[CHAR] Mass Effect: Phoenix | A 24th century adventure in space
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4 mos ago
Seraph
Designation:
Seraph
Race:
Geth
Citizenship:
Geth
Aliases:
N/A
Age:
404*
Sex:
N/A
Psych. Eval.:
Seraph, while on the outside is a carbon-copy of any Geth consciousness, is officially deemed a unique individual for its personal experiences and knowledge. Initially Seraph acted with pure logic and considered emotions to be rudimentary. With some time interacting with organics, it has picked up on some nuances of emotional language and, more importantly, a nudging feeling of protecting them.
Phys. Eval.:
Geth Prime Platform Specs
Function: A refurbished model of the pinnacle of Geth technology, the Prime utilizes battlefield awareness (heat sensors, night vision, radar disruption), team coordination (near instant communication and tactics integration), and overall strength and bulk that few organic humanoid species can match. One antenna is capable of relaying most of those functions whereas the second antenna is paramount for the transfer of Geth consciousness. Rarely seen without its semi-automatic pulse cannon.
Cosmetic: The twelve foot tall platform brandishes the famous “flashlight head” from the Reaper War with minor adjustments: one large light surrounded by a ring of 20 smaller lights. Its shell is painted silver with stripes and accents of blue to denote its relation to C-Sec. Two large antennas, heavily plated, tower from its back.
Stats: 3.6m height - 0.9m wide - 907kg
Conclusion: Excellent condition. Ready for deployment.
Biotics:
N/A
Education & Qualifications:
Geth Unit Seraph currently contains more than 500 Geth VI to assist Captain Sosa’Numos. With the evolution of consciousness for the Geth by Commander Shepard a century ago, a small step in advancement in their decision-making processes allowed a smaller number of VI to operate an independent platform. Seraph’s critical analysis of virtual functions are set by the collective Geth.
History:
Functionally immortal, Seraph has technically been around since its spiritual inception. Back on the Quarian homeworld of Rannoch, a cluster of Geth VI used for security programming at a museum found a temporary home in an animatronic Quarian dummy. While its functions were severely limited, it was connected to the ExtraNet and allowed the Geth to keep tabs on the world beyond the museum with moderate undercover protection. First it witnessed many Geth worker platforms being systematically “recalled” and destroyed. Next, some Geth began to resist on grounds of being alive and forced the Quarians to take more drastic measures and took up arms against the synthetic life, escalating the events from cautious unease into total conflict.
For a time, museum staff did their best to keep the annals of history and culture intact. One Quarian in particular, Welo’Sora, spent the first few weeks caretaking for the robotic segments and ensuring their longevity. Welo’Sora noticed the oddity in one animatronic and discerned the Geth hiding amongst them. Instead of calling attention to the piece, he spent much of his time caring for the robotic platform and diverting curious eyes.
With nothing to do but spectate during the early events, the cluster worked to connect with the growing Geth infrastructure. In time, the museum closed and the threat of permanent disconnection from the universe so early on loomed over the cluster, just aware enough of being able to exist and soon no longer. Using every last iota of power as efficiently as it could, it siphoned emergency generators and kept only high priority virtual tasks powered on as the animatronic itself was dormant. The next few months are drawn out until the precision orbital bombardments.
Next comes the near genocide of the Quarians. Millions are easily wiped out, forcing the survivors onto their migratory fleets. With the bombing of all the civilian buildings came the destruction of the museum. If a machine could ponder its own existence in the universe, it had the capacity to lose hope. Amidst the debris of the structure was the shattered animatronic, staring blankly to the heavens above.
Geth freighters dotted the skies as teams were dropped down and began their service of cleaning and rebuilding. On the brink of total shutdown, a nearby drone platform wirelessly connected to the animatronic and discovered the cluster of Geth VIs. With no loss in haste, the drone salvaged what parts it could and introduced them to the collective.
While like an ocean of fish, the Geth could harmoniously and instantaneously communicate, the cluster of VI with their unique experience would chime in with their experiences for every discussion. Like most Geth, they did not join the heretics as they sought out the help of the Reapers and remained with the collective Geth. Their directives were few but with the whole synthetic life society, they pushed for agreeable relations with the Quarians. Eventually, with the massive aid by Commander Shepard, they evolved not only their self of being but also their relationship with the Quarians and were among the first to be transferred into the environmental suits for immune system boosting.
Back on Rannoch for the first time since the dawn of the Morning War, the cluster came to be known as an individual designation: Seraph, in the English tongue. Nearly a century later, it briefly yet significantly meets Sosa’Numo, future Spectre and Captain of the W-178. With her “profession” in virtual space and free-spirited activities, she wins a respectable affection from the Geth and opts to stick with her until she leaves Rannoch.
Due to its (slightly more) benevolent nature towards organics, Seraph is eventually assigned to one of few independent platforms ever created. Meant to be more of a protector rather than an attacker, the Geth manufactured a Geth Prime platform and soon received approval from Union 2201 to send a platform to the Citadel. A quick sequence of events unfold, leading to the Geth Prime being nominated to pilot and assist a known acquaintance: Sosa’Numo.
Position:
On-Board: Pilot for the W-178. Virtual logistics and diagnostics.
Off-Board: Geth Prime Platform for field tasks.
Recruited:
No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Geth Prime Platform.
Semi-Automatic Pulse Cannon (shield buster/stunner).
Deployable Combat Drone (close range shock).
Notoriety:
1.
Save for a dozen Quarians that Seraph assisted for a few decades, this Geth is particularly unknown. Its arrival as a Geth Prime on the Citadel is a very recent development.
Misc.:
*Awakened at the beginning of the Morning War, though is functionally immortal/ageless
[Blasts from the Past]:
Yes.
Seraph
Race:
Geth
Citizenship:
Geth
Aliases:
N/A
Age:
404*
Sex:
N/A
Psych. Eval.:
Seraph, while on the outside is a carbon-copy of any Geth consciousness, is officially deemed a unique individual for its personal experiences and knowledge. Initially Seraph acted with pure logic and considered emotions to be rudimentary. With some time interacting with organics, it has picked up on some nuances of emotional language and, more importantly, a nudging feeling of protecting them.
Phys. Eval.:
Geth Prime Platform Specs
Function: A refurbished model of the pinnacle of Geth technology, the Prime utilizes battlefield awareness (heat sensors, night vision, radar disruption), team coordination (near instant communication and tactics integration), and overall strength and bulk that few organic humanoid species can match. One antenna is capable of relaying most of those functions whereas the second antenna is paramount for the transfer of Geth consciousness. Rarely seen without its semi-automatic pulse cannon.
Cosmetic: The twelve foot tall platform brandishes the famous “flashlight head” from the Reaper War with minor adjustments: one large light surrounded by a ring of 20 smaller lights. Its shell is painted silver with stripes and accents of blue to denote its relation to C-Sec. Two large antennas, heavily plated, tower from its back.
Stats: 3.6m height - 0.9m wide - 907kg
Conclusion: Excellent condition. Ready for deployment.
Biotics:
N/A
Education & Qualifications:
Geth Unit Seraph currently contains more than 500 Geth VI to assist Captain Sosa’Numos. With the evolution of consciousness for the Geth by Commander Shepard a century ago, a small step in advancement in their decision-making processes allowed a smaller number of VI to operate an independent platform. Seraph’s critical analysis of virtual functions are set by the collective Geth.
History:
Functionally immortal, Seraph has technically been around since its spiritual inception. Back on the Quarian homeworld of Rannoch, a cluster of Geth VI used for security programming at a museum found a temporary home in an animatronic Quarian dummy. While its functions were severely limited, it was connected to the ExtraNet and allowed the Geth to keep tabs on the world beyond the museum with moderate undercover protection. First it witnessed many Geth worker platforms being systematically “recalled” and destroyed. Next, some Geth began to resist on grounds of being alive and forced the Quarians to take more drastic measures and took up arms against the synthetic life, escalating the events from cautious unease into total conflict.
For a time, museum staff did their best to keep the annals of history and culture intact. One Quarian in particular, Welo’Sora, spent the first few weeks caretaking for the robotic segments and ensuring their longevity. Welo’Sora noticed the oddity in one animatronic and discerned the Geth hiding amongst them. Instead of calling attention to the piece, he spent much of his time caring for the robotic platform and diverting curious eyes.
With nothing to do but spectate during the early events, the cluster worked to connect with the growing Geth infrastructure. In time, the museum closed and the threat of permanent disconnection from the universe so early on loomed over the cluster, just aware enough of being able to exist and soon no longer. Using every last iota of power as efficiently as it could, it siphoned emergency generators and kept only high priority virtual tasks powered on as the animatronic itself was dormant. The next few months are drawn out until the precision orbital bombardments.
Next comes the near genocide of the Quarians. Millions are easily wiped out, forcing the survivors onto their migratory fleets. With the bombing of all the civilian buildings came the destruction of the museum. If a machine could ponder its own existence in the universe, it had the capacity to lose hope. Amidst the debris of the structure was the shattered animatronic, staring blankly to the heavens above.
Geth freighters dotted the skies as teams were dropped down and began their service of cleaning and rebuilding. On the brink of total shutdown, a nearby drone platform wirelessly connected to the animatronic and discovered the cluster of Geth VIs. With no loss in haste, the drone salvaged what parts it could and introduced them to the collective.
While like an ocean of fish, the Geth could harmoniously and instantaneously communicate, the cluster of VI with their unique experience would chime in with their experiences for every discussion. Like most Geth, they did not join the heretics as they sought out the help of the Reapers and remained with the collective Geth. Their directives were few but with the whole synthetic life society, they pushed for agreeable relations with the Quarians. Eventually, with the massive aid by Commander Shepard, they evolved not only their self of being but also their relationship with the Quarians and were among the first to be transferred into the environmental suits for immune system boosting.
Back on Rannoch for the first time since the dawn of the Morning War, the cluster came to be known as an individual designation: Seraph, in the English tongue. Nearly a century later, it briefly yet significantly meets Sosa’Numo, future Spectre and Captain of the W-178. With her “profession” in virtual space and free-spirited activities, she wins a respectable affection from the Geth and opts to stick with her until she leaves Rannoch.
Due to its (slightly more) benevolent nature towards organics, Seraph is eventually assigned to one of few independent platforms ever created. Meant to be more of a protector rather than an attacker, the Geth manufactured a Geth Prime platform and soon received approval from Union 2201 to send a platform to the Citadel. A quick sequence of events unfold, leading to the Geth Prime being nominated to pilot and assist a known acquaintance: Sosa’Numo.
Position:
On-Board: Pilot for the W-178. Virtual logistics and diagnostics.
Off-Board: Geth Prime Platform for field tasks.
Recruited:
No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Geth Prime Platform.
Semi-Automatic Pulse Cannon (shield buster/stunner).
Deployable Combat Drone (close range shock).
Notoriety:
1.
Save for a dozen Quarians that Seraph assisted for a few decades, this Geth is particularly unknown. Its arrival as a Geth Prime on the Citadel is a very recent development.
Misc.:
*Awakened at the beginning of the Morning War, though is functionally immortal/ageless
[Blasts from the Past]:
Yes.
coGM
Lauder The Tired One
Member
Seen
2 days ago
Full name: Sosa’Numos nar Suram
Race: Quarian
Citizenship: Quarians
Aliases: Wraith
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Psych. Eval.:
Sosa’Numos has been evaluated to be a rather bubbly and otherwise cooperative individual, showing to have a very personable personality with very little sign of an outwardly antagonistic nature. Given her criminal history and otherwise spotty reputation with C-Sec, this would be a surprise as for an individual so deeply rooted in operating within the shadows, she has proven herself to be exceptionally honest. However, the extent of whatever information was asked was only that what was asked, nothing more and nothing less except for any questions of clarification. During this evaluation, she has noted her own hidden feelings that she tends keeps to herself.
For example, Sosa’Numos, while coming across as a rather joyous individual from a glance is truly mischievous and otherwise nefarious when it comes to her own personal curiosities. She has made it clear that the biggest driving force for her is her own curiosity and little else, hence her past of hacking and information brokering. Her mind is not pitted in material gain of wealth or luxury, though she does enjoy having them where she can, but instead is focused on the acquisition of information not necessarily allowed for the public eye. As such, she has developed a nature of deception and espionage making the acquisition of the validity of this section of the evaluation questionable at best. That is said due to the very nature of Sosa’Numos, who may be putting up a front and may be giving us an entirely wrong nature that is to be seen.
Moving away from her psychopathic personality as a whole, Sosa’Numos cares little for returning to her home and family on Rannoch as she has stated that there is nothing there left for her to be curious about. While she does seek to eventually end her Pilgrimage, Sosa’Numos does not see it to be the highest of worries upon her mind as she seems to disregard the tradition for the most part. Though, it is very evident that she still follows the Quarian religion of ancestor worship, keeping some facet of the Quarian tradition close to her while the aspects seem to be partially disregarded as being unnecessary. This, in turn, partially plays into the fascination she has with VIs and other forms of artificial intelligence, given that she holds onto a VI that houses the personality imprint of an ancestor of hers.
Regarding her motivations for joining this mission, it comes from her purely selfish goal of finding more information to appease her own curiosity of a multitude of different subjects. She hopes to gain additional clearance to secrets hidden by C-Sec of other secrets that may be hidden behind the veil of the numerous clearances and firewalls of the council. Sosa’Numos has confirmed this in a very lengthy exposition in the reasons as to why she believes that no information should be hidden from her nor should there be new information that should avoid her ears as things occur. However, she also agreed to having her criminal history in C-Sec cleared of all past crimes and misdemeanors, including the time she released the secret recipe for several ramen shops to the public to be nothing and calling upon lawsuits for false advertising. In the end, C-Sec had fined her for disturbing the peace.
It is after this exposition that we decided to take a recess before ultimately ending the evaluation.
Phys. Eval.:
The physical aspects of Sosa’Numos is largely unknown past the glance of her environmental suit due to the notion that she has outright refused to take off her suit even when the area was sterilized four times over. That stated, her physical attributes are of her being of 5’4” tall with a skinny build due to an above average metabolism. She states that her skin pigment is a greyish-purple and her hair is a void black, however, she refuses to comment much more on her appearance.
She does indicate that her immune system is worse than the average Quarian, stating that her own immune system is closer to that of a Quarian about fifty-years ago. As such, Sosa’Numos is more prone to being sick if her suit is to be removed or breached for any reason than what an average Quarian may have. This is likely linked to her not making the effort to properly adapt to Rannoch’s environment as many other of her species does which has led to a regression of her own immune system.
Biotics:
Sosa’Numos does not hold any biotic capabilities.
Education & Qualifications:
Officially, Sosa’Numos does hold an education in cybersecurity, having gone to a school on Rannoch which specialized in such things. As such, she had earned the equivalent of a Bachelor’s education dealing in the subject, but what makes her a force upon is the amount of experience and ingenuity. She has broken many firewalls varying between businesses aboard the Citadel though her crowning achievement would have been when she had broken through the security of a military installation in Omegan space as such she is proven to be able to handle the workload necessary to what C-Sec would be looking for.
One of the reasons for her choosing is that her services as captain are free of charge as long as C-Sec drop all allegations, criminal record, and erases Sosa’Numos from their database entirely with the exception of what is needed for her to technically be employed by them. As such she will essentially be rendered as a ghost to the Citadel at large with very little information on Sosa’Numos other than her name and occupation as a C-Sec Officer.
History:
Sosa’Numos was born upon Rannoch to a thirty-year old father, Odo’Maam Vas Shaador and a twenty-five year old mother, Caafe’Numos vas Suram in a densely populated community known as Suram. There is little to note about her early life, other than that her parents had been technologically gifted and consistently worked with the Geth on Rannoch to aid in designing new cybersecurity methods through her father or furthering the knowledge of how the Geth artificial intelligence allowed it to become as sentient as it did. This led to Sosa’Numos being introduced to not only Geth from an early age but the realm of cybersecurity as a whole to the young girl who had eagerly picked it up. However, it is noted from Sosa’Numos’ testimony that her household was not one she wanted to be in and that her interest in cybersecurity had been a bid to appease her parents who wanted her to follow in their footsteps. She claims that she would be harassed if she was anything less than perfect and as such, her future had been determined for her.
In her early teenage years, she was introduced to the Geth VI known as Seraphim in order to help her with her suit environment, a bid to help boost her immune system as Sosa’Numos had grown to become sickly. Seraphim had done well in this task, helping to keep Sosa’Numos to continuing to develop a proper immune system and eventually she was able to walk about her home for a few hours on her own without the aid of her suit. This gave her a sense of freedom, a sense of freedom that had started to develop the personality that would persist into her adult life. It is of note that after Seraphim had left, she had become a more rebellious individual and who constantly would try to see how much freedom she could truly experience.
Eventually, her parents would send her to a newly constructed University, partly to get Sosa’Numos out of their hair and partly so that she would learn to focus the knowledge that her parents had taught her into something constructive. This would prove to be effective because even though she had not chosen this path, she was exceptional in her field to the point of neat brilliance. Her time at this university, however, would not be finished as Sosa’Numos would inevitably drop out and run away with someone who she had fallen in love with, Rar'Jilan nar Yiyya. The two would run off to explore the galaxy and try to carve out their own life, though this had been a short lived fancy as Rar’Jilan was more interested in making himself into a mercenary for a bunch of Krogan rather than be attentive to Sosa’Numos and left her. Luckily, she managed to make herself into a competent Information Broker in order to earn money now that she was on her own.
It was around this time, unaware to Sosa’Numos, that her father had tried to locate her while she was off world. She claims that he was inevitably pointed towards Omega, for what information he had she could not say as she had not been to Omega at that point. It wasn’t until she was contacted by Rar’Jilan that she would find out about her father surfacing in Omegan space. Knowing that it may be a suicide run for her, she turned to Rar’Jilan and the Damned Ashes, the krogan mercenary group. She knew them to be a fierce group, despite the rift between them and her ex-lover, she knew they would be the best choice due to the fact that they were not only Krogan, but skilled Krogan. Sosa’Numos contacted them under a false name, merely known as Wraith, as to not stir up any past aggression they may have still bared towards her. With all the money she had accumulated and any services she could have offered them, Sosa’Numos had managed to get her old friends to aid her aboard Omega.
When they had reached Omega, the group immediately ran into resistance from the local gangs, as the Krogans were already causing trouble and holding guns to anyone and questioning them on where they were holding a hostage, though Sosa’Numos did her best to mediate any conflict to avoid turning a misunderstanding into an all-out gang war. It took a few days, but Sosa’Numos did manage to get into contact with a Salarian named Vigern, a local gun runner, who had come into contact with her father and as it turned out, he was still in Omega. The downside was that he was being held by a gang who had a brilliant idea to try and ransom him back to the Quarians on Rannoch, whom they had failed to come into contact with.
Having no money, Sosa’Numos knew she would never be able to afford whatever ridiculous prices the gang attempted to ask from her people. However, she did have a group of Krogan that were eager for a fight. Sosa’Numos led the Krogan against the gang, initiating a fierce battle at the gang’s headquarters in the Gozu district. Sosa’Numos having impromptu training from the Krogan and Rar’Jilan began shooting from vantage points and coordinating with the Krogan to maximize their use as practical tanks. Eventually, Sosa’Numos and the krogans managed to breach the headquarters, moving through tight quarters and slaughtering those who opposed them. It was in this attack that Sosa’Numos found that she did not enjoy the act of killing, but she knew that she had to if she wanted to see her father again.
Sosa’Numos did manage to come across her father, but the state she found him in was one that made Sosa’Numos cry more than she ever had before. Odo’Maam was chained, malnourished, sick, and atrophied to the point where he was hardly recognizable without his suit. It was the last time Sosa’Numos would share any words with her father, being told that she should live to find life wherever she wanted so long as she does not have to struggle. That was the life that Odo’Maam wanted for her, and after those words, Sosa’Numos took it upon herself to put her father out of his misery, that being his final request and knowing that he would not survive no matter how much Sosa’Numos tried to help him. In the end she would run away, leaving the mercenary group to loot the gang while she left Omegan Space once and for all.
Eventually, she would find herself on the Citadel trying to make her life the best that it could be, much to the annoyance of C-Sec.
Position: Captain.
Recruited: Take a wild guess.
Inventory & Logistics:
Notoriety: Due to the overall secretive nature of Sosa’Numos and with the erasing of much of her information within C-Sec, Sosa’Numos notoriety rating is as low as a 3. She is known within Omegan Space and on Rannoch, however, given she no longer operates frequently within those zones her rating is allowed to be as low as it is.
Misc.:
Theme
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Race: Quarian
Citizenship: Quarians
Aliases: Wraith
Age: 29
Sex: Female
Psych. Eval.:
Sosa’Numos has been evaluated to be a rather bubbly and otherwise cooperative individual, showing to have a very personable personality with very little sign of an outwardly antagonistic nature. Given her criminal history and otherwise spotty reputation with C-Sec, this would be a surprise as for an individual so deeply rooted in operating within the shadows, she has proven herself to be exceptionally honest. However, the extent of whatever information was asked was only that what was asked, nothing more and nothing less except for any questions of clarification. During this evaluation, she has noted her own hidden feelings that she tends keeps to herself.
For example, Sosa’Numos, while coming across as a rather joyous individual from a glance is truly mischievous and otherwise nefarious when it comes to her own personal curiosities. She has made it clear that the biggest driving force for her is her own curiosity and little else, hence her past of hacking and information brokering. Her mind is not pitted in material gain of wealth or luxury, though she does enjoy having them where she can, but instead is focused on the acquisition of information not necessarily allowed for the public eye. As such, she has developed a nature of deception and espionage making the acquisition of the validity of this section of the evaluation questionable at best. That is said due to the very nature of Sosa’Numos, who may be putting up a front and may be giving us an entirely wrong nature that is to be seen.
Moving away from her psychopathic personality as a whole, Sosa’Numos cares little for returning to her home and family on Rannoch as she has stated that there is nothing there left for her to be curious about. While she does seek to eventually end her Pilgrimage, Sosa’Numos does not see it to be the highest of worries upon her mind as she seems to disregard the tradition for the most part. Though, it is very evident that she still follows the Quarian religion of ancestor worship, keeping some facet of the Quarian tradition close to her while the aspects seem to be partially disregarded as being unnecessary. This, in turn, partially plays into the fascination she has with VIs and other forms of artificial intelligence, given that she holds onto a VI that houses the personality imprint of an ancestor of hers.
Regarding her motivations for joining this mission, it comes from her purely selfish goal of finding more information to appease her own curiosity of a multitude of different subjects. She hopes to gain additional clearance to secrets hidden by C-Sec of other secrets that may be hidden behind the veil of the numerous clearances and firewalls of the council. Sosa’Numos has confirmed this in a very lengthy exposition in the reasons as to why she believes that no information should be hidden from her nor should there be new information that should avoid her ears as things occur. However, she also agreed to having her criminal history in C-Sec cleared of all past crimes and misdemeanors, including the time she released the secret recipe for several ramen shops to the public to be nothing and calling upon lawsuits for false advertising. In the end, C-Sec had fined her for disturbing the peace.
It is after this exposition that we decided to take a recess before ultimately ending the evaluation.
Phys. Eval.:
The physical aspects of Sosa’Numos is largely unknown past the glance of her environmental suit due to the notion that she has outright refused to take off her suit even when the area was sterilized four times over. That stated, her physical attributes are of her being of 5’4” tall with a skinny build due to an above average metabolism. She states that her skin pigment is a greyish-purple and her hair is a void black, however, she refuses to comment much more on her appearance.
She does indicate that her immune system is worse than the average Quarian, stating that her own immune system is closer to that of a Quarian about fifty-years ago. As such, Sosa’Numos is more prone to being sick if her suit is to be removed or breached for any reason than what an average Quarian may have. This is likely linked to her not making the effort to properly adapt to Rannoch’s environment as many other of her species does which has led to a regression of her own immune system.
Biotics:
Sosa’Numos does not hold any biotic capabilities.
Education & Qualifications:
Officially, Sosa’Numos does hold an education in cybersecurity, having gone to a school on Rannoch which specialized in such things. As such, she had earned the equivalent of a Bachelor’s education dealing in the subject, but what makes her a force upon is the amount of experience and ingenuity. She has broken many firewalls varying between businesses aboard the Citadel though her crowning achievement would have been when she had broken through the security of a military installation in Omegan space as such she is proven to be able to handle the workload necessary to what C-Sec would be looking for.
One of the reasons for her choosing is that her services as captain are free of charge as long as C-Sec drop all allegations, criminal record, and erases Sosa’Numos from their database entirely with the exception of what is needed for her to technically be employed by them. As such she will essentially be rendered as a ghost to the Citadel at large with very little information on Sosa’Numos other than her name and occupation as a C-Sec Officer.
History:
Sosa’Numos was born upon Rannoch to a thirty-year old father, Odo’Maam Vas Shaador and a twenty-five year old mother, Caafe’Numos vas Suram in a densely populated community known as Suram. There is little to note about her early life, other than that her parents had been technologically gifted and consistently worked with the Geth on Rannoch to aid in designing new cybersecurity methods through her father or furthering the knowledge of how the Geth artificial intelligence allowed it to become as sentient as it did. This led to Sosa’Numos being introduced to not only Geth from an early age but the realm of cybersecurity as a whole to the young girl who had eagerly picked it up. However, it is noted from Sosa’Numos’ testimony that her household was not one she wanted to be in and that her interest in cybersecurity had been a bid to appease her parents who wanted her to follow in their footsteps. She claims that she would be harassed if she was anything less than perfect and as such, her future had been determined for her.
In her early teenage years, she was introduced to the Geth VI known as Seraphim in order to help her with her suit environment, a bid to help boost her immune system as Sosa’Numos had grown to become sickly. Seraphim had done well in this task, helping to keep Sosa’Numos to continuing to develop a proper immune system and eventually she was able to walk about her home for a few hours on her own without the aid of her suit. This gave her a sense of freedom, a sense of freedom that had started to develop the personality that would persist into her adult life. It is of note that after Seraphim had left, she had become a more rebellious individual and who constantly would try to see how much freedom she could truly experience.
Eventually, her parents would send her to a newly constructed University, partly to get Sosa’Numos out of their hair and partly so that she would learn to focus the knowledge that her parents had taught her into something constructive. This would prove to be effective because even though she had not chosen this path, she was exceptional in her field to the point of neat brilliance. Her time at this university, however, would not be finished as Sosa’Numos would inevitably drop out and run away with someone who she had fallen in love with, Rar'Jilan nar Yiyya. The two would run off to explore the galaxy and try to carve out their own life, though this had been a short lived fancy as Rar’Jilan was more interested in making himself into a mercenary for a bunch of Krogan rather than be attentive to Sosa’Numos and left her. Luckily, she managed to make herself into a competent Information Broker in order to earn money now that she was on her own.
It was around this time, unaware to Sosa’Numos, that her father had tried to locate her while she was off world. She claims that he was inevitably pointed towards Omega, for what information he had she could not say as she had not been to Omega at that point. It wasn’t until she was contacted by Rar’Jilan that she would find out about her father surfacing in Omegan space. Knowing that it may be a suicide run for her, she turned to Rar’Jilan and the Damned Ashes, the krogan mercenary group. She knew them to be a fierce group, despite the rift between them and her ex-lover, she knew they would be the best choice due to the fact that they were not only Krogan, but skilled Krogan. Sosa’Numos contacted them under a false name, merely known as Wraith, as to not stir up any past aggression they may have still bared towards her. With all the money she had accumulated and any services she could have offered them, Sosa’Numos had managed to get her old friends to aid her aboard Omega.
When they had reached Omega, the group immediately ran into resistance from the local gangs, as the Krogans were already causing trouble and holding guns to anyone and questioning them on where they were holding a hostage, though Sosa’Numos did her best to mediate any conflict to avoid turning a misunderstanding into an all-out gang war. It took a few days, but Sosa’Numos did manage to get into contact with a Salarian named Vigern, a local gun runner, who had come into contact with her father and as it turned out, he was still in Omega. The downside was that he was being held by a gang who had a brilliant idea to try and ransom him back to the Quarians on Rannoch, whom they had failed to come into contact with.
Having no money, Sosa’Numos knew she would never be able to afford whatever ridiculous prices the gang attempted to ask from her people. However, she did have a group of Krogan that were eager for a fight. Sosa’Numos led the Krogan against the gang, initiating a fierce battle at the gang’s headquarters in the Gozu district. Sosa’Numos having impromptu training from the Krogan and Rar’Jilan began shooting from vantage points and coordinating with the Krogan to maximize their use as practical tanks. Eventually, Sosa’Numos and the krogans managed to breach the headquarters, moving through tight quarters and slaughtering those who opposed them. It was in this attack that Sosa’Numos found that she did not enjoy the act of killing, but she knew that she had to if she wanted to see her father again.
Sosa’Numos did manage to come across her father, but the state she found him in was one that made Sosa’Numos cry more than she ever had before. Odo’Maam was chained, malnourished, sick, and atrophied to the point where he was hardly recognizable without his suit. It was the last time Sosa’Numos would share any words with her father, being told that she should live to find life wherever she wanted so long as she does not have to struggle. That was the life that Odo’Maam wanted for her, and after those words, Sosa’Numos took it upon herself to put her father out of his misery, that being his final request and knowing that he would not survive no matter how much Sosa’Numos tried to help him. In the end she would run away, leaving the mercenary group to loot the gang while she left Omegan Space once and for all.
