young women to have that kind of freedom, though she had come to understand in recent years that this was heavily coloured by her own experiences. “Wanting to be free,” she echoed and nodded. “I understand that. I guess when you put it like that, it makes sense,” Delilah mused. “It’s just… for us humans, dancing like that… it’s something people do when they’re out of other options, usually. It’s looked down upon,” she explained and looked at Naryxa with a thoughtful expression, before suddenly chuckling. “Stupid, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is unfair,” Naryxa said, feeling a sense of privilege that it hadn’t been that way for her, or for asari.

She looked around the ship again. “Yeah, fair enough. It’s a fine vessel. And what’s more free than being captain of your own ship?” Delilah asked rhetorically. She was beginning to understand the asari mindset a little better. Why not follow your heart, if you have all the time in the world? She turned back to Naryxa. “Are you single?” she blurted out. Realizing what she’d said, Delilah laughed and waved her hands quickly. “Wait, sorry, that came out wrong. I’m just curious if you… have a partner you share your life with, I guess.”

Unlike Delilah, Narxya didn’t laugh at the question, and instead, placed her hands on the table and looked down at them - at the tips of her fingers. “We asari would be considered very fortunate to find a life partner who can live alongside us,” she explained. “To share our lives. We dedicate our lives to development, to something that will outlive even us. We become mothers and share our lives with our children, and their children.” There was a hint of melancholy to her voice that she wasn’t ashamed to hide. “Everything else, is a series of shared moments that we keep as just that - moments, some longer than others.” She took another breath, and sat back in the seat, looking around at the blank page of a kitchen.

“Are you single?” the asari asked nonchalantly, finding mischief in it as she looked back at Delilah again.

She felt small, to be considered nothing more than a moment, and felt bad that she’d broached a subject with such levity that caused such melancholy for Naryxa. So when the opportunity presented itself to change the subject, Delilah seized it with conviction.

“Oh yeah,” she scoffed. “Big time. Not for anything near as sad and beautiful as… that,” Delilah said with a wry smile. “I just find people to be disappointing. Easier to be by myself. Have a little fun every now and then, sure, but then kick them to the curb,” she said casually. “And that gives me the freedom to do shit like this. Sign up for a mission to track down a distress signal to God knows where.”

Delilah thought she sold the lie rather convincingly.

She cleared her throat and gestured to the rapidly cooling cup of coffee. “Was that for you or for me?”

“It was for you,” the asari answered with a nod. “I prefer tea,” she winked. “It’ll be the first and last coffee I make you, so enjoy it.”

With a sigh, she straightened up in the chair again. “Kick them to the curb?” She said aloud — it was one of those very human sayings and she thought about it before chuckling. “I can’t say I’ve ever kicked anyone to the curb… I may have… Waved them out of the door?” It didn’t have the same ring to it. She laughed again before hunching forwards to place her chin into her hands. “And it’s Loki. We’re headed for Loki.”

“You should try it sometime,” Delilah said and winked, reaching for the coffee at last and having a sip. She’d been so engrossed in their conversation before that she’d forgotten all about the brew until just then. It was good, even if it was a little cold, and she was grateful to the anonymous human traveler that boarded the Caelestis before her that must’ve installed the machine.

She didn’t know anything about Loki as a planet, but she was familiar with the name. “Loki? That sounds ominous,” Delilah said and quirked a brow. “Do you know what Loki means to humans?”

Truthfully, Naryxa was familiar with the name, but she had a thought that perhaps Delilah would like to be the one explaining. The asari blinked slowly and shook her head. “To humans? No I don’t.” Bringing her hands to her lap, she gave a relaxed smile, “not something scary, is it?”

“Loki is the god of mischief in one of the old religions of ancient Earth,” Delilah explained. “A real trickster god with all manner of crazy bastard spawn. A giant wolf, an eight-legged horse, a serpent that wraps around the world… I hope he doesn’t watch over this planet, or we’ll be in for a wild ride,” she said and smirked over the rim of her cup of coffee.

“You’ll have to come to your own decisions when I play the message,” Naryxa said. “I hope not to discover a serpent wrapped around it. At best, a ship that has crash landed with the crew all well, just stuck. At worst… Well…” she said with a sigh.

Not wanting to frighten the woman already, Naryxa began to get to her feet. “Come, how about I show you to your dorm?”

Delilah’s curiosity was undoubtedly piqued by that unfinished sentence, but she elected not to pry just yet. All in due time. “Sure thing,” the woman said, got to her feet and hoisted up her bags again, her discomfort audible this time. “Fuck me,” she mumbled through gritted teeth, hopefully too quiet for the captain to make out the words. “Lead the way.”

As the two made their way through the rest of the ship, it was as they rounded a corner that another mess presented itself. Another human, slumped back against the wall with his legs splayed out — and a ghastly white complexion, fast asleep with his mouth wide open and a long strand of drool hanging from his lip.

“Uhhh, Delilah.” Naryxa began, with an arched brow and a hand on her hip. “This would be our pilot,” she said before shoving her foot into his side. “He’s normally in only a marginally better state. Just step over him,” she shrugged - doing so herself. He did not move. “The dorms are down here.”

“Charming,” Delilah replied and tutted at the pilot’s condition. She could only hope that he drank less when he was supposed to be flying the ship, but Naryxa’s comment did nothing to reassure her in that regard. Still, if the ship hadn’t crashed thus far, why would it start crashing now? She stepped over the pilot and followed after the captain.

With a groan, the pilot woke up, rubbing his hand clumsily over his chin to catch his spittle. “Sorry aboot yer plant Cap,” he grumbled and slurred. “Al get her clean as a whistle later, just let me sleep this shite off,” he growled, drawing his legs up to his chest.

Naryxa acknowledged him with a shake of her head before muttering quietly “I gave him the night off. He… Tends to drink more than he should.”

With another groan, he had pulled himself up to his feet now. “And ahd avoid the bathroom down there fer a bit.” If he had noticed Delilah, he simply didn’t care to be polite or anything but himself. With a complete lack of grace, he stumbled away to the kitchen.

“Sorry about that one,” Naryxa said, trying to hide her clear and apparent embarrassment with a forced chuckle. “Alright, is there anything else pressing before I leave you to it?” She asked, desperate to clear the image of the pilot, and scrub away the terrible first impression he must have made.

Delilah watched the pilot stumble off with a chuckle of amusement, further exacerbated by Naryxa’s obvious embarrassment. She nodded and grinned. “Yeah, one last thing. Do you still dance?”

“Of course,” Naryxa answered quickly. “But only when nobody is watching,” she smiled.

“Now that’s a damn shame,” Delilah lamented with a twinkle in her eye. “Alright, I’m going to get settled in. Call me if you need me, captain.” With a nod and a quick mock salute she crossed the threshold into the dorm, determined to find the best bottom bunk bed for herself.

Afterlife, Omega — present day

“What does one call this game, again?” said the quarian, regarding the two paper cards grasped in his three digits. He struggled to be heard over the pumping electronic music on the other side of the wall invading his ear-canals. He found it difficult to think in a place like this.
“Poker… well, this is Texas Hold ‘Em” replied the man sitting next to him; a slim, blonde-haired human, gently swaying in his chair. His third glass of Akantha sat untouched in front of him, the condensation gently dripping down its outside.
The only Texas Vaan’Hadaal knew of was an Alliance frigate; he was fairly sure it had been present in the battle against Sovereign, though he was halfway through his second glass of turian brandy, and so he couldn’t vouch for his own memory.
“Why would a game involving cards be named after an Alliance vessel?” The human to his left dropped his hand onto the table, peering over at the quarian in disbelief.
“No, Texas… it’s a place, it’s on Earth.” he said incredulously.
“I see.” came the curt reply. Vaan was struggling to understand the mechanics of this game. He had gleaned that the main objective was to lie as well as one could, and that for some reason the cards with crude pictures of human men and women on were the most valuable, though strangely a card with one pictogram on it was more valuable than the one with ten on it. He couldn’t understand why.
“Hmm. I have played this game for nearly thirty minutes and yet I have still not discovered why one calls it ‘Poker’. There does not appear to be any ‘poking’ involved.” across from him, a hefty krogan laughed into a glass of ryncol. The man to his left did not join him.
“Will you just bet already?” he shot, irritatedly.
Vaan carefully placed a plastic coin into the centre of the table.
“No, you idiot! You have to match his bet!” the human gestured wildly to the turian to Vaan’s right.
“Let him be, Harold. You invited him to play.” the turian responded. “You humans are always in such a rush.” the human fell silent. The turian regarded Vaan for a moment.
“Here, you just need to put two more of those red ones in.” he pushed two chips from Vaan’s pile into the middle.
“Are we all done?” he addressed the table. No one said anything for a few seconds. “Very well.” he said, and laid his two cards down. “Two pairs, aces over sixes.” The krogan threw his cards down with a small grunt of frustration and emptied his glass. Vaan followed suit, laying his cards down.
“I have a lady, and a two.” he said calmly. “I have less pairs than Paius, so I suppose he wins?”
“No, you’ve got…” with an annoyed grunt, Harold jabbed his finger at the five other cards in the middle. “Look, you’ve got a flush!” Vaan regarded the seemingly random selection of cards on the table. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at, and he didn’t get much of a chance to make any sense of it as they were quickly gathered and the chips pushed towards him.
Paius, the turian stood.
“Well, thank you gentlemen but I think my luck has run out for tonight.” he looked down at Vaan. “Are you continuing or would care to join me?” Paius had been something of a contact of Vaan’s on Omega since he returned. Vaan suspected he had some involvement with the Blue Suns, but Paius kept his mouth shut about any such dealings. Vaan raised himself from the table and followed, collecting his winnings from the batarian at a smaller table just off to the side.

