Approaching the Citadel for the first time was a sight to behold. The massive station emerged from the nebula like a ghost ship out of a storm in stories of old, flanked by angular-looking Turian warships and the eyesore that was the Destiny Ascension. It was almost as stunning as being not only considered, but actually asked to join a Council-backed, but officially nonexistent black ops squad. Spectres lite! The customs officer didn’t want to believe it either - the ‘official’ version she was given to get on the station that is - when the two weapons and a full suit of armor in one of her bags set off enough alarm bells to make even the salty old Turian captain raise an eyebrow. That was the last entertaining thing to happen for the next two hours the commute to the correct Ward and district took her. And she thought the cities on Illium were big.

Unfortunately, while they were told which district they were supposed to meet in, the precise location hadn't been revealed yet, leaving her to wander the district for an hour. At least it gave her time to look around and make up for the abysmal food served on the way here. Lantea was a bit surprised by the amount of Salarian and Asari C-Sec officers throughout the district compared to the docks and Presidium, but in a way it made sense. Humans could complain about too many Turian officers in what is effectively a majority Human area, and Batarians would definitely whine about Human officers. Exactly why anyone still cared what Batarians thought was unknown to her, but apparently she was ‘...a judgemental simpleton... ’ as some old bag on the ship told her when conversation turned in that direction. She was halfway through her box of takeout noodles when she received a message from the contact she got along with the directions she’d been following thus far, finally pointing her to a specific place. Livilla Towers. It sounded almost Asari. It was also about half an hour away at a brisk pace.

And a minute in an elevator. But at last, the Asari stood in front of an ordinary door, retrieving her Stiletto from the gear bag before using the authentication code provided to her to enter. ”Hey-ho? Anyone here?” Silence. ”Apparently not.” she muttered, opened the closest door and threw both her bags on the bed closest to the window before holstering the pistol and sitting down beside a window in the main room to finish her meal and enjoy the view outside. Not bad as far as bases go. Couldn’t hold a candle to the refurbished patrol corvette they had with the old company, but miles ahead of a prefab with a shaky AC.

Only questions that remained concerned the mission and the rest of the team: How many? Who were they? Who was going to be in command? She looked back to the door. And where were they? She brought up her Omni-tool again, going over every word of the latest message just in case she misread something. That would be some first - and last - day at work.

The Batia district flew past Arty's windshield as he navigated the frantic traffic of the citadel. His skycar thrummed powerfully with each turn of the throttle and hissed gently at each press of the brakes. By now, Arty was used to hectic inner workings of the massive space station. Hell, he'd even been in Batia district before. Plenty of those who wish not to be seen try to disappear into Batia's nooks and crannies. He took a hard turn and broke off from the main traffic stream, occasionally glancing at his navigational system. It seemed the nearest rapid transit station was just a few blocks away. No word on the actual location of the safehouse. Arty supposed he would do some exploring after all. The shuttle came in fast and Arty pulled up just in the nick of time, frightening a few volus pedestrians.

He stepped out of the shuttle and popped the trunk, retrieving his rather bulky duffel bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Arty glanced around the street. Boarded up windows, broken liquor bottles, and suspicious glares. Down the street, Arty saw a few clearly renovated buildings with workers and armed security. It seemed the upper class was taking an interest in Batia. He wondered how many people were now homeless due to that little project. Arty's communicator gave a cheerful chirp. He dug it out of his pocket and saw that the safe house was some distance north at a place called Livilla Towers. Arty snorted to himself.

"Livilla Towers, huh? Wonder what spineless corporate sop came up with that name..." he muttered to himself. He turned on his heel and began to follow the directions towards the safehouse. The rest of the district was much like he expected. Poverty concentrated into a lethal form. Didn't matter who or what you were. If you were from here, you were being molded by an urban sprawl of drugs and guns. Arty pondered silently as he walked, keeping one eye on the GPS and the other on the environment around him.

Then a batarian stepped out from an alleyway. Then two more flanked the first. Arty audibly sighed. Of course nothing could have been as easy as just walking to work.

"Alright, lads?" asked Arty in the friendliest manner he could muster. He wasn't overly fond of batarians. Bad experiences while he was still with the alliance navy. He tried to not let those experiences define all batarians. However, this trio seemed to be falling right into his expectations.

"This is Quad Eyes territory, human. You don't belong. Normally, we'd gut you like a fish and leave you flopping in the street. But I'm feeling generous today. How about you leave that bag with us, as well as any valuables, and you can pass. Seems like a small price to pay for your life." sneered the lead batarian. Arty rolled his eyes. He really didn't feel like getting into a fight right now. Which was odd for him.

"Listen, I'm just trying to get to work. This doesn't need to be a fight." Arty said. The batarians chuckled sardonically in response. The lead thug pointed a pistol at Arty.

"Oh, it won't be much of a fight. Last chance, human. Hand your shit over before this gets ugly." the batarian snarled. Arty put his hands up. "Alright, mate, you got me." he said casually, tossing the bag in front of him. The lead batarian gestured to his partners, still keeping his pistol trained on Arty. The other two rushed forward, staring greedily at the bag. It was then Arty realized that the other two weren't armed. They only had one pistol between the three of them. It would have been funny if it wasn't so pathetic.

Arty felt his power swell up in his chest. The strength that only biotics made him feel. He stared down the armed batarian. Waiting. Waiting. When he glanced at the bag, Arty knew he had him. In an instant, Arty pushed off powerfully in an explosion of blue energy. His surroundings blurred around him but the batarian was crystal clear. Arty made a fist and slammed it into the thug's gut. The force of the blow sent the batarian flying back a half dozen feet, crashing hard into the pavement. There was a pause and then a soft groan came up from the batarian. Good, at least he wasn't dead. Arty glanced back at the other two and bit back a chuckle as he saw them frozen in fear.

"You should get moving. He's gonna need a hospital." Arty stated matter of factly, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder towards the groaning thug. The two traded a quick glanced and then scurried past Arty, awkwardly dragging their friend away as they did so. Arty went and picked up his bag and pulled out his GPS again. He was almost there.