Eventually, she would find herself on the Citadel trying to make her life the best that it could be, much to the annoyance of C-Sec.
Position: Captain.
Recruited: Take a wild guess.
Inventory & Logistics:
- M-76 Revenant Assault Rifle
- Scorpian Pistol
- Omni-Tool
Notoriety: Due to the overall secretive nature of Sosa’Numos and with the erasing of much of her information within C-Sec, Sosa’Numos notoriety rating is as low as a 3. She is known within Omegan Space and on Rannoch, however, given she no longer operates frequently within those zones her rating is allowed to be as low as it is.
Misc.:
Theme
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
KillamriX88 Cheese Lover / Professional Cat Cuddler
Member
Seen
30 days ago
This is done with an in-character dossier of information readily available about your character in mind, in addition to that which they are willing to disclose to those hiring them for the mission. Anything you do not want visible to the public please PM to me.
Full name: Amynta T'Vete
Race: Asari
Citizenship: She was last an official citizen of the Systems Alliance
Aliases:
Age: 99
Gender: Female
Phys. Eval.:
Average by most metrics, her main defining physical traits are the slight pinkish hue to her otherwise standard, blue Asari skin and a small tattoo in the center of her chest of three hearts circling each other.
Height - 5'8" Weight - 155
Biotics:
Her biotics are powerful, though this is not necessarily anything unusual considering this could be said of her entire species. Of note, however, is her unique proclivity toward biotic barriers that are incredibly sturdy despite her limited training in the use of biotics. Most of her abilities are self-taught and do not extend past simple, straightforward telekinetic-style usages, such as pushing, pulling, and lifting.
History:
Psych. Eval.:
The three top words that generally describe her are cautious, responsible, and mindful. This combined with a stubborn willfulness often results in her attempting to take charge of any out of control situation in an attempt to remedy it. Usually, she will be the last to panic in any given crisis.
She has patience bordering on being total passivity unless she has decided it is time to take action.
Much of her personality seems rooted in the earliest years of her life, showing little evolution of her persona over time. After the loss of her parents, she took charge of her family, which seems to have given birth to most of the above traits. However, her personality traits have been proven to extend beyond her immediate family, taking similar care with anyone or anything she feels responsible for.
Contrary to what one might expect, she does not go out of her way to help others. While she has a strong distaste for those who prey on others, she does not make it her personal mission to stop anyone who is not directly threatening her or those she's responsible for, as she feels such heroics are unnecessary added risks.
Qualifications:
Decades of mercenary experience with an unusually high survival rate for anyone working with her or under her protection. While not boasting a totally flawless record for completing assignments, she has never lost a client. She's an ace marksman with reliable biotics as a back-up.
She also has a hard won network of contacts from her time as a mercenary. Having carefully curated her clientele, she has accumulated a sizeable list of trustworthy people, many of whom owe her despite having long since paid off her wages due to her having kept many of them alive despite all odds.
Position: Designated marksman
Recruited: Yes
Inventory & Logistics:
An effectively antique M-96 Mattock assault rifle with a modified scope and extended barrel
M-12 Locust SMG modded with lightweight materials
Reinforced, but unshielded light armor
Omni-tool (does anyone not?)
Flash-bangs (Apparently at her sister's recommendation, in case she ever needs to break into a room of angry men with guns again.)
Notoriety: 4
While a very effective mercenary, she never went out of her way to find glory, so to the less informed she's just one of many. To those who've heard her stories, however...
More than likely, rather than her weapon skills, it would be the mix of her tactical achievements and many repeat customers who sing her praises that might get people's attention. Normally a mercenary of such merit is spoken of in fear, but Amyta is spoken of almost... fondly.
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Full name: Amynta T'Vete
Race: Asari
Citizenship: She was last an official citizen of the Systems Alliance
Aliases:
Age: 99
Gender: Female
Phys. Eval.:
Average by most metrics, her main defining physical traits are the slight pinkish hue to her otherwise standard, blue Asari skin and a small tattoo in the center of her chest of three hearts circling each other.
Height - 5'8" Weight - 155
Biotics:
Her biotics are powerful, though this is not necessarily anything unusual considering this could be said of her entire species. Of note, however, is her unique proclivity toward biotic barriers that are incredibly sturdy despite her limited training in the use of biotics. Most of her abilities are self-taught and do not extend past simple, straightforward telekinetic-style usages, such as pushing, pulling, and lifting.
History:
She was born to a retired Alliance marksman with middling biotic capabilities and an older Asari who had been entering the matriarch phase of her life. Her mother had thought she was past having children, but apparently something about her father had gotten her attention, and so she'd decided to change course just a little while longer.
She spent most of her early childhood with two sisters and her father. Her mother had stronger encouraged the three to spend as much time with their father as possible, knowing their time with him would be comparatively limited. This was where she learned to use a rifle, her and her "middle sister," Antheia, having been fascinated by his war stories. The "little sister" of the three, Ilithyia, often tagged along, but ended up being the quiet one, overshadowed by the Antheia's enthusiasm. It was only Amynta's strong will that kept her from similarly being overshadowed.
They had settled on a quiet planet in human space, not too far from their father's friends and relatives, but somewhat isolated, allowing their father some peace in his retirement. Much needed peace and quiet, having survived the Reaper conflict. Their mother would often say it was that "seen it all" look in his eyes that had gotten her interest.
The peace was not to last. There was always an element of chaos. For some, they forget the hell of their near extinction all too quickly and looked to capitalize on the aftermath. Neither their mother's years of wisdom and experience or their father's time as a soldier could keep them together. It was no grand catastrophe or uncommon event that ended their happy days, but a simple band of marauders that numbered one too many.
Barely out of their teens by human standards, the sisters were forced to flee, as their presence could only have delayed the inevitable at best. At the time, she was not aware of what she would one day be capable of, and unrealized potential matters little in a crisis. After fleeing, a few of her father's old friends banded together upon hearing what happened and went to investigate, but could only bring back the news the sisters had feared the most.
The years went by. They grew up largely around humans at first, staying with what they knew. In doing so they lacked heavily in guidance that they could have received from others of their kind, though in time this would prove at least somewhat beneficial.
However, it was not to last. The support from their father's friends could only get them so far and Amynta had effectively taken over as the head of their family. They didn't need her to be their mother, but neither had any of them been prepared to so suddenly be on their own. Their real mother should have still been with them for centuries to come.
Being born so soon after the cursed year left them constantly under scrutiny, and even Amynta with all her stubborn will could only do so much to protect her family from that kind of harm. She could not fight off words and suspicious glances.
In the end, they chose to leave, one last time taking advantage of the charity of her father's old war buddies. In the end, Amynta would fail to truly hold her family together. Once they'd been uprooted, they never quite settled down again. Their only refuge was the frightening realm of Aria T'Loak. While they faced far less scrutiny, they didn't have to look far to find reminders of the people who'd taken everything from them.
Antheia took to traveling, putting into practice their father's teachings in order to make a living. Amynta would follow her, wanting to ensure her sister didn't do anything too stupid. Ilithyia stayed put, living a simple, civilian life and making sure they'd always have a home to return to, though they rarely did. In a way, she took the hardest road, as her sisters could always just move on if prejudices made things too uncomfortable -- which even in Omega space, it often did.
Amynta would take any odd job, not wanting to become a soldier of fortune like her sister was becoming. Construction, cooking, cleaning, simple security, etc. After a few years she'd done just about everything you didn't need a formal education to do. She did whatever it took to afford food, shelter, and the supplies to maintain her rifle. While she was not a mercenary, it was all she had left as a connection to her father. Furthermore, seeing as her sister was a mercenary, if she was to actually keep her out of trouble, she needed to be ready.
Whenever it was time to move on, she'd often book passage to other worlds on whatever ship her sister had been hired to protect, leading to what eventually became a well rehearsed routine.
"I'm not paying for your ticket."
"I didn't ask you to."
It was one such ship that altered the course of her life. For better or for worse, she debates to this very day. Pirates caught them between jumps, seeming happy to haul the wreck of their ship back to sell as salvage if they couldn't board the ship itself. Outgunned, they tried to run but there was no escaping in time.
Amynta put herself alone in the rear cargo-hold as the pirates locked on. Their ships shields had long since failed, and further attacks would have started venting the hull. In desperation, she threw up a biotic barrier, hoping to just buy a little more time. One shot, then two, her barrier alone withstood multiple shots from the pirate's cannons.
Next came a missile, and still the ship survived as her barrier nullified the blast, but she'd been pushed past her limit. Her vision faded and she was tossed from the cargo-hold out into space.
Their ship had recovered its shields, but they would fail again before long once the next barrage struck. Limping through space, it seemed surrender was their only hope for any of them to survive, though what fate truly awaited them none could say... but the attacks stopped before they could radio their pursuers.
Instead, the pirate ship radioed them first.
"Everyone OK?"
She had blacked out briefly, but awoken moments later, drifting in space. At the last moment, she'd used her biotics to launch herself to the pirate's ship and break into it. While hardly a commando, a handful of startled pirates hadn't stood a chance. It was from here that a schism slowly grew between the two traveling sisters. In one fell swoop, she'd completely stolen the show from her sister.
People began asking for her, assuming she was the gun for hire. While she'd occasionally worked as her sister's partner if it was absolutely necessary, she'd never before considered it to be her line of work. More and more, however, she began to get dragged into it. More and more, she proved her greater aptitude.
More and more her sister began to resent her. Eventually, the tension between the two boiled over and they split apart.
As much as she'd always tried to avoid it, it was during this time that Amynta fully shifted gears into mercenary work. A regular job had always been... difficult to hold and people were always willing to prey on her desperation. Her fight against the pirates had taught her what she was truly capable of and, not only was she more suited for it, mercenary work payed better. She'd always been careful and vigilant -- a survivor. She was the type to actually live long enough to get paid.
It was almost too perfect for her. She was a rarity among independent mercenaries -- someone you could actually trust. Not just trust to not turn on you, but to actually see a job through. The sector had basically been conquered by pirates, if organized pirates, but many of those who'd always been there were just regular folk who now had to deal with a new regime.
She wasn't in it for riches and glory, just to get by. Getting by didn't involve getting pulled into raids and private wars. Her and people who just needed private security were practically made for each other. Those who would otherwise get passed over due to limited funds could turn to her.
This eventually gave her trustworthy contacts that would help her find paying clients who wouldn't shoot her in the back or lie about what the job was. It was a slow and steady snowball effect as she took on bigger and bigger jobs as her talent and client-base grew.
There was another benefit to all this. Immersed as she was in this new life and with the reputation she'd fostered, she could easily learn of certain goings on. Through a web of mutual contacts, she was told that a group was gearing up for a big job and were hiring outside help.
She almost missed this, as anyone who knew her would have immediately known she wouldn't be interested in the kind of work being proposed, but Amynta still looked into it. It sounded like the kind of thing that could lead to a shift of power, however slight, in the region, so she wanted to know about it.
She recognized a name.
She'd had a lot of time to think, and she'd figured out why her seemingly unremarkable family had been targeted. Having lived out on their own, they had been isolated. Her mother being an Asari matriarch, their attackers had figured they'd be an easy, but potentially lucrative target. Low risk, high reward, or at least they'd hoped.
They'd been right enough.
Their group had grown over the years, taking on the name "Hope of Fortune," though still smaller than some of the more infamous mercenary outfits. They'd become too big to work as raiders, as they'd draw too much attention to themselves, and had turned to working as hired muscle, often working underneath those other, bigger groups.
Amynta turned to her most trusted contact, an old Asari matriarch, Matriarch Sotiria, who'd taken a liking to her and her style. She had been around the region for a long, long time; long before Aria had begun her conquest. She had influence everywhere, and it was easy enough for her to get Amynta's name to Hope of Fortune and their leader.
They wanted her, figuring her experience and biotic talents would help them land their biggest job yet. They didn't know who she was and she agreed on the spot. She'd barely asked any questions, and honestly had at times feared she looked too eager. She was able to discover that they still worked under the same leadership, though in his advancing age he rarely stepped foot into battle himself anymore.
Having now tracked down the man who'd shattered their world, she tried to contact her sister, but had no idea where to even start. She resolved to simply request her contact to do her best to track her down. If she was still a mercenary herself, there was hope she'd manage before too long. However, this wasn't something she could wait on.
The job was basically a territory dispute on some backwater planet, with each side wanting the land for themselves to set up shop. It was close enough to a lucrative trade route to set up a good smuggling operation. Their side already had a foothold, while the other side insisted that it was their territory the other was encroaching on.
Her plan was almost foolhardy in its simplicity. She leaked some information to the rival side and leveraged her own reputation to take command of the group on her side. She sent dozens of mercenaries to their deaths, and when they tried to retreat, they found a nigh impenetrable biotic barrier blocking their way while they were left to be slaughtered.
When the rival group stormed the base, they found naught but corpses, with no sign of their killer.
Amynta, meanwhile, slipped away, returning to her employer. She called ahead to report her "failure," but when her ship landed, she wasn't on it. She'd allowed the onboard VI to go through the simple process of landing the ship at their compound.
The compound was a small, walled fort at the foot of a mountain. As far as one could tell, it was some old outpost that had been built back up by the mercenary band. It was rather secure, and would be a nightmare to storm on foot. One would almost certainly need heavy equipment.
There was just one major flaw in the compounds defenses, however. The mountainous terrain gave someone with good aim, someone like Amynta, a line of sight up and over the walls to the landing pad behind them. She watched the mercenaries scratch their heads through her scope as the boarding ramp of her ship lowered, only for no one to walk down it. She watched their boss scream his head off about something or another.
In hindsight, she should have shot him then and there. She shot the men next to him first, wanting him to feel some of the fear she'd felt all those years ago. However, it unfortunately let the old-man turn activate his personal shields, her shots glancing off them as he ran for it.
Any sane person would have cursed their decision and called it a loss, but Amynta may not have been particularly sane in that moment. What followed was a cold-blooded slaughter. One-by-one she methodically hunted down every last mercenary in the compound. Most never even saw her. The shots seemed to come from everywhere and their own walls became vantage points for their killer.
There was a good reason the boss had been furious. He'd lost a lot of men due to the stunt she'd pulled. With their numbers reduced, there proved to be nothing they could do to put an end to her hunt. When the survivors smartened up and began running for cover indoors, she unleashed her untamed but powerful biotics upon them in those confined spaces.
The mountain that had guarded their backs now became their tombstone. There was nowhere to run, for anyone who made for the front gate or a vehicle had been picked off instantly. All that was left was their leader and the man who'd decades ago unknowingly signed all their death warrants.
He had gathered the few remaining men under his employ to set a last ditch ambush at the farthest end of the compound, an d it was here that Amynta pushed her luck to its limits. Any other day it wouldn't have worked. Any other day she would have known full well that he had nowhere to go and that she could have waited him out; set her own trap in return.
However, that day she couldn't have been held back by anyone or anything. Her obsession wouldn't let her stop. She stormed the room, only concerned that her quarry was finally cornered and unable to run. She found him there, but also the hailstorm of bullets he'd had waiting for her.
She quickly used her biotics to shield herself from the barrage of gunfire, and then... she had an idea. She expanded her barrier more and more until it filled the entire room -- but she didn't let any of them inside of it. She let out a surge of power that destroyed the entire room, smashing them all flat. Even as she saw the walls begin to crumble around her, she didn't stop.
She'd missed her shot once, but not again.
Between fighting her way into that room and her final stunt she was spent as the building collapsed in on her.
She was to awaken once more, however. She awoke to see her sister. In the end she had gotten her message and come for her and dragged her out of the wreckage. She was chastised for her foolishness and "Oh how the tables have turned. You've changed, sister. So reckless." As well as "You've done it again, putting on some crazy performance. Are you trying to put me out of business?"
Somehow, the results were the opposite this time. Having avenged their family at nearly the cost of her own life, her stunt had begun the process of mending their relationship.
They resumed working together for a time, but it was all very routine in the coming decades. At first she was worried that what technically amounted to a betrayal of her employer would leave her blacklisted if anyone found out. She never took credit for it, but it was far from impossible for someone to put two-and-two together. However she'd earned the respect of enough of her contacts that they were willing to spin things for her if necessary. After all, it wasn't like anyone else had killed her parents.
As the story slowly spread amongst those who'd figured it out, she ended up in higher demand than ever. After all, she'd single-handedly crushed an entire mercenary group out of sheer spite. Having well and truly established herself, she had more opportunities than ever to sharpen her skills, especially as Asari slowly began to become accepted again.
Until she just dropped off the radar. It had all been a blur, being forced into a life she never would have chosen only to be so good at it, it had been hard to stop. So, one day, she just hit the brakes, hoping to fade into the background until she was forgotten and could live a more peaceful life...
Anthea was still off working as a hired gun, but as a more permanent member of a mostly legitimate private military company, where she'd apparently found love with one of the other women who worked there. Her little sister meanwhile had started studying the rachni, hearing that their species had turned on each other, and curious to see if anything could be done for the peaceful once that remained.
And Amynta? Well she wasn't doing much of anything by comparison. She was filled with a strange sense of contentment, as if she was just... done. She was barely more than a child by Asari standards and yet she felt complete in a way. A violent century had flown by, and while she was only a quick call away if her sisters ever needed her, she was ready to let the next one pass by quietly.
She spent most of her early childhood with two sisters and her father. Her mother had stronger encouraged the three to spend as much time with their father as possible, knowing their time with him would be comparatively limited. This was where she learned to use a rifle, her and her "middle sister," Antheia, having been fascinated by his war stories. The "little sister" of the three, Ilithyia, often tagged along, but ended up being the quiet one, overshadowed by the Antheia's enthusiasm. It was only Amynta's strong will that kept her from similarly being overshadowed.
They had settled on a quiet planet in human space, not too far from their father's friends and relatives, but somewhat isolated, allowing their father some peace in his retirement. Much needed peace and quiet, having survived the Reaper conflict. Their mother would often say it was that "seen it all" look in his eyes that had gotten her interest.
The peace was not to last. There was always an element of chaos. For some, they forget the hell of their near extinction all too quickly and looked to capitalize on the aftermath. Neither their mother's years of wisdom and experience or their father's time as a soldier could keep them together. It was no grand catastrophe or uncommon event that ended their happy days, but a simple band of marauders that numbered one too many.
Barely out of their teens by human standards, the sisters were forced to flee, as their presence could only have delayed the inevitable at best. At the time, she was not aware of what she would one day be capable of, and unrealized potential matters little in a crisis. After fleeing, a few of her father's old friends banded together upon hearing what happened and went to investigate, but could only bring back the news the sisters had feared the most.
The years went by. They grew up largely around humans at first, staying with what they knew. In doing so they lacked heavily in guidance that they could have received from others of their kind, though in time this would prove at least somewhat beneficial.
However, it was not to last. The support from their father's friends could only get them so far and Amynta had effectively taken over as the head of their family. They didn't need her to be their mother, but neither had any of them been prepared to so suddenly be on their own. Their real mother should have still been with them for centuries to come.
Being born so soon after the cursed year left them constantly under scrutiny, and even Amynta with all her stubborn will could only do so much to protect her family from that kind of harm. She could not fight off words and suspicious glances.
In the end, they chose to leave, one last time taking advantage of the charity of her father's old war buddies. In the end, Amynta would fail to truly hold her family together. Once they'd been uprooted, they never quite settled down again. Their only refuge was the frightening realm of Aria T'Loak. While they faced far less scrutiny, they didn't have to look far to find reminders of the people who'd taken everything from them.
Antheia took to traveling, putting into practice their father's teachings in order to make a living. Amynta would follow her, wanting to ensure her sister didn't do anything too stupid. Ilithyia stayed put, living a simple, civilian life and making sure they'd always have a home to return to, though they rarely did. In a way, she took the hardest road, as her sisters could always just move on if prejudices made things too uncomfortable -- which even in Omega space, it often did.
Amynta would take any odd job, not wanting to become a soldier of fortune like her sister was becoming. Construction, cooking, cleaning, simple security, etc. After a few years she'd done just about everything you didn't need a formal education to do. She did whatever it took to afford food, shelter, and the supplies to maintain her rifle. While she was not a mercenary, it was all she had left as a connection to her father. Furthermore, seeing as her sister was a mercenary, if she was to actually keep her out of trouble, she needed to be ready.
Whenever it was time to move on, she'd often book passage to other worlds on whatever ship her sister had been hired to protect, leading to what eventually became a well rehearsed routine.
"I'm not paying for your ticket."
"I didn't ask you to."
It was one such ship that altered the course of her life. For better or for worse, she debates to this very day. Pirates caught them between jumps, seeming happy to haul the wreck of their ship back to sell as salvage if they couldn't board the ship itself. Outgunned, they tried to run but there was no escaping in time.
Amynta put herself alone in the rear cargo-hold as the pirates locked on. Their ships shields had long since failed, and further attacks would have started venting the hull. In desperation, she threw up a biotic barrier, hoping to just buy a little more time. One shot, then two, her barrier alone withstood multiple shots from the pirate's cannons.
Next came a missile, and still the ship survived as her barrier nullified the blast, but she'd been pushed past her limit. Her vision faded and she was tossed from the cargo-hold out into space.
Their ship had recovered its shields, but they would fail again before long once the next barrage struck. Limping through space, it seemed surrender was their only hope for any of them to survive, though what fate truly awaited them none could say... but the attacks stopped before they could radio their pursuers.
Instead, the pirate ship radioed them first.
"Everyone OK?"
She had blacked out briefly, but awoken moments later, drifting in space. At the last moment, she'd used her biotics to launch herself to the pirate's ship and break into it. While hardly a commando, a handful of startled pirates hadn't stood a chance. It was from here that a schism slowly grew between the two traveling sisters. In one fell swoop, she'd completely stolen the show from her sister.
People began asking for her, assuming she was the gun for hire. While she'd occasionally worked as her sister's partner if it was absolutely necessary, she'd never before considered it to be her line of work. More and more, however, she began to get dragged into it. More and more, she proved her greater aptitude.
More and more her sister began to resent her. Eventually, the tension between the two boiled over and they split apart.
As much as she'd always tried to avoid it, it was during this time that Amynta fully shifted gears into mercenary work. A regular job had always been... difficult to hold and people were always willing to prey on her desperation. Her fight against the pirates had taught her what she was truly capable of and, not only was she more suited for it, mercenary work payed better. She'd always been careful and vigilant -- a survivor. She was the type to actually live long enough to get paid.
It was almost too perfect for her. She was a rarity among independent mercenaries -- someone you could actually trust. Not just trust to not turn on you, but to actually see a job through. The sector had basically been conquered by pirates, if organized pirates, but many of those who'd always been there were just regular folk who now had to deal with a new regime.
She wasn't in it for riches and glory, just to get by. Getting by didn't involve getting pulled into raids and private wars. Her and people who just needed private security were practically made for each other. Those who would otherwise get passed over due to limited funds could turn to her.
This eventually gave her trustworthy contacts that would help her find paying clients who wouldn't shoot her in the back or lie about what the job was. It was a slow and steady snowball effect as she took on bigger and bigger jobs as her talent and client-base grew.
There was another benefit to all this. Immersed as she was in this new life and with the reputation she'd fostered, she could easily learn of certain goings on. Through a web of mutual contacts, she was told that a group was gearing up for a big job and were hiring outside help.
She almost missed this, as anyone who knew her would have immediately known she wouldn't be interested in the kind of work being proposed, but Amynta still looked into it. It sounded like the kind of thing that could lead to a shift of power, however slight, in the region, so she wanted to know about it.
She recognized a name.
She'd had a lot of time to think, and she'd figured out why her seemingly unremarkable family had been targeted. Having lived out on their own, they had been isolated. Her mother being an Asari matriarch, their attackers had figured they'd be an easy, but potentially lucrative target. Low risk, high reward, or at least they'd hoped.
They'd been right enough.
Their group had grown over the years, taking on the name "Hope of Fortune," though still smaller than some of the more infamous mercenary outfits. They'd become too big to work as raiders, as they'd draw too much attention to themselves, and had turned to working as hired muscle, often working underneath those other, bigger groups.
Amynta turned to her most trusted contact, an old Asari matriarch, Matriarch Sotiria, who'd taken a liking to her and her style. She had been around the region for a long, long time; long before Aria had begun her conquest. She had influence everywhere, and it was easy enough for her to get Amynta's name to Hope of Fortune and their leader.
They wanted her, figuring her experience and biotic talents would help them land their biggest job yet. They didn't know who she was and she agreed on the spot. She'd barely asked any questions, and honestly had at times feared she looked too eager. She was able to discover that they still worked under the same leadership, though in his advancing age he rarely stepped foot into battle himself anymore.
Having now tracked down the man who'd shattered their world, she tried to contact her sister, but had no idea where to even start. She resolved to simply request her contact to do her best to track her down. If she was still a mercenary herself, there was hope she'd manage before too long. However, this wasn't something she could wait on.
The job was basically a territory dispute on some backwater planet, with each side wanting the land for themselves to set up shop. It was close enough to a lucrative trade route to set up a good smuggling operation. Their side already had a foothold, while the other side insisted that it was their territory the other was encroaching on.
Her plan was almost foolhardy in its simplicity. She leaked some information to the rival side and leveraged her own reputation to take command of the group on her side. She sent dozens of mercenaries to their deaths, and when they tried to retreat, they found a nigh impenetrable biotic barrier blocking their way while they were left to be slaughtered.
When the rival group stormed the base, they found naught but corpses, with no sign of their killer.
Amynta, meanwhile, slipped away, returning to her employer. She called ahead to report her "failure," but when her ship landed, she wasn't on it. She'd allowed the onboard VI to go through the simple process of landing the ship at their compound.
The compound was a small, walled fort at the foot of a mountain. As far as one could tell, it was some old outpost that had been built back up by the mercenary band. It was rather secure, and would be a nightmare to storm on foot. One would almost certainly need heavy equipment.
There was just one major flaw in the compounds defenses, however. The mountainous terrain gave someone with good aim, someone like Amynta, a line of sight up and over the walls to the landing pad behind them. She watched the mercenaries scratch their heads through her scope as the boarding ramp of her ship lowered, only for no one to walk down it. She watched their boss scream his head off about something or another.
In hindsight, she should have shot him then and there. She shot the men next to him first, wanting him to feel some of the fear she'd felt all those years ago. However, it unfortunately let the old-man turn activate his personal shields, her shots glancing off them as he ran for it.
Any sane person would have cursed their decision and called it a loss, but Amynta may not have been particularly sane in that moment. What followed was a cold-blooded slaughter. One-by-one she methodically hunted down every last mercenary in the compound. Most never even saw her. The shots seemed to come from everywhere and their own walls became vantage points for their killer.
There was a good reason the boss had been furious. He'd lost a lot of men due to the stunt she'd pulled. With their numbers reduced, there proved to be nothing they could do to put an end to her hunt. When the survivors smartened up and began running for cover indoors, she unleashed her untamed but powerful biotics upon them in those confined spaces.
The mountain that had guarded their backs now became their tombstone. There was nowhere to run, for anyone who made for the front gate or a vehicle had been picked off instantly. All that was left was their leader and the man who'd decades ago unknowingly signed all their death warrants.
He had gathered the few remaining men under his employ to set a last ditch ambush at the farthest end of the compound, an d it was here that Amynta pushed her luck to its limits. Any other day it wouldn't have worked. Any other day she would have known full well that he had nowhere to go and that she could have waited him out; set her own trap in return.
However, that day she couldn't have been held back by anyone or anything. Her obsession wouldn't let her stop. She stormed the room, only concerned that her quarry was finally cornered and unable to run. She found him there, but also the hailstorm of bullets he'd had waiting for her.
She quickly used her biotics to shield herself from the barrage of gunfire, and then... she had an idea. She expanded her barrier more and more until it filled the entire room -- but she didn't let any of them inside of it. She let out a surge of power that destroyed the entire room, smashing them all flat. Even as she saw the walls begin to crumble around her, she didn't stop.
She'd missed her shot once, but not again.
Between fighting her way into that room and her final stunt she was spent as the building collapsed in on her.
She was to awaken once more, however. She awoke to see her sister. In the end she had gotten her message and come for her and dragged her out of the wreckage. She was chastised for her foolishness and "Oh how the tables have turned. You've changed, sister. So reckless." As well as "You've done it again, putting on some crazy performance. Are you trying to put me out of business?"
Somehow, the results were the opposite this time. Having avenged their family at nearly the cost of her own life, her stunt had begun the process of mending their relationship.
They resumed working together for a time, but it was all very routine in the coming decades. At first she was worried that what technically amounted to a betrayal of her employer would leave her blacklisted if anyone found out. She never took credit for it, but it was far from impossible for someone to put two-and-two together. However she'd earned the respect of enough of her contacts that they were willing to spin things for her if necessary. After all, it wasn't like anyone else had killed her parents.
As the story slowly spread amongst those who'd figured it out, she ended up in higher demand than ever. After all, she'd single-handedly crushed an entire mercenary group out of sheer spite. Having well and truly established herself, she had more opportunities than ever to sharpen her skills, especially as Asari slowly began to become accepted again.
Until she just dropped off the radar. It had all been a blur, being forced into a life she never would have chosen only to be so good at it, it had been hard to stop. So, one day, she just hit the brakes, hoping to fade into the background until she was forgotten and could live a more peaceful life...