Afterlife was abuzz. It wasn’t normally the kind of place that Vaan’Hadaal tended to frequent, even in his younger days, but Paius had wanted to, to ‘celebrate’ Vaan leaving the station.
“Tell me more about this asari you’re serving under, Vaan.” Paius said, shooting Vaan a smile and a sideways look.
“Your tone suggests you would like to know about more than just her credentials.” Paius laughed. Vaan did not. “I haven’t met her yet, but from the dossier I pulled up she seems a formidable Captain.”
Paius held up both of his fingers to the bartender, who swiftly placed down two glasses of turian brandy, along with an emergency induction port.
“I’ve been on ships with plenty of formidable captains, what makes this one so special?” Vaan didn’t have a good answer to that question. The truth was, he was afraid to stay on Omega for too long. He didn’t know if the Talons would still hold a grudge, or if his former captors on Illium were on his tail, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. On Omega, your life was in your own hands —or the hands of those who you could pay enough to keep it safe— there was no C-Sec to maintain order, no Admiralty to keep you safe, and he was no fighter; if someone arrived looking for retribution, he was in no position to deny them. Vaan couldn’t articulate that feeling to Paius, especially if his suspicions were true, and Paius had links to organised crime on Omega, so he was left to meekly reply:
“I don’t know. I suppose I just have a good feeling about her.”

---

---

The streets were littered with drunks and wretches. Omega really was a hellhole. He had come to realise that in the two months he had been back. The wonder he had felt when he was young had fallen away and been replaced by something bordering on disgust. In truth, he would be happy to be off this station, at least until its lawless allure called him back. The draw of Omega was freedom. It was why so many scientists, mercenaries, engineers and people from every background flocked here.
But when the mission was over, where then? Back to the Migrant Fleet, where his existence mattered not one iota? The Citadel, where every ambassador’s desk was scrubbed of any personality? He supposed that decision didn’t have to be made yet. He hadn’t been given a precise end date for the expedition, probably because Captain Kesir didn’t know herself. It mattered not.

Paius was an odd turian. Usually, they said only what they had to, yet Paius was clearly the exception, droning on and on, very rarely needing a response.
“...are you even listening to me?” Paius had stopped some ten feet back. Vaan hadn’t even noticed. Maybe it was the brandy. He turned back to his turian counterpart.
“No.” came the brusque reply.
“You’re a charmer.” they had been making their way to the spaceport, to board the Caelestis, but Vaan suspected Paius had taken him via the scenic route.
“Why have we come this way?” he asked.
“Well, I thought you might just want to see some of Omega’s sights for the last time before you set off.”
“We’ve been to Afterlife. Where else did you want to go, the eezo processing plant?” came Vaan’s drole reply. Paius laughed boisterously. Vaan did not. There was a brief silence between the two.
“...Fine. Come on then.” the turian said as he stomped past Vaan.

The Caelestis looked to be a well-built ship, salarian by design, meaning its interior would no doubt be immaculately built, and crushingly functional. Vaan thrived on ships that were a little older, a little dirtier and a little less well put together. The Migrant Fleet should have been the perfect place for him, by that logic; half the ships in the flotilla were held together by suspect welding and omni-gel adhesive. They juddered through space, threatening to lose integrity and jettison their crew out into the icy death of space. There looked to be no fear of that on board the Caelestis. He could hear voices emanating out from inside already, no doubt some of the crew had already embarked. He turned to Paius, also admiring the craftsmanship.
“I suppose I’d better get on.”
“You sure?” Paius said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ship. “Looks like it might fall apart at any moment.” he smiled again, and chuckled to himself. He turned to Vaan. “You think they’ve got room for another old hand?”
“You should have responded to the advertisement.” Vaan said tersely. Paius laughed again.
“Ha… no, I still have things to attend to here. She looks a good vessel though, you could do worse.”
“Much worse.” Vaan replied. The two shared a moment of content quiet.

“Well, farewell, friend. Safe travels.” the turian said quietly.
“And to you.”
Paius took another moment to regard the ship, before turning on his heel and walking back into the steely streets of Omega, leaving Vaan’Hadaal alone.
Vaan too, waited for a moment, letting Paius get out of sight before taking his first steps up the gangplank.

---

---

I guess it begins with a pink-haired woman. Or ends with one.

Maya honestly couldn't tell herself sometimes.

For a second the nurse zoned out as her mind became a sea of thoughts as she grabbed onto her head - she didn't know why but her heart started racing as her head hurt. All the sounds going on around her were muted as she leaned forward and grabbed her head. She took in a deep breath as she tried to calm herself down, but the more she tried the more it seemed the opposite was happening. With every second that passed, Maya felt more and more like she was going to pass out.

"... So, um, what do you think it is, Doc?"

The voice of this man - a bulky human with blonde hair, raggedy clothes, blue eyes, - knocked her out of her reverie. He was lying down on the examination table with his hands on his stomach and then Maya felt a drip of water hit her overhead. She looked up saw that she was still in the same rundown doctor's room with pipes overhead spraying and the horrid smell... and she was more than certain that this place would be closed down if there was any type of standard. Most of the time she was patching up members of the gangs but it was the only place where she could find any type of work without any type of credentials.

Yup, she was in Omega alright.

"Can you repeat yourself?" Maya softly requested.

"I have these itchy bumps and rashes..." He stammered out, obviously embarrassed to repeat himself but Maya had a suspicion of what it was. Maya used her Omnitool to record what he just said.

"Where?"

"In my... groin area."

Maya had to resist the urge to laugh.

"And when did the symptoms start?"

"A week after I, um..." He coughed, "Had an encounter with an Asari..."

She couldn't help but narrow her eyes and think to herself: You should have known better than having sex with another whore - or with the Asari at all, they're all dirty. However, the warming smile on her face betrayed her thoughts as she long learned how to do when dealing with anything having to do with aliens.

"I believe you have the scale itch, but I'll let Dr. Zaban make that determination," Maya said as she stood up and walked out of the room to find that Salarian Doctor and let her figure this out. She was getting tired of wasting her medical talent and drive on gunshot wounds and STDs...

---

A few hours later, Maya came back home to her small scruffy apartment in which she was surprised that nobody broke in (today). The sliding doors opened, and home-sweet-home was revealed to her: a (very uncomfortable) bed, a shelf, nightstand, desk with her computer on it with a chair pushed up against it. Taking off her jacket, she threw it on the back of the chair as she sat down. There had to be something that she could do because the money was draining by the second, and she was certain that she would get put out eventually. While this apartment sucked, it was better than being homeless on the streets of Omega.

She scrolled through job after job posting - unfortunately, they were either shady (obvious fronts for the Black Market) or she just didn't fit what they were looking for. However, she raised an eyebrow when she saw one job posting on a ship known as the Caelestis.

... She immediately applied.

---

---

A week later and Maya prepared all of her things... she had everything valuable to her stowed away in a luggage bag. She was certain that her home was going to be looted anyway, so she made haste towards the spaceport. One taxi-ride later and she saw the ship with her own two eyes - it was definitely an Alien-design, maybe Salarian? Maya wasn't really that well-versed in the ships made by other races and just shook her head and walked up the gantry. She wasn't really that excited to work with Aliens, but it was for money.

What's the worst that can go wrong, after all?

On-board the Caelestis.

Everyone had finally made it to the ship. Naryxa supposed that they were all seeing themselves to their rooms. She’d spoken briefly to each of them, a greeting and a brief tour since MacLearie was still out of it. Him being out of it gave them several more hours to kill docked in Omega too.

Finally, with her new crew in, she went to allow herself a reprieve from the confines of her faithful ship. Omega was dark and grim as always - a low thrum in the atmosphere and the scent of trouble at every corner. It didn’t seem to worry the Asari; she’d seen most of it before. Behind every terse glance on Omega was just a soul on their way, afterall. Bark was worse than bite for the most part, and Naryxa also knew she had a strong bite when required.

As she moved over the crosswalk, she looked up at the ugly, but familiar structures, flashing in arousing colour from the strobe lights. If she was drunk, it might just entice her to cross the threshold into Afterlife again.

She placed her hands against the railing and took as deep a breath in as she could. It wasn’t pleasant air, but it was air - and it was nice to take it in. It reminded her of her youth and the corners of her mouth turned into a smile.

The Asari was peaceful until she heard snivelling at her side. Heavy sniffing and then panicked mutters under feminine breath. She opened one eye and glanced sidelong - observing to her right a human woman, and her male companion pacing back and forth. He may have been silent, but Naryxa sensed that he carried the most fear. The woman, for all of her muttering, was formulating a plan at least.

“...Get back in, break her out, and then we leave this place for good.” She said before shaking her head.

He said nothing.

“Or we hire someone to do it for’us. We can’t… We can’t leave her here. We never should have left in t’first place. What were we thinking?” She turned her face to the gentleman beside her, who was shakily nodding, wringing his hands with the worry.

“I dunno, I dunno…” he muttered back before he noticed that the was being watched and found some kind of courage. “What?” he snapped, biting back his tongue as soon as he did so and looking down at the ground.

“What happened?” Naryxa asked softly, her mature voice bringing a calm air to the conversation.

The human woman spoke up.

---

Back on the Caelestis, Naryxa could see that the crew had certainly made themselves at home. Bags in the walkways, cups and plates scattered in the kitchen - although she knew that to have been MacLearie’s mess. Her omnitool flashed, and she called each of them to attention.

It took but a minute or two for them to all find their way back to the open kitchen, and at Naryxa’s side was a nervous looking civilian which probably wasn’t who they were expecting to see.

“I understand you’ve all been settling in, that you’ve just got here,” she began, looking each of them in the eye one-by-one. There was so much she wanted to say to them, individually. To spend time with them alone and work out their intentions… Later.

“This is Lauren,” Naryxa explained, and Lauren waved out. “She found herself in some trouble with Mercenaries over… Illicit substances,” she sighed with a shrug. They would know what she meant.

“Her colleague is trapped now between two small factions battling it out with each other in the slums. I suspect she is not the only civilian in danger,” Naryxa looked directly at her nwly employed Drell doctor. “We could certainly use you out there, Satka,” she said - addressing him seriously. “And any of you who can hold a gun, or can help us. Seems like it will be more than a skirmish before long.”

With a hand on her hip, her eyes narrowed almost dangerously. “I know this isn’t what you thought you had signed up for today. I don’t expect you all to come and you will not be judged by me for staying behind with the ship.”

From the corner, a hoarse voice sounded; “off to play hero again, are ye?” It was MacLearie, looking pale and incredibly unkempt, hunched against the wall with a steaming mug of coffee in his bony fist.

“You know me,” Naryxa quipped back, almost nervously.

