Opening Theme.
“Is this really the best you could arrange?”
“Are you… dissatisfied with our choices?”
“No, but… a krogan? A vorcha? A gods-damned quarian? And a turian whose own government wants her dead?”
“They are all highly qualified specialists, and our analysts have deemed them easily motivated – each in their own way. And I will take the liberty of reminding you that you yourself have deemed using non-Council races and individuals with dubious reputations prudent given the nature of…”
“I get it. No need to go on about this. Life is short.”
“And getting shorter. Did you have any specific qualms?”
“The vorcha. He seems like an exceptional member of his species, but with his third-rate equipment and lack of formal training, is he really good enough for Project Viper?”
“We wouldn’t make a deal with him if he wasn’t. Vorcha are more short-lived than salarians, and compensate by being even quicker learners. Whatever his inadequacies at the moment, we expect him to rapidly adapt to his new circumstances.”
“Or die trying. And what about his exorbitant demands?”
“Just leave that part to us. Anything else?”
“The quarian. He seems erratic and antisocial, not to mention insanely obsessive…”
“Quite unlike anyone I know.”
“Eat an egg. Are you sure he will be able to work in a team?”
“So long as it brings him closer to his goal, why not? Most of our assessments say he’s a sociopath, liable to treat his fellow organics as tools rather than people, but that may not be such a disadvantage in this case…”
“Hmm. And the turian? I remember the reports. If those are true, she seems rather… untrustworthy.”
“She is definitely worth keeping an eye on, but for the moment, our analysts predict she’ll play along. It’s that or the likelihood of death, after all, and she’s a fighter – I don’t think she is ready to lie down and die on someone else’s terms just yet.”
“I hope you’re right. Gods damn it. How is it that the krogan is the reliable one in the group?”
“He is a very unusual krogan. Professional, level-headed. And his experience is an undeniable edge. I will repeat our analysts’ recommendation…”
“That wasn’t a question. And I remember their recommendation. I’ll think on it. Our new recruits should be here soon and I still have some arrangements that need taking care of. Life is short and getting shorter. I will speak to you later.”
Omega.
The heart of evil. The place of secrets. The land of opportunity. The gigantic, ancient mining station where laws and regulations come to die – except for the oldest and surest law of all, the rule of the strong. Aria T’Loak, the Pirate Queen of Omega, holds court in the Afterlife, but your business today is not with her, and the nightclub is far away from the middle class apartment district in which you find yourself now.
It may seem odd that a group supposedly working for the Citadel Council would invite you here, to the Citadel’s antithesis. Or maybe not so odd – from the way it was described to you, the business involved appears to be of a highly confidential, perhaps even legally dubious nature. Small businessmen and interstellar governments alike know there are few places better suited for clandestine and illegal dealings than Omega. And while ordinary and untrained people’s eyes are on the flashy nightclubs, noisy markets and violent slums, some of the most important business goes down in places like this. Perhaps your employers are simply being shrewd.
Actually, the district is not that different from the rest of Omega. It is somewhat cleaner and more subdued, but only just so. The marketplace is not that far, and some of the noise from there reaches you at the entrance to the district. The lighting is haphazard and irregular at best – and you get the feeling the residents like it that way. There are clear signs of disrepair… although just from looking at the doors, you can see some of the apartments here are better maintained than the others. While a small detail of Blue Suns mercenaries stands watch at the entrance to the district, they don’t seem overly concerned with people coming and going (though a vorcha going in does give them a moment of pause) – and there are none further inside.
You encounter few people as you progress deeper into the district. The residents prefer to stay indoors or be as far away from their homes as possible. The few that you do catch out in the open tend to be in a hurry, not sparing you a second glance. Compared to the station as a whole, this district’s demographics seem somewhat tilted towards Council races, mainly turians and salarians, though you do spot a few batarians as well, and even a human and a drell.
Finally, you arrive at your destination – the large, unmarked apartment at the very end of one of the district’s numerous side-corridors, with a sturdy looking fortified door and two turian guards who do not seem to belong to any mercenary group you know of. From the look in their eyes, it would seem they know you are expected. Even so, it is not until the other three of the new hires show up that the door swings open and an unusually tall, hulking, bare-faced turian in heavy dark gray armour steps out. “You’re here about the offer?” he asks in a gruff, deep voice, and then continues without waiting for the answer: “Go on in. The Director is waiting.”