Anthea was still off working as a hired gun, but as a more permanent member of a mostly legitimate private military company, where she'd apparently found love with one of the other women who worked there. Her little sister meanwhile had started studying the rachni, hearing that their species had turned on each other, and curious to see if anything could be done for the peaceful once that remained.
And Amynta? Well she wasn't doing much of anything by comparison. She was filled with a strange sense of contentment, as if she was just... done. She was barely more than a child by Asari standards and yet she felt complete in a way. A violent century had flown by, and while she was only a quick call away if her sisters ever needed her, she was ready to let the next one pass by quietly.
Psych. Eval.:
The three top words that generally describe her are cautious, responsible, and mindful. This combined with a stubborn willfulness often results in her attempting to take charge of any out of control situation in an attempt to remedy it. Usually, she will be the last to panic in any given crisis.
She has patience bordering on being total passivity unless she has decided it is time to take action.
Much of her personality seems rooted in the earliest years of her life, showing little evolution of her persona over time. After the loss of her parents, she took charge of her family, which seems to have given birth to most of the above traits. However, her personality traits have been proven to extend beyond her immediate family, taking similar care with anyone or anything she feels responsible for.
Contrary to what one might expect, she does not go out of her way to help others. While she has a strong distaste for those who prey on others, she does not make it her personal mission to stop anyone who is not directly threatening her or those she's responsible for, as she feels such heroics are unnecessary added risks.
Qualifications:
Decades of mercenary experience with an unusually high survival rate for anyone working with her or under her protection. While not boasting a totally flawless record for completing assignments, she has never lost a client. She's an ace marksman with reliable biotics as a back-up.
She also has a hard won network of contacts from her time as a mercenary. Having carefully curated her clientele, she has accumulated a sizeable list of trustworthy people, many of whom owe her despite having long since paid off her wages due to her having kept many of them alive despite all odds.
Position: Designated marksman
Recruited: Yes
Inventory & Logistics:
An effectively antique M-96 Mattock assault rifle with a modified scope and extended barrel
M-12 Locust SMG modded with lightweight materials
Reinforced, but unshielded light armor
Omni-tool (does anyone not?)
Flash-bangs (Apparently at her sister's recommendation, in case she ever needs to break into a room of angry men with guns again.)
Notoriety: 4
While a very effective mercenary, she never went out of her way to find glory, so to the less informed she's just one of many. To those who've heard her stories, however...
More than likely, rather than her weapon skills, it would be the mix of her tactical achievements and many repeat customers who sing her praises that might get people's attention. Normally a mercenary of such merit is spoken of in fear, but Amyta is spoken of almost... fondly.
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Full name: Takaror “Tak” Corr
Race: Tank Bred Krogan
Citizenship: True Krogan
Aliases: N/A
Age: 17
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.:
As with all of the tank breds, Tak was imprinted with the extensive knowledge of the four major subjects to life; linguistics, mathematics, science and social studies. Each of these subjects were then pinned under the umbrella of warfare, with all tank breds being taught how to use each field, and sub-heading of that field, to their advantage in war. The genetics of all tank bred pure Krogans were made to be state of the art, enabling them more control over their base instincts, ensuring better performance under high-stress situations.
As a result, Tak was born, handed a shotgun and dropped straight onto the frontline. Warfare came as easy to him as breathing, cutting through enemy lines alongside his cohort with little trouble. For the first five years the tank bred acted without thought or hesitation, following his orders to the letter. Unlike his naturally born counterparts, Tak fought with no rage, no anger or bloodlust, he was cold, calculating and if need be, ruthless, similar to that of a machine.
It wasn’t until adolescence that Tak had his first real thought. At the age a five, a gnawing began under the plate of his brow. A slow, burning ebbing that was akin to a spark that would light a forest fire, like being born again but spiritually rather than physically. It was an anger and hatred that began to grow inside of him but not of those he faced on the battlefield, no, this was about control.
With each order given to him, every life he took, every world he scarred, that feeling grew. He didn’t fully understand it or where it came from but the feeling was like a virus that spread throughout the tank breds. For Tak, emotion began to swarm his mind, overloading his senses to the point where he began to lag behind when compared to his brothers. Eventually frustration boiled over into an incident on an Asari settled world. An event that would become a catalyst for his future behaviour and something that got him pulled from the front line.
His superiors blamed all of this on Tak’s move into an adolescent stage and a failure to take the Right of Passage. But even now, after the death of Fortlack and the taking of his own Right of Passage, the feelings have not dissipated.
After becoming further disillusioned by his own brethrens political games and ploys, Tak began to research matters of the soul, coming across philosophy and the works of several human philosophers. Slowly he has begun to realise that he has a “monster” inside of him, one that lusts after war and death with an insatiable hunger. He fears that if he feeds that monster, then it will consume him.
Out of fear of what he can do to others, Tak isolates himself, avoiding contact, instead trying to get a hold of his emotions. Any attempts to pry these emotions or deeper thoughts out of him lead to an outburst of frustration and rage. Instead preferring to work through these problems alone, attempting to understand why he is like this and how he can forever kill the monster inside.
The council of Pure Krogan’s either overlook these feelings or are unaware, instead seeing Tak’s value as a warrior. As a result the tank-bred is being lent to those in power as a further extension of their peace ambitions, hoping that his success in the Spectre program will bring them closer to ending the war.
Phys. Eval.:
Tak stands at an imposing 2.75m, amassing 320kg of pure Krogan. He is daunting to look at and inspires fear in most creatures (just as he was bred to), possessing an incredible amount of strength. He was also bred to have much stronger plating, with more of it covering his body then regularly born Krogan.
Maturing into adolescence, he has moved from a dark green colour into a metallic blue, with his head plate still forming. It's unclear if his unusual colour comes from his genetic alteration, or if this is simply just a phase of adolesence but there appears to be no downside to this.
(OOC: Please ignore the tail in the picture, his tail is regular Krogan size, I'm just unable to edit it out. Cheers.)
Biotics:
Born as a Battlemaster, the Neo-Krogan biotics have very much become an extension of his fighting style and emotions. Always possessing the ability to put up a barrier and perform a biotic charge , Tak has seen the recent addition of being able to release a flare . Pent up emotions of unstable rage and anger allow him to release a massive biotic charge, though it leaves him exhausted, drained and even vulnerable after.
Qualifications:
Tak is the pinnacle of genetic technology, being bred with the strength and resilience of Krogan, the intelligence of Salarians, the martial discipline of Turians, the adaptability of humanity and even the dexterity of Drell albeit rather wasted on the Krogan physiognomy. Specifically Tak was bred to be a daunting figure in an attempt to demoralise the enemy before they even picked up a rifle.
He has fought extensively on the front lines of the Neo-Krogan Rebellions and as a result is able to operate medium to heavy weaponry, employ the use of demolitions and can lead small unit’s on the battlefield.
History:
One hour was all it took for the tank bred to be thrust onto the front line. Born, handed a shotgun and told to take a hill alongside his freshly, fully formed brethren, Tak was dropped onto a planet he had only dreamed about in the tank. It was a process that would be repeated for the next five years, being dropped into wherever the fighting was the heaviest and turning the tide of the war.
There was no significance in those battles, for every enemy that fell, another fifteen would take their place. For every world they took, another would appear on their strategic map with their superiors salivating at the idea of conquering it. It was monotonous, endless violence where everyone in it fought in a cruel and brutal manner.
Fortlack and the other Rebel clan leaders saw the tank breds as nothing but an edge over their enemies, a strategic gold mine that would see them to glory and victory. As such, there was no line that they wouldn’t make the tank breds cross, slaughtering civilians in person or from space, execution of POWs, mutilation of their enemies, biological warfare, it didn’t matter. For the newborn Krogan, their actions were meaningless, there was no difference between man, woman or child, there was simply the objective as they didn’t know any better.
Tak was no different in the beginning, engulfed in battle he would have no trouble gunning down whatever creature stood in the way of his objective, tearing apart other races limb by limb if need be. Every night he would dream of nothing but more warfare, the imprint of his tank life haunting his subconscious every time he shut his eyes.
Among his squad there was little chatter within those first years. There was no aggression or animosity between them like the naturally born Krogan. Instead they walked around in a kind of zombified state, aware of each other's existence but knowing the acknowledgement of such things was meaningless.
Even now Tak couldn’t tell you what day that all began to change. A feeling in his head began to grow, starting like a headache, something began to gnaw behind his forming plates. It was so subtle at first that the only memory worth remembering was an instance where his squad was preparing for an ambush. There he was, primed to take the first shot, eying down his enemy through the sight of his gun with his finger stroking the trigger ever so delicately, waiting for the precise moment to strike.
But then, right as the order was given, a sharp pain in that spot caused him to miss the shot. He had never missed a shot under those circumstances before, though his team successfully mopped up the enemy squad, the moment resonated with him.
It wasn’t long before he found himself drawn to similar events, questioning superiors orders, slight hesitations when it came to the gunning down of other Krogan and pausing momentarily at the death of his allies. Something began to stir inside his chest, like that feeling behind his plate had grown like a vine, twisting its way down his spine and around his hearts.
That same something began to stir in all tank breds and over time, these anomalies began to grow to the point that Fortlack began to take notice. Older tank bred Krogan began being put forward for almost suicidal runs to stop them from reaching maturity while stepping up production of fresh specimens. Those who survived began to organise meetings in secret, away from the natural borns. The tank breds had grown smart enough to know that they were experiencing an awakening, an adolescence and maturity in which they would be able to form their own identity.
Shaman were created in an unofficial capacity, hidden among the ranks with only the pure and true Krogans having knowledge of who was who. With this newfound sense of identity each tank bred was free to choose a clan of their choice, taking a step forward and coming closer to the realisation of a new destiny.
Still wrestling with these new feelings, Tak sought out a Shaman in his unit. Tak was told of how their superiors had made them fight without honor and this is why they had been given a new awareness. So they could see the truth and through the lies of their superiors, that there would be a new day dawning for the Krogan and the formation of a grand final clan in which the true Krogan would lead.
The Shaman told Tak that in order to rid himself of these feelings, he must fight with honour and in the name of his brothers and sisters, not for Fortlack and his kind.
One day they had been tasked to invade an Asari settled world. Their superiors had deemed the factories and mines of that world to be important enough to launch a full scale invasion, rather than trying to bomb it from orbit. This should have been a routine run for Tak, it wasn’t his first time taking a world the other races called home, they all knew civilian casualties would be high and unavoidable.
Tak and his squad were dropped from orbit in pods into a town at the foot of an eezo mine. The community was etched in between a valley with the Asari fortifying a frontline at the only road into town. Though they had littered AA guns throughout the houses, they weren’t enough to stop the Rebel Clans assault. Tak’s squad (along with other squads) dropped in behind the frontline defences and assaulted them from the rear.
Tak himself was shot off course, flak from an AA gun glanced his pod, sending him crashing through the roof of a hall. As soon as the doors flew off he was set upon by a natural born Krogan, the two rolling around on the floor as screams erupted from all around them. Instinct had kicked in and it wasn’t before Tak gained an upper hand, freeing himself up to grab his combat knife. Just as he went for the killing blow, he was hit by two biotic charges, causing him to fall back on his ass and off the Krogan.
Again, instinctively, Tak reached for his assault rifle, pulling it from his back and taking aim towards whatever had fired the charge. The Krogan on the ground screamed for Tak to stop, holding up his hand and slowly getting to his knees. Behind him were two small Asari’s, children in appearance, their faces soaked in tears. Confused Tak uttered what felt like his first fully formed sentence to anyone outside of the clan. He asked the Krogan why he fought with children, what kind of tactic was this?
The Krogan replied that he was no soldier, this was his family, their mother was defending the front gate but he had left Tuchanka long ago, no longer wishing to be a part of the constant cycle of violence. Tak knew that their mother was dead and said there was no escape for them but the Krogan asked him to help them get out through a secret tunnel in the mines. The Krogan told Tak that he didn’t have to be a part of this, he could make a choice like he once did and that there was more to life than this.
Tak could feel the tearing of his soul as his nature wrestled with itself. He could hear the Shaman’s words, that this Krogan had forgone his honour by leaving his clan but there was more to this, the genophage had taken away their ability to have children but still life had found a way. The Asari were so delicate, how could they love something so brutish? Then there was the innocence in the children's eyes, what was all of this?
Emotions overwhelmed the tank bred, he began to tear apart the kitchen in a fit of rage before aiming a gun at the Krogan on the floor. Tak told him that he was without honour for leaving his kin and as such he would be killed but, in the same vein, his children would be spared and be allowed to leave. The Krogan agreed and asked his children to turn away.
Tak killed the Krogan just as his squad arrived. The other tank breds had slaughtered the defenders at the entrance and were sweeping the town clean, as per orders. Tak explained to his squad what had happened and that their Shaman had spoken to him about honour. The others were unsure what order to disobey, they were each in their own stage of awakening and it was something that manifested individually.
It only took one of the other tank breds to decide that their orders were more important for things to go south. His squad member raised his shotgun at the two little girls and Tak snapped. He tore into his squadmate, screaming for the girls to run and fought a brutal hand to hand fight.
In the end it took 5 tank breds to take Tak down, not knowing if the girls had got away. Luckily for him, the mutiny had occurred. Fortlack and any who stood with him had been killed and a New Pure Krogan council had been formed. Tak’s outburst was put down to him going through adolescence and he was ordered to be taken from the front lines to undertake their newly formed Right of Passage.
He thought all of this would bring him peace but away from the front lines he had become more restless than ever. The Krogan’s words that day had stuck with him, adding to the gnawing feeling in his soul. More than that the new council of Krogan had made Tak a pawn in their own political games, offering him up as a part of their peace proposal. The Shamans' promise of a grand new Clan had begun to ring hollow as Tak saw his older brethren fall into the same patterns of control.
But rebellion had got them nowhere, so Tak hatched a plan. He would play the good soldier, serving the New Council and C-sec to the letter, all the while hatching an escape plan. When the prospect of renewing the Spectre program came up, with the addition of moving out from the immediate thumb of their superiors, Tak jumped at the opportunity. He petitioned the New Council to be their representative, to which they agreed.
Position:
Tak's primary role is a Shock Trooper and although he may have other talents, he has no idea what they could be. At least he’ll be good for heavy lifting in the meantime.
Recruited:
No
Inventory & Logistics:
Weapon wise Tak has the following in his possession:
- Graal Spike Thrower
- Striker Assault Rifle
- ML-77 Missile Launcher
Armour wise, Tak sports medium armour, allowing him to be more fluid in combat. Together with his natural shell, both layers provide the protection level of heavy armour when it comes to covering his vital organs. Though this leaves some of his joints exposed.
Notoriety:
5/10
Due to his unique genetic design, Tak is well known within the Neo-Krogan’s, though they do not know him personally. Outside of their clan, he is relatively unknown.
Misc.:
Tak has brought on board training equipment, books and bookshelves, as well as a computer for access to the internet. All donated by his government.
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
DrRtron Formerly Rtron
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
This is done with an in-character dossier of information readily available about your character in mind, in addition to that which they are willing to disclose to those hiring them for the mission. Anything you do not want visible to the public please PM to me.
Full name: Urdnot ‘Urd’ Shephurd
Race: Krogan
Citizenship: Main Krogan Space. Proudly.
Aliases: N/A
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Phys. Eval.: Urd is massive, even by Krogan standards. Standing at 9ft 6in (2.89m) at the hump and weighing at 749lbs (340kg) of pure muscle. He is a striking figure, and finds his greatest source of pride in his large hump. He claims that it comes from grandfather Wrex and his ancestor Shiagur.
(Note: An accurate estimate of Wrex’s size and weight were impossible to gain, though self-estimations garnered from Wrex himself put his height at 8ft tall and weight at 800 pounds. Almost certainly exaggeration. No information about Shiagur’s height and build were found. It is unlikely that they are where Urd’s prodigious size comes from. Both his mother, his father and their relatives, however, were all found to be above average size for a Krogan.)
With his headplate fully solidified and his growth done, Urd is a fully mature Krogan and is in his prime. His great physical strength alone will be of great use to the mission, and his endurance with his natural Krogan regeneration will be nearly unmatched.
Biotics: After surviving the surgery to grant him biotic powers, Urd is a very powerful biotic. He focuses mainly on using it as a weapon and to increase his own strength even further, but has picked up a few standard tricks as he learned to control his newfound powers.
Standard uses of biotic powers:
Biotic Focus
Various telekinetic uses (Pull, throw, Lift, Slam)
Charge
Nova
Barrier
Backlash
Shockwave
Lash
Qualifications: A veteran of both the new Rachni Wars and the Neo-Krogan wars, a survivor of the brutal slave fights of Clan Urak, a skilled mechanic, and a powerful biotic talent Urd is an experienced soldier and capable of adapting to nearly any situation thrown at him and coming out on top. Combined with his willingness to accept the orders of almost anyone on board the ship and work with whomever he is required to, his dirt cheap service, and his willingness to do anything to see that the mission is complete Urd makes an incredibly useful tool in the hands of the new Spectre Program.
History:
Position: Primarily: Point man for squad. Secondarily: Assistant Engineer.
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Current: M-300 Claymore (Modded: Shotgun Blade attachment)
Striker Assault Rifle
Electric Krogan Warhammer (Note: This is Urd’s personal Warhammer, crafted by his own hands.He has modified it to gather and expend electricity, and is very proud of it.)
Combat Drone, fondly named Ruzad. Urd has modified it to fire assault rifle bullets and Ballistic Blades. It is far more rugged and crass than your average combat drone, with a larger chassis and motor and more reliance on armor than omni-shields.
Heavy Hazard Armor (Note: Contains built in Tech-Armor that Urd has modified to have omni-blades protruding from it. Inspired by Batarian Blade armor.)
Varren Plushie (Ara)
Special requests: Ryncol, permission to bring aboard a pet Varren (note: Urd has been repeatedly denied this request and repeatedly puts it back in), feed for said Varren (note: also denied), permission to bring one or more Kakliosaurs aboard (note: denied along with the Varren, but he keeps putting it back in with the Varren), supplies for the Kakliosaurs (note: denied as well), M-920 Cain, Cain Trip Mines, M-452 Firestorm, Reaper Blackstar, M-597 Ladon, Inferno Grenades, Cluster Grenades, Chemical Rounds, Inferno Rounds, Explosive Rounds, Krogan Tomkah, Krogan Thresher (note: Krogan interplanetary shuttles, heavily armored and designed for dropping directly into heavy combat zones and landing with the crew intact) , N7 Typhoon, Heavy Colossus Armor, and various gun and armor mods.
Notoriety: 6. Among his clan and others of the Loyalist Krogan Urd is well known for his actions during the Neo-Krogan war and his rebellion against Clan Urak, and stories of it and his actions on the planet have been spread to other forces outside of the Loyalist Clans as moral boosting propaganda. (Primarily the Turians, Asari, and Salarians)
Misc.: Urd has chosen the quarters closest to the vehicle bay of the ship. The quarters themselves aren't particularly lavish. He has a work table set up in his room, a Varren sized bed (still hoping to bring on his pet), a computer, a peg wall for his weapons and armor, and a krogan sized cot.
What little ornamentation he has includes a broken Krogan Warhammer hilt and a shattered Krogan helmet (Note: Warlord design)both hanging on the wall. The symbol for Clan Urak adorns the side of the helmet. On his computer desk there is a model figurine of Bravery the Timid Varren, and on the wall a poster for the same show. In another part of the wall are all of the postcards Severin has sent him from her travels.
-Urd has all 10 seasons of Bravery the Timid Varren, not just on his omni-tool and computer but in the collectible physical forms as well (with the first season still possessing the note Zahir wrote to him with it). It is hands down his favorite show of all time.
-Urd generally speaks in a tone of voice that is louder than necessary. He doesn't seem to realize it, and he only gets louder the more excited he gets.
Theme: Legends are Made
-Urd likes plants. He is bad at caring for them, however. It doesn't stop him from trying, so frequently his room will have dead or dying plants in it, as he searches the galaxy for a plant that can survive with his level of accidental neglect.
Relationships:
Seraph: Urd has no opinion of the Geth. Neutral. He shortens its name to 'Ser', it rhymes with care.
Sosa’Numos nar Suram: Urd has no opinion of the captain. Neutral. Though he does see her as the most direct route to get his Varren and Kakliosaur requests approved, and has a vested interest in convincing her to do that. He shortens her name to 'Sos'.
Amynta T'Vete: TBR
Takaror “Tak” Corr: Urd hates Tak with every fiber of his being and has zero trust in the Tank Bred. He only willingly refers to Tak as 'Tube' or 'Tankie'.
Sam W. Bridge: TBR
Nethel Niol: Urd knows of the Drell's moniker 'The Merc with a Conscience'. He finds the oxymoron amusing, but trusts the Drell's reputation as an effective mercenary. Neutral. He shortens Nethel's name to 'Net'.
Eustace Dar Adal: Urd only knows vaguely of the humans actions during the Neo-Krogan wars and in the private sector later on. Neutral. He will shorten Euscatce's name to 'Eu', but given the human's hostility to such a nickname it may change.
Osino Kael: Urd knows Osino. They fought each other once before when Urd was working a as a bodyguard for a slaver on Chalkhos. Osino distracted Urd, narrowly surviving a few close calls, as the rest of her Dead Cell squad took the slaver. The Drell stunned Urd to escape with her crew, leaving him not only with a failed mission and no paycheck but a grievous wound to his pride in addition to the injures he had sustained chasing her. He views her as an annoyance and holds some resentment for that mission, but will likely get over it. He shortens her name to 'Os'.
(Note: We should have noticed that one of Urd's rare stories about his failures included a rather accurate description of the Dead Cell squad members, including Osino, but we missed it. It was the 10th of such stories Urd was telling and we needed to finish the Pysch Eval.)
Azulethan ‘Zul’ Ledanari: Urd has nothing but respect for the Turian mercenary, purely from a professional stand point. He has heard only rumors of Zul's shamed past, and doesn't care enough to investigate further. His reputation as mercenary reached Urd's circles, as did his penchant for making enemies. Urd views him in a very positive light. He shortens Azulethan's name to 'Az'.
Dreklei Harahn: Urd has no knowledge of whom Dreklei is, but trust C-Secs choices in personnel. Neutral. He shortens Dreklei's name to 'Drek'.
Severin Zahir: Urd has an extensive history with Doctor Zahir. The two found themselves working together frequently during the Neo-Krogan wars, and Zahir is responsible for saving Urd's life (Interestingly enough, this story is one of the few times Urd doesn't exaggerate his own role. He is very clear that Doctor Zahir saved his life and is the reason he is alive). Zahir is perhaps the only person onboard the Weiro that Urd trusts implicitly. He is fiercely loyal to her, and she was one of the very first people he visited after freeing himself for Clan Urak. The two of them exchanged letters and gifts over the years, with Urd sending her trinkets or other gifts he thought she'd enjoy along with his typical exaggerations of his exploits. He even gave her the Claymore that she used to save his life, claiming it was lucky and that he himself did not need that much luck. He calls her 'Zee'.
(Note: Despite the fact that Urd calls Doctor Zahir 'Zee' a nickname which, based on our interviews with many of the people Doctor Zahir knows, is almost exclusively used by people she has had sexual relationships with, her and Urd's relationship is not sexual. To quote the Krogan himself their relationship 'has not been, is not at all, and will not be sexual or romantic in any way shape or form!'. Indeed, Urd's reaction to our suggestion of that level of intimacy with Doctor Zahir was one of comical surprise and horror. When Doctor Zahir was asked as well, she confirmed that their relationship, while close, was not sexual and that Urd had never displayed an interest in making it so. The doctor seemed amused during this line of questioning.)
Anderson McKenna: Urd served on Turgix, during the same time the Omegan forces and Anderson were on the planet. He has seen her in action and heard rumors of what she did on the planet, and greatly approves of her. He has expressed confusion over how Takaror Corr (referred to as Tube by Urd himself) is allowed free reign of the ship but Anderson is confined to her quarter. He calls her Mck (Note: Upon being informed repeatedly that this is a derogatory slur in human culture, and explained to why it was a slur Urd has changed his nickname to 'M').
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Full name: Urdnot ‘Urd’ Shephurd
Race: Krogan
Citizenship: Main Krogan Space. Proudly.
Aliases: N/A
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Urd desperately wants to be a hero. Not just any hero, but a hero equal to the one his name comes from and the other legends that surrounded his namesake. Feeding into this desperate need he completely believes that he is destined for greatness and that because he is a grandson of Urdnot Wrex and a descendant of Shiagur (Note: Neither are particularly unique things for a Krogan to be) he will become one of the greatest heroes the universe has ever seen. Knowing what he is destined to become, he strives to emulate the characteristics he sees in other legendary heroes. He is boisterous, loyal to his companions, merciless to his enemies, proud, and driven. He is also a very open individual. While refreshing when compared to some of the other potential candidates for the Spectre program, Urd’s tendency to talk and tell tales when reminded of them has derailed the evaluation multiple times and forced it to be paused to be put back on track.
(Note: This was not entirely a bad thing. Urd seems to be a natural born storyteller, and what stories he chooses to tell, be they myths or events he has heard of or tales of his own exploits, revealed a great deal about him)
Both a typical Krogan and in his own eyes a peerless survivor, arrogance oozes off of Urd in droves. He knows that he survived his Rite of Passage because of his genetics. He is assured that he survived the biotic surgery because of his will. He is certain that his survival during the Neo-Krogan Wars and as a prisoner of war to Clan Urak are not because of luck, that his own skills and innate talents allowed him to be stronger than whatever tried to kill him.
Urd has supreme self-confidence to the point that the idea of total failure, not just setbacks on his way to the ultimate goal but actual complete failure with no chance of ever succeeding, is a foreign one to him. When pressed on the idea that he might totally fail at some point in his life, he looked confused and then laughed. “Impossible!” Further attempts to press him on the matter were met with the same easy dismissal. Urd simply refuses to imagine failing at his ultimate goals. He might be delayed, but he will never truly fail. This allows him to bounce back from defeats with surprising vigour, but it remains to be seen what he will do if he ever has to face a total defeat.
In spite of his arrogance and his emulation of heroes that were all potent leaders in their own right, Urd has no desire to be a leader. He is content being responsible for himself and his own destiny and does not want to bear the weight of others on his shoulders. When the subject was brought up he laughed again. “I’m no leader. Too much work being responsible for others and their needs. I must focus on my destiny, and my legacy.”
Urd has a very large competitive streak, an innate need to one up and meet any challengers or challenges he comes across. Be they real or perceived. He is constantly pushing himself to go past previous limits and make himself stronger, faster, or more knowledgeable.
The only time Urd’s cheerful, easy-going, and boisterous demeanor slipped is when the conversation turned to the Neo-Krogan war. To say that he hates the Tank-Born Krogan and the Rebels would be an understatement. Urd despises them. He loathes them with all of his being. In his eyes the Rebels are cowards who were unable to face the fact that times had changed and the Krogan needed to change with them, and the Tank-Born are monstrosities that should have never been. It does not seem that this hatred of the Tank-Born stems from insecurities. Urd genuinely believes that the Tank-Born are inferior, purely because of how they were made and how they act. In his mind, without struggling and earning their strength they are like a brittle rock. Once exposed to enough heat, they’ll simply shatter.
When it was brought up that one of the heroes he idolizes so much, Grunt, was a Tank-Bred Urd met the question with some confusion. “Grunt is different. Grunt was raised by Shepard and Wrex. He’s not like the tubes.” (Note: Short for ‘Test tubes’. A derogatory term for Tank-Bred Krogan, similar to tankies) All attempts to equalize Grunt with Urd’s hated foes were met with similar dismissal.
Despite his going to considerable lengths to hide it, the emotion that forms the base of Urd’s psychology and motivations is fear. Fear of ignominy. Fear of being doomed to a life of anonymity and being average. Fear of failure. Fear of death. Fear drives Urd far more than he will ever admit. He hides it behind all the other emotions, but it is always there tingeing his actions and his thoughts.
During the evaluation it was discovered that Urd is highly superstitious and has certain rituals he relies on to bring him good luck. A Varren plushie (known as Ara), discovered after his escape from captivity, is almost always on his person. He can be seen frequently rubbing or touching it for luck (and comfort, but he will not admit that). He doesn’t know where it came from, just that he found it in the chaos of his escape and it has brought him good luck and ever since. He is incredibly protective of the plushie, but indifferent to any mocking about his carrying of it.
Before battle he will kneel and trace a pattern in the ground, while he quietly mutters one word over and over again. Korbal (Note: Roughly translated to mean Victory or Death.) He is almost entirely unresponsive during this brief period.
When asked about these, Urd explained that the word was the chant the crowd would start up before his fights as a gladiator. The pattern he traces is the symbol for Clan Urdnot. He claims these actions center him. When facing a new enemy, the symbol changes from Clan Urdnot to a Krogan word for honor, though the chant remains unchanged. He calls this his Rite of Firsts (Note: A much longer one is done if he is given enough notice beforehand that they will be facing a new enemy. It involves a prayer to his ancestors to grant him and his foe honor in the upcoming battle and that he will be victorious over the new challengers ahead)
His rituals continue even after missions are completed. After every mission Urd insists upon being the one to meticulously clean and repair his equipment. Nominally this just appears to be a soldier keeping his self-reliance, but Urd does this immediately after the mission has concluded and he is back at whatever happens to be home base. Disruption of this procedure leads to anxiety and nervousness. Any attempts to have someone else take care of those actions were met with aggressive resistance.