“Aye, ah do,” he answered with a nod. “Not a bad thing to put this bunch through their paces,” he continued in a deadpan tone, his own muddy brown eyes scanning each face. His distrust and displeasure was clear and purposefully spelled out in his words.

Casting a stern look his way, Naryxa shook her head and shooed him away with a wave of her hand.

“People are in danger and we can help. Lauren here will show us the way. Who’s coming?”

When Shy first laid her eyes on the ship, the Caelestis, she might’ve drooled a little bit. Ship maintenance wasn’t necessarily her specialty, but she could work with the best of them, and she knew salarian engineering when she saw it: she was pragmatic, sleek, frugal and optimized. Clean of wanton sentimentality but not without careful and detail-oriented craftsmanship and advanced specifications. She wondered if she had read the posting correctly, that the captain of this ship was indeed an asari, but the captain was one such creature indeed. There was a hint of disappointment that there was no salarian on board, though her face did not show it, and she eventually found her quarters post the clipped and fleeting introductions. Asari, as captivating as they are, she understood -- as bounded as her ability to understand was -- to be perennial fixtures of their communities and less likely given to flights of fancy. Shy’s own established susceptibility toward transience all but guaranteed this voyage and her membership within to be nothing short of ephemeral.

What few personal belongings she possessed such as clothes and the like were placed onto a bed, but the rest of her belongings she hauled off to the cargo bay where she suspected most of her work would be done at her leisure. She didn’t expect to last long of course, and in this respect, just gave the cargo bay and the engine room cursory glances; pulley systems to lift heavy loads, how well ventilated the room was, where the power boxes could be found, the drive core, the workbench -- she didn’t expect to do much here, maybe a couple of tasks until Naryxa decided they didn’t like her for one reason or another. That being said, she hadn’t worked for an asari before, but that didn’t mean her hopes were up. If Citadel politics were anything to go by, they were apparently stricter than humans. Not exactly the type of people she’d want to get a face full of eezo exhaust for.

Her omni-tool beeped, notifying her of Naryxa's summons -- shit, were they telepathic too? No, it was apparently a crew-wide meeting. Unless they were telepathic and wanted to chew her out in front of everybody, but that probably wasn’t likely. Probably. Regardless, Shy sighed, picked up her bag of tools and decided to head back at her leisure so that she could properly lay her eyes on the interior of the ship to take it all in. If it meant getting to fiddle around with salarian tech, then on second thought, she might actually be a little eager to be working on the Caelestis.

What she was expecting to be a little group bonding exercise that everyone hated turned out to be a little different. When she was expecting to find a bunch of chairs in a circle where they would sit and talk about their favorite colors, she found instead Naryxa facing the crew -- one of which she found was an actual vorcha that made her spine crawl -- with a guest; a woman, a hungry looking thing whose smoldering eyes sung greater sorrows than she could dare express, cast a spell on the room that weighed the air upon everyone’s shoulders but was lost on Shy. She looked around with curious glances, apparently oblivious to the threatening and looming specter which imposed itself upon the crew.

Naryxa warned them of a skirmish and civilians getting caught in the crossfire, and Shy’s recollection of her last crew’s shootout with the Blue Suns came with crystal-clear clarity. If she wasn’t there, good at fighting or not, then they likely would’ve been killed right there and then. She made an entire career of automating dangerous tasks, and received accolades for her designs. Though she didn’t necessarily want to make enemies on the station, one of the only places where she could safely hide, she also wanted to work on this ship. There weren’t many opportunities for new jobs coming through these days, and Naryxa’s profile was one of the first new faces she’s seen in a while. Shy wasn’t sure if she could afford to lose it. Besides, the way she spoke was so--

“Sure,” Shy blurted out unexpectedly. Her affect was flat and tone slightly acquiescent. Her eyes traveled the room a bit, expecting their own upon her. Being a young woman, dressed in her casual clothing and being of slight build, she did not look the part of the soldier. “I’ve worked on Omega’s systems and power grid a lot,” she explained, “electrical, security, defense, comm networks… I can get you in without a problem. I can deploy two defense and combat drones to cover our backs, too. If you’re just going in to get someone out, it should be a cakewalk. So, yeah. Sure.”

The young engineer played with the corner of her shirt absentmindedly, expecting some kind of judgement from the others as she usually did. There was no doubt in her mind or lapse in confidence that this was something she could do. Whether or not she actually wanted to was a separate matter, but her options were kind of tight at the moment. If nothing else, it might help to cement her place on the ship, and if she's lucky, it might justify a bit of future procrastination and delegation of her duties. So, she just gave the others her best forced, awkward, and pursed smile she could muster as she awaited the verdict for their plan of action.

The Vorcha had been settling into the ship rather nicely. The Engines were of a familiar make to other ships that Iryk had inhabited before and he had come to make it look like his previous habitations very quickly from the scattered papers to the bits of scrap he was slowly adding to his suit to the food to all the bits of his armament. He saw that some of the crew looked at him with pure disdain of course, but he didn't bother reacting to it. Long ago he had learned it was counter-productive to taunt or jeer at those expressing hatred of him and his kind; employers tended to take the side of the other party regardless of who had instigated the conflict.

But Iryk was happy here. The cramped spaces of the Engines and their erratic shifts in temperature reminded him very much of the mines of his youth. It was rather ironic how he was nostalgic about a time he had fought so hard to end he supposed. After a few checks on the tools of his trade the Vorcha very quickly got back to his ultimate goal of the liberation and enlightenment of his race. Coal-black fingers moved with practiced speed to make line upon line of his document with a dedicated pause in every five minute increment to proofread what he had written in the elapsed time and make necessary changes.

Truth be told he didn't care a single bit what happened outside of his little home. He had little desire to socialize with the others and he knew he'd go out to find food when all others would be sleeping or working on their other matters; the meal times would be how he would keep track of time outside of his little domain. The only thing that otherwise would bring him out of his corner would be the summons for him to do what he was paid to be on the ship for, and now it seemed that he was called forth to do just that.

Saving what he had finished writing he gathered and donned his tools of trade, before lurching over to see the Captain. He wasn't the only one present it seemed, in fact it seemed that more or less the entirety of the crew had assembled to hear Naryxa's words. Iryk clacked his teeth silently as he looked between the Captain and "Lauren", sizing her up with his bulbous black eyes. His eyes turned ever so slightly at the human pilot who seemed to think he was funny. Another human spoke up saying she would join in the little venture, and seeing nobody else speak Iryk decided to be next.

"This is not part of job." the Vorcha chittered, mimicking the half-rasp and half-grunt voice most expected of his people. "Iryk will kill all mercenary and take their heads for trophy! If there is pay or reward for this." the alien announced quite simply. From the description he had a slight measure of sympathy for this girl, but at the same time if she didn't want to get into trouble then perhaps she shouldn't have been involved with drugs. He was a mercenary and he wasn't going to offer charity that his kind had never received; thus he made it abundantly clear he would not fight for free, but if paid he would indeed turn the enemy to mincemeat.

The Caelestis was certainly an aesthetically pleasing vessel to look at. Whereas turian architecture and design philosophy often incorporated stark angles and straight, proper lines, salarians often liked their sweeping curves and rounded edges. A part of Sabinus wondered if it all boiled down to a reflection in cultural sensibilities; turians were a practical and martial people with little room for anything other than efficiency and an almost perfectionist social structure, whereas salarians were an adaptable people who rarely took a direct response to anything; espionage, the sciences, political negotiations often were never something that could be taken at face value. Knowledge and information was worth more than any rare metal in the galaxy to a salarian, and like an iceberg, you were unlikely to be getting more than a superficial and carefully cultivated glimpse at the individual you were interacting with. For that reason the Krogan Rebellions were pretty telling of different species' philosophies; krogan smashed moons into planets to eliminate opposition without much of a care for long-term planning, turians would fight to the last man without an ounce of fear or break in discipline, and salarians would tinker in a lab for the optimal way to neuter an entire species for endless generations to come to end a war.

And so, it made Sabinus Tannyx wonder exactly what kind of asari decided to adopt something of salarian design to act as her personal vessel. Perhaps her father was a salarian, perhaps this Naryxa used to be a spy or at least an intelligence analyst? It was curiosity that the turian was sure would be answered before too long. After all, the whole mission objective of this particular assignment was steeped in mystery and the promise of the unknown; someone with a background in digging up where to even start looking only felt logical.

The turian paid off the two youth as promised. "For services rendered." he said, handing them each the credit chits they were owed. "Listen, don't carry on the way you have been. Even a dismal bit of hell such as Omega has opportunity for legitimate workers; one day you're going to rob the wrong person and you're going to end up dead. Credits don't count for much if you're bleeding out in a gutter somewhere." he said, taking his gear and heading up towards the Caelestis.

It didn't take him long to get acquainted with the ship; only a handful of minutes and every space and corridor was memorized, mapped out mentally. Entering from the cargo bay, where Sabinus left his kit, he found the mess hall, the sleeping quarters, the cockpit, and so on. He took mental note of the exits, including the escape pod, the engineering section with the eezo core, and an area that might have been used as an armoury. He made a mental note of speaking to Naryxa about such things; it only made sense to have everyone's combat equipment securely stored and easily accessible rather than being left about Spirits-knows-where in the case of emergency. The armouries tended to have fewer structural weaknesses and reinforced hulls and plating in case of accidental discharge, Sabinus knew. There was no telling what kind of damage could occur if a negligent discharge happened in another part of the ship.

The other crew members who arrived were already making themselves at home, and Sabinus elected to wait for the most part; it wasn't his ship and he would deter to the captain's directions before claiming a sleeping quarter or where to drop his gear off. The pilot seemed to have a chemical dependency issue to go along with his piss-poor attitude and the assortment of others seemed more like assorted civilians rather than professionals, but Sabinus knew not to judge anyone before getting to know what they could do; his time with the humans on Elysium taught him looks could be deceiving.

Besides, this wasn't strictly a soldier-for-hire gig; the call went out for professionals such as doctors and other specialists. As far as he knew, he was the only former serviceman aboard, and he'd have to monitor the others for aberrant behaviour that would potentially endanger the mission or the crew as security chief, but for now it was a matter of waiting to see what happened.