Arty punched in the provided code and the door slid open with a soft hiss. He stepped inside and peered around the apartment. He had been hoping for something a little more high tech but he supposed it didn't matter all that much. He took a few steps inside and placed his bags next to a sofa. He glanced a purple asari sitting by the window. One of his teammates, presumably.

"Ah, hello! Good to know I won't be alone here. Arthur Dow, a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Arty." he greeted cheerfully, crossing the main room and offering a hand.

@Starlance

"Watch where you're driving bosh'tet!" Key cursed as she weaved her way through Citadel traffic. A heavy bass pulsed through her rented skycar as she made her way through the lanes. It had proven a useful purchase, even if the arrogant turian had turned his nose up at her the entire time, and gave her ludicrous charges to even rent the stupid thing for a few days. She had arrived at the Citadel earlier in the week, determined to explore the station. It really was as pretty as people claimed it was, and she had enjoyed the few days she had had in it. Even if people kept giving her side looks and snide comments. She ignored them, as much from experience as to whose side the authorities would take as a desire to explore as much of the Citadel as she could before they sent her out on the mission. Whatever the mission really was. They had been cagey about it beyond: 'ultratop secret, must be completed at all costs, you'll have nearly free reign.' Which told Key nearly nothing, but the credits they were promising were still good and that's all that mattered. She glanced at the clock as she made another turn, cursing as her fingers tapped along to the beat of the song.

She was going to be late, she was going to be so late. It wasn't her fault, not really! If they wanted her to be on time they shouldn't have been so secretive about where the damn base was. Then she wouldn't have been so far away from the Livilla towers when the message finally came through. That was as stupid name anyway, especially since the area was populated by batarians, krogans, humans and not asari. It had better be roomy. She had enough experiences of being crammed in a too small area with too many people to last her a lifetime and she wasn't eager to add to that experience at all. She'd deal with it if that was the case, of course, but she wouldn't be happy about it.

Another fast turn and she was at the drop off point for the Bachjret ward. She exited her sky car and grabbed her bags before typing in the code to activate the VI that would drive the car back to the dealership. As much as she wanted to leave a spiteful mess for the turian to clean up, she didn't. The bastard still had her on the hook for more credits if he even so much as found a wrapper in it. So it was spotless, but not because she wanted it to be.

She hurried her way through the ward, not stopping to look around. She would have much preferred to know the area they were going to be based out of before arriving there, but how was she supposed to know that the Council was going to cheap out on them and put them in the poorest area that they could find? It was ridiculous. She followed the instructions on her omni-tool, glancing curiously over at the sight of a batarian being put into the back of an ambulance. Someone had evidently lost a fight. None of her business, and she kept moving towards the towers. Her directions lead her to the towers, and she entered the main foyer and headed straight towards the elevator. She was stopped before she could reach the doors by a human man with a fake smile. "Hello! Welcome to Livilla Towers! I think you might be lost. Can I point you in the correct direction?"

Key sighed, trying to sidestep the man. "I've got a keycode. For an upper room." He stepped in front of her again, his smile unwavering. "Can I see that then? We take the security of our residents very seriously." Key stopped again, biting her tongue. She didn't want to cause any problems for the Council before she had even seen the door. Slowly, she pulled up the keycode message on her omni-tool. "There. Upper floor apartment." The words were spoken through gritted teeth. The man typed the code into his datapad, and his smile finally slipped and was replaced with a look of confusion. "Well that can't be right. We-" At his dismissive, arrogant, tone Key finally snapped.

"It's right you stupid motherfucker! Get the fuck out of my way or I'll move you!" She shoved past him, heading for the elevator. The man sputtered as he stumbled backwards, yelling out at her, "Stop! You can't do that! I'm calling C-Sec!" As she entered the elevator and smashed the correct floor number she snarled back, "Call them! See if they give a fuck!" Right before the doors closed, she gave one last parting remark.

"Bitch!"

Getting to the apartment was much easier, even if she was still fuming as the elevator doors opened. She stormed towards the apartment doors and punched the keycode in, storming through the door. There was a purple asari already on the couch and a human getting to know each other. Unless she was wrong, those would be her teammates. She was in no mood for niceties. "Call me Key! I'm the pilot and driver! Fuck that guy at the desk!" She quickly found the bedroom that was unoccupied and threw her gear and bags down before throwing herself down on the couch. She pulled a hand puzzle from her pockets and began fiddling with it, using the familiar motions to calm herself down. After a few moments of angry silence she spoke to the others. "Small apartment for seven people. I'm not sharing a bed. Had enough of that in the Fleet." She glanced at the two of them, hands still moving quickly with the puzzle. "Well, we've already established who I am and what I do. Who're you two and why'd they bring you aboard?"

Here he is, in the beating heart of Citadel space, the Citadel itself. A place Osum would have never thought he would ever come to. A place he doubts many Vorcha have been, as well as he watched what he could from the comfort of his sky taxis. Taking in what he could as the driver effortlessly navigated to what seemed to Osum to be a chaotic swarm of skycars, There was no way he could navigate this traffic on his own, especially on his first visit to the Citadel. He remembers when Teryda spoke about the Citadel and how much of a marvel it is. That fits that bill, and Omega does not hold a candle to this place. Not even close, and he thought Omega was big. Osum let out a short chuckle, and the only reason he is here is for a Council sanction black ops mission that deals with a rogue Spectre. Funny what kind of situations brings people to wonderful locations.

Then Osum reached the right ward and district. His sky taxis touching down, and Osum paid the driver and collected his bags from the trunk. He watched as the taxis left and joined the swarm of skycars above. Now Osum would have taken the time to sightsee and get a look around. But, he was here for a reason and the fact that since he was a vorcha. It means that Osum sticks out like a really sore thumb, and most races would probably be wondering why a vorcha is hanging around. Though he has noticed that humans, for the most part, do not really know of his kind so to them, he would just be an exotic alien they have not seen before. This means for Osum that they will not be so judgmental when seeing him. However, this just reinforces the fact he will stick out and will not be able to blend in. Osum sighed at what he expects to have eyes on him and started to make his way into the district. Waiting for when he will get instructions where this safehouse actually is.