Urd has a fear of the dark. While he will never admit it, claiming any nervousness and fear that he showed had been excitement that was misinterpreted, and that any sensors that showed biological responses of fear were faulty, his experiences with night combat and as a slave have left a mark. Whenever he rests, his drone is always set to watch over him with a soft glow. During missions that require no lights the interior of his helmet will be softly lit, blocked out by shading on the exterior.
Urd greatly enjoys working on vehicles, ships, armor, and weaponry. The process gives him a sense of accomplishment and a practical goal to work toward, and the challenges they present appeal to his aforementioned competitive nature. It is possibly the second most excited he was during the evaluation (behind only when talking about Varrens and Kakliosaurs. In particular his Varrens and his Kakliosaur. Urd loves the creatures) and evident that he could go on for hours talking about all the mechanical processes of whatever you put before him. VI and AI he was less excited to discuss, as their construction and functions mostly confuse him and as such he works very little on those. He has a great preference for hardware over software.
As he idolizes his grandfather and Grunt, Urd’s approach to the Blood Rage all Krogan are famous for is similar. He views it as an incredibly dangerous, but useful, tool. Something only to be let loose when nothing else will work. He looks down on those Krogans who let themselves be ruled by their Blood Rage, slipping into it almost as soon as the fight begins.
As mentioned at the beginning of the evaluation, Urd has an almost obsessive desire to be a hero. This is his primary motivation for joining the mission and because of this he will go to any length to ensure that the mission succeeds.
(Note: This was not entirely a bad thing. Urd seems to be a natural born storyteller, and what stories he chooses to tell, be they myths or events he has heard of or tales of his own exploits, revealed a great deal about him)
Both a typical Krogan and in his own eyes a peerless survivor, arrogance oozes off of Urd in droves. He knows that he survived his Rite of Passage because of his genetics. He is assured that he survived the biotic surgery because of his will. He is certain that his survival during the Neo-Krogan Wars and as a prisoner of war to Clan Urak are not because of luck, that his own skills and innate talents allowed him to be stronger than whatever tried to kill him.
Urd has supreme self-confidence to the point that the idea of total failure, not just setbacks on his way to the ultimate goal but actual complete failure with no chance of ever succeeding, is a foreign one to him. When pressed on the idea that he might totally fail at some point in his life, he looked confused and then laughed. “Impossible!” Further attempts to press him on the matter were met with the same easy dismissal. Urd simply refuses to imagine failing at his ultimate goals. He might be delayed, but he will never truly fail. This allows him to bounce back from defeats with surprising vigour, but it remains to be seen what he will do if he ever has to face a total defeat.
In spite of his arrogance and his emulation of heroes that were all potent leaders in their own right, Urd has no desire to be a leader. He is content being responsible for himself and his own destiny and does not want to bear the weight of others on his shoulders. When the subject was brought up he laughed again. “I’m no leader. Too much work being responsible for others and their needs. I must focus on my destiny, and my legacy.”
Urd has a very large competitive streak, an innate need to one up and meet any challengers or challenges he comes across. Be they real or perceived. He is constantly pushing himself to go past previous limits and make himself stronger, faster, or more knowledgeable.
The only time Urd’s cheerful, easy-going, and boisterous demeanor slipped is when the conversation turned to the Neo-Krogan war. To say that he hates the Tank-Born Krogan and the Rebels would be an understatement. Urd despises them. He loathes them with all of his being. In his eyes the Rebels are cowards who were unable to face the fact that times had changed and the Krogan needed to change with them, and the Tank-Born are monstrosities that should have never been. It does not seem that this hatred of the Tank-Born stems from insecurities. Urd genuinely believes that the Tank-Born are inferior, purely because of how they were made and how they act. In his mind, without struggling and earning their strength they are like a brittle rock. Once exposed to enough heat, they’ll simply shatter.
When it was brought up that one of the heroes he idolizes so much, Grunt, was a Tank-Bred Urd met the question with some confusion. “Grunt is different. Grunt was raised by Shepard and Wrex. He’s not like the tubes.” (Note: Short for ‘Test tubes’. A derogatory term for Tank-Bred Krogan, similar to tankies) All attempts to equalize Grunt with Urd’s hated foes were met with similar dismissal.
Despite his going to considerable lengths to hide it, the emotion that forms the base of Urd’s psychology and motivations is fear. Fear of ignominy. Fear of being doomed to a life of anonymity and being average. Fear of failure. Fear of death. Fear drives Urd far more than he will ever admit. He hides it behind all the other emotions, but it is always there tingeing his actions and his thoughts.
During the evaluation it was discovered that Urd is highly superstitious and has certain rituals he relies on to bring him good luck. A Varren plushie (known as Ara), discovered after his escape from captivity, is almost always on his person. He can be seen frequently rubbing or touching it for luck (and comfort, but he will not admit that). He doesn’t know where it came from, just that he found it in the chaos of his escape and it has brought him good luck and ever since. He is incredibly protective of the plushie, but indifferent to any mocking about his carrying of it.
Before battle he will kneel and trace a pattern in the ground, while he quietly mutters one word over and over again. Korbal (Note: Roughly translated to mean Victory or Death.) He is almost entirely unresponsive during this brief period.
When asked about these, Urd explained that the word was the chant the crowd would start up before his fights as a gladiator. The pattern he traces is the symbol for Clan Urdnot. He claims these actions center him. When facing a new enemy, the symbol changes from Clan Urdnot to a Krogan word for honor, though the chant remains unchanged. He calls this his Rite of Firsts (Note: A much longer one is done if he is given enough notice beforehand that they will be facing a new enemy. It involves a prayer to his ancestors to grant him and his foe honor in the upcoming battle and that he will be victorious over the new challengers ahead)
His rituals continue even after missions are completed. After every mission Urd insists upon being the one to meticulously clean and repair his equipment. Nominally this just appears to be a soldier keeping his self-reliance, but Urd does this immediately after the mission has concluded and he is back at whatever happens to be home base. Disruption of this procedure leads to anxiety and nervousness. Any attempts to have someone else take care of those actions were met with aggressive resistance.
Urd has a fear of the dark. While he will never admit it, claiming any nervousness and fear that he showed had been excitement that was misinterpreted, and that any sensors that showed biological responses of fear were faulty, his experiences with night combat and as a slave have left a mark. Whenever he rests, his drone is always set to watch over him with a soft glow. During missions that require no lights the interior of his helmet will be softly lit, blocked out by shading on the exterior.
Urd greatly enjoys working on vehicles, ships, armor, and weaponry. The process gives him a sense of accomplishment and a practical goal to work toward, and the challenges they present appeal to his aforementioned competitive nature. It is possibly the second most excited he was during the evaluation (behind only when talking about Varrens and Kakliosaurs. In particular his Varrens and his Kakliosaur. Urd loves the creatures) and evident that he could go on for hours talking about all the mechanical processes of whatever you put before him. VI and AI he was less excited to discuss, as their construction and functions mostly confuse him and as such he works very little on those. He has a great preference for hardware over software.
As he idolizes his grandfather and Grunt, Urd’s approach to the Blood Rage all Krogan are famous for is similar. He views it as an incredibly dangerous, but useful, tool. Something only to be let loose when nothing else will work. He looks down on those Krogans who let themselves be ruled by their Blood Rage, slipping into it almost as soon as the fight begins.
As mentioned at the beginning of the evaluation, Urd has an almost obsessive desire to be a hero. This is his primary motivation for joining the mission and because of this he will go to any length to ensure that the mission succeeds.
Phys. Eval.: Urd is massive, even by Krogan standards. Standing at 9ft 6in (2.89m) at the hump and weighing at 749lbs (340kg) of pure muscle. He is a striking figure, and finds his greatest source of pride in his large hump. He claims that it comes from grandfather Wrex and his ancestor Shiagur.
(Note: An accurate estimate of Wrex’s size and weight were impossible to gain, though self-estimations garnered from Wrex himself put his height at 8ft tall and weight at 800 pounds. Almost certainly exaggeration. No information about Shiagur’s height and build were found. It is unlikely that they are where Urd’s prodigious size comes from. Both his mother, his father and their relatives, however, were all found to be above average size for a Krogan.)
With his headplate fully solidified and his growth done, Urd is a fully mature Krogan and is in his prime. His great physical strength alone will be of great use to the mission, and his endurance with his natural Krogan regeneration will be nearly unmatched.
Biotics: After surviving the surgery to grant him biotic powers, Urd is a very powerful biotic. He focuses mainly on using it as a weapon and to increase his own strength even further, but has picked up a few standard tricks as he learned to control his newfound powers.
Standard uses of biotic powers:
Biotic Focus
Various telekinetic uses (Pull, throw, Lift, Slam)
Charge
Nova
Barrier
Backlash
Shockwave
Lash
Qualifications: A veteran of both the new Rachni Wars and the Neo-Krogan wars, a survivor of the brutal slave fights of Clan Urak, a skilled mechanic, and a powerful biotic talent Urd is an experienced soldier and capable of adapting to nearly any situation thrown at him and coming out on top. Combined with his willingness to accept the orders of almost anyone on board the ship and work with whomever he is required to, his dirt cheap service, and his willingness to do anything to see that the mission is complete Urd makes an incredibly useful tool in the hands of the new Spectre Program.
History:
(Note: Due to the rather poor record keeping of the Loyalist Krogan clans, we have no way of verifying anything of Urd’s early life, and little way of verifying his history before joining the mission. What follows is his account. Given his penchant for exaggeration, some of these events should be taken with a dose of skepticism. What we can verify will be noted as such.)
”Ah, so you want to know my history before I got embroiled in the war? Of course you do. Damn thorough process this evaluation. Don’t know why I have to go through it, you already know you have the best damn Combat Engineer for the job. After all I’m…”
(Note: Here, Urd goes into a rather lengthy tangent about his ancestors, his merits, and his destiny of greatness. To save time, we have cut that part of the discussion out.)
Urd coughs, taking a drink of water. ”That’s better. As I was saying, the world I and my hundreds of brothers and sisters hatched into was a familiar one for the Krogan race: one of eternal war, fighting for survival. By the time my siblings and I were born the war against our ancient enemies the Rachni had been raging on for nine years, and those fucking cowards known as the Rebel Clans,”
Here, he goes to spit in disgust but pauses at seeing the glare from the attendant. He swallows sheepishly. This is not the first time he has done this, nor the first time he has been asked not too.
”Apologies. Those damned traitors had just made their move against my grandfather and the loyalist clans. We were now fighting a war on two fronts. Fortunately our formerly ancient enemies, the Turians and the Asari, and our tenuous allies, the Salarians, joined our cause to crush the rebellion. So, these wars were the wars that my family and I were expected to fight in. These were the wars that were all too excited to fight in. We were being trained for these wars as soon as we could throw a punch and hold a weapon. Standard Krogan Clan training. I won’t bore you with the details.
“What you will find of interest is that old habits die hard with the Krogan Loyalist Clans and every one of us was also being trained in a secondary role in society. A hold over from when the Genophage nearly wiped us out entirely so every Krogan was required to do at least one other job in addition to fighting. My siblings were taken under the wing of many different professions: some medics, others scientists, and still others were taken in by pilots.
“When my penchant for taking things apart and putting them together was discovered, I was taken under the tutelage of an Engineer. Not the role I really wanted. I wanted to learn how to breed and handle both Varren and Kakliosaurs. Amazing animals, those two species. I finally got my wish years later and have my own pack and Kakliosaur now…” (Note: Here, Urd goes into another lengthy tangent about Varren, Kakliosaurs, his respect for them as a species, his love for his pack and mount back on Tuchanka that he had raised, and how he should be allowed to bring his favorites, a Varren with a unique red and orange coloration known as Sparky and a large Kakliosaur named Grumpy, aboard the Weiro. This tangent included a multitude of pictures on his Omni-tool of Sparky, her packmates, and Grumpy. To save time, we have once again cut that part from the evaluation)
”Sorry, I just get carried away talking about them. Where was I? Right, taken in by an engineer. Urdnot Barran. He’s an old Krogan. Veteran of the original Krogan Rebellions, so he’s seen all kinds of technology come and go and worked on damn near everything in the galaxy at one point. He taught me everything I needed to know about working on vehicles, ships, weapons, and armor. He even gave me a few pointers on how to modify and install a VI. They weren’t his forte though, and I don’t blame him. All that software stuff is gibberish.
“He was the one who helped coach me through my Rite of Passage as my father was busy fighting the Rebels. I was only five, filled with excitement and rage at the proposition of coming of age and fighting a Thresher Maw. It went smoothly, as you can obviously see. He was also the one who told me about the ancient surgery that made biotics. I had been complaining about how I wanted to be a biotic, to better serve the clan. He sarcastically informed me that if I was so eager to be special I might as well go and die trying to survive the surgery. But good luck finding someone who knew how to do it and would do it. I’d have to go to Omega to even have a chance, he said. He thought I wasn’t going to take him seriously, but he was wrong.
A group of 15 of my siblings and I all gathered together to go find someone in Omega who knew how to do it and would be willing to. We all knew the risks and we all desperately wanted to become stronger to aid the clan in the wars it was facing. It was a year before we were to be sent to battle the Rachni as a blooding so we knew we had plenty of time. We all got on the shuttle to Omega and off we went. Wasn’t difficult. We were still merely citizens then, and as such didn’t need to ask for permission.
“It took longer than we had thought it would. Months, actually. So many people tried to lie to us, to cheat us, to rob us, or just outright attack us. It was great! A truly wild place that we thrived in. The stories I could tell. But you want me to tell my early history. So I need to focus. We found an old Krogan, even older than Barran. His name was Grak. He didn’t give a clan name, which unsettled us far more than we liked to admit. But he was the real deal, so we gave him our credits and one by one underwent the surgery. I was the first. I had no worries, or fear. Why would I? I knew I would survive it. I am destined for greatness.”
(Note: An ancient Krogan going by the name of Grak and offering his services to make ‘any species a Biotic, credits up front’ has been verified as on Omega and what records we have gleaned match up with Urd’s timeline of meeting this individual)
“The pain was excruciating. To this day, the worst agony I have ever felt and it’s not even close. I don’t remember passing out. Just blinding, burning, pain and then waking up in the recovery room. Grak was covering the bodies of 14 of my brothers and sisters. Only my youngest sister, Urdnot Erva, had survived. We hugged each other out of relief, and looked to Grak. He smiled his disturbing grin and told us that we should be displaying our powers within 24 hours. We thanked him again, and took our siblings' bodies one by one and gave them a proper pyre burial. They had sacrificed everything for the clan, and deserved nothing less.
“Grak was right. Before the next day had dawned, Erva and I began displaying biotic powers. Reliable, powerful, biotics. You can imagine our excitement. The hotel room we had been renting was absolutely wrecked as we experimented with our powers. The next day we caught another shuttle back to Tuchanka. The Shaman was furious when he found out. The fact that we did something so dangerous and illegal, with the fact that it cost the lives of so many of our siblings enraged him. We were severely reprimanded. We were almost denied being sent to the war front as punishment. But due to the fact that two of us had succeeded, he didn’t go quite that far. We were still biotics, and still in need of some training. So Erva and I were put on the fast track to learn what we could before being sent to the war. Barran just shook his head and called me a fool for taking such a risk. ‘Like trusting a Salarian’s word’ he called it. He got over it though, and resumed by technical training soon after.
“A few months later I turned six, and was going to be shipped to the Rachni war. I had crafted my own Krogan Warhammer for the occasion. It was the pinnacle of Barran’s lessons and perfect for all of my uses. I was, and am still, damn proud of it. Erva and I were to be put into a joint squad with a Turian, an Asari, and a Salarian. Many of my siblings and hundreds of others of the clan were doing the same thing. A move to strengthen our relationship with the other nations, it was called. We all had our doubts, as many of our parents still vividly remembered when those three races were responsible for holding us down, but if that is what Wrex wanted that is what we would do. We were not traitors.
“Our doubts were unfounded. That squad Erva and I were a part of, known unofficially as Hammer Squad, was a damn good one. Our commander was the turian, one Jordera Kandid. An experienced commander. Took no shit and allowed none to be given. Always had our best interests in mind though. He’s an absolutely terrible singer who won’t recognize that he is a terrible singer. The Asari was our biotic muscle and second in command. Her name was Morissa Deris and she is simply filled with the joy of life. Despite her being several centuries older than all of us, she had more energy and vigor than any of us combined. A very good biotic teacher as well, helping Erva and I master our relatively newfound powers. The Salarian,Jolik Palka, was our marksman. Quiet, for a Salarian. Phenomenal shot though. Saved my ass more than once, not that I needed it mind you. I was the point man on the squad, the first to enter the fray and rip the bugs apart. Erva was heavy weapons, bringing the pain from a distance.
(Note: Due to the Turian, Asari, and Salarian habits of excellent record keeping we can confirm ‘Hammer Squad’ existed and the roster is accurate. They would spend four years battling the Rachni back before being shipped to the frontline of the Neo-Krogan Wars. Their record during this time is excellent, with Urd being noted for exceptional service and bravery. They are shipped to the Neo-Krogan wars due to their heavy Biotic talents in an attempt to counteract the sudden stream of seemingly endless biotic Tank-Breds. They will spend another ten years battling the Rebel Clans before an artillery strike will separate Urd from his squad and result in his capture by Clan Urak. Those ten years show a similar success as in the Rachni wars, though in the five years before Urd’s escape they will leave the military and become a mercenary unit known as Hammer Squad.)
”Ah, you already have solid details about the wars before my capture? Well, let me say this then. Fighting the bugs was tough, no doubt about that. There is no enemy out there like the Rachni. But fighting the tankies and their rebel friends was a whole different thresher maw entirely. Much more difficult. The bugs are smart, but they have a set pattern and strategies of attack that they stick too. Predictable. The Rebels adapt, change, and move on the fly. Throw in the fact that they are krogan? And you’ve got yourself a situation that will drag many to the Void.
“Regardless, you want to know about my time as a slave of Clan Urak, right?”
(Note: Clan Urak was a relatively small Clan of Krogan that, after losing the Rebellions to the Genophage, decided it was best to meet death head on rather than wait to slowly go extinct. Thus, in a similar fashion to the Quarians of that time, their entire Clan uprooted into a sufficiently large ship and became a large mercenary force. They found themselves working frequently with Batarians, and through their close relationship picked up many of the Batarian habits. The most extreme one was the capture and use of slaves for both entertainment and labor. While not scientifically advanced enough to successfully put in the Batarian Cranial Implants, Clan Urak found that shock collars worked just as well for their purposes. They were one of the first Clans to rebel against Urdnot Wrex, and quickly laid claim to a planet on the outskirts of terminus space as their own by right of conquest. It only has one city, but it would become known throughout the galaxy as a hub of slavery and gladiatorial games. This is the planet Urd will find himself on after being captured by Clan Urak.)
”After I woke up from being knocked out by the artillery strike, I found myself with a collar on and chained to a wall of a ship. Others were with me. Turians, Asari, other Krogan, the occasional Salarian. Other captured slaves. Try as I might I couldn’t break free from my chains. They had some sort of biotic damper on them and were designed for krogan strength. Another Krogan was walking down the line, loudly explaining to us that we were slaves of Clan Urak now and that our lives would be for their use and entertainment. When he got close enough I spat on him and he merely laughed, grinning at my resistance. “It will be fun watching you break” he crowed, leaning in. He leaned in to close and I slammed my head against his face. The surprise and pain on his face were satisfying. What wasn’t satisfying was the agonizing electricity he shot through me at the push of a button. He held it until I fell unconscious, laughing at my spasms. I never screamed. I refused to give him the pleasure.
“Due to my feistiness, I was immediately marked for the Arena on their unjustly gained planet. I would be a crowd favorite I was told. They loved loyalist krogans. Especially biotic ones. I should be honored, I was informed, because the couple of matches that I survive I’ll be cheered on by a screaming crowd and ‘praised more than I ever had been in my pathetic life’. For the short few weeks my life had left, I would have a good life.
“They were right about one thing. The crowd loved me. Being so close to the edge of the terminus systems it was always a mix. Batarians, rebel Krogan, Asari, Turians, humans, nearly everything and anything was there. I always knew what they wanted most in the fights. If they wanted brutal and fast carnage, I gave them that. If they wanted me to draw out my victory, make a show of it, I gave them that too. On the rare occasions they were feeling mercy, well I was the most merciful gladiator they had ever seen. I was a god, and that arena was my domain. For five hellish years, it was my domain.
“As much as I hate the Uraks, I have to admit that they did make a damn fine arena. Spacious and filled with weapons, with a mass effect shield to protect the crowd from any unruly gladiators. Biotic Dampers could be deployed at any time to end any biotics in the arena, and there was always the golden button at the side of the Head of Clan Urak should he need to activate the shock collar of every slave in the arena.
“Urak Varrk was his name. He was a bastard. No honor, no respect. Just a tyrant who revelled in bloody carnage that he never earned. He was big though, and powerful. It's why his clan followed him. No one could match him in battle and he had crushed any challenger. I always swore to kill him when I saw his face. Which was frequently, since he was one of the many who loved to watch my matches. On the rare few times he couldn’t be there his son, Urak Tarv, was watching in his stead. Almost as big and just as powerful, Tarv was his only surviving son since the rebellion began and the Genophage was reinstated on the Rebels. I hated his face too. It was even worse when they showed up together. Individually they were dangerous, but when they fought together? They were murderous.
“But they weren’t smart. Every night me and the other gladiators would plan our escape. They were wall hardened soldiers and killers, they had to be to survive as long as they had in the arena, and we all knew that if we ever got the chance to break free we would be able to steamroll over the guards they had. All the true fighters were off battling the Coalition. The only ones left here were the ones that Urak Varrk didn’t trust to battle on the frontlines. There were hundreds of us. We could very easily steal a shuttle off or get ourselves into a position to radio for help.
“An Asari, Daria Issa, and I were slowly working on a way to turn off our collars. She was a smart one, Daria. An engineer with two centuries of experience under her belt and decades of combat experience too boot. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to craft the device without her, but she immensely sped up the process and I will forever be in her debt for that.
“We had already found a weak point in the mass effect barrier, and destroying the biotic dampers would be no issue once we broke the barrier. Through the bits and pieces of tech and broken collars scavenged from dead gladiators, we managed to get something together. A small device that could overload the collar and free whomever was wearing it. But we had to be careful. If we struck too soon we would simply be stuck in the prisons below the arena. Too late and we would be cut down by reinforcements. We had to wait, and that was the worst part of my entire time there. Waiting, praying that we wouldn’t have to act too soon and hoping it would work as intended. Because if it didn’t, we’d be stuck down there for longer if not worse.
“Our opportunity came a couple months later, when it was announced that the majority of us would be fighting for some celebration. I think it was the anniversary of the Batarians first aligning with Clan Urak? I’m not sure. But the point was there would be enough of us to make our move. The final, climatic battle of the festival would be ‘army’ vs ‘army’. They’d put a large group of us together and pit us against a mix of varren, robots, and other slaves. We freed ourselves before being let out. The collars were now just cold steel, useless for controlling us. Unfortunately, as we walked out, neither Varrk nor his son was there. Out on some other battlefield, most likely.
“The battle itself wasn’t too difficult. The other slaves were malnourished, the Varren mistreated, and the robots were rusting apart at the seams. We could’ve made short work of it but agreed to give them a show. They’d appreciate it, one last time. After the battle, we stood in the center of the arena and listened to the cheering roars of the crowd.
“Then I roared ‘NOW!’ and Charged through the weak point in the mass effect shield. It shattered like broken glass, suddenly leaving the crowd and the guards with no protection against hundreds of angry slaves. Before the guards could react I Charged into another one, knocking him to the ground before he could lift his rifle. My limbs began to glow with biotic power as I lifted my foot and crushed his skull beneath it, splattering it like a Pyjak beneath a Tomkah wheel.
“I began to hear screams as I picked up his rifle and fired upon the next guard. The crowd was beginning to panic as we set about taking our vengeance. The guards put up what fight they could, but it wasn’t enough. Soon we had taken the arena and a full blown slave rebellion was on their hands. We freed all the ones we came across and massacred everyone else. Not knowing how much time we had before the real soldiers came back to bring order, we headed to the armoury. There we would find the much needed arms and armor to fight off whatever counter attack came, and we would be able to start sending out messages to hopefully gain the aid of the Coalition to extract us if not retake the planet entirely.
“We took the armoury with little trouble and began arming ourselves as Daria started setting up the radio to broadcast for help. The armoury was a very defensible position and with our skills we could hold out there as long as we had strength. The guards that were left in the city didn’t attempt to retake it, still reeling from the riots and chaos happening from the slave rebellion. Daria picked up their distress calls and responses from the Clan Urak armies. Including Urak Varrk himself. Through a long series of cussing and raging, we gathered he and his son would be coming to restore order within the next two days.
“Daria managed to get a Coalition Krogan cruiser on the line and explain the situation. Help was promised to arrive within a week. With the city reeling and a large force of fighters available, it was too good of an opportunity for the Coalition to pass up. All we had to do was hold on long enough for them to show up.
“I found heavy armor, a striker, a knife, and a warhammer, and geared myself up for battle. Varrk would be coming with his son, and neither of them would be holding anything back in their fury. We could feel their arrival like a cold wind as the ship touched down. The Clan Urak military stomped into the fiery anarchy of the city and attempted to restore order. It was a battle though. Hundreds of slaves were freed and had armed themselves, and urban fighting was always going to be nasty. Varrk and Tarv, with their personal guard surrounded us, and demanded that we come out. We would be shown mercy if we didn’t make them go in there and drag us out. They even offered clemency to anyone who would give up the leader of the rebellion. Me, namely.
“We responded with gunfire. The next few days I can only remember as a chaotic blur as the city descended into ever more chaos and we exchanged gunfire and explosives with Varrk and his forces. Thank the ancestors they couldn’t afford to send a ship to just destroy us from orbit. That was the only thing that made that a fight. Every day the Coalition forces informed us they were growing closer, that they would be there soon. Every day we counted more of our dead and grimly hoped that they would arrive soon.
“Finally, Varrk grew impatient and threw down a challenge. Anyone who could defeat him in one on one combat had his word that no one in his clan would harm them or any of the slaves left in the armoury. We would be allowed to live. But, if he won, we would have to go back to being slaves. Quietly.
“I, of course, answered the call. Not because I believed that Tarv or any of the other Uraks would honor Varrk’s promise, or that Varrk even intended to try and make them keep his promise, but because there was the chance that seeing me kill their leader would shatter their morale and cause them to break. Plus, if nothing else, killing that pyjak would bring me great joy.
“I walked out, hammer in hand. Varrk laughed, drawing his own Warhammer. ‘So the child thinks he can take me on? Excellent. Killing you will remind the slaves that they are only chaff, and do not deserve their freedom.’ I raised my hammer and pointed it at him. ‘I’m going to kill you. And before this is done, you will be begging for forgiveness and your life.’ He bared his teeth in a snarl at me. ‘We’ll see about that, boy.’
“Our initial clash shook the very ground. My biotic charge slammed into him as he sprinted towards me at full speed. Varrk was a large Krogan, almost as big as I was, and took it far better than I expected. He dug his feet in, slid back a few inches and swung his hammer upward in an arc that caught my jaw and sent me stumbling back. Before I even had a moment to react the hammer was swinging down at me, and I just barely rolled out of the way. My own counter swing hit him in the side as he tried to advance and bring the hammer down on my head. I heard the grunt of pain and Charged again, this time into the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back and he was lifted off of the ground.
“When he fell back to it, the only sounds were the cheering from my side and the silence from his. I strode forward, hammer lifted high to beat him further into the ground when he suddenly leapt to his feet with a terrifying roar. His eyes were mindless with the Blood Rage and he set upon me like a frenzied beast.
“Blow after blow shook and stunned me. I blocked what I could but he was overpoweringly strong, seemingly tireless and fast. More and more hits began to get in, and he was beating me back towards the armoury. I could hear his soldiers chanting his name louder and louder.
“‘Varrk! Varrk! Varrk! VARRK!’
“I misjudged what was needed to counter his final attack and with a resounding crack, he broke my arm and threw me to the ground. He let out another bestial roar, bringing the hammer down on my back. Once, twice. Slamming me into the ground, seemingly intent to smash me into a pulp. He kicked me in my ribs to turn me over, and as I felt some of them break I finally snapped.
“The sweet sweet rage I had been letting build for years finally filled my veins, and just like that my pain was gone. There was nothing. No pain. No exhaustion. No thoughts aside from one thing: destroy my enemy.
“I Charged him again, leaving my warhammer on the ground. He choked mid-roar as my head rocketed into his, sending him stumbling back. Screaming in my own fury I leapt up and crashed a Nova into his head like a meteor into a planet. He fell to his knees. I grabbed his warhammer and held his hands around it, pulling it up so he could face me. Then I headbutted him. Wham! He tried to jerk back but was stuck in place, holding onto his weapon. I headbutted him again. Slam! He jerked back once more, and tried to let go of the hammer but I held his hands tightly around it. I headbutted him again. And again. And again. Biotic power filled my limbs and I felt no pain as I began to crack his helmet. Red mist was covering my eyes and all I could think of was causing him pain as I slammed my head into his over and over again. I have no idea how long it went on. Just the steady slam of my head into his, breaking his helmet. Finally I let go of his hands and he stumbled backwards, dazed.