But first, it was time to see what kind of coffee the ship contained, if any turian provisions at all. It would be a long flight otherwise.

Upon arrival to the Caelestis the Drell doctor felt an almost somber feeling flow through him. The impressive starship stuck out among the pathetic and the brutal spacecraft which typically filled the hangars of the space station. So many of the space craft he'd seen looked like they were ready to wreck havoc in war or, on the opposite scale, like they had been hastily cobbled together and were barely flight worthy. The Caelestis felt different as he took his first footsteps onto it, though he could not figure out what exactly gave him that sensation. Perhaps it was simply how clean it was compared to, well everything on Omega. The interior did not reek of despair like the streets of Omega did. He could recall one of the first feelings when he'd left the space station he'd called home for years following the 'incident' was an almost uneasy one. Like he'd been plucked out of his home and tossed into a portal. Satka felt almost uncomfortable stepping onto this ship as if he was intruding in someone else's home. Perhaps it was his mind finally putting Omega behind him, or at least that was what he truly hoped.

The doctor had not gotten acquainted at all with any of his 'crewmen'. That seemed like such a bizarre term to him as he'd never spent any real length of time on a starship. But Satka had politely requested medical files on each of them when he took the job offer. Whether he'd be given such a gift was something he was not sure of. He felt out of place as he glanced around the halls of the vessel, taking note of the armored and heavily armed individuals joining him on this mysterious voyage. They were mercenaries, a word that still conjured up uneasy thoughts in him. But the good doctor would try not to judge them, they were as much strangers to him as he them and they had no incentive to harm him. Satka would be the one patching them up after all.

As the captain, a strikingly tattooed asari assembled them all in the mess hall of the ship he wondered what awaited them. Perhaps just simple introductions or a rousing speech before sending them into battle, well the ones that did actually battle. A nervous human woman stood beside her as the assembled team stood around, Satka's eyes trying not to linger on the hulking vorcha in the room. His encounters with them had frequently been short and lacking in real conversation, but by the goddess if they weren't tough beings. He was glad they were on his side. The Drell paused his observing of his new companions as the captain spoke. As she began to speak of a search and rescue type operation involving a friend of the girl beside her Satka listened quietly. Then he blinked curiously as the Asari addressed him directly, seeming to request his needed involvement on the mission.

"Of course, captain, I'd be happy to be of assistance. I can't offer much in the way of fighting but if you can get me in there alive then I'll do my very best to help anyone in need. I know how rough Omega's worst can be." The Drell stated with a nod, with glances at the captain then to Laura. It was a side endeavor but one he would take very seriously with his duty as a doctor and Arashu's blessing.

Satka had taken note of the unkempt looking man in the room who the captain seemed to know well. He didn't seem like the most friendly of people or perhaps they weren't the first group employed by her. Though he wouldn't dig into that subject. The Drell once more drifted his eyes as he looked over the assembled crew, resting briefly on the scarred looking woman. Such scarring reminded him of some of his previous patients who'd come to him, though she seemed to wear her scars with a toughness. Her features were beautiful beneath them. The quarian also stuck out to him, he'd operated on a few of them before even seen under the mask of one. They were always intriguing to him, maybe it was just the finely made suits they were all clad in.

As one of the humans spoke up his glance drifted to her, she was an engineer. That meant he'd have to take extra care to keep her alive, or else the ship was done for. He was surprised at the number of humans here, considering it was Omega space. Though the turian was less of a surprise, the missing right mandible likely a testament to their strength. He was partially relieved to not have a krogan aboard, while he held no grudge against them they did tend to be quite headstrong and stubborn. The crew did look sufficiently tough enough.

He did have to map out where exactly the medical bay was on the vessel. He was one of the later arrivals on the spacecraft and would make his dwelling near the medical wing. The Drell had brought some supplies of his own but he needed it to be well stocked in order to properly assist such a rough looking group of mercenaries. As the vorcha piped in her almost smirked, hopefully he'd clear the way for them so Satka didn't have to fight. The pistol clipped on his belt was more for show than anything else, he dreaded actually aiming it at anyone with intent to harm them. He was a doctor, not a killer. Either way he'd found himself volunteered right off the bat and would put his whole focus behind it, a fine distraction to other things which plagued him.

Frontal Assault Team
@Dervish @Spoopy Scary @Andreyich

Naryxa gave a clear nod of approval to the young human’s suggestion; she certainly wasn’t about to turn down any extra hands (or drones) on the mission. “Come with me, I can keep you under cover and turn any fire away from you, should it come to that.”

At the Asari’s side, Lauren gave a clear smile of appreciation. “Thank you,” she said, finally speaking up. She even had nerve enough to address the Vorcha directly. “We have money, Mikael and I, it’s not a lot but we have it. We’re not expecting you to do this for free-” her green eyes glanced up at Naryxa as if for reassurance.

“Lauren will transfer the credits to me, and I’ll distribute them evenly to the volunteers - how does that sound?” she suggested, eyeing Iryk carefully. There was a chance she’d come to regret hiring him. There was a very good chance she might return to find her pilot gone. Naryxa trusted her intuition; Iryk was an individual, and he hadn’t seemed threatening yet. The talk of… taking heads was alarming, but she found it easy to chalk it up to his culture - she expected the others wouldn’t be so laissez faire…

After a short gurgle of thought the Sentinel shrugged his chitinous shoulders and then nodded in consent. "If there is pay then Iryk comes." the Vorcha offered, running his tongue across his razor teeth in anticipation of the upcoming violence. "How many mercenaries must kill?" He said as a quick followup, realizing perhaps he should have lead with the question. Getting paid was all well and good but not getting shot when you are outnumbered ten to one was a lot better.

“You can keep my portion of the pay, ma’am; I’ll make sure your friend gets back safe and sound.” Sabinus said, leaning against a cabinet with a mug of coffee in his hand, one that had the logo of what he presumed was a strip club on it still. “I used to be a police officer, seems to me like Omega could use some of that presence right now.”

“Don’t make it obvious.” Shy said slightly under her breath, but not out of malice nor derision, but because her attention was divided from the close attention she was paying to the interface of her omni-tool. She was pulling up maps and schematics of the Omega base, where key power junctions and systems control outlets were highlighted. She continued, “Omega has a habit of eating police people alive. Sometimes literally.”

Without skipping a beat, she stepped over toward Naryxa and Taylor to ask the latter, “do you know the location?”

“Gozu District, the south buildings - there are some abandoned apartments being used as warehouses,” Lauren answered with a nod. “You can get in from the front, or there’s a tunnel that way too.”

Naryxa placed a hand comfortably on her hip. “I know the place, it’s always been the darker side of the Gozu District; seems like it’s only gotten more out of hand…” the Asari clucked her tongue and remained quiet as Lauren spoke again.

“Probably a strong dozen,” Lauren said, making eye contact with Iryk that was confident enough. “It’s a Blue Sun area, but it’s likely that there will be other smaller groups… Independants,” the woman explained, brushing a strand of her brown hair behind her ear.

The Vorcha was not entirely satisfied with such an answer, because twelve of humans or batarians was nothing on the same count of say… Krogan. But Iryk supposed the fact that Lauren’s friend wasn’t already a mush of bonemeal was a testament to the fact that this wasn’t the case. Having no more input he thus simply gave a grunt of affirmation.

“Not sure that it’s the kind of noise we really want to be making,” Naryxa sighed. “Definitely don’t want to alert the Blue Suns to this. What do you think, Tannyx?” She asked curiously.

The turian took a few moments to consider their options. “If we have one team go in quietly, acting and looking like residents and not armed to the teeth, we could get a better idea of what’s ahead, maybe even find our target without anyone being any the wiser. If there are smaller groups, it might be possible to have a skirmish without the Suns thinking anything is amiss; afterall, smaller gangs often have territorial squabbles as often as the major players.

“I don’t think if it comes to shooting it’ll necessarily bring down the Suns unless something was seriously out of place, say heavy ordinance or reports of dead sentries that were taken out without anyone noticing until after the fact.” Sabinus grunted. “Hate to say it, but if we’re going to make a ruckus, we have to mimic the smaller gangs, which is going to be messy. I’d prefer to do this quietly, if possible, but we have to anticipate that we won’t know what we’re getting into until we’re in the thick of it.”

“It’s settled then,” Naryxa said. “I’ll assign teams and we’ll be on our way.”

^{With @Hank @The Ghost Note @Nightbringer}

---

Callum MacLearie sat rather comfortably in his chair in the cockpit, one foot was resting up on the extra chair, the other was on the floor and in his lap was yet another steaming coffee, and a half eaten sandwich. A clear pain rang between his ears on and off and he pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh.

His stomach had at least calmed down.

The pilot had needed the reprieve. God he’d needed it. He didn’t expect anyone but Naryxa to understand that, but he’d needed it. Soaking himself through with alcohol to the point where he was a danger to an open flame hurt him now, but had been pure relief at the time. He wasn’t angry at it, just sore inside.

He’d taken glimpses at the new crew. Two engineers? Different. Only ever had one before, and a “mechanic”. The grumpy Scotsman scoffed at it and sighed. Vorcha too, what was the Captain thinking? Mind you, not that he doubted she’d put the thing in its place if it ever tried anything out of the ordinary on the ship. Cast it out into open space and forget the surprise of a Vorcha trying to kill them all in their sleep. He laughed bitterly. “Fuck me,” he groaned to himself. “Equality ship now, my fuckin’ arse,” he muttered, throwing back the crust of the sandwich into his mouth and chasing it down with the black coffee. “That fuckin’ thing tries anything... She fucking better be ready for me to be off when she gets back. Fucking Vorcha. No fucking clue sometimes.”

He was already planning to confront her about it, and he was happy that she was away with it. Maybe it wouldn’t survive the skirmish.

That thought stung.

A stabbing pain in his temple that made him regret it. He was softer than that underneath it. Far underneath it, but it was there. Had to be. He knew it. She knew it. Still, the thought of its teeth around--

The pain again. All he could do was curse quietly under his breath again. He’d yell if the echo didn’t just fire back at him.