It took about half an hour of wandering before getting a message about where the safehouse was. A place called Livilla Towers and based on where he was. Osum just happened to be close, just ten minutes away. So Osum started to make his way there and like he thought. People were eyeballing him, mainly the humans who, from what he could hear. The one reason he likes Omega more than the Citadel. He can blend in on Omega, and here not so much. At least Osum knows that the humans will not bother him, really. Unless a more knowledgeable alien spills the beans and tells them about his people, they are wrong about him, of course, seeing how he is not the average vorcha but that getting people to believe that... might be hard.

Finally, Osum found Livilla Towers, and despite some initial resistance from some human security guards. More wondering what the heck he was than anything. Osum got into the elevator, and after a short ride. He punched in the code once he was at the door of the safehouse and quickly discovered that he was not alone. Three others were already there, his new teammates. An asari, a human, and a quarian. Now Osum wonders how they will react to having a vorcha on their team, let alone a medic. Well, time to find out, and after placing his bags next to the door of one of the rooms. Osum spoke up, sounding friendly as he walks to meet his new team. "Hey, I am Osum, and nice to meet you all."

"Get up," the asari urged her for the third time, with an even more forceful shake of her hookup's shoulder.

The young human, her beauty only slightly marred by the open mouth and trickle of drool upon the chic pillowcase, stirred feebly at the imagined assault on her sleeping form. Her eyelids only rose, with great reluctance, at the implicit tingle of biotics that made her hairs stand on end and roused her to wakefulness. Her eyes rolled back into her head sleepily for a moment, with a yawning "Huh?" as she sat up and rolled her shoulders. Her black hair fell into her face, and when she lowered her arms she parted it over her forehead with a sleepy grin at the owner of the apartment she'd shacked up in for the night.

"Ahh, hey," she yawned again, craning her chin up and her neck back until she heard a pop. "Breakfast already?"

"You need to go," her one-night stand said forcefully, the telltale blue aura of a biotic wave slowly dissipating around her right wrist. "Now. My bondmate is getting off work in an hour, and she is never, ever going to know you were here."

"...Oh," the human mumbled, reaching over her shoulder and scratching her cocoa-colored neck half-heartedly. "You're really shouty this morning, huh. Do asari feel bad dreams worse than we do or something?"

"I didn't sleep at all. I was up half the night listening to you playing Galaxy of Fantasy next to me in bed. On a work computer, by the way, all that traffic goes back to the asari embassy. So thank you for that headache this morning."

"Okay, alright, I get it..." Lorena Aaliyah Negasi grumbled, standing up and scanning the floor of the apartment for her clothes. Through the window that stretched along the length of the bedroom wall, she could see the hustle of Citadel traffic; something in her tired mind sent off an alarm, warning her that she had, indeed, made her commute to her new assignment that much harder on herself. Her plan had been to pull an all-nighter and leave a few hours early, after some drinks and some fun at a club here in Tayseri Ward. Tayseri was an asari-dominated arm of the Citadel where drinks and fun seemed to come cheaply. But asari were much nicer at night, when they were looking to blow off some steam on humans they thought guileless, than they were when it came time for those humans to hit the road. She was learning that lesson to her chagrin now. Her punishment for drifting off in the middle of a game, she guessed. Her eyes located her outfit near where she had left her packed bags.

"Is it cool if I at least shower?" she asked, stifling another yawn as she padded over to where she had drunkenly left her clothes six hours prior. The asari's eyes followed her as she walked, which only reinforced the smug, if only semi-conscious grin on the human woman's face.

"No," the asari said firmly nonetheless, as Liyah lifted her clothes up in an artless pile under her arm and began sorting through them. "I don't want you leaving hairs in my shower, she'll figure it out the second she sees one. Volus have an eye for details like that."

"Wait, she's a lady volus?" Liyah asked curiously, pulling on her pants legs. The asari's lips - mmmm - retraced the last three words incredulously; she couldn't have looked much more shocked if Liyah had told her that her bondmate was killed in a traffic accident that morning. The human shrugged defensively as she wriggled the previous night's shirt back on, fingering the small stud in her navel just south of where her top stopped covering skin.

"I've just never seen a lady volus!" she protested. "I just didn't know they could be a thing. ...Why would she check the shower, then? How does the shower situation work around here? Actually, how does that work when you two-- "

"Get out, Lorena."

"Ahh, ehh...actually, just Liyah, I don't really like when--" she started, before the asari put hands on the small of her back and began physically guiding her towards the door. When she was in front of it, Liyah dug her heels in for just a moment and turned back. The asari had used Liyah's alabaster jacket as a buffer between her palms and actually being forced to touch the skin of the human she'd spent the night with, and when Liyah was within a boot's distance of the apartment's exit her one-time lover relinquished the jacket back into Liyah's waiting arms as though it were poison. "Okay, okay! Just really fast--you did log out of Galaxy of Fantasy before you turned the computer off, right? You're really not supposed to turn it off without logging--"

"Out." The teal fog of death had begun to congeal around the asari diplomat's arm again, and Liyah, taking her final hint, performed her walk of shame with arms raised placatingly all the way to the elevator, back to a CRT station.

---

Thankfully for Liyah, the cab ride to Bachjret Ward required little effort on her part apart from staying awake. Even if that had been a problem for her by the time the cab arrived, the view of the Citadel, even from the lens of stop-and-go traffic that she viewed it through, was more than enough to keep her transfixed. She had thought herself no stranger to the congestion and bustle of space stations, but even Tayseri Ward alone was busier than ten Arcturus Stations. And that was the seat of Alliance power!

Whenever she got too sick of looking out the window at the same skycars, she made idle chatter with her cab driver, a gruff turian who she nonetheless managed to charm out of his shell after a few minutes of earnest questioning about the volus sexuality and gender spectrum. It turned out the confusion that the idea fostered in her was galactic, not just limited to her ignorance as a human on the galactic scene. That made her feel a little better, even if afterwards she started to wonder if the turian had really been ignorant, happened to be an idiot, or was just fucking with her. She liked the idea that they were all equally stupid.