“I took his warhammer and with a powerful swing, shattered his helmet and sent him flying to the ground once more. I broke the warhammer over my knee and approached as he attempted to crawl back to his feet. I kicked him back to the ground with a snarl and ripped his helmet off, drawing my knife. One foot on his back, I roared to Clan Urak as they watched.
“ ‘I AM URDNOT SHEPURD’ I yanked Varrk’s dazed head upwards. ‘IT MEANS HERO!’ He screamed as I slammed the knife just in front of his headplate. He was babbling and begging at that point, but I did not listen. He had earned this. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’ There was a horrific screech as I ripped his plate from his skull. ‘ALL OF YOU!’ I shoved the knife into Varrk’s head, killing him. ‘WHO’S NEXT!?’
“Tarv tried to run at me, absolute fury and hatred in his eyes, but was dragged back on the ship by his men. They were running. ‘COWARDS!’ I roared at them, throwing the knife. ‘YOU’RE ALL COWARDS!’ I wasn’t aware that the Coalition fleet had arrived, and the reconquest of the planet had begun. Clan Urak was outnumbered and fleeing, living to fight another day. Tarv only stared at me, hate burning in his eyes, as he was dragged onto the ship.
“I’m not sure the exact moment I passed out, but when I woke next I was with Daria on a Coalition ship, heading for Tuchanka. After recovering from my wounds I decided to find Hammer Squad again, or at least attempt to. I had gotten my fill of battling those fucking rebels and tankies, and if I never see one again it’ll be too soon. I had heard my old squad was mercing around Omega so I got a shuttle and went into the Terminus systems and the Omegan Empire. Never found them, but you people did find me. And I am more than happy to seize my destiny and help you.”
(Note: The event known as the Uprising on the Slave Planet is documented by the Coalition fleet that arrived there and interviewed the survivors. Urd’s involvement is mentioned frequently as an essential part of the Uprising, even if his version of events is more dramatized and exaggerated. He did not duel Urak Varrk for the fate of his fellow slaves, but he did kill the Warlord in combat during the last battle of the Uprising, for example. A Coalition soldier leading an Uprising to kill one of the Warlords of the Rebel Clans is a morale boosting event, and as such the events have been utilized for propaganda. After recovering from his wounds, he would go on to be a mercenary for the last five years. Searching for Hammer Squad he would complete a number of missions and contracts to his employers great praise, which is what first brought our attention to him. Upon contacting him and explaining the situation, he eagerly agreed to work for us for far below his normal rates provided we give him the chance to quote ‘seize his destiny’.)
”Ah, so you want to know my history before I got embroiled in the war? Of course you do. Damn thorough process this evaluation. Don’t know why I have to go through it, you already know you have the best damn Combat Engineer for the job. After all I’m…”
(Note: Here, Urd goes into a rather lengthy tangent about his ancestors, his merits, and his destiny of greatness. To save time, we have cut that part of the discussion out.)
Urd coughs, taking a drink of water. ”That’s better. As I was saying, the world I and my hundreds of brothers and sisters hatched into was a familiar one for the Krogan race: one of eternal war, fighting for survival. By the time my siblings and I were born the war against our ancient enemies the Rachni had been raging on for nine years, and those fucking cowards known as the Rebel Clans,”
Here, he goes to spit in disgust but pauses at seeing the glare from the attendant. He swallows sheepishly. This is not the first time he has done this, nor the first time he has been asked not too.
”Apologies. Those damned traitors had just made their move against my grandfather and the loyalist clans. We were now fighting a war on two fronts. Fortunately our formerly ancient enemies, the Turians and the Asari, and our tenuous allies, the Salarians, joined our cause to crush the rebellion. So, these wars were the wars that my family and I were expected to fight in. These were the wars that were all too excited to fight in. We were being trained for these wars as soon as we could throw a punch and hold a weapon. Standard Krogan Clan training. I won’t bore you with the details.
“What you will find of interest is that old habits die hard with the Krogan Loyalist Clans and every one of us was also being trained in a secondary role in society. A hold over from when the Genophage nearly wiped us out entirely so every Krogan was required to do at least one other job in addition to fighting. My siblings were taken under the wing of many different professions: some medics, others scientists, and still others were taken in by pilots.
“When my penchant for taking things apart and putting them together was discovered, I was taken under the tutelage of an Engineer. Not the role I really wanted. I wanted to learn how to breed and handle both Varren and Kakliosaurs. Amazing animals, those two species. I finally got my wish years later and have my own pack and Kakliosaur now…” (Note: Here, Urd goes into another lengthy tangent about Varren, Kakliosaurs, his respect for them as a species, his love for his pack and mount back on Tuchanka that he had raised, and how he should be allowed to bring his favorites, a Varren with a unique red and orange coloration known as Sparky and a large Kakliosaur named Grumpy, aboard the Weiro. This tangent included a multitude of pictures on his Omni-tool of Sparky, her packmates, and Grumpy. To save time, we have once again cut that part from the evaluation)
”Sorry, I just get carried away talking about them. Where was I? Right, taken in by an engineer. Urdnot Barran. He’s an old Krogan. Veteran of the original Krogan Rebellions, so he’s seen all kinds of technology come and go and worked on damn near everything in the galaxy at one point. He taught me everything I needed to know about working on vehicles, ships, weapons, and armor. He even gave me a few pointers on how to modify and install a VI. They weren’t his forte though, and I don’t blame him. All that software stuff is gibberish.
“He was the one who helped coach me through my Rite of Passage as my father was busy fighting the Rebels. I was only five, filled with excitement and rage at the proposition of coming of age and fighting a Thresher Maw. It went smoothly, as you can obviously see. He was also the one who told me about the ancient surgery that made biotics. I had been complaining about how I wanted to be a biotic, to better serve the clan. He sarcastically informed me that if I was so eager to be special I might as well go and die trying to survive the surgery. But good luck finding someone who knew how to do it and would do it. I’d have to go to Omega to even have a chance, he said. He thought I wasn’t going to take him seriously, but he was wrong.
A group of 15 of my siblings and I all gathered together to go find someone in Omega who knew how to do it and would be willing to. We all knew the risks and we all desperately wanted to become stronger to aid the clan in the wars it was facing. It was a year before we were to be sent to battle the Rachni as a blooding so we knew we had plenty of time. We all got on the shuttle to Omega and off we went. Wasn’t difficult. We were still merely citizens then, and as such didn’t need to ask for permission.
“It took longer than we had thought it would. Months, actually. So many people tried to lie to us, to cheat us, to rob us, or just outright attack us. It was great! A truly wild place that we thrived in. The stories I could tell. But you want me to tell my early history. So I need to focus. We found an old Krogan, even older than Barran. His name was Grak. He didn’t give a clan name, which unsettled us far more than we liked to admit. But he was the real deal, so we gave him our credits and one by one underwent the surgery. I was the first. I had no worries, or fear. Why would I? I knew I would survive it. I am destined for greatness.”
(Note: An ancient Krogan going by the name of Grak and offering his services to make ‘any species a Biotic, credits up front’ has been verified as on Omega and what records we have gleaned match up with Urd’s timeline of meeting this individual)
“The pain was excruciating. To this day, the worst agony I have ever felt and it’s not even close. I don’t remember passing out. Just blinding, burning, pain and then waking up in the recovery room. Grak was covering the bodies of 14 of my brothers and sisters. Only my youngest sister, Urdnot Erva, had survived. We hugged each other out of relief, and looked to Grak. He smiled his disturbing grin and told us that we should be displaying our powers within 24 hours. We thanked him again, and took our siblings' bodies one by one and gave them a proper pyre burial. They had sacrificed everything for the clan, and deserved nothing less.
“Grak was right. Before the next day had dawned, Erva and I began displaying biotic powers. Reliable, powerful, biotics. You can imagine our excitement. The hotel room we had been renting was absolutely wrecked as we experimented with our powers. The next day we caught another shuttle back to Tuchanka. The Shaman was furious when he found out. The fact that we did something so dangerous and illegal, with the fact that it cost the lives of so many of our siblings enraged him. We were severely reprimanded. We were almost denied being sent to the war front as punishment. But due to the fact that two of us had succeeded, he didn’t go quite that far. We were still biotics, and still in need of some training. So Erva and I were put on the fast track to learn what we could before being sent to the war. Barran just shook his head and called me a fool for taking such a risk. ‘Like trusting a Salarian’s word’ he called it. He got over it though, and resumed by technical training soon after.
“A few months later I turned six, and was going to be shipped to the Rachni war. I had crafted my own Krogan Warhammer for the occasion. It was the pinnacle of Barran’s lessons and perfect for all of my uses. I was, and am still, damn proud of it. Erva and I were to be put into a joint squad with a Turian, an Asari, and a Salarian. Many of my siblings and hundreds of others of the clan were doing the same thing. A move to strengthen our relationship with the other nations, it was called. We all had our doubts, as many of our parents still vividly remembered when those three races were responsible for holding us down, but if that is what Wrex wanted that is what we would do. We were not traitors.
“Our doubts were unfounded. That squad Erva and I were a part of, known unofficially as Hammer Squad, was a damn good one. Our commander was the turian, one Jordera Kandid. An experienced commander. Took no shit and allowed none to be given. Always had our best interests in mind though. He’s an absolutely terrible singer who won’t recognize that he is a terrible singer. The Asari was our biotic muscle and second in command. Her name was Morissa Deris and she is simply filled with the joy of life. Despite her being several centuries older than all of us, she had more energy and vigor than any of us combined. A very good biotic teacher as well, helping Erva and I master our relatively newfound powers. The Salarian,Jolik Palka, was our marksman. Quiet, for a Salarian. Phenomenal shot though. Saved my ass more than once, not that I needed it mind you. I was the point man on the squad, the first to enter the fray and rip the bugs apart. Erva was heavy weapons, bringing the pain from a distance.
(Note: Due to the Turian, Asari, and Salarian habits of excellent record keeping we can confirm ‘Hammer Squad’ existed and the roster is accurate. They would spend four years battling the Rachni back before being shipped to the frontline of the Neo-Krogan Wars. Their record during this time is excellent, with Urd being noted for exceptional service and bravery. They are shipped to the Neo-Krogan wars due to their heavy Biotic talents in an attempt to counteract the sudden stream of seemingly endless biotic Tank-Breds. They will spend another ten years battling the Rebel Clans before an artillery strike will separate Urd from his squad and result in his capture by Clan Urak. Those ten years show a similar success as in the Rachni wars, though in the five years before Urd’s escape they will leave the military and become a mercenary unit known as Hammer Squad.)
”Ah, you already have solid details about the wars before my capture? Well, let me say this then. Fighting the bugs was tough, no doubt about that. There is no enemy out there like the Rachni. But fighting the tankies and their rebel friends was a whole different thresher maw entirely. Much more difficult. The bugs are smart, but they have a set pattern and strategies of attack that they stick too. Predictable. The Rebels adapt, change, and move on the fly. Throw in the fact that they are krogan? And you’ve got yourself a situation that will drag many to the Void.
“Regardless, you want to know about my time as a slave of Clan Urak, right?”
(Note: Clan Urak was a relatively small Clan of Krogan that, after losing the Rebellions to the Genophage, decided it was best to meet death head on rather than wait to slowly go extinct. Thus, in a similar fashion to the Quarians of that time, their entire Clan uprooted into a sufficiently large ship and became a large mercenary force. They found themselves working frequently with Batarians, and through their close relationship picked up many of the Batarian habits. The most extreme one was the capture and use of slaves for both entertainment and labor. While not scientifically advanced enough to successfully put in the Batarian Cranial Implants, Clan Urak found that shock collars worked just as well for their purposes. They were one of the first Clans to rebel against Urdnot Wrex, and quickly laid claim to a planet on the outskirts of terminus space as their own by right of conquest. It only has one city, but it would become known throughout the galaxy as a hub of slavery and gladiatorial games. This is the planet Urd will find himself on after being captured by Clan Urak.)
”After I woke up from being knocked out by the artillery strike, I found myself with a collar on and chained to a wall of a ship. Others were with me. Turians, Asari, other Krogan, the occasional Salarian. Other captured slaves. Try as I might I couldn’t break free from my chains. They had some sort of biotic damper on them and were designed for krogan strength. Another Krogan was walking down the line, loudly explaining to us that we were slaves of Clan Urak now and that our lives would be for their use and entertainment. When he got close enough I spat on him and he merely laughed, grinning at my resistance. “It will be fun watching you break” he crowed, leaning in. He leaned in to close and I slammed my head against his face. The surprise and pain on his face were satisfying. What wasn’t satisfying was the agonizing electricity he shot through me at the push of a button. He held it until I fell unconscious, laughing at my spasms. I never screamed. I refused to give him the pleasure.
“Due to my feistiness, I was immediately marked for the Arena on their unjustly gained planet. I would be a crowd favorite I was told. They loved loyalist krogans. Especially biotic ones. I should be honored, I was informed, because the couple of matches that I survive I’ll be cheered on by a screaming crowd and ‘praised more than I ever had been in my pathetic life’. For the short few weeks my life had left, I would have a good life.
“They were right about one thing. The crowd loved me. Being so close to the edge of the terminus systems it was always a mix. Batarians, rebel Krogan, Asari, Turians, humans, nearly everything and anything was there. I always knew what they wanted most in the fights. If they wanted brutal and fast carnage, I gave them that. If they wanted me to draw out my victory, make a show of it, I gave them that too. On the rare occasions they were feeling mercy, well I was the most merciful gladiator they had ever seen. I was a god, and that arena was my domain. For five hellish years, it was my domain.
“As much as I hate the Uraks, I have to admit that they did make a damn fine arena. Spacious and filled with weapons, with a mass effect shield to protect the crowd from any unruly gladiators. Biotic Dampers could be deployed at any time to end any biotics in the arena, and there was always the golden button at the side of the Head of Clan Urak should he need to activate the shock collar of every slave in the arena.
“Urak Varrk was his name. He was a bastard. No honor, no respect. Just a tyrant who revelled in bloody carnage that he never earned. He was big though, and powerful. It's why his clan followed him. No one could match him in battle and he had crushed any challenger. I always swore to kill him when I saw his face. Which was frequently, since he was one of the many who loved to watch my matches. On the rare few times he couldn’t be there his son, Urak Tarv, was watching in his stead. Almost as big and just as powerful, Tarv was his only surviving son since the rebellion began and the Genophage was reinstated on the Rebels. I hated his face too. It was even worse when they showed up together. Individually they were dangerous, but when they fought together? They were murderous.
“But they weren’t smart. Every night me and the other gladiators would plan our escape. They were wall hardened soldiers and killers, they had to be to survive as long as they had in the arena, and we all knew that if we ever got the chance to break free we would be able to steamroll over the guards they had. All the true fighters were off battling the Coalition. The only ones left here were the ones that Urak Varrk didn’t trust to battle on the frontlines. There were hundreds of us. We could very easily steal a shuttle off or get ourselves into a position to radio for help.
“An Asari, Daria Issa, and I were slowly working on a way to turn off our collars. She was a smart one, Daria. An engineer with two centuries of experience under her belt and decades of combat experience too boot. I don’t know how long it would’ve taken me to craft the device without her, but she immensely sped up the process and I will forever be in her debt for that.
“We had already found a weak point in the mass effect barrier, and destroying the biotic dampers would be no issue once we broke the barrier. Through the bits and pieces of tech and broken collars scavenged from dead gladiators, we managed to get something together. A small device that could overload the collar and free whomever was wearing it. But we had to be careful. If we struck too soon we would simply be stuck in the prisons below the arena. Too late and we would be cut down by reinforcements. We had to wait, and that was the worst part of my entire time there. Waiting, praying that we wouldn’t have to act too soon and hoping it would work as intended. Because if it didn’t, we’d be stuck down there for longer if not worse.
“Our opportunity came a couple months later, when it was announced that the majority of us would be fighting for some celebration. I think it was the anniversary of the Batarians first aligning with Clan Urak? I’m not sure. But the point was there would be enough of us to make our move. The final, climatic battle of the festival would be ‘army’ vs ‘army’. They’d put a large group of us together and pit us against a mix of varren, robots, and other slaves. We freed ourselves before being let out. The collars were now just cold steel, useless for controlling us. Unfortunately, as we walked out, neither Varrk nor his son was there. Out on some other battlefield, most likely.
“The battle itself wasn’t too difficult. The other slaves were malnourished, the Varren mistreated, and the robots were rusting apart at the seams. We could’ve made short work of it but agreed to give them a show. They’d appreciate it, one last time. After the battle, we stood in the center of the arena and listened to the cheering roars of the crowd.
“Then I roared ‘NOW!’ and Charged through the weak point in the mass effect shield. It shattered like broken glass, suddenly leaving the crowd and the guards with no protection against hundreds of angry slaves. Before the guards could react I Charged into another one, knocking him to the ground before he could lift his rifle. My limbs began to glow with biotic power as I lifted my foot and crushed his skull beneath it, splattering it like a Pyjak beneath a Tomkah wheel.
“I began to hear screams as I picked up his rifle and fired upon the next guard. The crowd was beginning to panic as we set about taking our vengeance. The guards put up what fight they could, but it wasn’t enough. Soon we had taken the arena and a full blown slave rebellion was on their hands. We freed all the ones we came across and massacred everyone else. Not knowing how much time we had before the real soldiers came back to bring order, we headed to the armoury. There we would find the much needed arms and armor to fight off whatever counter attack came, and we would be able to start sending out messages to hopefully gain the aid of the Coalition to extract us if not retake the planet entirely.
“We took the armoury with little trouble and began arming ourselves as Daria started setting up the radio to broadcast for help. The armoury was a very defensible position and with our skills we could hold out there as long as we had strength. The guards that were left in the city didn’t attempt to retake it, still reeling from the riots and chaos happening from the slave rebellion. Daria picked up their distress calls and responses from the Clan Urak armies. Including Urak Varrk himself. Through a long series of cussing and raging, we gathered he and his son would be coming to restore order within the next two days.
“Daria managed to get a Coalition Krogan cruiser on the line and explain the situation. Help was promised to arrive within a week. With the city reeling and a large force of fighters available, it was too good of an opportunity for the Coalition to pass up. All we had to do was hold on long enough for them to show up.
“I found heavy armor, a striker, a knife, and a warhammer, and geared myself up for battle. Varrk would be coming with his son, and neither of them would be holding anything back in their fury. We could feel their arrival like a cold wind as the ship touched down. The Clan Urak military stomped into the fiery anarchy of the city and attempted to restore order. It was a battle though. Hundreds of slaves were freed and had armed themselves, and urban fighting was always going to be nasty. Varrk and Tarv, with their personal guard surrounded us, and demanded that we come out. We would be shown mercy if we didn’t make them go in there and drag us out. They even offered clemency to anyone who would give up the leader of the rebellion. Me, namely.
“We responded with gunfire. The next few days I can only remember as a chaotic blur as the city descended into ever more chaos and we exchanged gunfire and explosives with Varrk and his forces. Thank the ancestors they couldn’t afford to send a ship to just destroy us from orbit. That was the only thing that made that a fight. Every day the Coalition forces informed us they were growing closer, that they would be there soon. Every day we counted more of our dead and grimly hoped that they would arrive soon.
“Finally, Varrk grew impatient and threw down a challenge. Anyone who could defeat him in one on one combat had his word that no one in his clan would harm them or any of the slaves left in the armoury. We would be allowed to live. But, if he won, we would have to go back to being slaves. Quietly.
“I, of course, answered the call. Not because I believed that Tarv or any of the other Uraks would honor Varrk’s promise, or that Varrk even intended to try and make them keep his promise, but because there was the chance that seeing me kill their leader would shatter their morale and cause them to break. Plus, if nothing else, killing that pyjak would bring me great joy.
“I walked out, hammer in hand. Varrk laughed, drawing his own Warhammer. ‘So the child thinks he can take me on? Excellent. Killing you will remind the slaves that they are only chaff, and do not deserve their freedom.’ I raised my hammer and pointed it at him. ‘I’m going to kill you. And before this is done, you will be begging for forgiveness and your life.’ He bared his teeth in a snarl at me. ‘We’ll see about that, boy.’
“Our initial clash shook the very ground. My biotic charge slammed into him as he sprinted towards me at full speed. Varrk was a large Krogan, almost as big as I was, and took it far better than I expected. He dug his feet in, slid back a few inches and swung his hammer upward in an arc that caught my jaw and sent me stumbling back. Before I even had a moment to react the hammer was swinging down at me, and I just barely rolled out of the way. My own counter swing hit him in the side as he tried to advance and bring the hammer down on my head. I heard the grunt of pain and Charged again, this time into the bottom of his chin. His head snapped back and he was lifted off of the ground.
“When he fell back to it, the only sounds were the cheering from my side and the silence from his. I strode forward, hammer lifted high to beat him further into the ground when he suddenly leapt to his feet with a terrifying roar. His eyes were mindless with the Blood Rage and he set upon me like a frenzied beast.
“Blow after blow shook and stunned me. I blocked what I could but he was overpoweringly strong, seemingly tireless and fast. More and more hits began to get in, and he was beating me back towards the armoury. I could hear his soldiers chanting his name louder and louder.
“‘Varrk! Varrk! Varrk! VARRK!’
“I misjudged what was needed to counter his final attack and with a resounding crack, he broke my arm and threw me to the ground. He let out another bestial roar, bringing the hammer down on my back. Once, twice. Slamming me into the ground, seemingly intent to smash me into a pulp. He kicked me in my ribs to turn me over, and as I felt some of them break I finally snapped.
“The sweet sweet rage I had been letting build for years finally filled my veins, and just like that my pain was gone. There was nothing. No pain. No exhaustion. No thoughts aside from one thing: destroy my enemy.
“I Charged him again, leaving my warhammer on the ground. He choked mid-roar as my head rocketed into his, sending him stumbling back. Screaming in my own fury I leapt up and crashed a Nova into his head like a meteor into a planet. He fell to his knees. I grabbed his warhammer and held his hands around it, pulling it up so he could face me. Then I headbutted him. Wham! He tried to jerk back but was stuck in place, holding onto his weapon. I headbutted him again. Slam! He jerked back once more, and tried to let go of the hammer but I held his hands tightly around it. I headbutted him again. And again. And again. Biotic power filled my limbs and I felt no pain as I began to crack his helmet. Red mist was covering my eyes and all I could think of was causing him pain as I slammed my head into his over and over again. I have no idea how long it went on. Just the steady slam of my head into his, breaking his helmet. Finally I let go of his hands and he stumbled backwards, dazed.
“I took his warhammer and with a powerful swing, shattered his helmet and sent him flying to the ground once more. I broke the warhammer over my knee and approached as he attempted to crawl back to his feet. I kicked him back to the ground with a snarl and ripped his helmet off, drawing my knife. One foot on his back, I roared to Clan Urak as they watched.
“ ‘I AM URDNOT SHEPURD’ I yanked Varrk’s dazed head upwards. ‘IT MEANS HERO!’ He screamed as I slammed the knife just in front of his headplate. He was babbling and begging at that point, but I did not listen. He had earned this. ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’ There was a horrific screech as I ripped his plate from his skull. ‘ALL OF YOU!’ I shoved the knife into Varrk’s head, killing him. ‘WHO’S NEXT!?’
“Tarv tried to run at me, absolute fury and hatred in his eyes, but was dragged back on the ship by his men. They were running. ‘COWARDS!’ I roared at them, throwing the knife. ‘YOU’RE ALL COWARDS!’ I wasn’t aware that the Coalition fleet had arrived, and the reconquest of the planet had begun. Clan Urak was outnumbered and fleeing, living to fight another day. Tarv only stared at me, hate burning in his eyes, as he was dragged onto the ship.
“I’m not sure the exact moment I passed out, but when I woke next I was with Daria on a Coalition ship, heading for Tuchanka. After recovering from my wounds I decided to find Hammer Squad again, or at least attempt to. I had gotten my fill of battling those fucking rebels and tankies, and if I never see one again it’ll be too soon. I had heard my old squad was mercing around Omega so I got a shuttle and went into the Terminus systems and the Omegan Empire. Never found them, but you people did find me. And I am more than happy to seize my destiny and help you.”
(Note: The event known as the Uprising on the Slave Planet is documented by the Coalition fleet that arrived there and interviewed the survivors. Urd’s involvement is mentioned frequently as an essential part of the Uprising, even if his version of events is more dramatized and exaggerated. He did not duel Urak Varrk for the fate of his fellow slaves, but he did kill the Warlord in combat during the last battle of the Uprising, for example. A Coalition soldier leading an Uprising to kill one of the Warlords of the Rebel Clans is a morale boosting event, and as such the events have been utilized for propaganda. After recovering from his wounds, he would go on to be a mercenary for the last five years. Searching for Hammer Squad he would complete a number of missions and contracts to his employers great praise, which is what first brought our attention to him. Upon contacting him and explaining the situation, he eagerly agreed to work for us for far below his normal rates provided we give him the chance to quote ‘seize his destiny’.)
Position: Primarily: Point man for squad. Secondarily: Assistant Engineer.
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Current: M-300 Claymore (Modded: Shotgun Blade attachment)
Striker Assault Rifle
Electric Krogan Warhammer (Note: This is Urd’s personal Warhammer, crafted by his own hands.He has modified it to gather and expend electricity, and is very proud of it.)
Combat Drone, fondly named Ruzad. Urd has modified it to fire assault rifle bullets and Ballistic Blades. It is far more rugged and crass than your average combat drone, with a larger chassis and motor and more reliance on armor than omni-shields.
Heavy Hazard Armor (Note: Contains built in Tech-Armor that Urd has modified to have omni-blades protruding from it. Inspired by Batarian Blade armor.)
Varren Plushie (Ara)
Special requests: Ryncol, permission to bring aboard a pet Varren (note: Urd has been repeatedly denied this request and repeatedly puts it back in), feed for said Varren (note: also denied), permission to bring one or more Kakliosaurs aboard (note: denied along with the Varren, but he keeps putting it back in with the Varren), supplies for the Kakliosaurs (note: denied as well), M-920 Cain, Cain Trip Mines, M-452 Firestorm, Reaper Blackstar, M-597 Ladon, Inferno Grenades, Cluster Grenades, Chemical Rounds, Inferno Rounds, Explosive Rounds, Krogan Tomkah, Krogan Thresher (note: Krogan interplanetary shuttles, heavily armored and designed for dropping directly into heavy combat zones and landing with the crew intact) , N7 Typhoon, Heavy Colossus Armor, and various gun and armor mods.
Notoriety: 6. Among his clan and others of the Loyalist Krogan Urd is well known for his actions during the Neo-Krogan war and his rebellion against Clan Urak, and stories of it and his actions on the planet have been spread to other forces outside of the Loyalist Clans as moral boosting propaganda. (Primarily the Turians, Asari, and Salarians)
Misc.: Urd has chosen the quarters closest to the vehicle bay of the ship. The quarters themselves aren't particularly lavish. He has a work table set up in his room, a Varren sized bed (still hoping to bring on his pet), a computer, a peg wall for his weapons and armor, and a krogan sized cot.
What little ornamentation he has includes a broken Krogan Warhammer hilt and a shattered Krogan helmet (Note: Warlord design)both hanging on the wall. The symbol for Clan Urak adorns the side of the helmet. On his computer desk there is a model figurine of Bravery the Timid Varren, and on the wall a poster for the same show. In another part of the wall are all of the postcards Severin has sent him from her travels.
-Urd has all 10 seasons of Bravery the Timid Varren, not just on his omni-tool and computer but in the collectible physical forms as well (with the first season still possessing the note Zahir wrote to him with it). It is hands down his favorite show of all time.
-Urd generally speaks in a tone of voice that is louder than necessary. He doesn't seem to realize it, and he only gets louder the more excited he gets.
Theme: Legends are Made
-Urd likes plants. He is bad at caring for them, however. It doesn't stop him from trying, so frequently his room will have dead or dying plants in it, as he searches the galaxy for a plant that can survive with his level of accidental neglect.
Relationships:
Seraph: Urd has no opinion of the Geth. Neutral. He shortens its name to 'Ser', it rhymes with care.
Sosa’Numos nar Suram: Urd has no opinion of the captain. Neutral. Though he does see her as the most direct route to get his Varren and Kakliosaur requests approved, and has a vested interest in convincing her to do that. He shortens her name to 'Sos'.
Amynta T'Vete: TBR
Takaror “Tak” Corr: Urd hates Tak with every fiber of his being and has zero trust in the Tank Bred. He only willingly refers to Tak as 'Tube' or 'Tankie'.
Sam W. Bridge: TBR
Nethel Niol: Urd knows of the Drell's moniker 'The Merc with a Conscience'. He finds the oxymoron amusing, but trusts the Drell's reputation as an effective mercenary. Neutral. He shortens Nethel's name to 'Net'.
Eustace Dar Adal: Urd only knows vaguely of the humans actions during the Neo-Krogan wars and in the private sector later on. Neutral. He will shorten Euscatce's name to 'Eu', but given the human's hostility to such a nickname it may change.