“Looking a little more alive, I see,” came a woman’s voice from behind the pilot. Delilah crossed her arms and leaned against the doorframe to the cockpit, a small smile at Callum’s expense on her lips. “Coffee’s pretty decent, isn’t it? I’m not used to that on alien starships. Do I have you to thank for installing the machine?”

Without waiting for an answer, she pointed at the extra chair and the way it was currently occupied by one of his feet. “May I?”

“Some young’un a couple of rotations back brought it and left it behind,” MacLearie answered, moving his foot lazily off the seat. “If ah say no, you’ll only hover behind me,” he shrugged, clearing his throat with a cough.

“Saw you earlier,” the Pilot said out loud as the cogs turned over. “You’re to be some kind of… Assistant or what hav’ye. Aye, you were first one in.”

“That’s right,” Delilah said as she sat down on the extra chair. “I’m surprised you remember me. You didn’t look like your eyeballs were even working.”

“Why, hello there?” Another woman appeared in the doorway with a hot cup of coffee in hand. “I hope I’m not intruding, I just settled in and I....” That was when Maya realized that she was talking too much, and was doing a bad job of hiding that she was bored.

“Nevermind, mind if I have a seat as well?”

“If ye can find one,” MacLearie answered dryly, somewhat taken aback by the brightness of Maya’s hair, it was practically neon under the light of the cockpit. “There’s other places to host yer little coffee club as well, just in case.”

Maya casually leaned up against the wall. “I’m, uh, fine standing.” She awkwardly covered a cough.

“And leave you here so you can sulk in silence in your cockpit?” Delilah asked and rolled her eyes at him. “You’re not getting your way that easily. We’re bored, you see,” she continued, having picked up on the vibe that Maya was giving off, “so now it’s your job to entertain us.” The comms specialist shot an amused glance at the medic, hoping that the bright-haired woman would play along.

The Pilot sighed, closing his eyes slowly. “Wasn’t sulking, just sitting.” He took another sip of his coffee, feeling more prickled by the second to be surrounded by the women. “Plenty to do on the ship if yer bored.” Not long after he’d said it, MacLearie quirked a brow in the direction of the door and cast a quick glance at Maya. “Long as you stay out of trouble, and the Captain’s quarters.”

“Like what?” Maya shot him an amused smirk as she had some quips of her own to give him. “Drink cheap liquor that’ll shave ten years off your life?” She shrugged as she crossed her arms, with that same cheeky smug look on her face as she said.

“I don’t think that stuff would be legal in alliance space.”

“I’m not drinking for a while,” MacLearie retorted with a raised brow, his last word coming out with reflux and a small, but significant belch. He sneered at himself and sunk lower into his chair. “Fuck that, one night every whenever-the-fuck is fine by me.”

In the silence between his words, and whoever wished to speak next, there was a clatter above them - a noise in the vents. MacLearie’s eyes shot open again, “ahhh fuck.”

“... What the hell was that?” Maya asked, “Please don’t tell me there’s Varren in the ship.”

MacLearie shot a dangerous sidelong glance at the woman; “not Varren,” he said. “No taking shots up high, alright?” the Pilot added with a raised brow, forcing himself out of his chair with a stumble. Somewhat uncharacteristically, he smiled before picking up a rod from the floor, and he began to tap away at the underside of the vents.

After a long silence, something tapped back. And giggled.

Maya jolted at the tapping as she just… chuckled. She started laughing, “Okay, okay, nice job,” She said, “But, I thought you all would be above such childish hazing.”

“I’m not hazing anyone,” MacLearie said with a shrug as he stepped backwards towards the rear of the cockpit.

“So what is it?” Delilah asked. She’d seen too many old school Earth movies to trust anything that moved around in the vents, and communicated as much to MacLearie with a glance. Giggling, too, was generally an ominous sign.

Elsewhere on the ship, Vaan stared blankly into the monitor of a terminal. He tried his best to recall what he could from his past research, but nothing was coming to him.

“People are in danger and we can help. Lauren here will show us the way. Who’s coming?”

He felt as if he hadn’t even needed to answer. Captain Kesir had read his dossier, she knew he had no combat experience to speak of. Instead, as he was inclined to do, he let the others do the talking, and while the more combat-focused members of the burgeoning crew prepared for a vicious firefight against the denizens of Omega, he retreated to the first place he could find that had a desk and a terminal —he suspected the medical bay— and tried to get to work. It was true that he would feel more at home in the engine bay, but with the ship docked, there was no real work down there to speak of.
Without the buzz of engines or the incessant hum of the life support modules, every noise echoed around the ship, a great, flying whispering gallery. It comforted him —he abhorred silence, every place he had ever lived had been abuzz at all hours.

He had thought about joining the conversation happening on the bridge, but had decided against it. Humans were tribal, especially outside of Alliance Space, and he didn’t want to interrupt their bonding ritual.

He was roused, not by the quiet tapping that he heard reverberate through the ship's hull —that was par for the course in a ship like this— but by the following silence. Whatever the noise had been, it had startled them enough to end their conversation.

As he made his way to the cockpit, the tapping continued. When he rounded the corner to see the pilot holding a rod aloft, looking as if he had been living outside his enviro-suit for the last week, he asked dryly:

“What are you doing?”

The Quarian was quiet enough on his feet to give MacLearie a fright, and the man jerked at the sound of his voice from behind. He shot a look over his shoulder, blinking lazily as he took in the sight before shrugging. “Getting the co-pilot,” he said dryly, before using the hooked end of the rod to the hatch above.

With a click, followed by a satisfying hiss the door released slowly.

“Bang bang!” Came the voice from above.

“Not today laddy, not today,” MacLearie answered with a grunt and a sigh, holding his hands outstretched and bracing himself by placing a foot steady behind him. Then, as if completely practiced, the voice from above plopped down into his arms.

A human child.

He was wearing a helmet that was comically too large, and had a tiny toy pistol in his hand as he scrambled to give MacLearie a cuddle. His eyes were then quietly transfixed on the strangers that he did not recognise, and it was immediately apparent that his playful confidence had made way for instant shyness. He was clinging to MacLearie, whose demeanour had shifted in turn, to hold him protectively too.

“This is Rory,” he said calmly. “Rory’s my son and he travels with us,” he explained. “You cause him no bother and you’ll have no trouble.”

That the creature in the vents turned out to be nothing more ominous than a child was a relief, but it was also surprising. Kids grew up aboard space ships all the time, of course, but a small private vessel like this? That was unusual.

“Hi Rory,” Delilah said and waved. Kids were sometimes afraid of her because of her scars. It was a painful reminder that she wasn’t herself anymore. She resisted the urge to look away, to hide her face, and conjured her most innocent and harmless smile instead. “Nice helmet you got there. I bet that can stop all sorts of bullets and lasers.”

A sigh had escaped Maya’s lips as she chastised herself for jumping the gun in this manner… over something that ended up being as innocuous as a mere child. Maya couldn’t help but let out a little chuckle as she calmed herself down. She would go over to give the kid a little pat on the head but he was clearly apprehensive of her. Maya knew better than to enter that kid’s personal space… but at least she could appreciate that Maclearie had a human child and not one with one of those Asari whores. Maya put her hands together at her waist level as she smiled, kindly saying, “He’s adorable.”

Rory’s nerves had clearly gotten the better of him, as he glanced around at the new people around him who he didn’t recognise. He brought a thumb to his mouth and began to chew on it.

“Ach, we aren’t up tae that again?” MacLearie asked, giving the boy’s back a gentle rub of comfort. “Come on, ye’ve been in there all morning, we’ll get some breakfast in ye and maybe later we can say a proper hello.”

The child nodded slowly and retreated further into hiding in his father’s chest.

“Right then,” the pilot sighed, casting a warning stare back at the new crew. “Don’t go breaking anything in here,” he grumbled, before making his way from the cockpit in the direction of the kitchen.

Omega

________________

“So, you uhhh, you work for the Asari then?” Came the voice of Lauren from in front as she weaved her way through crates and blockades - leading the way for the human engineer. “Always been curious about ‘em myself,” she added. Trying to fill their journey with idle chatter.

It wasn’t exactly a long trip there, just dangerous. Dangerous in that there were obstacles in their path. It wasn’t meant to be traversed by foot. It was just a long dumping round for trash, but it would take them to the back of the warehouse. Eventually.

“Yeah. Supposedly, at least.” Shy answered. “Grand total of five minutes.”

The latter wasn’t wearing their suit, opting to remain in their casual clothes. Being dressed in a black body suit like some kind of cyborg ninja wasn’t exactly inconspicuous, and it would probably be easier to explain their presence looking like regular people working around a warehouse. While they were to be skirting around Blue Sun territory, it’d probably be easier to get closer without raising any flags, as well as easier to get out without looking like a retreating enemy combatant.

She wasn’t expecting her words to instill much confidence in their new client, in fact, that was hardly a consideration at all. It was idle chatter mostly to entertain herself if nothing else, and now barely an hour into her new job, she was wading through trash and junk. Part of her wondered how these clients of theirs got roped into such sticky business as drugs and Blue Sun entanglements, and perhaps a more socially attuned person would know better than to ask, though Shy’s hesitation to ask was more because she thought they might have already mentioned it and she probably wasn’t paying attention at the time. She wasn’t nearly as concerned about the character of the people she was working for or the awkward air a sob story might invite.

If her overall silence was anything to go by, she didn’t much abide smalltalk, even if she did so with banter.

She summoned the fluorescent orange hologram interface of her omni-tool, showing a simple map of the surrounding area and their current location within. The tunnel went a bit further on, but the map didn’t account for all of the debris cluttering the way.

“How much further?” Shy asked, sounding bored and annoyed as her foot caught the edge of some piece of junk that nearly tripped her. “If there is at any point the opportunity to utilize a console or remote access point, we should use it. No reason for us to be in the center of hell if someone raises an alarm.”

“It’s the next one over now,” Lauren answered, tampering now with a window. “If you’re after cover, if we can get inside, there might be an easier way across and you can help your team… With consoles,” she blinked over at Shy slowly. Her green eyes sparkled and a smile waivered. For all of the courage she showed earlier, she was showing less of it now.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into this, by the way,” she said with an apologetic shrug before finding the pop in the window to draw it open. Every structure had its weakness. There was nothing but pitch black inside until she turned on a light from her jacket. It was just an office, long since abandoned.