Her driver seemed skeptical that she had the district name right, and to prevent herself from looking like a hapless tourist she doubled down on the name Batia even though she had no idea if that pronunciation was anywhere close to right. Right or wrong, that's where he took her. The traffic lessened up here considerably compared to Tayseri or even Zakera Wards, although here and there Liyah could see telltale signs of the gentrification that had apparently begun to plague the latter. The inner workings of the five arms of the Citadel meant little and less to her right now, although subconsciously her brain was cataloguing the info her driver rattled off to her for future use. That was a habit she'd picked up even before her time onboard starships as a Corsair, back when she was skimming money off the top from clueless assholes in Arcturus who wouldn't miss it. It was always the smallest nuggets that gave the game away.

She found Livilla Towers in short order, and after a cheerful goodbye and generous tip to her driver - footed for her, knowingly or not, by her asari lover from the night before - she managed to breeze by the complex's security guards and into the elevator with zero fuss. Recalling the door code for the relevant apartment listed in her dossier, the human inputted the digits and walked in to find a small bustle of noise. Clearly, she had been among the last to arrive - with a little luck, not the very last. She dropped her bags at the first space that seemed unoccupied and used a boot to push them out of anyone's walking path.

"It's pretty crazy out there, huh?" she asked brightly, leaning against a wall and out of anyone's way. "Traffic from Tayseri was--oHHHH fuck."

She had turned at the rasping voice that came from the entrance of another room and jumped slightly to see a vorcha standing before them with a toothy grin. She jumped slightly; having spent the last year and change in the Terminus systems, she had encountered only a scant few of the aliens, but she had hoped each encounter would be her last. Quickly she managed to parse the use of proper pronouns and, overwhelming her immediate adrenal response, she realized this must be one of their teammates. With a little chagrin, she plopped down on the couch, kicking one leather-clad leg over the armrest of the well-worn furniture.

"Hey yourself," she grinned sheepishly. "Sorry, you're totally cool. I thought I saw a bug back on that wall, and I'm not great with bugs, so...okay, you freaked me out."

Curiosity. Excitement. Paranoia (mild).

These mixed feelings clouded the Turian’s mind as he rode in the skycar, en route to the Bachjret District. And most of the journey was spent in his own head. He rewinded the message he received and how it was addressed to his full name. Only a select few knew he was on the Citadel. After you got set up by your own father and your whole unit was sent into a death trap, trust wasn’t in high demand and him being here was on a need-to-know basis. As far as Sivus was concerned, the only person who needed to know that Sivus Veritas was on the Citadel, working as a CI for C-Sec was Sivus Veritas.

So how did this person know? How could they have known who he was?

The first thought he had was this might be a trap. He considered that to be very likely, especially since he had fallen for it before. And since that fateful day on Omega, SIvus made it a personal mission of his to recognize the signs. But with this message, which he kept repeating in his head, didn’t indicate anything close to it being Family Betrayal 2: Citadel Boogaloo.

And that’s why he was riding in this skycar. And why he saw the Livilla Towers come into view.

Sivus decided the best way to find answers was to see what this was all about. If this was truly the day he was going to die, then it’s a good thing he wore his best armor and brought his pistol and assault rifle that had saved his ass more times than he can count on his hands.

“And we’re here, Tur-Clan.”

Sivus stared up at Kav-Esh, a volus. It was strange for him to see a volus be a skycar driver, but it wasn’t the strangest occurrence in his life. “Right on, uh --Kav-Esh, was it?”

Kav-Esh’s sigh of annoyance was echoed due to his suit and helm. “Correct, Tur-Clan.”

As a moment and a half of silence passed, Sivus scratched the back of his head until he decided to give his patient driver a tip almost twice what the meter said. It only seemed right since he was obviously rude to him. And he didn’t want word getting around that the new Turian on the block was cheap.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t new. He’s been to the Batia District a few times. Some Batarians knew him because his CI work frequently forced him into unsavory company, but he didn’t need to worry about running into them by the tower. It wasn’t like the Batarians he helped put away were getting released anytime soon. Right?

Right!

Sivus made his way through the entrance to the towers and, after a brief exchange with the man at the desk, a few moments spent in the elevator paled in comparison when the moment of truth had come.

When he entered the code on the console and the apartment door slid open, which had been around the same time that he heard someone shriek -- a human female’s voice by the sound of it -- screech worse than a Krogan battlecry (yes those are unpleasantly tolerable at most), Sivus just knew this was going to be fun.

“Guess the party’s in here,” Sivus noted with a smirk.

He gave the room a once-over. Between the Quarian, a bearded human, an attractive human female, and an Asari, he figured it was the unexpected delight in the Vorcha that seemed to be the source of that scream.

“Man just when I think I’ve seen it all.” He let his eyes scan the room and he felt an underwhelming feeling pass through his body. “Tiny place and a lot of people.” When he set his bags down, he cracked into a chuckle. “Name’s SIvus Ritas, by the way. I’m what you call a lifesaver. Need someone to break into a warehouse without being noticed? I’m your guy. Need someone to shoot pirates and other scummy criminals? I’m your guy. Need someone to get you so blacked-out drunk you can’t even remember where you are? Meet me at Haven and you’ll experience a good time that you never thought was possible.”

And the answers were starting to come. ”Ah, hi there. Finally someone, I was starting to worry I had the wrong address or something.” she swung her feet off the windowsill and got up to give Arthur’s hand a firm shake with a friendly smile, ”Lantea T’Keli. Room over there is free, grab the best bed before more people show up.” she gestured toward the second bedroom door with her left hand just as Key entered the apartment. ”Aaaaand here’s another, like- Wait, Bucket? What are you-?” she paused, realizing her mistake and turning back to Arthur, ”Nevermind, different Quarian with a green rag. But what she said, what’s your shtick? Not regular military or cop, they don’t let those grow big, beautiful beards like that. Does your helmet even seal properly?” she continued with a smile as she flicked her wrist surrounded by a blue glow, hurling the empty noodle box into the trash bin on her way to the couch.

She sprang right back to her feet no more than a few seconds after she sat down, her hand stopping just short of drawing her Stiletto when she realized the Vorcha introduced himself politely and without drooling. ”Son of a bitch, the legends were true. There are Vorcha with more than two brain cells bouncing around the inside of their skull, picture that.” the Asari grinned as she sat back down, postponing any further introductions until more people arrived.