Osino Kael: Urd knows Osino. They fought each other once before when Urd was working a as a bodyguard for a slaver on Chalkhos. Osino distracted Urd, narrowly surviving a few close calls, as the rest of her Dead Cell squad took the slaver. The Drell stunned Urd to escape with her crew, leaving him not only with a failed mission and no paycheck but a grievous wound to his pride in addition to the injures he had sustained chasing her. He views her as an annoyance and holds some resentment for that mission, but will likely get over it. He shortens her name to 'Os'.
(Note: We should have noticed that one of Urd's rare stories about his failures included a rather accurate description of the Dead Cell squad members, including Osino, but we missed it. It was the 10th of such stories Urd was telling and we needed to finish the Pysch Eval.)
Azulethan ‘Zul’ Ledanari: Urd has nothing but respect for the Turian mercenary, purely from a professional stand point. He has heard only rumors of Zul's shamed past, and doesn't care enough to investigate further. His reputation as mercenary reached Urd's circles, as did his penchant for making enemies. Urd views him in a very positive light. He shortens Azulethan's name to 'Az'.
Dreklei Harahn: Urd has no knowledge of whom Dreklei is, but trust C-Secs choices in personnel. Neutral. He shortens Dreklei's name to 'Drek'.
Severin Zahir: Urd has an extensive history with Doctor Zahir. The two found themselves working together frequently during the Neo-Krogan wars, and Zahir is responsible for saving Urd's life (Interestingly enough, this story is one of the few times Urd doesn't exaggerate his own role. He is very clear that Doctor Zahir saved his life and is the reason he is alive). Zahir is perhaps the only person onboard the Weiro that Urd trusts implicitly. He is fiercely loyal to her, and she was one of the very first people he visited after freeing himself for Clan Urak. The two of them exchanged letters and gifts over the years, with Urd sending her trinkets or other gifts he thought she'd enjoy along with his typical exaggerations of his exploits. He even gave her the Claymore that she used to save his life, claiming it was lucky and that he himself did not need that much luck. He calls her 'Zee'.
(Note: Despite the fact that Urd calls Doctor Zahir 'Zee' a nickname which, based on our interviews with many of the people Doctor Zahir knows, is almost exclusively used by people she has had sexual relationships with, her and Urd's relationship is not sexual. To quote the Krogan himself their relationship 'has not been, is not at all, and will not be sexual or romantic in any way shape or form!'. Indeed, Urd's reaction to our suggestion of that level of intimacy with Doctor Zahir was one of comical surprise and horror. When Doctor Zahir was asked as well, she confirmed that their relationship, while close, was not sexual and that Urd had never displayed an interest in making it so. The doctor seemed amused during this line of questioning.)
Anderson McKenna: Urd served on Turgix, during the same time the Omegan forces and Anderson were on the planet. He has seen her in action and heard rumors of what she did on the planet, and greatly approves of her. He has expressed confusion over how Takaror Corr (referred to as Tube by Urd himself) is allowed free reign of the ship but Anderson is confined to her quarter. He calls her Mck (Note: Upon being informed repeatedly that this is a derogatory slur in human culture, and explained to why it was a slur Urd has changed his nickname to 'M').
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Full name: Sam W. Bridge
Race: Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance
Aliases: Sam has been called the ‘Bane of Cerberus’ by various new media outlets before, but Sam never calls himself that or anything else.
Age: 90
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.: “Sam Waltz Bridge is quite an open person. He doesn’t have much to hide nor does he shy away from stating his feelings or concerns. He is very honest to say the least, more so then a lot of other people that I met. Sam has great hospitality towards friends and family, even with strangers that he has yet to meet. He’ll feed you, cloth you, and let you take a bath in his shower, if you need it. There is no sight of antagonistic behavior in his bone, albeit that can quickly change. Sam, seen in his history and in various interviews, has no heart for anyone that crosses him or anyone else in his circle.
Sam has also no concerns for himself, displaying a truly selfless method of thinking to his world views. He greatly cares for others and for their wellbeing, and does great with kids. He respects those who go out of their way to aid others, akin to himself. He lacks patience and respect for people who actively harms others, innocents and likewise, and those who don’t give a damn about others and who don’t think about their actions and consequences. Sam doesn't have any kind of hidden agenda and has provided himself to be highly reliable in his words. If he is going to shoot you then expect to be shot within the next few seconds, if he is not being sarcastic that is, but he often does say that he is being sarcastic. A result that comes from his time spent with orphans with psychosocial and social disabilities.
Sam is very hard to anger. We try everything from making his food the wrong way, messing up his room, and anything else, but it never gets to him. The only anger we saw from him was when he read the news on the current development in either local, national [Systems Alliance], or galactic news and politics.” - Psychologist Adam Will.
Phys. Eval.: “Sam has not let up his physical health in his life span of 90 years. From our standards, he is very healthy and I don’t have much concern for his health because of it. Besides from his general health, Sam has a much higher level of endurance, able to endure multiple marathons. Strength wise, he is above average, and his vision is a 20/20.” - Doctor Oates
Biotics: N/A
Qualifications: “Sam has an interesting set of qualifications for himself. The man is a competent soldier, resulting from his time in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps. He understands how to handle a rifle, throw a grenade, and what have you. In the marines, he was a heavy weapon specialist. The skills from his specialisation is still with him today, as we have actively seen in his time right now in an active warzone. He can lug around a light machine, rocket launcher, and general heavy weapons with ease and speed. He can reload a LMG or rocket faster than your regular time user of heavy arms, and aim it pretty damn well too.
Moving on, we will explain his political and educational qualifications. Sam has only finished high school, but he displays a great understanding of the social-economic and political situation in the Systems Alliance, and to a lesser extent other nations on a case-by-case basis. This stems from, as even Sam had said for himself, his time in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party. Sam also knows a good deal of Cerberus itself from self-study and source finding. Of course, it's nothing too confidential but it is enough knowledge to gain an edge over them.
Sam has a talent for cooking as well. We have tasted his food before and it's quite good for what mounts to a budget of 3 credits for our whole group. As an added bonus, he also makes for a good janitor too. Not only that, Sam is a highly experienced veteran in combating slavery and trafficking from his 30 plus years of it. Sam also has vast experience in running radical groups and movements for some 40 or some years as well.” - Evaluation Paper on Sam Waltz Bridge
History: “Sam has an interesting upbringing to say the least. He was born on the planet of Rows, just a few years before the Reaper Wars. His parents were killed in the aftermath of the conflict, and got adopted by Amelie Atkinson and Tel'no T'reava. At the age of 19, Sam was captured in a slave-raid while in transit to one of the Systems Alliance world repopulation programs out in the Terminus Sector. For 5-years, Sam labored under various different masters, traded and sold off every so often. Sam, as noted in his early interviews, did have a romantic and sexual relationship with a Quarian male named Zaator'Teerul vas Jeedir, who later died in the service of the Terminus Black Army, an organization I will explain shortly.
He would have either died as a slave or likewise, but he got lucky. The Terminus Black Army, an anarcho-communist anti-slave militia, freed him on a small trade station. From there, Sam joined the Black Army, and aided them in their anti-slavery operations in the Terminus Sector for some 10 years, before the Systems Alliance caught him and mistaken him as a slaver himself. It didn’t take long for the Systems Alliance to realize their mistake. In an odd turn of events, the local Systems Alliance Marine Colonel offered Sam to join their ranks and help them in combating slave raids back in the core systems of the Alliance. Without much choice, Sam joined. For the next 16 years, Sam served as an anti-slave operator at the Local, Shanxi, and Skyllian Clusters. Sam, feeling dissatisfied with the Alliance military as a whole, joined the Democratic Military Movement with other disgruntled veterans. Their demands? Collective bargaining for soldiers, an end to censorship and intimidation within the military, the stopping and abolition of mental and physical cruelty in military brigs, correctional custodies, and basic training, higher wages equal to the federal standard, end of glorification of war, abolition of court-martial and non-judicial punishment systems, among a massive list of other demands. In short time, Sam became a vocal speaker for the Movement, and also quickly became forcibly discharged from the military. This would be the start of Sam's political career.
In an effort to silence the man, the Alliance military canceled all benefits to Sam as a veteran and marked him on a blacklist. Inturn, Sam became starved of financial support and was forced to take on multiple jobs to ensure a basic living. Early on, Sam took plenty of odd jobs to support himself. Noted by Sam himself, he took on culinary jobs primarily and quickly picked up his cooking skills from there. He also earned an affinity for cleaning as a janitor too, something that resulted from his time as a dish and mop-cleaner in kitchens before he was allowed to take more serious culinary duties. In between his jobs, Sam heavily involved himself in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party and the Democratic Military Movement, advocating for radical policies against current mainstream discussion. Later, Sam became known for his anti-Cerberus speeches and aggressive rhetoric against human supremacists and the Alliance military on the Extranet and more commonly out in public affairs. Generated credits from his new found exploits in the political realm allowed Sam to pursue his own programs, most famous is his War on Poverty Society that gave the poor and homeless, free homes, food, water, and the comforts of modern life for free. Back on his home planet of Rows, Sam built the Bridge Orphanage, primarily taking in alien children and housing alien refugees.
At the age of 85, Sam left his position of power to better fit younger candidates, but Bridge Orphanage was still managed by Sam himself. C-Sec provided Sam with a more stable income and better safety overall against the Alliance military aggressive stand against him. Sam applied for C-Sec and quickly became a senior officer in anti-trafficking operations, and he would use his paid vacations to advocate for his beliefs. As of now, we have reason to believe that he is on the planet of Rows, which is currently engulfed in a civil war.” - Psychologist Adam Will.
Position: N/A (until recruited)
Recruited: Yes
Inventory & Logistics: Terminus Black Army Flag, a psychical music disc labeled as “Mother Anarchy Loves Her Sons,” Photos of Amelie Atkinson and Tel'no T'reava, Pictures of Bridge Orphanage and his own kids, MF Doom Food Album, Music Disc named "Got to be Real" by Cheryl Lynn.
Notoriety: “Sam has a large footprint behind him. First, he was a slave captured in a raid at a young age. He worked until an anti-slave militia freed him. Sam then joined this anti-slave militia and began his exploits as a freedom fighter in the Terminus system. He was captured as a POW by the Systems Alliance, mistaken as a slaver himself. Sam, for one reason or another, joined the Marines on his merits of his former job as an anti-slave operator, and helped to resist various slave raids on stations and planets. Later, Sam opted out of the military to pursue a political life in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party. Using his funds, Sam formed the War on Poverty Society and quickly became a heavy anti-cerberus demonstrator and speaker. He even opened and ran an orphanage that still stands today. Sam then left his position of power to a younger candidate and joined C-Sec. Sam used his paid vacations to take visits to his orphanage on the planet of Rows.” - Unknown Extranet User Post. (Notoriety 7)
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Race: Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance
Aliases: Sam has been called the ‘Bane of Cerberus’ by various new media outlets before, but Sam never calls himself that or anything else.
Age: 90
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.: “Sam Waltz Bridge is quite an open person. He doesn’t have much to hide nor does he shy away from stating his feelings or concerns. He is very honest to say the least, more so then a lot of other people that I met. Sam has great hospitality towards friends and family, even with strangers that he has yet to meet. He’ll feed you, cloth you, and let you take a bath in his shower, if you need it. There is no sight of antagonistic behavior in his bone, albeit that can quickly change. Sam, seen in his history and in various interviews, has no heart for anyone that crosses him or anyone else in his circle.
Sam has also no concerns for himself, displaying a truly selfless method of thinking to his world views. He greatly cares for others and for their wellbeing, and does great with kids. He respects those who go out of their way to aid others, akin to himself. He lacks patience and respect for people who actively harms others, innocents and likewise, and those who don’t give a damn about others and who don’t think about their actions and consequences. Sam doesn't have any kind of hidden agenda and has provided himself to be highly reliable in his words. If he is going to shoot you then expect to be shot within the next few seconds, if he is not being sarcastic that is, but he often does say that he is being sarcastic. A result that comes from his time spent with orphans with psychosocial and social disabilities.
Sam is very hard to anger. We try everything from making his food the wrong way, messing up his room, and anything else, but it never gets to him. The only anger we saw from him was when he read the news on the current development in either local, national [Systems Alliance], or galactic news and politics.” - Psychologist Adam Will.
Phys. Eval.: “Sam has not let up his physical health in his life span of 90 years. From our standards, he is very healthy and I don’t have much concern for his health because of it. Besides from his general health, Sam has a much higher level of endurance, able to endure multiple marathons. Strength wise, he is above average, and his vision is a 20/20.” - Doctor Oates
Biotics: N/A
Qualifications: “Sam has an interesting set of qualifications for himself. The man is a competent soldier, resulting from his time in the Systems Alliance Marine Corps. He understands how to handle a rifle, throw a grenade, and what have you. In the marines, he was a heavy weapon specialist. The skills from his specialisation is still with him today, as we have actively seen in his time right now in an active warzone. He can lug around a light machine, rocket launcher, and general heavy weapons with ease and speed. He can reload a LMG or rocket faster than your regular time user of heavy arms, and aim it pretty damn well too.
Moving on, we will explain his political and educational qualifications. Sam has only finished high school, but he displays a great understanding of the social-economic and political situation in the Systems Alliance, and to a lesser extent other nations on a case-by-case basis. This stems from, as even Sam had said for himself, his time in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party. Sam also knows a good deal of Cerberus itself from self-study and source finding. Of course, it's nothing too confidential but it is enough knowledge to gain an edge over them.
Sam has a talent for cooking as well. We have tasted his food before and it's quite good for what mounts to a budget of 3 credits for our whole group. As an added bonus, he also makes for a good janitor too. Not only that, Sam is a highly experienced veteran in combating slavery and trafficking from his 30 plus years of it. Sam also has vast experience in running radical groups and movements for some 40 or some years as well.” - Evaluation Paper on Sam Waltz Bridge
History: “Sam has an interesting upbringing to say the least. He was born on the planet of Rows, just a few years before the Reaper Wars. His parents were killed in the aftermath of the conflict, and got adopted by Amelie Atkinson and Tel'no T'reava. At the age of 19, Sam was captured in a slave-raid while in transit to one of the Systems Alliance world repopulation programs out in the Terminus Sector. For 5-years, Sam labored under various different masters, traded and sold off every so often. Sam, as noted in his early interviews, did have a romantic and sexual relationship with a Quarian male named Zaator'Teerul vas Jeedir, who later died in the service of the Terminus Black Army, an organization I will explain shortly.
He would have either died as a slave or likewise, but he got lucky. The Terminus Black Army, an anarcho-communist anti-slave militia, freed him on a small trade station. From there, Sam joined the Black Army, and aided them in their anti-slavery operations in the Terminus Sector for some 10 years, before the Systems Alliance caught him and mistaken him as a slaver himself. It didn’t take long for the Systems Alliance to realize their mistake. In an odd turn of events, the local Systems Alliance Marine Colonel offered Sam to join their ranks and help them in combating slave raids back in the core systems of the Alliance. Without much choice, Sam joined. For the next 16 years, Sam served as an anti-slave operator at the Local, Shanxi, and Skyllian Clusters. Sam, feeling dissatisfied with the Alliance military as a whole, joined the Democratic Military Movement with other disgruntled veterans. Their demands? Collective bargaining for soldiers, an end to censorship and intimidation within the military, the stopping and abolition of mental and physical cruelty in military brigs, correctional custodies, and basic training, higher wages equal to the federal standard, end of glorification of war, abolition of court-martial and non-judicial punishment systems, among a massive list of other demands. In short time, Sam became a vocal speaker for the Movement, and also quickly became forcibly discharged from the military. This would be the start of Sam's political career.
In an effort to silence the man, the Alliance military canceled all benefits to Sam as a veteran and marked him on a blacklist. Inturn, Sam became starved of financial support and was forced to take on multiple jobs to ensure a basic living. Early on, Sam took plenty of odd jobs to support himself. Noted by Sam himself, he took on culinary jobs primarily and quickly picked up his cooking skills from there. He also earned an affinity for cleaning as a janitor too, something that resulted from his time as a dish and mop-cleaner in kitchens before he was allowed to take more serious culinary duties. In between his jobs, Sam heavily involved himself in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party and the Democratic Military Movement, advocating for radical policies against current mainstream discussion. Later, Sam became known for his anti-Cerberus speeches and aggressive rhetoric against human supremacists and the Alliance military on the Extranet and more commonly out in public affairs. Generated credits from his new found exploits in the political realm allowed Sam to pursue his own programs, most famous is his War on Poverty Society that gave the poor and homeless, free homes, food, water, and the comforts of modern life for free. Back on his home planet of Rows, Sam built the Bridge Orphanage, primarily taking in alien children and housing alien refugees.
At the age of 85, Sam left his position of power to better fit younger candidates, but Bridge Orphanage was still managed by Sam himself. C-Sec provided Sam with a more stable income and better safety overall against the Alliance military aggressive stand against him. Sam applied for C-Sec and quickly became a senior officer in anti-trafficking operations, and he would use his paid vacations to advocate for his beliefs. As of now, we have reason to believe that he is on the planet of Rows, which is currently engulfed in a civil war.” - Psychologist Adam Will.
Position: N/A (until recruited)
Recruited: Yes
Inventory & Logistics: Terminus Black Army Flag, a psychical music disc labeled as “Mother Anarchy Loves Her Sons,” Photos of Amelie Atkinson and Tel'no T'reava, Pictures of Bridge Orphanage and his own kids, MF Doom Food Album, Music Disc named "Got to be Real" by Cheryl Lynn.
Notoriety: “Sam has a large footprint behind him. First, he was a slave captured in a raid at a young age. He worked until an anti-slave militia freed him. Sam then joined this anti-slave militia and began his exploits as a freedom fighter in the Terminus system. He was captured as a POW by the Systems Alliance, mistaken as a slaver himself. Sam, for one reason or another, joined the Marines on his merits of his former job as an anti-slave operator, and helped to resist various slave raids on stations and planets. Later, Sam opted out of the military to pursue a political life in the Systems Alliance Socialist Party. Using his funds, Sam formed the War on Poverty Society and quickly became a heavy anti-cerberus demonstrator and speaker. He even opened and ran an orphanage that still stands today. Sam then left his position of power to a younger candidate and joined C-Sec. Sam used his paid vacations to take visits to his orphanage on the planet of Rows.” - Unknown Extranet User Post. (Notoriety 7)
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Full name: Nethel Niol
Race: Drell
Citizenship: Union of 2201
Aliases: Theos, Merc with a Conscience(Hates that one)
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Nethel can be described as loyal, easy-going, and respectful. With a stubborn aspect that once he sets his mind on something, he cares about. It is near impossible to dissuade him from it. Even if the task seems impossible. Which makes him that if something happens to anyone he cares about. Expect him to stand by that person that has won his trust but, if that trust is broken. Then it is hard to regain that trust.
Like most drell of the Conclave, he is deeply religious and a traditionist. Sticking faithfully to his people's native religion and traditions that is being given up by other drell. Not wanting drell culture to disappear in place of alien ideas. Not to say that he is a xenophobe. He respects other race's religions and practices. He just wants drell culture to endure rather than fade away. Otherwise, Nethel is open to talking about his beliefs to anyone that wants to hear it.
Even with his quest to rescue his siblings, Nethel still takes the time to help others in need. Taking on jobs dealing with smaller colonies or people that need help. Even if it does not pay a lot, he still does it. Earning him a reputation for those seeking aid go to, along with a network of contacts that had helped him find his siblings. After finally rescuing them, Nethel still had the urge to help people, and when he was approached to join a special program. He saw it as a way to do some good in the galaxy once again.
Phys. Eval.: 6'0, 186lbs, muscular build for a drell and but still has good mobility. Being agile enough to perform acrobatics. Besides that, he has a bluish and purple tint on his skin the normal green most drell have. Has a large scar on his chest from a fight with a Krogan.
Biotics: Having been trained by his parents and by the military. Nethel is a powerful biotic that after being trained by the military. Has honed his skills and has focused on offensive biotics like Biotic Charge Nova, Warp, and Pull. Generally, Nethel uses Warp and Pull more than Biotic Charge and Nova. Reserving Biotic Charge for when he needs it and normally follows up with Nova for maximum damage. As this combination leaves him vulnerable to enemy fire before his shields recover.
Qualifications: Having a stellar record while he was in the military. Specializing in close-quarters combat which he excels at. Using a combination of guns, and biotics to close the distance to his targets. Along with knowing a drell based martial art that he is deadly with. His time in the military, he mainly dealt with pirates, slavers, and other criminals elements in and around Union space. Also, having a successful mercenary career even though it was a means to an end. Having nearly flawless success rate and coming out intact every time despite the odds.
Along with creating a network of contacts over the years as a mercenary that he can rely on. Some of which are mercenaries that he can both count on and fight with. Even still has some contacts in the Union military from his time there.
History:
Position: CQC specialist
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics: M-27 Scimitar, M-6 Carnifex, Cluster Grenades, Medium Armor, incense sticks, and a necklace that bears the symbol of the drell religion.
Notoriety: 4 from his time as a mercenary, being known as the Merc with a Conscience despite not wanting to be called that. Which his contacts helped to spread his name and he is mainly known in the Attican Traverse which he used to operate in.
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Race: Drell
Citizenship: Union of 2201
Aliases: Theos, Merc with a Conscience(Hates that one)
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.:
Nethel can be described as loyal, easy-going, and respectful. With a stubborn aspect that once he sets his mind on something, he cares about. It is near impossible to dissuade him from it. Even if the task seems impossible. Which makes him that if something happens to anyone he cares about. Expect him to stand by that person that has won his trust but, if that trust is broken. Then it is hard to regain that trust.
Like most drell of the Conclave, he is deeply religious and a traditionist. Sticking faithfully to his people's native religion and traditions that is being given up by other drell. Not wanting drell culture to disappear in place of alien ideas. Not to say that he is a xenophobe. He respects other race's religions and practices. He just wants drell culture to endure rather than fade away. Otherwise, Nethel is open to talking about his beliefs to anyone that wants to hear it.
Even with his quest to rescue his siblings, Nethel still takes the time to help others in need. Taking on jobs dealing with smaller colonies or people that need help. Even if it does not pay a lot, he still does it. Earning him a reputation for those seeking aid go to, along with a network of contacts that had helped him find his siblings. After finally rescuing them, Nethel still had the urge to help people, and when he was approached to join a special program. He saw it as a way to do some good in the galaxy once again.
Phys. Eval.: 6'0, 186lbs, muscular build for a drell and but still has good mobility. Being agile enough to perform acrobatics. Besides that, he has a bluish and purple tint on his skin the normal green most drell have. Has a large scar on his chest from a fight with a Krogan.
Biotics: Having been trained by his parents and by the military. Nethel is a powerful biotic that after being trained by the military. Has honed his skills and has focused on offensive biotics like Biotic Charge Nova, Warp, and Pull. Generally, Nethel uses Warp and Pull more than Biotic Charge and Nova. Reserving Biotic Charge for when he needs it and normally follows up with Nova for maximum damage. As this combination leaves him vulnerable to enemy fire before his shields recover.
Qualifications: Having a stellar record while he was in the military. Specializing in close-quarters combat which he excels at. Using a combination of guns, and biotics to close the distance to his targets. Along with knowing a drell based martial art that he is deadly with. His time in the military, he mainly dealt with pirates, slavers, and other criminals elements in and around Union space. Also, having a successful mercenary career even though it was a means to an end. Having nearly flawless success rate and coming out intact every time despite the odds.
Along with creating a network of contacts over the years as a mercenary that he can rely on. Some of which are mercenaries that he can both count on and fight with. Even still has some contacts in the Union military from his time there.
History:
Nethel was born on the arid world of Varaia to a pair of former Union soldiers. Even after the creation of the Union, the Compact between the Hanar and Drell was still alive. Nethel's parents belonged to a group of Drell that arose after the shortly Reaper War. The group called the Conclave believed that the Drell should not have to undergo the Compact anymore after centuries of service to the Hanar. Thinking that the Drell should live away from the Hanar and keep to Drell culture that was eroding due to living with the Hanar. Nethel and his younger siblings would be taught not to hate the Hanar but to remember that while they did a great service to the Drell. That the Drell must live on their own and must not give up on Drell culture.
Growing up, Nethel, along with his younger siblings. Soltek his brother and Urasu his sister. They were a close-knitted family that liked to spend time with each other. Nethel particularly with his sister when they were not with friends. When Nethel was old enough, his parents taught him how to shoot and how to use his biotics. Nethel showed good skill with a pistol but not with an assault rifle, liked his parents. His siblings did better in that aspect, and only Nethel could use biotics. Nethel looked up to his parents greatly and wished to follow in their footsteps. It was not surprising to his parents that Yokru decided to follow their path and joined up with the Union military when he was old enough. Enlisting with the marines and showed promise as a soldier. He served proudly for years and would message his family when he could. Mainly his time in the military he spent taking down pirates, slavers, and anything in between in or near Union space.
Unfortunately for Nethel, while he was on a mission to clear out a base of pirates near Union space. A group of batarian slavers raided Varaia. Temporarily overwhelming the colony's defenses before they regrouped and counterattack. Driving the slavers off but, not before the slavers abducting a portion of the colony. Nethel was furious at the news and saddened when he found that his parents died in the raid. His younger siblings were among those adducted and despite the Union's efforts. They were unable to locate the slavers or the missing colonists. Nethel was beside himself and was unsure of what to do with his family gone. After thinking about it, Nethel concluded that if the Union can not find his family Then he will. Nethel got permission to leave the military when he could and went out to find his siblings.
Starting out was rough for Nethel as he searched for clues to where his siblings were in the criminal underworld. Nethel was used to being supported by his squadmates and not operating by himself. He supported himself as a mercenary and was selective of what contacts he went on. Not wanting to give up his morals for money during his pursuit. The lessons his parents taught him, and his military training proved valuable during this time. However, he would teach himself martial arts to help with missions. Keeping him alive and even thrive job after job. Earning a name for himself, the Merc with a Conscience he was called. Nethel did not care much for it and was only focused on finding his siblings. Even if it started to get him more jobs and even some contacts, he preferred if people called him Theos if anything. An old nickname his sister gave him.
It was after years of searching did Nethel find a break. One of his contacts had received word that a pair of Drell that matched his siblings' description had recently been traded to a small-time batarian pirate named Roprak Bapbarah. Finally finding a trace of his siblings and after some greasing some palms. Nethel located the pirate to a jungle world in the Terminus Systems. Knowing that he could not rescue his sibling by himself. Nethel hired a team of mercs he trusts and came up with a plan that, in essence, was simple. Have most of his team created a diversion in front of the base to draw out the pirates while the rest of them sneak in and rescue Nethel's siblings along with any other slaves there. With him leading the infiltration team. Once he was ready, Nethel moved to the jungle world and started his rescue mission.
At first, things were going well. His team had successfully drawn the pirate's attention as Nethel watched them move towards the entrance of the base from his position south of the base. As the coast was clear, did Nethel and his group infiltrated the base. Stealthily taking down any guards they came across and after some hacking. They sliced their way into the slaveholding cells. There, Nethel found several slaves but, more importantly, his siblings. Nethel cried with joy upon seeing them and hugged them both. The three of them happy to see each other, and for a brief moment, things were going as plan.
But, it was a mistake on Nethel's part to let his emotions out and take time out of trying to escape. For one of the dead guards was ordered over comms to join the fight in the front by Roprak. When he failed to check in, Roprak then tried to someone close to the dead guard and found no response. It was then Roprak realized what was happening and ordered his men to find and kill the intruders inside of the base. After being warned over the comms by his team that Roprak's men were coming inside. Nethel ordered the diversion team to step up the heat and to pick off anyone still in the front. Meanwhile, he released all of the slaves and had his team escort them back where they came. However, it did not take long before they were under fire and pinned down.
With little options, Nethel was thinking of a plan to escape, and one of the pirates had thrown a grenade at them. It bounced off the wall and landed near the slaves. Before he could even think, Nethel watched as one of his siblings, his younger brother Soltek, move forward and covered the grenade with his body. Shielding the blast from his fellow slaves at the cost of his life. At the sight of this, Nethel felt anger grow inside of him, the anger of failing to save his brother. At the moment, he kept the anger in and but did something reckless. In order to clear a path out, Nethel used a biotic charge on a group of pirates. Hitting the one in the center and disoriented the pirates nearby. Allowing Nethel to use his martial skills to kill each one of them in close quarters. Once the way was clear, Nethel ordered them forward and towards the exit.
They were close to getting out when they got ambushed by Roprak himself, who brought two squads with him. Putting them at either side of the exit. Though not before one of the slaves were hit. Urasu was hit but managed to get into cover as Roprak taunting them that they were not getting away. That they would either be dead or taken as slaves. Nethel did not hear this as he was focused on Urasu, who was bleeding badly. Afraid of losing another sibling, and thinking of the odds of them getting out. Nethel made a decision and only told his other teammate to heal Urasu and run when it was clear. Without another word, Nethel sprang into action. First by using a biotic charge on a pirate on the right side and then quickly using nova to create a blast. The blast killed most of the pirates on the right. Shooting the survivors with his shotgun. Then got into cover as the pirates on the left opened fire at him. Roprak furiously telling his men that whoever killed that drell would get a bonus. Now in a better position, Nethel then threw a cluster grenade at the pirates. The resulting blast was devastating for the pirates and Nethel used a biotic charge again on one of the survivors, which killed the connected pirate. Then quickly killing the other pirates, including Roprak. Once it was clear, the group made a run for it, with Nethel following from behind. They regrouped with the diversion team and safely made it off-world.