“Don’t worry about it,” Shy answered flatly, “I volunteered, remember?”

“Come on,” Lauren gestured as she climbed inside.

This didn’t look so bad, Shy thought as her boots landed on the floor inside. An abandoned office, huh? A little bit of a mess, but there were plenty of computers with administrative privileges to utilize and furniture to hide behind if someone caught wind of them? Not so bad. She wondered about the probability of any of those gangster mercenaries crawling through the windows like they did, but Lauren and Shy were both small enough to do so, so it probably wouldn’t be their first plan. They’d probably rather take the front door, especially in their own territory.

“First things first, help me push one of these desks against the door. We should barricade the main point of entry in accompaniment of a multi-stage lock-out.”

With Lauren’s help, they were able to push the office furniture into place in front of the door, taking care to not drag it against the floor that might incur unwanted attention through the noise. As they were getting it into place, Shy was able to use her omni-tool to interface with the electronic functions of the door to keep it locked through a lockdown protocol as well as fashion a length of cable to physically secure the handle to the piece of furniture blocking the entrance. Tapping the orange interface on her omni-tool once more, two drones suddenly materialized before them, positioning themselves a few feet away from either side of the doorway.

“If worst comes to worst, we’ll leave the same way we came in. I’m keeping the main lights off so people don’t know we’re here.” Shy said shrugging, perhaps alarmingly nonchalant about the mess they were getting into. Sighing, she stretched her arms in the air as well as her neck and said, before seating herself before one of the administration console, “Welp, time to get to work I guess.”

Her fingers peppering the keys and interface of the console, mingled in with the mutterings of how archaic the hardware here was, she was also peppering Lauren with an assault of questions that she probably wouldn’t have had the answer to, even if she gave her the time to answer them. Shy seemed to uncover those answers as quickly as she was asking them. “Might you know where we are, what we have access to? Oh, there’s a map. Gozu district, we’re right there -- think the others should be travelling up this route, the captain and doctor up that way -- and the target should be… there. I have a feeling I won’t be able to reroute a defensive system from here if they have one, not very quickly, anyway. Cameras? Mm, probably, if we’re connected on the same network. Oh, yep, found them. Let me just rewrite my permissions… piece of cake. Hey, is that your brother?”

Pointing at the screen on her monitor, there was an image of a handful of Blue Suns mercenaries loitering around a room with a young man of skin and bones bound up in a chair. Scratching her head, she muttered to herself, “Well, they obviously aren’t feeding him any burgers…”

Lauren looked down at the screen and saw that it was true, her friend was bound in the chair. She couldn’t quite make out all of the details there, only that one of her captors was holding some kind of heavy machinery. A saw, perhaps. She cringed and stepped back from the screen. “You have to do something!, stop them! Please!” she said desperately.

Meanwhile, one of the secondary screens was showing something equally as exciting -- Both Naryxa and Satka appeared on the monitor, the Asari firing off a biotic charge at more guards, only a few doors away from the sick little torture chamber.

Shy’s face remained stoic even in the midst of Lauren’s outburst as she try to figure out a plan. There wasn’t exactly a weapons system in this place, not one that was on the same network as these offices at least. Think, think, think! What systems would they share? Emergency? C4I? Power? Maybe she could remotely turn off the power from here. She wasn’t exactly going through the proper channels though, and if they had a backup generator. Ugh, risks upon risks. This manual stuff was limiting her stuff.

“Uh, you might wanna sit somewhere safe, I’m probably about to set off some alarms.” Shy said, sounding annoyed. She aimed her omni-tool toward the main console, and for a few brief and alarming seconds, multiple windows branched out from her tool and the monitors in the room started flashing wildly as the omni-tool enacted a CNA protocol and began purging the information on the network and proxy server. Just as Shy expected, red lights and alarms were suddenly triggered, probably alerting nearly half of the district with a sound not quite unlike a krogan bashing your head in.

The young woman immediately turned back to the computer she was working on, watching as many lines of codes vanished before her eyes. Many of these were firewalls and restrictions that would’ve kept her from accessing certain elements and functions on the network, and without them or the proxy server, essentially allowed her unfettered access to anything that was on it. The Blue Suns in the chamber with the guy they were trying to save were clearly made aware that there was an unwelcome guest somewhere across the district and took their attention off of Lauren’s friend. As restrictions and firewalls dropped, she got access to more cameras -- one of them was focused on a warehouse also full of Blue Suns, and inside looked like a cache of weapons or something. Interesting.

“Looks like I got their attention.” Shy said. “I’m unlocking the door for the captain’s team, sending coordinates and footage.”

Shy drew her omni-tool once more and opened comms with the team with the turian and vorcha, which sounded like the setup to a bad joke. She said, “Hey, uh, forward team? Captain’s team making contact with the target shortly. I also discovered a Suns’ weapons cache near your location. If you’d like to, I don’t know, loot it, blow it up, or eat the guys inside or something… go ham. Take pictures? Unless it’s the third. Anyways, sending coordinates.”

Turning back to face Lauren, she said, “We should get going soon before they start searching these buildings. Unless there’s something else you’d like me to do first, like spying on an ex or something, don’t let the threat of mortal peril stop you or anything.”

“Let’s just get moving,” Lauren said. “By the time we get to them, things are either going to be over, or over” she sighed, clearly itching to move out if her shaking hand was anything to go by. “Come on, rendezvous will be this way…”

Omega

________________

Omega was barely different in the afternoon as it was at night. Some would say that Omega was trapped in a perpetual midnight hour. Everything was dark, and any light that could be found was harsh and overly bright - spilling out their phosphorescent light onto the floor like puddles of neon.

People too, acted as though it was late at night. They walked together to bars, to food stands, and were quite often drunk - the further you got to the slums, the worse it got.

But, it was Omega. It had always been like this. Those who were frail of mind and fearful wouldn’t do so well, but the atmosphere here was endearing in a way that was unique only to Omega. There was nowhere else like it in the whole galaxy. It’s reputation was undeserved.

As the Asari wandered through the Gozu District, she let her eyes take in each detail around her in an almost carefree manner. It had been a while since she’d seen it all. The claustrophobic nature of the tall, packed buildings was somewhat refreshing.

And a new companion she had on her venture too; the Drell doctor. Satka. She took a glance at him, what was miniature wonder and appreciation for Omega had faded to severity as she spoke low to him; “have you observed anything?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary around here.” The doctor stated calmly, not particularly overjoyed about once more trekking through the slums of the rancid space station. When he stepped foot on the Asari captain’s vessel Satka believed it would be the last time he was on Omega. But it seemed the gods and goddesses guided him here one more time.

In contrast to the adventurous Naryxa the Drell was all too used to Omega. Its stench, the endless darkness batted away by intruding lights. With every movement of his boots he had to actively suppress the emotions which flowed through him, mocking his inability to leave this place. As they crossed through a noisy crowd of bystanders Satka took a deep breath to calm his nerves. He was back here to help others, Mother Arashu would guide these wretched thoughts from his being.

“How far are we exactly, captain?” Satka inquired, unsure of how exactly to address the Asari. In one hand he held onto a case of medical supplies, encased in a durable metal container. He wasn’t certain how much to pack but if there were more in need of his aide then he had predicted well the doctor was skilled at improvising.

Naryxa had been listening to his body language all too closely, his steady breathing and his steadier step — he was almost too focused. She watched and felt a sense of trepidation from him, to the point she almost didn’t hear his actual words-

“Ah. The warehouse, yes. I’d say we’re close enough now,” the answer bordered on being nonchalant in tone, and she expressed a look of concern in the direction of her new doctor, wondering if she’d made a mistake in bringing him out. “Are you alright?” She asked frankly.

Somewhere behind them, Iryk and Sabinus were keeping watch, and ahead was their target. Satka didn’t have much time to answer before a scream rang out in the distance. The Asari raised a brow and was immediately into action — her hands flaring with blue warping colours. “It sounds like we’re close,” she said.

As the shriek filled the tense air of Omega the Drell blinked cautiously. He watched how the captain reacted as her hands pulsated with the telltale shimmer of biotic power. Satka’s hand went towards his pistol, though it was more of a false movement. The pacifist doctor didn’t intend to use it but he had to act like he was ready to. Naryxa had given him the answer he seeked but the question she posed to him caught him off guard but the scream gave him another moment to put together an answer.

“I’m fine. It's just been awhile since I’ve done anything like this. I’ll be alright, just lead the way captain.” The drell stated calmly as their movement shifted, their steps filled with more action as they headed towards closer to the warehouse.

“Believe it or not,” Naryxa said, carefully eyeing her surroundings, “I don’t go making a habit of it myself.”

The Captain lead the way, as the Drell had requested. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d spent time with a Drell. They certainly weren’t a Doctor, he was unusual in that respect. “I wasn’t expecting to hire someone with your credentials,” she said - her thoughts becoming her words. “But we’ll be glad to have you on board, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sure I don’t compare to the powerful looking warriors you’ve assembled. I just help those in need. I’m glad to be of service.” Satka stated with a humble smile and nod. He did feel slightly out of place compared to the mercenaries onboard, but this was his mission now. It was where the Goddess had brought him.

As the two of them rounded a corner, they came upon an open door, a metallic buzzing sounded from within - bouncing around the walls. A frown crossed her features and she cast a sidelong glance at the Drell. “That sounds like more trouble than we’re ready for… I’m starting to wonder if there is more to this escapade than we were told.” She scowled. The tattoos across her brows turned dagger like. The normally serene-blue of her eyes became cold and focused.

Gunfire in the distance behind them now was the signal that Iryk and Sabinus had found their own fair share of trouble.

“It’s Omega, captain. Things are always more complicated than they seem.” The Drell added with a smirk and a glance back at the Asari. He had expected this mission to be more than it appeared. Another one of the reasons he was glad to be leaving this wretched space station soon.

“Nothing like a warm up exercise to get the team working,” Naryxa commented with a slight scoff as she continued forward. “You’re more powerful than you know too, you know,” she added as she came upon a door in the warehouse, quieter now. She could sense a guard or two on the other side. Heavy footsteps circling the room.