The sight of Sivus, on the other hand, was a very welcome one. If her previous experiences were anything to go by, a Turian might bring some order and discipline into the group, an important thing to have when setting up a new team. His drinking comment made Lantea chuckle. ”If I had ten credits for every time I heard that, I’d be retiring by now. I’m Lantea, I guess I’m here to take fire so the lot of you don’t have to.” she got up to shake Sivus’ and Liyah’s hands, leaning closer to the latter with a subtle nod toward Osum, ”Don’t worry about that, they’re short-lived, it’ll be gone in a decade or so.” she whispered.

Arty let go of the asari's hand and turned abruptly as the green-clothed quarian stormed in bitching about the service downstairs. He watched her as she plopped down irritably on the couch and demanded to know he was. He had no trouble believing management had gave her a hard time. He had never really spoken with a quarian before but he was well aware of the discrimination they faced across the galaxy. "Well you're a right fire cracker, aren't ya?" he asked with a smirk. "That's good, we might need some of that. Name's Arthur Dow, my friends call me Arty."

He nodded to the newcomers as they trickled in. Arty glanced at Lantea as she turned to speak to him.”Nevermind, different Quarian with a green rag. But what she said, what’s your shtick? Not regular military or cop, they don’t let those grow big, beautiful beards like that. Does your helmet even seal properly?”

Arty stroked his curly beard, nodding his appreciation of her compliment. Then he snorted at her last question. "I did a stint with the navy and you're right, I had to be as clean shaven as the day I was born. It was bloody dreadful. I work the private sector now. I have a talent for spotting things and getting information out of people. As for my abilites.." he trailed off and held up his hand, willing a blue wisp into existence and danced it around his fingers.

"I'm a biotic, like yourself. Though less making people levitate from a distance and more launching them into the ceiling. Up close and personal." he said, curling his fingers into a fist that pulsated with blue energy. He let the energy fade away and turned to greet the newcomers. "Oh and I don't wear a helmet. The only place I'd need it is the void of space. And I don't make a habit of taking orbital walks." Arty chirped cheekily over his shoulder. He approached the only other human in the room first and introduced himself in a quick but friendly manner. She seemed nice enough, though if she was here Arty knew that meant she was incredibly dangerous. And jumpy, it turned out, as she reacted quite dramatically to the vorcha that had just walked into the room.

Not that Arty could blame her. The only vorcha he had encountered were blood pack and they were never thrilled to see him. He seemed friendly though. What an odd crew so far. Finally, Arty turned to the Turian, Sivus. He listened to the turian's introduction and grinned."Very succinctly put, mate. I get the feeling we'll get along just dandy. Arthur Dow, a pleasure." Arty said suavely as they shook hands.

@Starlance@metanoia@DrRtron

”And here’s the last one, good morning… Heloooo?” she turned to the remaining Humans when the latest arrival disappeared in one of the rooms without a word, pointing at the room in question. ”Manners not a thing on Earth? We only export those to select colonies?”

As the briefing commenced, Lantea opened a blank text file on her omni-tool to take notes. Then closed it still blank when the highly simplistic briefing ended. She would’ve liked more information. A lot more. A breakdown of the floorplan, assigned roles and order in the stack, method of approach… Fortunately, there was some familiarity to the operation. Kidnapping people who did something stupid that pissed off her employer, who wanted said person in their possession as a result of that and stealing their things to implicate them while they were at it. Not too dissimilar to some of her previous work, perhaps shedding a bit of light on the reason for her inclusion in the task force.

With the briefing concluded and the squad leader leaving, she took off in the direction of her kit bag, already out of boots and top by the time the door closed behind her. The operation seemed… about as well organized as when their merry little band started over thirty years ago, minus delusions of grandeur and with actual funding. Lantea turned the relevant bag inside out and started getting geared up: Armor - check. The Asari donned it quickly, something she learned during countless depressurization drills. Weapons - check. Grenades - check. Not what she expected to need on this run if everything went well, but when did it ever? Best case scenario, they go in, grab Daezike’s drives, then sit around on her couch until she gets home, stuff her in a bag with the drives and go home. Worst case scenario… Anything fun happens. The omni-tool connected to the armor and she ran a diagnostic to make sure everything worked. Shields - check. Zakarth’s crib would probably be guarded anyway. Rich people always had someone watching their stuff, as did underlings important to their criminal bosses. This lizard was both of those. Tech armor - check. She was about to stop being an asset and become a problem for the rogue Spectre.

The civvie shuttle waiting on the roof wasn’t anything special, which - again, like the patrol composition on the ward - made it perfect. It fit in seamlessly among the other grocery getters, no one would pay it any attention. With every minute she spent on the Citadel, C-Sec looked more and more competent in contrast to the stories shared around the Traverse. Getting in and finding a seat, she waited for everyone to board before speaking up with a safety lecture. ”Right, in case this is your first time running with someone using tech armor:” Lantea switched on the warning lights to illustrate, ”If this comes on, that means I’m surrounded by a warp field contained between two kinetic barriers. When the lights are blue, all is well, but keep an eye out. When they start turning orange, keep away. When they go red, the outer barrier is about to fail and when that happens, don’t be within four meters of me unless there’s a full wall between us.” the lights cycled through the spectrum before going out again, her attention back on their commander. ”So how are we going in? Loud and fast? And what sort of resistance do we expect?”

Arty couldn't help but smirk at Lantea's comment about manners. The man who had barged in, Henriques, seemed very serious, very straight laced. Arty had encountered many of his sort working with C-Sec. And quite a few in the navy, now that he thought about it. Arty unzipped his duffel bag as Jorge spoke, digging through his gear while stripping his jacket and shirt off. Arty was a decently toned man with more than a few scars but the most striking visual aspect about him was his pale chest in contrast with his heavily tattooed arms. Both bursting with color. Each had a story. Some big and important, others small and cheeky. He pulled on his black long sleeve tac shirt and his breastplate over it. He was pulling his boots on by the time Jorge had finished the brief.

"Good ol' breaking and entering, eh? Don't suppose we have a warrant?" Arty chirped sarcastically as he loaded his pistol and clipped it into the holster on his chest plate. A house meant close quarters. Assuming this accountant left behind some kind of security, Arty figured his biotics would be far more effective this a pistol. Unless she had mechs. God, he hated fighting mechs. He gave himself one final once over and glanced at his team mates, flashing a grin.