Nethel was both happy and sad after the ordeal. While he was saddened by Soltek's death, Urasu survived and reminded him that Soltek died saving others. So he can find peace with that, though it did not leave him that he still had failed to save his brother. With his team paid, the slaves returned to their families, Urasu back at Varaia. Nethel was unsure of what to do. While he considered going back to the Union military, years spent as a mercenary made him like the freedom he had. Needing some time to clear his head and think about things. He went to the Citadel to relax and ponder his next move.
Growing up, Nethel, along with his younger siblings. Soltek his brother and Urasu his sister. They were a close-knitted family that liked to spend time with each other. Nethel particularly with his sister when they were not with friends. When Nethel was old enough, his parents taught him how to shoot and how to use his biotics. Nethel showed good skill with a pistol but not with an assault rifle, liked his parents. His siblings did better in that aspect, and only Nethel could use biotics. Nethel looked up to his parents greatly and wished to follow in their footsteps. It was not surprising to his parents that Yokru decided to follow their path and joined up with the Union military when he was old enough. Enlisting with the marines and showed promise as a soldier. He served proudly for years and would message his family when he could. Mainly his time in the military he spent taking down pirates, slavers, and anything in between in or near Union space.
Unfortunately for Nethel, while he was on a mission to clear out a base of pirates near Union space. A group of batarian slavers raided Varaia. Temporarily overwhelming the colony's defenses before they regrouped and counterattack. Driving the slavers off but, not before the slavers abducting a portion of the colony. Nethel was furious at the news and saddened when he found that his parents died in the raid. His younger siblings were among those adducted and despite the Union's efforts. They were unable to locate the slavers or the missing colonists. Nethel was beside himself and was unsure of what to do with his family gone. After thinking about it, Nethel concluded that if the Union can not find his family Then he will. Nethel got permission to leave the military when he could and went out to find his siblings.
Starting out was rough for Nethel as he searched for clues to where his siblings were in the criminal underworld. Nethel was used to being supported by his squadmates and not operating by himself. He supported himself as a mercenary and was selective of what contacts he went on. Not wanting to give up his morals for money during his pursuit. The lessons his parents taught him, and his military training proved valuable during this time. However, he would teach himself martial arts to help with missions. Keeping him alive and even thrive job after job. Earning a name for himself, the Merc with a Conscience he was called. Nethel did not care much for it and was only focused on finding his siblings. Even if it started to get him more jobs and even some contacts, he preferred if people called him Theos if anything. An old nickname his sister gave him.
It was after years of searching did Nethel find a break. One of his contacts had received word that a pair of Drell that matched his siblings' description had recently been traded to a small-time batarian pirate named Roprak Bapbarah. Finally finding a trace of his siblings and after some greasing some palms. Nethel located the pirate to a jungle world in the Terminus Systems. Knowing that he could not rescue his sibling by himself. Nethel hired a team of mercs he trusts and came up with a plan that, in essence, was simple. Have most of his team created a diversion in front of the base to draw out the pirates while the rest of them sneak in and rescue Nethel's siblings along with any other slaves there. With him leading the infiltration team. Once he was ready, Nethel moved to the jungle world and started his rescue mission.
At first, things were going well. His team had successfully drawn the pirate's attention as Nethel watched them move towards the entrance of the base from his position south of the base. As the coast was clear, did Nethel and his group infiltrated the base. Stealthily taking down any guards they came across and after some hacking. They sliced their way into the slaveholding cells. There, Nethel found several slaves but, more importantly, his siblings. Nethel cried with joy upon seeing them and hugged them both. The three of them happy to see each other, and for a brief moment, things were going as plan.
But, it was a mistake on Nethel's part to let his emotions out and take time out of trying to escape. For one of the dead guards was ordered over comms to join the fight in the front by Roprak. When he failed to check in, Roprak then tried to someone close to the dead guard and found no response. It was then Roprak realized what was happening and ordered his men to find and kill the intruders inside of the base. After being warned over the comms by his team that Roprak's men were coming inside. Nethel ordered the diversion team to step up the heat and to pick off anyone still in the front. Meanwhile, he released all of the slaves and had his team escort them back where they came. However, it did not take long before they were under fire and pinned down.
With little options, Nethel was thinking of a plan to escape, and one of the pirates had thrown a grenade at them. It bounced off the wall and landed near the slaves. Before he could even think, Nethel watched as one of his siblings, his younger brother Soltek, move forward and covered the grenade with his body. Shielding the blast from his fellow slaves at the cost of his life. At the sight of this, Nethel felt anger grow inside of him, the anger of failing to save his brother. At the moment, he kept the anger in and but did something reckless. In order to clear a path out, Nethel used a biotic charge on a group of pirates. Hitting the one in the center and disoriented the pirates nearby. Allowing Nethel to use his martial skills to kill each one of them in close quarters. Once the way was clear, Nethel ordered them forward and towards the exit.
They were close to getting out when they got ambushed by Roprak himself, who brought two squads with him. Putting them at either side of the exit. Though not before one of the slaves were hit. Urasu was hit but managed to get into cover as Roprak taunting them that they were not getting away. That they would either be dead or taken as slaves. Nethel did not hear this as he was focused on Urasu, who was bleeding badly. Afraid of losing another sibling, and thinking of the odds of them getting out. Nethel made a decision and only told his other teammate to heal Urasu and run when it was clear. Without another word, Nethel sprang into action. First by using a biotic charge on a pirate on the right side and then quickly using nova to create a blast. The blast killed most of the pirates on the right. Shooting the survivors with his shotgun. Then got into cover as the pirates on the left opened fire at him. Roprak furiously telling his men that whoever killed that drell would get a bonus. Now in a better position, Nethel then threw a cluster grenade at the pirates. The resulting blast was devastating for the pirates and Nethel used a biotic charge again on one of the survivors, which killed the connected pirate. Then quickly killing the other pirates, including Roprak. Once it was clear, the group made a run for it, with Nethel following from behind. They regrouped with the diversion team and safely made it off-world.
Nethel was both happy and sad after the ordeal. While he was saddened by Soltek's death, Urasu survived and reminded him that Soltek died saving others. So he can find peace with that, though it did not leave him that he still had failed to save his brother. With his team paid, the slaves returned to their families, Urasu back at Varaia. Nethel was unsure of what to do. While he considered going back to the Union military, years spent as a mercenary made him like the freedom he had. Needing some time to clear his head and think about things. He went to the Citadel to relax and ponder his next move.
Position: CQC specialist
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics: M-27 Scimitar, M-6 Carnifex, Cluster Grenades, Medium Armor, incense sticks, and a necklace that bears the symbol of the drell religion.
Notoriety: 4 from his time as a mercenary, being known as the Merc with a Conscience despite not wanting to be called that. Which his contacts helped to spread his name and he is mainly known in the Attican Traverse which he used to operate in.
Misc.: N/A
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
GM
Andreyich AS THOUGH A THOUSAND MOUTHS CRY OUT IN PAIN
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
This is done with an in-character dossier of information readily available about your character in mind, in addition to that which they are willing to disclose to those hiring them for the mission. Anything you do not want visible to the public please PM to me.
Full name: Eustace Dar Adal
Race: Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance. Also technically a Turkish passport, but in the 24th century this doesn't mean much more than really good parking space on Earth.
Aliases: Wolf - most likely the only expression of the post national identity of Eustace it is something he only narrowly managed to get to stick in a bout of arrogance after defeating some pirates.
Eu - what his family (mostly his deceased brother and estranged ex-wife) called him. He despises the word.
Age: 49
Gender: Male.
Psych. Eval.: Eustace is a difficult man to truly analyze because out of habit he adapts his personality based on what he thinks you will react well to. Having done this for some decades in the Alliance Marines he was rather prepared to work this upon CSec's psychologists. Mr. Dar-Adal seems to be a very goal-oriented individual typically only working at one or two projects at a time with the aim of completing them as quickly and perfectly as possible such that personal attention could be given to every thing he comes across. Though reality has shook much of his elite past out of the man he hasn't been able to get through all of the things ingrained to him in youth. There is undoubtedly some arrogance within the man though he thankfully appears to express it as seeing a sort of nobless oblige being his life duty rather than as disdain for his "lessers." He is also very much used to getting his way (and rather unused to not getting it) as well as stifling his inner thoughts and emotions much like any high socialite. At the same time when eventually he does express himself he comes out the other extreme losing all control of them. These last few points are unfortunately best demonstrated when after a visit to my predecessor he threw a cup of coffee at her earning his recent demotion and disciplinary actions. When investigated it was found that in his monthly visits to the psychologist she had after offering refreshments done them wrong every time for several years along with insisting that he reach out to his son if not his ex-wife. Though previously maintaining a friendly facade with her it seems it was but that, a facade, which shattered violently just as his projectile when she spilled some boiling coffee upon him.
Eustace is a very ordered person lamenting that the world seems to follow common sense rather than predicate logic. This can get to be a rather unbecoming personality trait when it crosses with his slight superiority complexes; it is both rather toxic and irksome as he goes on rants regarding such matters but also rather sad as he struggles to understand all the while knowing he is failing. I have been able to find that he rather enjoys reading, but seeing it as a luxury he will typically pirate the books rather than paying for them. When questioned about how he reconciles this with his otherwise nature he himself describes as "by-the-books" he became very angry. Though I am a biotic and know I can stand my ground I chose not to pursue this to avoid a repeat of what happened to the person I replaced. It is clear that Eustace has strong convictions which I cannot quite discern in entirety but he is willing to sacrifice them for immediate matters. He seems rather distasteful of lone wolf types, though rather paradoxically he oft unwittingly bears the traits of such. It is clear to me he is a rather unhappy, soul, one I would even characterize as angry. Note: Only Address him as Eustace, Mr. Adal, or the likes. Abbreviations like "Eu" upset him very much.
Phys. Eval.: Eustace is a little less than 190cm tall and about 90kg, his is a muscular build with little to no external markings on the man's face thanks to a history of some light cosmetic surgery clearing scars. The rest of his body is a different story, old burns making much of his body a tender pinkish shade even after all these years. His skin is the light brown of cheap chocolate whilst his hair a jet back and his eyes a teal. He will almost always look well maintained with facial hair diligently shaved off and the hair upon his head kept perfectly in shape as part of his waking routine. There are a few discrete cybernetics within him, namely advanced integrations with his omni-tool, an internal active headset, specialized eye lenses to resist flashes and improve vision range.
Biotics: No.
Qualifications: Eustace is experienced in many fields. He is an accomplished leader, an award winning marksman, a natural with technology, a light footed saboteur, a renowned commander. He brings to the table experience across many different organizations and fields. From his years he has developed a very wide breadth of skills he can apply to the mission. Perhaps most importantly he has the trust and respect of many important people around the Galaxy that will open many doors, the negative opinion of him that many ordinary people hold being ultimately irrelevant and failing to offset his rapport with the powerful.
History: Eustace was born to a very wealthy family on Earth, the homeworld of mankind and the Systems Alliance. His was a luxuried life defined by tutors, private security and expensive vacations. To extend their influence the Dar Adal family sent its members into a great many elite professions from VI research to all sorts of ministries and government roles to finance and industry. But as a former serviceman himself old Granddad Khatep Dar Adal had wanted somebody in the Marines, and that person would be Eustace.
First things first however, and he was sent to get a formal education until a baccalaureate when he was eighteen during which time his family introduced him to his wife to be. It was an arranged marriage of sorts for she was a very distant relative for her's was also a wealthy family, and both youths were disgusted at the process. But over this they had bonded and rather surprisingly found themselves enjoying each other's company; the marriage happened just after their graduations.
Following this while Eustace went to a prestigious military academy on Earth, a place that while secured with nepotism and a little underhand money Eustace made sure to not squander and study his best to exit with stunning grades that he references to this day. Upon graduation he joined the Marines as an Officer, moving with his wife to a calm frontier posting wherein supposedly they could enjoy the synthesis of civilization but also unsullied vistas. They were happy together, Eustace having a calm time doing naught but occasionally blasting away Rachni or frightening Batarians and Omegans.
But he wanted more, the idealism of the young Captain getting to him as he relentlessly asked to be transferred to places where he could see more action. But as one after the other the requests were denied it soon became apparent it was his family was blocking it when no reason was given for the rejection. He understood of course why they were doing it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
His big break would come soon however. Just as his wife was pregnant and about to give birth a Batarian fleet appeared in system going full speed towards the residential areas of the planets, his first true battle. Many a Batarian vessel was crushed but he could not save all the people of the world. With horror he looked on how thousands of people were rounded up and dragged away to never be seen again. He requested that he be let pursue the attackers but his demand was rejected. Astounded he made a choice that determined the rest of his life; he ignored his orders to stay put and went full speed after the foe. His ship was an enlarged and modernized derivative of the Normandy SR-2 and it was perfect for what he had to do. For about a year he and his crew waged a stealth guerilla war against the Batarians liberating what slaves they could and stealing shuttles from the Batarians such that they could be sent back through a mass relay to safety. Though by the end Eustace commanded only a skeleton crew with most of his original troop fallen in the line of combat he was successful, and returned to Systems Alliance space expecting a hero's welcome. Alas the almost direct inverse happened.
His entire crew including himself were placed into custody being considered deserters. Though family connections released him from any real persecution he soon found out that he had only seen the beginning of his troubles. His Brother Cyrus had died somewhere halfway through the hit and run campaign against the Batarians, an Ardat Yakshi sucking the poor bastard's soul out. His wife Maribel shortly after giving birth to their son had found another man thinking that Eustace was dead and was already engaged. Thinking their family was destroyed both his For his service? He would have to face a court martial in which a judge would all but inevitably demote him. Deciding he'd like at least a little bit of his dignity preserved he resigned. For nearly a whole year he quit society dwelling at the bottom of a bottle taking occasional jobs as a freelancer mercenary just so he could sustain his cycle of self pity a little longer. Eventually a former comrade who was now in the Military Police reached out to him to say that the officer who denied Eustace's pursuit of the Batarians was paid off by them which would make a return of Eustace to the armed forces almost certainly have the previous trajectory for a court martial demotion be reversed into a promotion for standing up to a corrupt traitor. It was... a job offer of sorts. The alliance had at this point found success converting Marines into state-owned Mercenary Companies and a Major was needed. Ultimately done with feeling sorry for himself he accepted.
For a long time he only assisted other nations in combat against the Rachni or Omegans. But eventually his successes would prove to be his undoing as he was one of the commanders selected for deployment to the Neo-Krogan rebellion. They were all Veterans with advanced equipment, training and experience just short of N7. But this didn't save them when the first waves of Tank Breds struck. His unit was one of the first struck and his unit was obliterated with himself as one of the few survivors, the man only keeping his life after hiding under the burning ruins of his squad's Grizzly where many burn scars were made.
Though Eustace survived, he couldn't tell at what cost. Whereas last time his efforts had something to show for them, now his suffering was pointless and it would soon only get worse. A journalist had found records of what happened to him and his command and leaked it to the public, Eustace soon after being removed from active duty as the publicity of entire units of Systems Alliance troops being wiped out by the Rebel Krogan surfaced. As his face covered many news broadcasts the families of men under his command all blamed him for their deaths, and media focused on him, the sole survivor in a negative manner painting his survival as a product of cowardice after leaving his men to die. Once more his life was ruined, but as he saw Alliance mercenary Marines being pulled out from the Krogan front there was at least the slight consolation that the scandal he was in prompted many men to avoid certain death against the tank-breds.
It was in a bar that he was approached by the journalist who had found what happened to his unit. Marya Sharhan she introduced herself, she had come to apologize to him for the ruining of him across the whole extranet. She explained how she simply had wanted to reveal to the public how deadly warfare was in some theatres the Alliance was rather unwisely pursuing and to show that it was folly. In his tipsy state Eustace found himself unable to disagree, and the two quickly bonded in a drunken night they shared. In the morning as they awoke an offer was yet again made to Eustace. As Marya's team got into war journalism they needed security and there was a vacant position for oversight that he was the perfect candidate for. Seeing it as better than being a Major nobody wanted Eustace gladly resigned from his current position and accepted the new one.
All was well, some semblance happiness again returning as Eustace was in his element and together with someone he wasn't afraid to admit he cared for. But the pattern of his life continued and tragedy befell the man. Having been given permission by the Rebel Clans to record what happens near the frontlines they descended into the ruins of a ruined Asari garden world. There were areas that the Krogan let them film, but many more where this was not permitted. As they went about Marya mused about visiting the restricted areas to see what was being hidden, and an argument came between the two. Eustace insisted it was foolish and that they would pay with their lives, whereas she retorted that this had not stopped her from investigating his unit and meeting him. However by the end it seemed that if not convinced, Marya was at least willing to listen. The party went to sleep but as morning came only the security staff remained in their little camp. After having gone looking for the journalists Eustace was ordered by the local Rebel Warlord to come to his improvise court. There was presented to him a gift of many drums. A few looked ordinary Krogan craft but most were blue. The Krogan Warlord made apparent the realization that was already dawning on Eustace: the drums were made of the skin largely of Asari rounded up from their cities but the drums of an ordinary beige were made of the skins of the humans who had entered the restricted zones. Eustace knew there was nothing he could do here and thus simply closed this chapter of his life heading again to the man heading for a cycle of self pity, this time in the Citadel.
Once more he spent nearly a year at the bottom of a bottle, though one the Citadel there was far less demand for mercenary work and as such he could hardly keep himself housed. It was only walking down a street when he was recognized by his friend now CSec Lieutenant Pearson formerly in the Alliance MPs. After reconnecting in a shitty bar Pearson listened to Eustace's story and taking pity yet again offered the man a job in CSec. Though he was skeptical he accepted it with little other choice given his bills were racking up and he had long since lost ID to use his family's accounts. The only agreement was that he is happy to manage, but he did not want to lead once more.
The last several years were spent with CSec as an Investigator the man likewise tired of fighting all the time. It was a boring life but at least he found some sort of peace for himself to be alone with his thoughts. Recently when behind closed doors the Spectre program was restored the algorithm looking for men to join it suggested him as a Captain, and indeed he received the offer. Though he accepted an offer to join the Spectres, he could not bear such responsibility again. Though happy to aid the Captain with his leadership experience and to apply it if absolutely necessary he would not commandeer the ship and its team.
Though the future holds much uncertainty Eustace has some optimism, the Spectres representing a new cause to believe in.
Position: Mission Control & Crisis Management
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics: Extremely light armour augmented by tech armour, fortification, cloaking and defensive matrix modules. Two armpit holsters hold carnifex pistols while a boot holster holds an executioner pistols. If expecting to be in the field for more than a day he will bring along a Mattock Rifle modified for fully automatic fire. Regardless he will carry a very large array of different ammunition types. Further he carries an electric baton and omni-tool for the most close quarters of combat, as well as a large medical kit including things like stimulant packs and an amplifier for communications. In general he relies on tech and tactics to get him through difficulties rather than strength of arms and biotics, his kit and omni-tool working in tandem to provide tactical scans, sabotaging, overloads and more. In general he will demand little beyond that which is necessary to maintain what is needed for him to do his work; part for the above, along with credits for the purchase of some documents and improved software or hardware, along with occasional training equipment. With all that satisfied he is happy to requisition something on behalf of his comrades who have already asked for much.
Notoriety: 7/8. He was born to an affluent family in the Systems Alliance and was in the headlines of much media for some time near the end of his service in the Marines. His years of working in the Private Sector followed by C-Sec and the Citadel gave him a considerable reputation with people all around the Milky Way for better or worse.
Misc.: While he will keep an unmarked version of his uniform as an Alliance Marine officer as his standard dress he will keep his old tattered one decorating the wall of his room.
Theme
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes.
Full name: Eustace Dar Adal
Race: Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance. Also technically a Turkish passport, but in the 24th century this doesn't mean much more than really good parking space on Earth.
Aliases: Wolf - most likely the only expression of the post national identity of Eustace it is something he only narrowly managed to get to stick in a bout of arrogance after defeating some pirates.
Eu - what his family (mostly his deceased brother and estranged ex-wife) called him. He despises the word.
Age: 49
Gender: Male.
Psych. Eval.: Eustace is a difficult man to truly analyze because out of habit he adapts his personality based on what he thinks you will react well to. Having done this for some decades in the Alliance Marines he was rather prepared to work this upon CSec's psychologists. Mr. Dar-Adal seems to be a very goal-oriented individual typically only working at one or two projects at a time with the aim of completing them as quickly and perfectly as possible such that personal attention could be given to every thing he comes across. Though reality has shook much of his elite past out of the man he hasn't been able to get through all of the things ingrained to him in youth. There is undoubtedly some arrogance within the man though he thankfully appears to express it as seeing a sort of nobless oblige being his life duty rather than as disdain for his "lessers." He is also very much used to getting his way (and rather unused to not getting it) as well as stifling his inner thoughts and emotions much like any high socialite. At the same time when eventually he does express himself he comes out the other extreme losing all control of them. These last few points are unfortunately best demonstrated when after a visit to my predecessor he threw a cup of coffee at her earning his recent demotion and disciplinary actions. When investigated it was found that in his monthly visits to the psychologist she had after offering refreshments done them wrong every time for several years along with insisting that he reach out to his son if not his ex-wife. Though previously maintaining a friendly facade with her it seems it was but that, a facade, which shattered violently just as his projectile when she spilled some boiling coffee upon him.
Eustace is a very ordered person lamenting that the world seems to follow common sense rather than predicate logic. This can get to be a rather unbecoming personality trait when it crosses with his slight superiority complexes; it is both rather toxic and irksome as he goes on rants regarding such matters but also rather sad as he struggles to understand all the while knowing he is failing. I have been able to find that he rather enjoys reading, but seeing it as a luxury he will typically pirate the books rather than paying for them. When questioned about how he reconciles this with his otherwise nature he himself describes as "by-the-books" he became very angry. Though I am a biotic and know I can stand my ground I chose not to pursue this to avoid a repeat of what happened to the person I replaced. It is clear that Eustace has strong convictions which I cannot quite discern in entirety but he is willing to sacrifice them for immediate matters. He seems rather distasteful of lone wolf types, though rather paradoxically he oft unwittingly bears the traits of such. It is clear to me he is a rather unhappy, soul, one I would even characterize as angry. Note: Only Address him as Eustace, Mr. Adal, or the likes. Abbreviations like "Eu" upset him very much.
Phys. Eval.: Eustace is a little less than 190cm tall and about 90kg, his is a muscular build with little to no external markings on the man's face thanks to a history of some light cosmetic surgery clearing scars. The rest of his body is a different story, old burns making much of his body a tender pinkish shade even after all these years. His skin is the light brown of cheap chocolate whilst his hair a jet back and his eyes a teal. He will almost always look well maintained with facial hair diligently shaved off and the hair upon his head kept perfectly in shape as part of his waking routine. There are a few discrete cybernetics within him, namely advanced integrations with his omni-tool, an internal active headset, specialized eye lenses to resist flashes and improve vision range.
Biotics: No.
Qualifications: Eustace is experienced in many fields. He is an accomplished leader, an award winning marksman, a natural with technology, a light footed saboteur, a renowned commander. He brings to the table experience across many different organizations and fields. From his years he has developed a very wide breadth of skills he can apply to the mission. Perhaps most importantly he has the trust and respect of many important people around the Galaxy that will open many doors, the negative opinion of him that many ordinary people hold being ultimately irrelevant and failing to offset his rapport with the powerful.
History: Eustace was born to a very wealthy family on Earth, the homeworld of mankind and the Systems Alliance. His was a luxuried life defined by tutors, private security and expensive vacations. To extend their influence the Dar Adal family sent its members into a great many elite professions from VI research to all sorts of ministries and government roles to finance and industry. But as a former serviceman himself old Granddad Khatep Dar Adal had wanted somebody in the Marines, and that person would be Eustace.
First things first however, and he was sent to get a formal education until a baccalaureate when he was eighteen during which time his family introduced him to his wife to be. It was an arranged marriage of sorts for she was a very distant relative for her's was also a wealthy family, and both youths were disgusted at the process. But over this they had bonded and rather surprisingly found themselves enjoying each other's company; the marriage happened just after their graduations.
Following this while Eustace went to a prestigious military academy on Earth, a place that while secured with nepotism and a little underhand money Eustace made sure to not squander and study his best to exit with stunning grades that he references to this day. Upon graduation he joined the Marines as an Officer, moving with his wife to a calm frontier posting wherein supposedly they could enjoy the synthesis of civilization but also unsullied vistas. They were happy together, Eustace having a calm time doing naught but occasionally blasting away Rachni or frightening Batarians and Omegans.
But he wanted more, the idealism of the young Captain getting to him as he relentlessly asked to be transferred to places where he could see more action. But as one after the other the requests were denied it soon became apparent it was his family was blocking it when no reason was given for the rejection. He understood of course why they were doing it, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
His big break would come soon however. Just as his wife was pregnant and about to give birth a Batarian fleet appeared in system going full speed towards the residential areas of the planets, his first true battle. Many a Batarian vessel was crushed but he could not save all the people of the world. With horror he looked on how thousands of people were rounded up and dragged away to never be seen again. He requested that he be let pursue the attackers but his demand was rejected. Astounded he made a choice that determined the rest of his life; he ignored his orders to stay put and went full speed after the foe. His ship was an enlarged and modernized derivative of the Normandy SR-2 and it was perfect for what he had to do. For about a year he and his crew waged a stealth guerilla war against the Batarians liberating what slaves they could and stealing shuttles from the Batarians such that they could be sent back through a mass relay to safety. Though by the end Eustace commanded only a skeleton crew with most of his original troop fallen in the line of combat he was successful, and returned to Systems Alliance space expecting a hero's welcome. Alas the almost direct inverse happened.
His entire crew including himself were placed into custody being considered deserters. Though family connections released him from any real persecution he soon found out that he had only seen the beginning of his troubles. His Brother Cyrus had died somewhere halfway through the hit and run campaign against the Batarians, an Ardat Yakshi sucking the poor bastard's soul out. His wife Maribel shortly after giving birth to their son had found another man thinking that Eustace was dead and was already engaged. Thinking their family was destroyed both his For his service? He would have to face a court martial in which a judge would all but inevitably demote him. Deciding he'd like at least a little bit of his dignity preserved he resigned. For nearly a whole year he quit society dwelling at the bottom of a bottle taking occasional jobs as a freelancer mercenary just so he could sustain his cycle of self pity a little longer. Eventually a former comrade who was now in the Military Police reached out to him to say that the officer who denied Eustace's pursuit of the Batarians was paid off by them which would make a return of Eustace to the armed forces almost certainly have the previous trajectory for a court martial demotion be reversed into a promotion for standing up to a corrupt traitor. It was... a job offer of sorts. The alliance had at this point found success converting Marines into state-owned Mercenary Companies and a Major was needed. Ultimately done with feeling sorry for himself he accepted.
For a long time he only assisted other nations in combat against the Rachni or Omegans. But eventually his successes would prove to be his undoing as he was one of the commanders selected for deployment to the Neo-Krogan rebellion. They were all Veterans with advanced equipment, training and experience just short of N7. But this didn't save them when the first waves of Tank Breds struck. His unit was one of the first struck and his unit was obliterated with himself as one of the few survivors, the man only keeping his life after hiding under the burning ruins of his squad's Grizzly where many burn scars were made.
Though Eustace survived, he couldn't tell at what cost. Whereas last time his efforts had something to show for them, now his suffering was pointless and it would soon only get worse. A journalist had found records of what happened to him and his command and leaked it to the public, Eustace soon after being removed from active duty as the publicity of entire units of Systems Alliance troops being wiped out by the Rebel Krogan surfaced. As his face covered many news broadcasts the families of men under his command all blamed him for their deaths, and media focused on him, the sole survivor in a negative manner painting his survival as a product of cowardice after leaving his men to die. Once more his life was ruined, but as he saw Alliance mercenary Marines being pulled out from the Krogan front there was at least the slight consolation that the scandal he was in prompted many men to avoid certain death against the tank-breds.
It was in a bar that he was approached by the journalist who had found what happened to his unit. Marya Sharhan she introduced herself, she had come to apologize to him for the ruining of him across the whole extranet. She explained how she simply had wanted to reveal to the public how deadly warfare was in some theatres the Alliance was rather unwisely pursuing and to show that it was folly. In his tipsy state Eustace found himself unable to disagree, and the two quickly bonded in a drunken night they shared. In the morning as they awoke an offer was yet again made to Eustace. As Marya's team got into war journalism they needed security and there was a vacant position for oversight that he was the perfect candidate for. Seeing it as better than being a Major nobody wanted Eustace gladly resigned from his current position and accepted the new one.
All was well, some semblance happiness again returning as Eustace was in his element and together with someone he wasn't afraid to admit he cared for. But the pattern of his life continued and tragedy befell the man. Having been given permission by the Rebel Clans to record what happens near the frontlines they descended into the ruins of a ruined Asari garden world. There were areas that the Krogan let them film, but many more where this was not permitted. As they went about Marya mused about visiting the restricted areas to see what was being hidden, and an argument came between the two. Eustace insisted it was foolish and that they would pay with their lives, whereas she retorted that this had not stopped her from investigating his unit and meeting him. However by the end it seemed that if not convinced, Marya was at least willing to listen. The party went to sleep but as morning came only the security staff remained in their little camp. After having gone looking for the journalists Eustace was ordered by the local Rebel Warlord to come to his improvise court. There was presented to him a gift of many drums. A few looked ordinary Krogan craft but most were blue. The Krogan Warlord made apparent the realization that was already dawning on Eustace: the drums were made of the skin largely of Asari rounded up from their cities but the drums of an ordinary beige were made of the skins of the humans who had entered the restricted zones. Eustace knew there was nothing he could do here and thus simply closed this chapter of his life heading again to the man heading for a cycle of self pity, this time in the Citadel.