As she assessed the best way to make it through as quietly as possible, sensing that Satka wasn’t really feeling like a full on brawl (nor was she), a sound played out through her Omni-Tool. Louder than it had any right to be. It was the recogniseable voice of the Turian:



“There goes the element of surprise,” Naryxa said as the footsteps on the other side stopped, and the door opened with a hiss.

On the other side, two Batarian soldiers already had their weapons trained on Naryxa and Satka, but she was already ahead of them. That pulsing biotic energy in her hand fired forward in a series of pulses until they reached the first Batarian. There was a hum and a pop until the Shockwave moved to the next soldier - incapacitating both with absolute precision.

“We’ve got problems of our own Tannyx. Can you hold them off?” she said, stepping defensively in front of Satka on high alert herself for any further waves.

Another faint, rare smile appeared on the Drell’s features as the Asari captain gave him a compliment. Then his eyes had widened as he heard her omnitool chirp loudly, most certainly alerting anyone on the other side of the door. Then as the door came open he stayed behind Naryxa, the combat trained Asari was much better at handling the situation than he was.

“Well, that did the trick.” Satka stated calmly as both Batarians were down for the count, having made the mistake of going at the Asari captain. It was a reminder for him not to get on her bad side, seeing how effortlessly she took out the two armed guards.

“I hope there aren’t many more, the sooner we find Lauren’s friends and the others the better. I hope they’re not in danger.” The doctor added as he remained behind Naryxa, one of his hands near the pistol on his hip.

A weapon more for show than anything, if more of those guards came then he may be forced to draw it and put up some form of a fight. However futile that may be with the pacifist medical professional’s lack of combat training. It was a miracle he’d survived on this rough, twisted space station for as long as he had but he’d made sure his clinic had no shortage of armed guards. Though even that wasn’t enough to prevent tragedy from rolling through it.

Naryxa wasted no more time in the waiting, pushing forwards as Shy forwarded through instruction from the security deck.

With the door unlocked, the Asari pushed her way through - only one guard remained and then in the corner, strapped to a chair, and bleeding -- was the target. Naryxa was fast acting again, firing off a biotic charge that danced through the empty space until it made contact with the chest of the guard. There was a crackle and in his struggle he fired off several rogue shots in their direction, missing the Asari and the Drell by mere inches until he succumbed to the surge and fell peacefully in an unconscious slump.

“We don’t have much time,” Naryxa barked out, knowing that the guard would be up again soon - and that more would be on their way.

Together, they worked to free the woman from the chair, each lending a shoulder for her to lean upon.

“Th-thank you,” she gasped out, sinking her weight against her rescuers like it was a deflation of relief. “Sorry to drag y’all..” she coughed and spluttered out a mouthful of blood between her words. “I’m so sorry,” she spoke as she was dragged out, her limp feet barely able to keep up with the march of the doctor and the captain.

“She going to be okay?” asked Naryxa, glancing sidelong to Satka.

“If we get back to the ship as soon possible then she will be,” The Drell doctor said as he did his best to hold up his side of the injured woman. “I’d suspect internal bleeding, if we’re not careful she could fall into shock. No telling how long she’d be in this state.”

Satka watched as the human went more limp, likely on the verge of passing out. He didn’t spot any gunshot or knife wounds, likely the poor woman had undergone some severe beatings at the hand of those thugs. Time was of the essence here. The sooner they got her back to the ship and to his new medical bay the sooner he’d be able to properly diagnose her then patch her up. Hopefully they didn’t run into any more trouble on the way back.

Omega

________________

The underbelly of Omega was a dangerous place, that was for sure. Even the Gozu district was rife with silent trouble. Tension that sat on the edge of a knife.

In the corner of an empty apartment, sat a Batarian. His eyes narrowed as he watched closely the goings on around him. So observant was he, that he noticed almost immediately the presence of an Asari and Drell making their way through the darker streets. He hadn’t seen them before. They seemed peaceful enough, and he assumed that they were merely tourists. A couple perhaps, just leaving one of the many seedy nightclubs; seeking a darkened corner.

A grimace tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He thought about it so much that he almost missed the Vorcha who was skulking through. Skulking in the vicinity of a Turian. The grimace curled up to a smirk as the thought of a fight danced through his mind. It had been such a quiet morning; only an interrogation by the warehouse that he had missed out on participating in. He clenched a fist and kept a close eye on the pair…

The flickering neon light of the food bar illuminated the tattoo across his neck. A bright blue sun…

___

"I'd say we should try to keep a low profile, but I'd wager there aren't many on Omega who look quite like you." Sabinus said to his peculiar vorcha companion as they patrolled the district, his voice coming through his helmet voice modulator clearly, although the dark tinted visor concealed his face.

If the turian was put off by the vorcha's unusual appearance, he didn’t show it, although not from a lack of effort; Iryk was unlike any vorcha Sabinus had ever come across, and he had seen a plethora of different mutations of vorcha over his years. They were a remarkable species, if you could get past the dagger like teeth that seemed to be the one persistent feature across the species. Still, one of life's harder lessons was simple; appearances didn't tell the whole story. For all Sabinus knew, Iryk was a lover of Elcor poetry and a scholar of asari social hierarchy, and his frightening visage was likely the result of being forced into slave labour on some hellish rock somewhere, a fate all too common for the vorcha. 

Sabinus' mandibles flexed discontentedly; their current assignment really resonated with the same song and dance as what the vorcha and countless millions other suffered through every day. You can't save them all, but it didn't mean you stopped trying. Turians were no strangers to impossible odds, they just approached them like any other assignment and gave it their all. Right now, the assignment was a single civilian deep within the bowels of one of the most powerful and ruthless gangs in the Terminus System, and Sabinus was one former cop up against a small army if things went bad.

Business as usual, then.

"Iryk, was it?" He asked. "What's your assessment of our situation?" He asked.

The Vorcha turned his head momentarily after hearing the Turian speak,to confirm that it was indeed his companion who had made it, before turning his gaze back to the scene before him; he had not focused much on anything beyond the job at hand and as such was quiet, but now that there was something on that particular subject he went to speak. But only after slowly and deliberately running his tongue across the teeth far too large for his mouth.

“If the enemy is soft - Human, Asari, Turian, Batarian - we kill them, easy. If the enemy is hard - Krogan, biotic, machine - they kill us, hard. Though he vocalized it with the typical syntax of his kind this was more or less his analysis in entirety. They wouldn’t know what their chances were or how to deal with the foe until they had more information. The enemy had the advantage of numbers but the Vorcha knew himself to be fairly experienced, a Vorcha, and a biotic one at that, whilst the Turian and the rest of the company looked no less capable especially when combined with at least somewhat of an element of surprise on their side. However surprise could only help so much when you went up against a Krogan or some robot that would shrug off your first thermal clip. 

“Quite the optimist.” Sabinus replied dryly, albeit with a small tinge of amusement. “Although I would venture to place asari and biotics in the same category. Don’t worry about individual targets, whatever it may be. I’m confident we can take whatever comes our way, we just need to be smart about positioning and not letting ourselves get pincered or overrun if things go that way… always plan for your next move or safe avenues of retreat. How do you usually handle skirmishes?” the turian asked.

A feint gurgle emanated from the Vorcha as the Turian replied, the alien shaking his head. “No, no. Many Asari weak, no training, biotics weak like nothing. Smart doesn’t save from twelve Krogan in blood-rage.” The Vorcha stopped contemplatively licking his teeth once more, before continuing. “Me? Fast, maybe live. But Krogan faster than Turian. Turian legs wrong, body wrong. Best hope is grenades they don’t expect.” With that the Vorcha looked down about his person and having found none said as much. “Have no grenade.”

Behind the pair, the same Batarian now stalked. Remaining in shadow, watchful eyes on them. A message through a comms system gave a simple command to his backup. A sniper on a rooftop, a gunman in another building. 

They could take them. His thin lips formed a smirk as he encroached upon them step by step, listening in where he could. Not many civilians around now to get unfortunately caught in the crossfire. 

The Batarian moved faster behind them, ducking behind structures, aware of the Turian and the Vorcha, but also of his own men. He was suspicious of the direction they were travelling; clearly tailing the Asari and the Drell. 

In an instant, he moved with a flutter to appear at their side, his hand firmly on his weapon and he knew that his snipers scope was trained on the Vorcha.

“Nice day for a walk,” he chuckled dryly. “Where do you think you’re both going?” He asked threateningly. 

The Vorcha turned his head and while he couldn’t be sure, the voice of the stranger made the black beast confident he knew exactly what was before him and thus he wasted no time — he just hoped that the Turian would be fast enough to catch on. With a snarl he dove on the Batarian, his viperfish-like teeth aimed at his throat whilst his talons were aimed at his guts. Iryk hoped to bowl over his counterpart such that if this little bastard had any mates about they wouldn’t get an easy shot on him. 

Sabinus spun, Argus at the ready to engage the voice behind him. Before he could readily identify the threat, Iryk was upon the batarian clad in the distinctive Blue Suns armour, a ferocious void that threatened to consume the object of its ire.

The turian was glad he wasn’t it.

Seeing that situation well in hand, Sabinus began to scan the streets, rooftops, and balconies for other present hostiles, sweeping his weapon in anticipation of a firefight. A shot rang out, striking Sabinus center mass, his kinetic barriers absorbing the impact; his HUD flashed 45% in the corner. An evocative and rather painful memory flashed through his mind as he recalled the sniper round piercing through his lung as he escorted the Lammonds to safety all those years ago.

Collecting himself in what was only a few moments, his HUD picked up the marksman and tagged him as hostile, the computer wizardry that he couldn’t begin to explain triangulating the position of the sharpshooter faster than any organic could react and his weapon was on target. The weapon kicked into his shoulder as the burst fire kicked rounds at the target, chunks of the building kicking up at the impact point. The target ducked low and Sabinus aimed his omnitool towards the target, a concussive shot launching as the tool produced the projectile and detecting an obstacle in the way, curved above and down onto the sniper, the force driving the shooter down into the roof. 

“We need to get off the streets, Iryk!” he called, keeping an eye on his shielding as it began to regenerate and the omnitool prepared itself for its next process.