"Alright lads and lasses, let's make a house call."

Arty made his way to the roof and clambered into a non-descript looking shuttle. It was inconspicuous enough but if this accountant had some kind of automated turrets, they'd be turned into swiss cheese before making it out the door. He'd seen it happen once before to a marine transport that didn't have strong enough armor. It wasn't something he wanted to experience firsthand. Arty listened to Lantea's little safety speech about how her armor had the potential to blow their faces off. Good to know. The man suddenly had doubts about being in an enclosed space with her.

”So how are we going in? Loud and fast? And what sort of resistance do we expect?”

Good questions. The briefing had been a bit sparse on information. While Arty had worked on cases with very little info before, he thought C-sec would have been a bit more in the know. Hell, this team was commissioned by the council. They gotta have all the dirty laundry on an amphibious accountant.

Key narrowed her eyes at the asari's nickname, even if it was for another quarian. 'Bucket.' How original. Key would stash that one next to 'suit-rat' and 'thief', with all the other ones that were said nearly every time someone saw her. At least the human had been original. A firecracker, whatever that was, was something she hadn't heard before. Even if he was an idiot for not wearing a helmet. What was he going to do when a bullet went through his shields? Pray his thick skull would block it? Ridiculous. But the two of them seemed capable, and that's all she really cared about. As long as they kept the heat off of her and didn't back seat drive whenever she was piloting, she'd be able to deal with them.

Any scathing words she had for the two of them, whether it be at the nickname Lantea had given or Arthur's insistence upon not wearing a helmet, disappeared when she saw the vorcha just casually walk in. Her eyes immediately started darting around in a mild panic, her body tensing and recoiling as she searched for the varren. There had to be a varren. There was always a varren when the vorcha were around. The two were like parasites that worked together. They were always around and they were always infesting whatever happened to strike their fancy. She reached for her trusty shotgun, ignoring the well spoken and articulate words coming out of the Osum's mouth. Her hand met empty air.

Where was her shotgun? She always kept it within easy reach, right on the small of her back and attached to her suit. Well, except when she was driving. Then it would be in the backseat next to her...

Shit. Fuck!

She had left the shotgun in the stupid fucking rental car! How could she have left in the stupid rental car! That conniving shit statue of a turian had his grubby little mitts all over her gun. She could just picture him smugly checking the extranet for the price he could get for it. He was gonna sell it for credits and then charger her for 'trash' in his piece of shit sky car. That was infuriating.

So caught up in her irritation that she had left her shotgun in the skycar, Key barely acknowledged the other two arrivals. An overly cheerful human and a smooth talking turian with a big ego (like the galaxy needed more of those), essentially. She hoped they would be as good as the CSEC recruiter claimed that the team would be, but given that they had hired a fucking vorcha her hopes were rapidly being dashed. Finally pulling herself together, and shifting so that she could see the vorcha out of the corner of her eye in case he called in a varren, Key spoke to the rest of the group. "I'm Key. Pilot and driver. I'm not sharing a bed with anyone and I am not sharing a room with Osum. Nothing personal." Which it wasn't, truly. She just had enough nightmares of varren that she didn't need her paranoia adding another one.

Then their commander finally came in. Not that anyone would have known when he walked in, of course. As Lantea so politely pointed out, he was an ass to just barge in without a word. Key did stand up and go grab her gear as soon as she saw him come out with his own gear. It didn't take long, and she came back out with her weapons right as he began introducing himself. Straight and too the point, he was. That was something she could appreciate at the very least. As much as she could appreciate Arthur's tattoos. They were all very well done, and aesthetically pleasing. Key snickered at some of the more tongue-in-cheek ones.

Straightforward mission then, though she was a little annoyed to find out that they were going after Saren only indirectly. Her eyes light up behind her mask as soon as she heard the word shuttle. This was an operation trying to cut the legs out from underneath a rogue Spectre. No doubt the Council had set them up with something nice. As soon as he finished she was sprinting towards the roof, yelling over her shoulder. "That's me! I've got driving under control!" She hustled up the stairs ahead of everyone, head filled with visions of sleek and fast vehicles that she could maneuver on the stop of a dime.

Her visions were shattered when she saw the shuttle. It was a basic civilian model, the Skyhawk. Which not only had a stupid name, but it was also one of the cheapest models on the market. She settled into the pilot's seat, hoping that upon further inspection she would be able to see that it was an actually good shuttle with a shitty hull to hide it's true potential. She didn't have that luck. It was a Skyhawk alright, and she hated it.

"Keelah, I thought the Council had credits? Why are we getting the cheap end of the stick here?" She complained as the team began to file into the shuttle. "I'll be able to drive her just fine, but this piece of shit won't be able to take any hits at all." She spared a glance over her shoulder as Lantea gave a warning about her tech armor. "Stay away from you while you're orange, run away when you're flashing red. Got it." She kept an ear out for Jorge's plan as she began to set up the shuttle's systems to her preferences. Piece of shit though it may be, it was her piece of shit now and she was going to be damned if she wasn't going to get the best out of it.

Liyah had spent a little too long shackled to the Alliance military to be particularly offended by brusque jerkoffs whose orders preceded them on their way through the door. The quarian seemed to be cut from the same shithead cloth, too, and she still had no idea what to make of the wrinkly, toothy new arrival - if that was what passed for exotic in the galaxy, Liyah could understand why some of the less adventurous among humanity might be happy settling down in Terra Nova or Eden Prime. The turian and the shaved meathead both seemed a little full of themselves, too, but she would be grateful for the banter at least. The asari...well, there was no chance of objectivity there. She had a legendary weakness for asari anyway, and they had a weakness for her. Like the hopeless, horny idiot she was, she winked at Lantea's reassurances about the vorcha lifespan, but that was about all the charm she was able to inject into the room before their CO stormed in.

Honestly, even he didn't really bother her. Henriques may not have been interested in making friends with anybody in the squad, but one look at him told Liyah that she wouldn't really have been too thrilled to be his friend either. Besides, if someone from the Alliance really felt like being unpleasant, they were more than capable of doing so - this barely qualified as impolite considering some of the meatheads they had watching military prisons. Freelance starship captains were even worse, all obsessed with the idea of being dashing gunslingers to the point where they were dicks to their crew for no reason and to no effect.