“Is this really the best you could arrange?”
“Are you… dissatisfied with our choices?”
“No, but… a krogan? A vorcha? A gods-damned quarian? And a turian whose own government wants her dead?”
“They are all highly qualified specialists, and our analysts have deemed them easily motivated – each in their own way. And I will take the liberty of reminding you that you yourself have deemed using non-Council races and individuals with dubious reputations prudent given the nature of…”
“I get it. No need to go on about this. Life is short.”
“And getting shorter. Did you have any specific qualms?”
“The vorcha. He seems like an exceptional member of his species, but with his third-rate equipment and lack of formal training, is he really good enough for Project Viper?”
“We wouldn’t make a deal with him if he wasn’t. Vorcha are more short-lived than salarians, and compensate by being even quicker learners. Whatever his inadequacies at the moment, we expect him to rapidly adapt to his new circumstances.”
“Or die trying. And what about his exorbitant demands?”
“Just leave that part to us. Anything else?”
“The quarian. He seems erratic and antisocial, not to mention insanely obsessive…”
“Quite unlike anyone I know.”
“Eat an egg. Are you sure he will be able to work in a team?”
“So long as it brings him closer to his goal, why not? Most of our assessments say he’s a sociopath, liable to treat his fellow organics as tools rather than people, but that may not be such a disadvantage in this case…”
“Hmm. And the turian? I remember the reports. If those are true, she seems rather… untrustworthy.”
“She is definitely worth keeping an eye on, but for the moment, our analysts predict she’ll play along. It’s that or the likelihood of death, after all, and she’s a fighter – I don’t think she is ready to lie down and die on someone else’s terms just yet.”
“I hope you’re right. Gods damn it. How is it that the krogan is the reliable one in the group?”
“He is a very unusual krogan. Professional, level-headed. And his experience is an undeniable edge. I will repeat our analysts’ recommendation…”
“That wasn’t a question. And I remember their recommendation. I’ll think on it. Our new recruits should be here soon and I still have some arrangements that need taking care of. Life is short and getting shorter. I will speak to you later.”
Omega.
The heart of evil. The place of secrets. The land of opportunity. The gigantic, ancient mining station where laws and regulations come to die – except for the oldest and surest law of all, the rule of the strong. Aria T’Loak, the Pirate Queen of Omega, holds court in the Afterlife, but your business today is not with her, and the nightclub is far away from the middle class apartment district in which you find yourself now.
It may seem odd that a group supposedly working for the Citadel Council would invite you here, to the Citadel’s antithesis. Or maybe not so odd – from the way it was described to you, the business involved appears to be of a highly confidential, perhaps even legally dubious nature. Small businessmen and interstellar governments alike know there are few places better suited for clandestine and illegal dealings than Omega. And while ordinary and untrained people’s eyes are on the flashy nightclubs, noisy markets and violent slums, some of the most important business goes down in places like this. Perhaps your employers are simply being shrewd.
Actually, the district is not that different from the rest of Omega. It is somewhat cleaner and more subdued, but only just so. The marketplace is not that far, and some of the noise from there reaches you at the entrance to the district. The lighting is haphazard and irregular at best – and you get the feeling the residents like it that way. There are clear signs of disrepair… although just from looking at the doors, you can see some of the apartments here are better maintained than the others. While a small detail of Blue Suns mercenaries stands watch at the entrance to the district, they don’t seem overly concerned with people coming and going (though a vorcha going in does give them a moment of pause) – and there are none further inside.
You encounter few people as you progress deeper into the district. The residents prefer to stay indoors or be as far away from their homes as possible. The few that you do catch out in the open tend to be in a hurry, not sparing you a second glance. Compared to the station as a whole, this district’s demographics seem somewhat tilted towards Council races, mainly turians and salarians, though you do spot a few batarians as well, and even a human and a drell.
Finally, you arrive at your destination – the large, unmarked apartment at the very end of one of the district’s numerous side-corridors, with a sturdy looking fortified door and two turian guards who do not seem to belong to any mercenary group you know of. From the look in their eyes, it would seem they know you are expected. Even so, it is not until the other three of the new hires show up that the door swings open and an unusually tall, hulking, bare-faced turian in heavy dark gray armour steps out. “You’re here about the offer?” he asks in a gruff, deep voice, and then continues without waiting for the answer: “Go on in. The Director is waiting.”