As the sniper dove through a broken vent, he could feel his own adrenaline kick in. These enemies were no ordinary mercenaries. They were different, they were an actual challenge. He smirked as the vent dropped him out on a balcony over. He slumped down against the railing, winded. A rictus grin appeared from behind his visor as he gasped at the air - the biting pain from the impact pinning him down still. He had just enough in him to bring in another. With a push of a button, the signal was released...

---

The Batarian felt the heat of the Vorcha’s rage, and he steadied himself to push back against the vermin's assault. It wasn’t quite enough. He realised when the teeth lashed at his throat that he’d bitten off more than he could chew with the Turian and the Vorcha, and the Vorcha was about to find out the same thing of the Batarian - only far more literally. He managed to at least send a spray of bullets into the air. They violently sliced through another flashing sign that was hovering about them, hanging practically by a thread.

Soon enough, debris fell from the roof of that very same building, coming down in chunks like rain around him as he struggled against the Vorcha. “You won’t make it out,” he gurgled, before he noticed that the sign was about to…. snap. With the last of his strength he gripped at the beast, hoping to crush the damn thing too.

Iryk gnawed on the throat of his enemy, giggling in a voice far higher pitched than something that looked as he did had any right of possessing. His fingers rooted around in the depths of the Batarian, making sure to twist and turn as much as possible in the hopes of provoking more pain upon the alien he lay upon. 

Though a concept of martial honour had never really been instilled in the Vorcha he had to appreciate just how well the Batarian was taking his death. He put up resistance and he did not cry out in pain as many other victims of the black aberration had. Swallowing his mouthful of Batarian throat Iryk though that perhaps this was simply because he hadn’t noticed taking so much out of the bastard before him that he couldn’t make a sound. Alas this theory was very quickly proven false when the Batarian managed some sort of taunt. The truth was that Iryk did not exactly figure out what it meant despite elements of rubble falling on him, and some of his face curled back in confusion. But as the Batarian clutched tightly realization slowly dawned and his mind worked fast. 

The Vorcha was a biotic but he doubted very much he could properly stop the sign that was going to fall from squashing him with this power. At the same time the Batarian was hardy and he was making sure that he would live long enough for his death throes to  lead to the demise of Iryk. 

Ah, but that was it, he was thinking in the wrong order: he had to use his biotics to finish the Batarian and then skitter away as fast as he could. Though this wasn’t the best place for it, he mustered all that he could in his ability to throw with his biotics to make the Batarian release him. The Vorcha’s body moved in concert with this, muscles from haunch to foot and shoulder to finger trying to push as hard as possible off of the ground and away from the killzone that the flying sign would make. “Run!” he announced to the Turian. Admittedly Sabinus from a quick glimpse did not seem to be in as bad a position as Iryk was but he hear enough gunfire that - when compounded with the Batarian before him - made the Vorcha rather confident that this was a fight they should flee to resume later. 

The sign smashed into the street below, and on top of the batarian footsoldier that had unceremoniously been slain by the vorcha’s maw, kicking up dust and debris that at the very least provided visual concealment. Iryk looked like he was clear and Sabinus covered him as he made his way into a side alleyway; they likely weren’t going to escape further engagements, but at least now they could pick when and where to engage the enemy. 

When the duo had made it far enough away from the street and found a quiet spot to catch their breath and gain their bearings, the turian opened a comm line to Naryxa, “Naryxa, come in. This is Tannyx; Iryk and I have been engaged by Blue Suns foot soldiers. Gozu District is on alert; please advise.” he concluded, turning to his vorcha partner. 

“Typical weekday around here, I imagine. The way I see it, we have a couple choices; first, we can try and regroup with the rest of the team, safety in numbers and all of that, or you and I can stay here and cause enough havoc to draw attention away from the apartment complexes. How comfortable are you in insurgency-style skirmishes?” Sabinus asked, checking his rifle.

After a moment, Tannyx’s Omni-Tool would sound back; the Captain herself speaking clearly through the tool. “We’ve got problems of our own Tannyx. Can you hold them off?” 

 “We’ll do what we can… you owe me a drink after this.” Sabinus replied.

No sooner had the message come through, two more mercenaries rounded separate corners and came upon the Turian and the Vorcha, wasting no time in firing off a round of shots towards Iryk. Then, from above, an angry looking human leapt down from a balcony, shielded with biotic energy. “Never should have come here!” he growled out, lifting up a crate with his biotics, hurtling it towards the Turian.

“Shit!” Sabinus yelled out, having just enough time to activate his armour’s fortification, which at least saved his shields from failing as the crate smashed into him, knocking him off his feet and despite his armour and shield integrity holding, it still rattled his senses and hurt like a bitch. 

He could taste the irony tinge of blood in his mouth and he made a note to apply some medigel if he survived this. The turian clenched his fist and he felt the injection of adrenaline stored in his suit flood his system; it wasn’t the first biotic he’d fought with. Springing up with far more agility and determination than he or most anyone would have been able to muster, the turian turned towards the shimmering purple bastard and let loose several bursts from his rifle, the rounds smashing into the biotic’s barriers. He didn’t stop his advance on the enemy, maintaining an overwhelming amount of firepower that brought down the biotic’s barriers and the last few rounds before the clip was spent finally breaking through the biotic’s defenses and piercing into the man’s armour, who grunted in pain as he returned fire with his machine pistol, most of the shots going wild and the few that did connect ineffectually being absorbed by what was left of Sabinus’ shielding. 

Pulling his pistol free from his hip, Sabinus drew and fired a single round into the biotic’s forehead, a deceptively small amount of matter flinging from the exit wound with the still formidable velocity of the projectile.

Iryk was impressed with the Turian’s quick action in dealing with the biotic, the man clearly experienced in dealing with such foes. Well, the Vorcha wouldn’t let himself be shown up by one of the soft-kinds. The enemies had shot him accurately and at many points his rough carapace had been penetrated to draw viscous blood. It hurt of course, but a lot of things had hurt far more in both quantity and degree. With a roar he charged at the figure on all fours, momentarily covering his approach with his flamer. 

More bullet rang out at him a few coming dangerously close to his brain chipping off spikes from his head, but these would regenerate soon enough. For now he was happy to simply pounce on the foe, driving an elbow spike into the brain of the enemy. Through the eye. “Turian good?” he cried out to the Turian, standing up and brushing himself off to achieve the less rigorous definition of cleanliness amongst his people.

"Turian good." Sabinus agreed, popping out behind cover to squeeze off a couple kore shots.

Amidst the ringing chaos of the last of the battle, another voice chimed through the omni-tools of both Iryk and Sabinus; the engineer. “Hey, uh, forward team? Captain’s team making contact with the target shortly. I also discovered a Suns’ weapons cache near your location. If you’d like to, I don’t know, loot it, blow it up, or eat the guys inside or something… go ham. Take pictures? Unless it’s the third. Anyways, sending coordinates.”

Sabinus shook his head, smiling despite his current situation. Shy, he recalled from their brief meeting. "As fun of an idea as that might be, it's best not to tempt fate; our hands are full with our already modest number of Suns between the two of us."

As promised, a ringing sound echoed as the coordinates landed to them. Not too long after, Naryxa played through the comms too. “Got the target. Bad shape, get back to the ship.”

"Copy. We're en route." Sabinus replied, pulling Iryk off of his lastest victim. "Time to exfil, pal."

On Board the Caelestis,
Omega

Captain’s Quarters

It had been a solid hour since the group had returned from their mission; it had only been a slight success. The captive woman, whose name had turned out to be Rebekkah, had left her place of torture missing three fingers, half an ear - but with her life. Their doctor, Satka, had done all that he could until the woman was escorted away by Lauren and the other gentleman - leaving a substantial transfer of credits to Naryxa for the promise of her silence.

Had it been worth it?

The Asari sighed as she tapped her fingers across her omni-tool to share the credits equally amongst the rescue team. She left none for herself, she didn’t deserve the reward for the danger that they’d come into.

It had been Sabinus who had debriefed her on the firefight he and Iryk had been part of, and a knot formed in her stomach as she thought of all the ways that the whole situation could have gone wrong. She’d only just met her new squad and she’d led them into the Heart of Evil. She groaned, rolling her shoulder forwards as she felt a dull ache in there. She had found herself charging square into a door frame on the escape out, working so hard to balance Rebekkah, and keep Satka safe, she hadn’t been watching for herself.

Hopefully the mercenaries would appreciate the clink of cold cash in their accounts for the trouble and that would be it.

“Get me off this station,” she sighed before pulling her jacket back around her torso to step out onto the bridge once more. It was time to reveal why they were all here.

---

Once more upon the bridge, the new faces gathered around. This time, the Pilot looked more alive than he had been earlier in the day. Coffee and sandwiches had restored the colour to his palid features.

Not one to mince his words by any means, he took the opportunity to speak first, raising a brow at the Drell. “Ye look like shit son,” he scoffed - there was very little malice in the meaning, just a poor attempt to warm the crowd. A sharp look from Naryxa had him back down quickly enough.

“It’s been a long afternoon. Thank you, for those of you who accompanied me -- you’ll have received a payment now,” she explained, her height imposing as she stood upon the steps of the bridge in a powerful stance fit only for a captain.

“That was only part of the job, and if each of you are as loyal, smart, and sharp as you were today - I have hope for the weeks ahead, and for the success of the true mission.”

“We’re to travel to the Exodus Cluster, specifically to the Asgard System. A friend of a friend of a friend of mine shared a distress signal with me exactly one week ago.” She held up her omni-tool, and moved quickly through the configurations to find draw up the file. “Alright, this is it.”



Naryxa left it all to sink in for a moment, before flicking another button that would have the transmission sent to them individually, if they wanted to spend some time with the message in a quieter area. She assumed that Delilah would want to play with the file itself; she would likely have the skills to alter the sounds and uncover anything else.

“We’re going to help these people next,” Naryxa stated with a small smile. “These kinds of transmissions are rare, we’re probably looking at a transport cruiser. But you heard her,” her cold gaze found the Vorcha; “there’s a cache on the ship that’s valuable enough to talk about it’s safekeeping.”

As she began down the steps, she nodded. “It won’t be easy, and this is your opportunity before we leave to make your decision. This could be dangerous, so if you’re not up to it, there are no hard feelings. But we leave for Exodus in an hour, so make up your minds.”