Liyah bounced off the couch at the end of their briefing, fully satisfied now with why she'd been drafted for this. Would it have been nice to have a break, go off chasing rogue turians at the far edges of space? Sure. But that wasn't really what she was equipped for or being compensated for at the end of the day; busting nerdy accountants and shitty books was what had sprung her out of jail in the first place, and she was more than happy to keep delivering as long as it kept her on the Citadel. Even in a shithole Ward like this, street food abounded on every corner, right?

Her main disappointment was that she wouldn't get to drive; her mouth quirked a little in disapproval as the quarian called dibs before she did, but she shrugged it off. At least there weren't any krogans or anything to crowd up the Skyhawk's backseat. In fact, she was even able to squeeze a seat next to the asari. Fuck yeah. If you have to go one day, it might as well be at the hands of a hot woman who turns you into soup in a nightmarish fusion of biotics and malfunctioning tech. Beats cancer.

Something that had been bothering her from the briefing pulled her out of her distractions.

"Well, it is the Presidium. I'd be surprised if we ran into an army of mechs, and home security systems should be a cinch to get past," she mused, "but we should expect her to have some kind of panic button on standby - if she hasn't already started mashing one. Any idiot who feels C-Sec bearing down on them can wipe files from off-site, right? Do we have a backup plan for retrieving anything if that happens?"

Well, that went better than I expected, he thought. Despite the scream from one of the humans and well the fact, the quarian will not share a room with him. He had worse introductions, really, and some of his new teammates seemed fine. Though he knows he should not take offense to it or take it personally since well how his kind is seen. But, Osum could not feel a bit of anger to the quarian and to Lantea about the comment about his race's lifespan. He does not need reminders of his short lifespan. Still, Osum figures that he can work with these people. Better than the people he has to work with out in the Terminus Systems. So that is a plus, at least.

Then without warning, did their team leader, another human finally arrived, and apparently so did starting the mission. Quickly introducing himself before briefing them on the mission. Osum quickly getting out of his way and turned his gaze to the t.v. Paid attention to the briefing and when it was over. Osum smiled as he went straight for his weapons that were in his bags, his good old M-12 Locust and Striker Pistol. These two have served him well since becoming a merc and have yet to fail him.

After getting his weapons, Osum sighed at the sight of his teammates equipping their armors. They did not really make armor that Vorcha can use he has found. As he would be wearing one if he could, but he is not meant to be on the frontline, and so he should be safe in the back. Most of the time that is true, and they are on the Citadel, so nothing major is going to be in their way, right? Osum can't imagine this accountant has that much security. Granted, he has been in one firefight here already though that was with a gang. The accountant of a Spectre might have some tricks up her sleeve.

Well, only one way to find out, and so Osum got in the back of the Skyhawk. He did not have a problem with Key driving, and she was probably a better driver than he is with navigating the mess that is traffic on this station. Sitting down, Osum spoke up, realizing that he has yet to tell them what his job is."Oh yeah, I will be the team's medic, so if anyone gets hurt, you got me to count on, and I am good with my job." Most people get confused with that part since they never expect a Vorcha to be a medical professional. Then when someone goes gets hurt, they are surprised more that he knows what he is doing. Either way, time to see how this team reacts but, more importantly, see if his medical skill will be needed on this mission.

As much as Sivus wanted answers, specifically about how Jorge, who he assumed was the person that messaged him in the first place, knew about him. He made it a habit of keeping his full identity a secret from those who wanted him dead or locked up in the worst Turian prison, because that’s the sort of pull that Tarus Veritas had within the Turian Hierarchy. Just thinking about it made him want to shoot somebody. Just thinking about the death of his squad sent an incendiary grenade-sized fire through his body.

But he had to keep a lock on that temper.

Save it for whoever got in the way of the mission. Sivus always practiced that. If nothing else, he could unleash hell on some mercs and other unsavory lots.

Sivus redirected his attention to Jorge and listened to him explain. Between some person named Zakarth Daezike and the recurring theme of urgency in every word Jorge spoke, Sivus had brief flashbacks to when he ran his own team. And maybe it was his nostalgia taking full control, but being on a team with people who appeared to know how to get the job done, he was feeling like he kinda missed this. Even though he was usually in the driver’s seat, it wasn’t a bad feeling.

Though, two things flared up a few bad memories: the mention of Saren made him visibly cringe. Anger was a common emotion he felt and nobody triggered it more like the traitor of his people. The other was when Jorge mentioned Zakarth left an emergency meeting with their client. Clearly, this wasn’t Sivus’ first rodeo and usually, that meant they had a short window before the worst-case scenario was about to rear its ugly head.

And maybe it was Sivus’ own past experience of getting too excited before a mission actually began (the briefing was like what the humans called pregaming), on his face, there was a smirk that he tried to hide. Usually, someone with his credentials shouldn’t technically show such a willingness to be excited. But hey! Sivus was flawed as all hell. And this would be his first taste of real action since he went into hiding as Sivus Ritas.

Several minutes later, as Sivus put his belongings in a spot that seemed to be unclaimed and geared up, he made his way to the roof. On their way, he saw the quarian, Key, practically brushed past the group, running ahead.

“That one sure is impatient,” Sivus commented, chuckling at Key’s eagerness.

He shrugged that off as he and the others had finally made it to the roof. He didn’t know what to expect, but a simple civilian shuttle wasn’t it.

When they all got into the shuttle, Sivus had never felt more cramped among so many...different people in his life. And that wasn’t even factoring in hearing that the Vorcha on the team was, if his ears weren’t betraying him, a medic. “You’re serious?” Sivus asked more for himself as he tried to process that shocking piece of information. His experiences with Vorcha had been up and down. He’s met a Vorcha accountant before. Of course, being on Omega, Vorcha mercs were very common, but a Vorcha Doctor/Medic? That was rich and, honestly pretty fan-fucking-tastic. Sivus was all for breaking down borders. “Orsum, you’re all right. And if I am close to dying -- should it get that bad -- I’d be really curious to see just what a Vorcha Medic can do!” He laughed from deep down.

Sivus took a look around for a few seconds before speaking, “Don’t let these good looks fool you. I’m a biotic and one of Cabal making. But I also have a great deal of experience with leading infiltration missions. Probably my greatest asset other than being totally rad.” Sivus allowed himself to grin. He believed it because it was true and he’d prove it when the time came. “So we can go in loud, or if our leader deems it so, we can go it quietly. Probably for the best if we don’t want to risk anything important getting accidentally blasted.”

Upon finishing the safety brief, Lantea noticed a few odd glances sent her way. ”It’s not on yet, I’m not that mad.” she hurried to reassure her teammates. Liyah raised a good point regarding failsafes though. ”If I remember IT classes right, deleting a file just tells the operating system that it can overwrite the disk sectors that file is saved on with a different file. Unless something else is saved in those sectors, a tech with the right software and skills can still recover whatever was on that drive. Question is whether she, or rather her tech department, know this - which I assume they would - and whether they can do it before we prevent it.” she shared her view on the problem, ”Don’t think it’s too outlandish to think she’d have a VI made for that. As for preventing it, easy enough to disconnect the drives if it’s something compact. If she's got a whole server farm in the basement, different story. We could try cutting power and hauling ass to get there before backups kick in. Unless she spent a few hundred credits and got herself a UPS.” the Asari mused.

She blinked a few times in surprise when Osum revealed his role in the team. ”O...kaaaay. Don’t get shot, reason number 371.” she whispered to Liyah with a grin.

Then Jorge asked for suggestions. ”Well I’m assuming you read my file, people don’t hire me for the quiet approach. If only we had someone on the team with ‘a great deal of experience with leading infiltration missions.’ Probably his greatest asset or something.” she parroted Sivus’ words, turning to the Turian, ”So I hope your skills can pay the check your mouth if writing, birdman.” Lantea quipped as she secured her helmet. ”Tech armor coming on. I’m disabling the visual aids until we’re overt.” They wanted to be stealthy. An Asari surrounded by a bright blue glow was everything but. The helmet fortunately hid her expression. The reason Turians developed Shock and Awe is that it was simple and effective. To Lantea, ‘stealth’ and ‘subterfuge’ were just different ways of saying ‘delay’ and ‘extra effort’. And if or when they get discovered, they’ll be forced to react instead of acting, dancing to REDFOR’s tune instead of controlling the battle. Not ideal. Far from it actually. And if mechs were in the mix, even worse. FLIR, motion sensors, connection to the target structure’s security system, automatically alerting maintenance when a mech goes down, sound detection a hyperacusic Salarian on LSD couldn’t even dream of… ”Maybe we should’ve figured this out before we were literally opening the door? Like during the briefing or the shuttle ride? Just a suggestion. Why couldn’t the person on the inside do it again?” she asked no one in particular, gaze focused on what lay beyond the gate.

"Note to self, if needing medical attention just bleed out. Better than the infections a vorcha will give you." Key muttered, before perking up in excitement at the directions she was recieving. She gave a mischevious grin in Jorge's direction at his orders. "Quickly? I can get us there quickly. Buckle up!" With that she punched in the ignition and took off through the skyways of the Citadel. It was in a legal speed limit, but only barely. She weaved in and out of traffic, wishing she had had time to put in her music. Not that Jorge would have allowed her to play any of it. He struck her as the 'stay to mission, no distractions' type. She kept an ear out for the mission details as they sped towards their destination. She could take care of mechs, especially if they were prototypes. Those type of robots never had any good software protection. Keelah, they barely had any good hardware protection. It was all theoretically good weapons and systems that hadn't been properly tested in the field yet.

The servants were going to be more annoying, but she assumed that was what their loud mouth turian and she was around for. Maybe the asari, but Lantea didn't strike her as someone who was supposed to be stealthy. Certainly the vorcha wasn't going to be good at sneaking through the compound. Though, she supposed his short height would make him harder to spot if it came down to it. Now that she thought about it, most of the crew was more geared towards overt violence than sneaking into anything. Which was less than ideal, given the current circumstances.

They touched down in the parking area, and Key followed the group. She looked around, tapping her foot impatiently, as Jorge had his little pow-wow with the 'insider'. She wasn't much of an insider if all she was able to get them was a random device that could have been some guard's music holder and a key code that they could have just hacked their way into.

She looked up at the villa as the gate opened. "Gonna have to agree with Lantea, here. Why couldn't our insider have done this while the target was away?" She moved towards the front of the group. She wasn't here to give the orders, just follow them. Even if they could have been avoided. "Assuming we have the layout from the villa from our 'insider'," She put up air quotes as she spoke. "Then I can turn on my tactical cloak and scout ahead for the rest of you, allowing us to get to and in the office while minimizing chances of us being seen and having to go loud." She shrugged. "Or we could just move in quietly as a group and be ready to neutralize any servants or mechs that we come across until we get into the office ourselves."

Arty gave an internal sigh. Of course it was mechs, why would it have been anything different? He hated dealing with the damn things because they could alert all their friends in an instant. And they weren't particularly pleasant to punch, even with biotics. Arty gave a little snicker at how quickly Key hopped in the driver's seat and had them flying through the citadel. He supposed he should appreciate the enthusiasm. Soon enough they were touching down in front of the villa. As they stepped out, Arty watched as a woman approached Jorge and handed him a mysterious disc. She muttered something about payment and was in a taxi before he could blink. The behavior didn't surprise Arty. Informants were not exactly reliable at the best of times.

Apparently, other members of the crew weren't aware of this fact. Lantea and Key specifically, lamented at the ineffectiveness of their insider while they discussed strategy. "The reason she didn't give us much is because she's likely a C-sec informant. Her payroll doesn't look like ours, so why would she risk her neck?" Arty elaborated. "Though I do agree with our asari merc here, you're running this operation really haphazardly. And that's coming from bloody freelancers." he said, turning to Jorge. He thought about their predicament and listened to what Key said about neutralizing servants and mechs.

"If we can, we should find a way to disable the mechs entirely. They'll be the biggest issue. You get your hands on one and this whole villa will light up like a goddamn Christmas tree. Even if we take them out from a distance, won't the other be notified of a unit going offline and be on alert?" Arty pondered aloud.

Ugh, god I hate mechs." he added irritably.