Once more he spent nearly a year at the bottom of a bottle, though one the Citadel there was far less demand for mercenary work and as such he could hardly keep himself housed. It was only walking down a street when he was recognized by his friend now CSec Lieutenant Pearson formerly in the Alliance MPs. After reconnecting in a shitty bar Pearson listened to Eustace's story and taking pity yet again offered the man a job in CSec. Though he was skeptical he accepted it with little other choice given his bills were racking up and he had long since lost ID to use his family's accounts. The only agreement was that he is happy to manage, but he did not want to lead once more.
The last several years were spent with CSec as an Investigator the man likewise tired of fighting all the time. It was a boring life but at least he found some sort of peace for himself to be alone with his thoughts. Recently when behind closed doors the Spectre program was restored the algorithm looking for men to join it suggested him as a Captain, and indeed he received the offer. Though he accepted an offer to join the Spectres, he could not bear such responsibility again. Though happy to aid the Captain with his leadership experience and to apply it if absolutely necessary he would not commandeer the ship and its team.
Though the future holds much uncertainty Eustace has some optimism, the Spectres representing a new cause to believe in.
Position: Mission Control & Crisis Management
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics: Extremely light armour augmented by tech armour, fortification, cloaking and defensive matrix modules. Two armpit holsters hold carnifex pistols while a boot holster holds an executioner pistols. If expecting to be in the field for more than a day he will bring along a Mattock Rifle modified for fully automatic fire. Regardless he will carry a very large array of different ammunition types. Further he carries an electric baton and omni-tool for the most close quarters of combat, as well as a large medical kit including things like stimulant packs and an amplifier for communications. In general he relies on tech and tactics to get him through difficulties rather than strength of arms and biotics, his kit and omni-tool working in tandem to provide tactical scans, sabotaging, overloads and more. In general he will demand little beyond that which is necessary to maintain what is needed for him to do his work; part for the above, along with credits for the purchase of some documents and improved software or hardware, along with occasional training equipment. With all that satisfied he is happy to requisition something on behalf of his comrades who have already asked for much.
Notoriety: 7/8. He was born to an affluent family in the Systems Alliance and was in the headlines of much media for some time near the end of his service in the Marines. His years of working in the Private Sector followed by C-Sec and the Citadel gave him a considerable reputation with people all around the Milky Way for better or worse.
Misc.: While he will keep an unmarked version of his uniform as an Alliance Marine officer as his standard dress he will keep his old tattered one decorating the wall of his room.
Theme
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes.
KaiserElectric Spaghetti Enthusiast
Member
Seen
7 mos ago
Full name: Osino Kael
Race: Drell
Citizenship: Unionist
Aliases: C-SEC believes that she is the anonymous member of Dead Cell identified as "Mojo". Either way she just prefers her actual name, though she insists "Seeno is fine if you're in a hurry".
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Psych. Eval.: "My initial cursory examination was promising. While certainly lacking in experience compared to our other candidates, she's clearly intelligent, detail-oriented, and shows a remarkable aptitude for thinking on her feet. The few contacts we have with her superiors has confirmed this, and I think she'll work exceptionally well with a team. An expected observation considering her selection for this program.
What surprised me was how forthcoming she was during our direct sessions. The Drell I've interviewed before tend to be withdrawn and difficult to get straight answers from, but Osino was more then happy to engage me in long conversations and diatribes, not just about her past and the information I needed but her various hobbies, likes, and dislikes. Even in my passive observations she seemed interested in engaging me in conversation about whatever happened to be on her mind at the time. I suspect she may have been aware of my intent to analyze her psychological makeup, probably intending to make it difficult for me to deeply analyze her. Either that or she was more interested in flirting with my secretary Ceritea.
Despite her apparent openness, it's difficult to get a read on her. She's not spiritual as far as I can tell, fairly common among Drell her age, but she's incredibly passionate about her beliefs and has a strong moral code. She's just as likely to start a fight as talk someone out of one, and despite being so amicable, she seemed most comfortable with a weapon on hand. Definitely one of the more colorful individuals I've seen attached to this project, but I'm fairly confident in believing her when she says she genuinely wants to be here because of the good she could do on a team like this. She's a wildcard to be sure, but far more reliable then that label would suggest." -Dr. Rockter
EDIT: Please put her on the damned ship already. Ceritea can't work if she shows up hallucinating every other day.
Phys. Eval.: "Excellent physical health for a Drell. Amber skin with red highlights, typical black eyes with red iris. Surgical scarring at the back of the neck from biotic implant procedure. Tattoo of an exotic dragonbird (?) on upper left forearm and shoulder.
Despite her file saying she grew up in squalor, she doesn't seem to be physically stunted as would be expected; in fact, she's rather statuesque, pardon the phrasing. Given this and the routine testing indicating a genetic resistance to Kepral's Syndrome, I suspect patient may be gene-modded." -Dr. Arlen
Biotics: Osino retrieved training from Union biotic specialists and possesses a specialized biotic amp that grants her the standard array of telekinetic and shielding abilities. She favors the use of biotics to enhance her physical agility to the point of defying gravity for brief periods of time and disabling protective barriers on opponents.
Qualifications:
Graduated from the Amonkira Biotics Academy with honors and a specialization in technical mechanics, enlisted in Union Security Services as a Specialist (C-Sec equivalent of Sentinel) and was later assigned to the Dead Cell special operations unit. Experienced in biotic and tech combat, pistol marksmanship, hacking and stealth infiltration, close quarters combat, and engineering, especially in the field of electronic and computing tech. Has strong ties to military and intelligence units in the Union through former teammates in Dead Cell as well as personal relationships through Amonkira and UniSec.
History:
Position: Chief Engineer / Sentinel Infiltrator
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics:
Omnitool w/ Omniblade attachment and Hacking Suite
Scorpion Heavy Pistol
Zigra Class Lightweight Armor (Union Design)
[Numerous requests for personal items excised, see Docs. A1-45]
Notoriety: 5- While her record with Dead Cell has been classified and buried, her glowing record with UniSec and the rumors surrounding her work as "Mojo" have been enough to garner this upstart a reputation in certain classified circles. We tagged her for recruitment ever since the Gran Columbia incident and everything else since has just confirmed her qualifications for the program. -Sgt. Watson
Misc.: Theme....sometimes...
Her quarters are tidy and very carefully arranged, with holdout knives and weapons stored in convenient places just in case as well as an extensive computer system, which her AI Plisken inhabits when he's not in his drone form. There's also a flag with the Union insignia displayed prominently as well as several sketches tacked to the wall with various designs and schematics.
[Blasts from the Past]: Hell Yes
Race: Drell
Citizenship: Unionist
Aliases: C-SEC believes that she is the anonymous member of Dead Cell identified as "Mojo". Either way she just prefers her actual name, though she insists "Seeno is fine if you're in a hurry".
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Psych. Eval.: "My initial cursory examination was promising. While certainly lacking in experience compared to our other candidates, she's clearly intelligent, detail-oriented, and shows a remarkable aptitude for thinking on her feet. The few contacts we have with her superiors has confirmed this, and I think she'll work exceptionally well with a team. An expected observation considering her selection for this program.
What surprised me was how forthcoming she was during our direct sessions. The Drell I've interviewed before tend to be withdrawn and difficult to get straight answers from, but Osino was more then happy to engage me in long conversations and diatribes, not just about her past and the information I needed but her various hobbies, likes, and dislikes. Even in my passive observations she seemed interested in engaging me in conversation about whatever happened to be on her mind at the time. I suspect she may have been aware of my intent to analyze her psychological makeup, probably intending to make it difficult for me to deeply analyze her. Either that or she was more interested in flirting with my secretary Ceritea.
Despite her apparent openness, it's difficult to get a read on her. She's not spiritual as far as I can tell, fairly common among Drell her age, but she's incredibly passionate about her beliefs and has a strong moral code. She's just as likely to start a fight as talk someone out of one, and despite being so amicable, she seemed most comfortable with a weapon on hand. Definitely one of the more colorful individuals I've seen attached to this project, but I'm fairly confident in believing her when she says she genuinely wants to be here because of the good she could do on a team like this. She's a wildcard to be sure, but far more reliable then that label would suggest." -Dr. Rockter
EDIT: Please put her on the damned ship already. Ceritea can't work if she shows up hallucinating every other day.
We've managed to pull some information on Dead Cell and her actions as part of that group since the initial analysis was completed. Her profile in and out of combat situations has largely lined up, but based on some high-risk mission reports we have reason to believe that in intense situations she has the capability to become, in the words of the report, "ruthlessly efficient". Unsure of exact meaning, but Will continue observations.
Phys. Eval.: "Excellent physical health for a Drell. Amber skin with red highlights, typical black eyes with red iris. Surgical scarring at the back of the neck from biotic implant procedure. Tattoo of an exotic dragonbird (?) on upper left forearm and shoulder.
Despite her file saying she grew up in squalor, she doesn't seem to be physically stunted as would be expected; in fact, she's rather statuesque, pardon the phrasing. Given this and the routine testing indicating a genetic resistance to Kepral's Syndrome, I suspect patient may be gene-modded." -Dr. Arlen
Biotics: Osino retrieved training from Union biotic specialists and possesses a specialized biotic amp that grants her the standard array of telekinetic and shielding abilities. She favors the use of biotics to enhance her physical agility to the point of defying gravity for brief periods of time and disabling protective barriers on opponents.
Qualifications:
Graduated from the Amonkira Biotics Academy with honors and a specialization in technical mechanics, enlisted in Union Security Services as a Specialist (C-Sec equivalent of Sentinel) and was later assigned to the Dead Cell special operations unit. Experienced in biotic and tech combat, pistol marksmanship, hacking and stealth infiltration, close quarters combat, and engineering, especially in the field of electronic and computing tech. Has strong ties to military and intelligence units in the Union through former teammates in Dead Cell as well as personal relationships through Amonkira and UniSec.
History:
Interviewer: Sgt. Ira Watson, C-SEC
Interviewed: Osino Kael
<Begin Log>
Sgt. Watson: Right, how about we start from the beginning. Can you tell us where you're from?
Osino Kael: Right now, or where I was born? The first question's way easier.
W: The latter, unfortunately.
O: Well, the Terminus system, definitely. Probably on Taviturn, one jump from Omega.
W: Probably?
[Osino nods.]
O: I remember being alone in a cold, dark room. Then someone found me, took me by the hand to meet others like me. It's a little fuzzy, I was still very young at the time. Probably just a few years old, and if I had any other family they were gone well before I'd remember them.
W: I'm sorry to hear that.
O: It's fine, but thank you for your concern.
W: Well, moving on, you say you were taken somewhere?
O: Yes, probably an orphanage, not that I spent much time there. Taviturn wasn't exactly a shining metropolis on a hill, especially under Aria's boot heel. Nobody cared enough to look after us there, so we looked after ourselves. Learned how to scrape together enough credits to get a warm meal once in a while, or a good place to rest our heads. It was pretty hit or miss until we first found a job running packets for the Narala.
["Narala" refers to Drell criminal syndicates active largely in the Terminus sector. See Doc: A-45: Known Criminal Orgs]
W: Can you tell us more about what you did for the Taviturn Narala?
O: Well for the first few years it was packages, but when I got older one of the other Drell started teaching me how to read, and since our gang operated out of a garage, it was with repair manuals and other stuff like that. And since I was pretty good with my hands already I sort of taught myself the ins and outs of engine design along the way.
W: So you were repairing vehicles for them?
O: Nope, breaking them.
W: I'm sorry?
O: It was a pretty good racket. Traders come in, they have a mysterious breakdown, they come to us, and we send them on their way with the suggestion that they should pay some insurance next time they come into port. And if they don't, they end up in a very expensive accident, or their precious cargo would just disappear from inside a secure docking bay.
W: So you got your engineering experience by extorting merchants?
[Osino is visibly uncomfortable.]
O: Well, it beat running the weird packages back and forth.
W: I see. Let's move on to-
O: Look, in hindsight I'm not proud of doing that, breaking engines and robbing them blind, but that's just how life was in Terminus. Besides, we did what we had to do to survive.
W: Is that why you eventually left?
[Pause]
O: Something like that.
W: Care to elaborate?
O: I was set up. Aria's lieutenants were cracking down on gangs like us, and the bosses tried to make me a scapegoat. Sent me on a job intending to have me die, stage it as a robbery gone wrong. I think they started to distrust me because my biotics were developing, and they were already wary of me because they thought I wasn't fooled by their story about my mentor leaving the system of his own accord. So they tried to get rid of me, thinking that I would sell them out to save my own skin and earn myself a shuttle out of that place.
[Pause]
O: I mean...they were right. But it's still pretty hurtful.
[Watson exhales sharply, dropping her pen.]
W: Oh that's gr...ahem...so, you made your way to the Union?
O: I did, and at the dock I turned myself in to the nearest UniSec station I could find. Given the circumstances they let me off with a reprimand and after I showed them my biotic potential they sent me to Amonkira Academy.
W: We have some of your records here, and if you don't mind me saying, your markings are quite exceptional.
[Osino smiles.]
W: Though there's something about you here with a pineapple and a ceiling fan-
O: Uh, honestly I think you're better off not knowing. They're still trying to fix the skylight after that little incident.
W: Fair enough, I suppose it's not relevant. That being said, if you don't mind me saying, it's a surprise someone with a record like yours chose to go into UniSec.
O: Technically it wasn't a choice, but I would have gone anyway. The Union's done a lot of good for a lot of people, I wanted to be a part of that.
[Extraneous information on UniSec record excised for brevity.]
W: Now as I understand it, it wasn't solely your record in UniSec that saw you selected for this position.
O: You're referring to Dead Cell, right?
W: Of course. Your government has been rather tight-lipped about it, but from what we understand your mission statement was testing the effectiveness of Union security and tactics.
[pause]
O: Is this off the record? I don't want to say too much.
W: Any reason why?
O: Our goal was to test the effectiveness of the Union military by infiltrating and assaulting our own side to find vulnerabilities. Secrecy was always paramount to our operation, that's why you only know us by code names.
W: Was that your only goal? You first came to our attention during the Neptune war games between C-Sec and UniSec, and I distinctly remember that your team gave us a LOT of trouble.
O: We got deployed to deal with actual threats to the Union as well. Most of it's deeply classified, so you understand if I'm a little vague about it.
W: Anything you can share that will give us an idea of what you're capable of?
[pause]
O: You remember a few years back when Batarian extremists took the Gran Columbia and fifty passengers hostage outside of the Eagle Nebula?
W: Of course, everyone does. They surrendered after a five day standoff with no hostages killed or injured.
O: You're welcome.
W: I see. I'm a little surprised that the Union had an interest in that Gran Columbia.
O: Well, uh, they didn't. We went on our own. It's probably one of the reasons the Union tried to bury us.
W: What? Why on Earth would they do that?
O: We were good at our jobs. Our role was secret, but the fact that we regularly poked holes in Union security got out, and it made the army and the war hawks who got into office promising to make UniSec strong look bad. When it got out that we were doing unsanctioned operations like that hostage situation that the Union weren't willing to undertake, it was the last straw. Dead Cell got dismantled and they tried to bury us under drummed-up criminal charges to keep us quiet. They were trying to put me behind bars for what I did back on Taviturn before you tagged me for this assignment.
W: The Union were rather tight-lipped when we asked them what exactly you were charged with. I'm surprised they sent you to us.
O: I'm not. The Union doesn't have a lot of confidence in C-Sec nowadays, they wouldn't bother to send their best to something like this. That's why I'm here.
W: Off the record? I think they've vastly underestimating you and your capabilities if they think you're second-rate.
[pause]
O: I..thank you. That's very nice of you to say.
W: I think we're finished then, but one last question. Have you been subjected to any genetic modification?
O: What? No, of course not. I grew up in a slum, when could I have gotten something like that done?
Interviewed: Osino Kael
<Begin Log>
Sgt. Watson: Right, how about we start from the beginning. Can you tell us where you're from?
Osino Kael: Right now, or where I was born? The first question's way easier.
W: The latter, unfortunately.
O: Well, the Terminus system, definitely. Probably on Taviturn, one jump from Omega.
W: Probably?
[Osino nods.]
O: I remember being alone in a cold, dark room. Then someone found me, took me by the hand to meet others like me. It's a little fuzzy, I was still very young at the time. Probably just a few years old, and if I had any other family they were gone well before I'd remember them.
W: I'm sorry to hear that.
O: It's fine, but thank you for your concern.
W: Well, moving on, you say you were taken somewhere?
O: Yes, probably an orphanage, not that I spent much time there. Taviturn wasn't exactly a shining metropolis on a hill, especially under Aria's boot heel. Nobody cared enough to look after us there, so we looked after ourselves. Learned how to scrape together enough credits to get a warm meal once in a while, or a good place to rest our heads. It was pretty hit or miss until we first found a job running packets for the Narala.
["Narala" refers to Drell criminal syndicates active largely in the Terminus sector. See Doc: A-45: Known Criminal Orgs]
W: Can you tell us more about what you did for the Taviturn Narala?
O: Well for the first few years it was packages, but when I got older one of the other Drell started teaching me how to read, and since our gang operated out of a garage, it was with repair manuals and other stuff like that. And since I was pretty good with my hands already I sort of taught myself the ins and outs of engine design along the way.
W: So you were repairing vehicles for them?
O: Nope, breaking them.
W: I'm sorry?
O: It was a pretty good racket. Traders come in, they have a mysterious breakdown, they come to us, and we send them on their way with the suggestion that they should pay some insurance next time they come into port. And if they don't, they end up in a very expensive accident, or their precious cargo would just disappear from inside a secure docking bay.
W: So you got your engineering experience by extorting merchants?
[Osino is visibly uncomfortable.]
O: Well, it beat running the weird packages back and forth.
W: I see. Let's move on to-
O: Look, in hindsight I'm not proud of doing that, breaking engines and robbing them blind, but that's just how life was in Terminus. Besides, we did what we had to do to survive.
W: Is that why you eventually left?
[Pause]
O: Something like that.
W: Care to elaborate?
O: I was set up. Aria's lieutenants were cracking down on gangs like us, and the bosses tried to make me a scapegoat. Sent me on a job intending to have me die, stage it as a robbery gone wrong. I think they started to distrust me because my biotics were developing, and they were already wary of me because they thought I wasn't fooled by their story about my mentor leaving the system of his own accord. So they tried to get rid of me, thinking that I would sell them out to save my own skin and earn myself a shuttle out of that place.
[Pause]
O: I mean...they were right. But it's still pretty hurtful.
[Watson exhales sharply, dropping her pen.]
W: Oh that's gr...ahem...so, you made your way to the Union?
O: I did, and at the dock I turned myself in to the nearest UniSec station I could find. Given the circumstances they let me off with a reprimand and after I showed them my biotic potential they sent me to Amonkira Academy.
W: We have some of your records here, and if you don't mind me saying, your markings are quite exceptional.
[Osino smiles.]
W: Though there's something about you here with a pineapple and a ceiling fan-
O: Uh, honestly I think you're better off not knowing. They're still trying to fix the skylight after that little incident.
W: Fair enough, I suppose it's not relevant. That being said, if you don't mind me saying, it's a surprise someone with a record like yours chose to go into UniSec.
O: Technically it wasn't a choice, but I would have gone anyway. The Union's done a lot of good for a lot of people, I wanted to be a part of that.
[Extraneous information on UniSec record excised for brevity.]
W: Now as I understand it, it wasn't solely your record in UniSec that saw you selected for this position.
O: You're referring to Dead Cell, right?
W: Of course. Your government has been rather tight-lipped about it, but from what we understand your mission statement was testing the effectiveness of Union security and tactics.
[pause]
O: Is this off the record? I don't want to say too much.
W: Any reason why?
O: Our goal was to test the effectiveness of the Union military by infiltrating and assaulting our own side to find vulnerabilities. Secrecy was always paramount to our operation, that's why you only know us by code names.
W: Was that your only goal? You first came to our attention during the Neptune war games between C-Sec and UniSec, and I distinctly remember that your team gave us a LOT of trouble.
O: We got deployed to deal with actual threats to the Union as well. Most of it's deeply classified, so you understand if I'm a little vague about it.
W: Anything you can share that will give us an idea of what you're capable of?
[pause]
O: You remember a few years back when Batarian extremists took the Gran Columbia and fifty passengers hostage outside of the Eagle Nebula?
W: Of course, everyone does. They surrendered after a five day standoff with no hostages killed or injured.
O: You're welcome.
W: I see. I'm a little surprised that the Union had an interest in that Gran Columbia.
O: Well, uh, they didn't. We went on our own. It's probably one of the reasons the Union tried to bury us.
W: What? Why on Earth would they do that?
O: We were good at our jobs. Our role was secret, but the fact that we regularly poked holes in Union security got out, and it made the army and the war hawks who got into office promising to make UniSec strong look bad. When it got out that we were doing unsanctioned operations like that hostage situation that the Union weren't willing to undertake, it was the last straw. Dead Cell got dismantled and they tried to bury us under drummed-up criminal charges to keep us quiet. They were trying to put me behind bars for what I did back on Taviturn before you tagged me for this assignment.
W: The Union were rather tight-lipped when we asked them what exactly you were charged with. I'm surprised they sent you to us.
O: I'm not. The Union doesn't have a lot of confidence in C-Sec nowadays, they wouldn't bother to send their best to something like this. That's why I'm here.
W: Off the record? I think they've vastly underestimating you and your capabilities if they think you're second-rate.
[pause]
O: I..thank you. That's very nice of you to say.
W: I think we're finished then, but one last question. Have you been subjected to any genetic modification?
O: What? No, of course not. I grew up in a slum, when could I have gotten something like that done?
Position: Chief Engineer / Sentinel Infiltrator
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics:
Omnitool w/ Omniblade attachment and Hacking Suite
Scorpion Heavy Pistol
Zigra Class Lightweight Armor (Union Design)
[Numerous requests for personal items excised, see Docs. A1-45]
Notoriety: 5- While her record with Dead Cell has been classified and buried, her glowing record with UniSec and the rumors surrounding her work as "Mojo" have been enough to garner this upstart a reputation in certain classified circles. We tagged her for recruitment ever since the Gran Columbia incident and everything else since has just confirmed her qualifications for the program. -Sgt. Watson
Misc.: Theme....sometimes...
Her quarters are tidy and very carefully arranged, with holdout knives and weapons stored in convenient places just in case as well as an extensive computer system, which her AI Plisken inhabits when he's not in his drone form. There's also a flag with the Union insignia displayed prominently as well as several sketches tacked to the wall with various designs and schematics.
[Blasts from the Past]: Hell Yes
Full name: Azulethan ‘Zul’ Ledanari
Race: Turian
Citizenship: Turian
Aliases: Mostly goes by Zul, when not being called an expletive by other Turians. These expletives often include ‘Bareface’ due to his faded face tattoo.
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.:
The typical Turian love of rules, hierarchy, and camaraderie is offset in Zul by his long time status as an outcast from Turian society. He is at once driven by a deep need to prove himself and his family honourable in the eyes of Turian society and a deep mistrust of and resentment towards that same society for the way they have treated his family. Zul seems to be searching for a place to belong, to contribute, but has a very hard time believing that such a place can be found. While he is often fairly calm and collected, he can be prone to outbursts of anger – especially if his competency is somehow questioned.
Questioning Zul’s former commanding officers was a difficult prospect, as they all seem to have extreme biases against him, to the point that it soon became apparent that either he was the devil reincarnate, or something else was going on (please refer to history section). Reading between the lines, we believe that Zul will follow any direct order without question, but will often make broad interpretations of said orders and improvise heavily. The fact that he is still alive – after what seems to be 15 years of commanding officers more or less overtly trying to get him killed through his assignments – seems to indicate that it is advisable to allow such improvisation to an extent, even if it should probably not be directly encouraged.
Zul seems highly patient and methodical when in the service of a specific goal, but can be a bit restless during downtime. He does not seem to have many interests beyond training, maintaining his equipment, and playing his so’la (a Turian analogue to the human trumpet). Care should be taken in his integration into the team, as he is very conditioned to be a loner at this point and has an understandable distrust of authority figures.
Zul is not forthcoming in his motivations for joining the mission. We believe that he may have joined C-Sec to gain protection from enemies created during his mercenary days. As for why he applied to join this particular mission, he may be looking to make a mark on the galaxy big enough that even the scorn of his own race can no longer dampen his accomplishments – or he may simply have been bored, we are unsure.
Phys. Eval.:
At 1.8 meters Zul is a bit short for a Turian. He is very lean despite being muscular, weighing in at approximately 100 kilos. His carapace is very light grey in colour and his face displays a very faded blue version of the characteristic Turian colony tattoos. The fading is supposedly the result of fellow students at his academy attempting to disgrace Zul further by removing his tattoo. His physical capabilities, while certainly above his species’ average, are fairly unremarkable aside from extremely quick reflexes.
No known medical issues or complications.
Biotics: None
Qualifications:
Zul is reasonably well educated, having had access to excellent tutors in early life. He is also an excellent marksman, a fair hacker, and a quite competent musician.
His mercenary days gave him a fairly large network of contacts across much of known space. Along with those of his father’s diplomatic contacts who are still willing to speak to him – mostly the non-Turians – Zul probably knows someone in most major travel and trade hubs. Whether or not that person is inclined to help or shoot him is another matter.
Zul has a very impressive list of accomplishments from his time in the Turian military and an equally impressive list of commanding officers who will swear that it was all blind luck and that he is actually the worst soldier to have ever disgraced the Turian military. During his time as a mercenary, Zul only added to his list of accomplishments, this time while being paid increasingly well for his services. He has a history of being able to accomplish almost any given objective – though often not in the way you meant or expected him to do so.
History:
The son of Aelia Ledanari, a well-respected general, and the famous diplomat Querris Ledanari, there were great expectations set for Zul and it seemed like it was only a matter of time before the young Turian would distinguish himself in some way too. His early life was spent in the heart of Palaven high society, learning all that he could from the very best tutors and trainers his parents could find. Once the Neo-Krogan Wars began, both of his parents became involved in the Turian response to the crisis, and Zul spent more time with his tutors and less with his parents. Still life was pretty good. Young Zul quickly showed an aptitude for problem solving as well as becoming an excellent marksman.
When Zul was 13, his father, Querris, brought him on a diplomatic mission to meet with some representatives of a minor Krogan rebel clan. The diplomat had been trying to negotiate a peace agreement with this particular clan in an attempt to set an example which could then be followed by other clans. This was the latest in a long line of meetings which had so far seemed promising and there was every reason to think it would be safe for the young Turian to have his first taste of interplanetary diplomacy. What no one had expected was the merciless reaction of Fortack, who did not appreciate what he perceived as treachery. The meeting was attacked by Krogan shock-troopers who operated with extreme prejudice. Few captives were taken from the meeting, including Zul, his father, and Nihlus Serio – one of Querris’ aides.
Very little is known of the two Turians’ time as prisoners. Zul refuses to talk about it, and it is no longer possible to question Querris. The little information Zul has been willing to give seems to suggest that he was kept isolated in a single room with Nihlus and was only very rarely permitted to see his father. Querris, meanwhile, is said to have been interrogated in quite a heavy-handed manner about Turian tactics, troop placements, the reborn genophage and more.
One day, the father and son turned up, without warning, at a Turian outpost. The soldiers at the outpost were quite astonished, as they had been assumed dead, and were now somehow flying a small a small Krogan spacecraft. According to Querris, Nihlus had perished while the three Turians attempted to escape – we have been unable to verify this.
The pair returned to sad news. Zul’s mother, Aelia, led a battle against one of Fortack’s clans. The battle had ended in absolute disaster, and cost almost an entire Turian battlefleet along with the lives of Aelia and hundreds of soldiers. Since the incident, there had been consistent rumours that Aelia had been somehow blackmailed into losing the battle. These rumours now came back in full force, as the live return of her mate and child gave credence to the Krogan rebels having had a hold over the general. While the two survivors mourned the loss of their wife and mother and tried to ignore public opinion increasingly turning against the deceased general, something else was underway.
Querris was put on trial, on suspicion of having given confidential military information to the Krogan rebels, as well as supplying them with information on how to find research on the genophage. Both of which he might have had access to, being a high-level diplomat and married to a general. It was assumed by many that he had given this information in exchange for being set free with his son. Querris repeatedly denied the accusations, but being unable or unwilling to adequately explain just how they had managed to escape a highly secure Krogan facility did not exactly help his case. One day, without explanation, Querris suddenly admitted to giving up information about the genophage to the Krogan rebels – something which Zul is still denying to this day, but has been unwilling to give further details on. The diplomat was eventually executed for treason against the Turian Hierarchy. Zul was now without parents and with a cloud of suspicion hanging over him. (it was during Querris’ trial that other students at the academy Zul was attending tried to remove his face tattoo.)
It was under this cloud that the young Turian, now 15, entered the mandatory Turian military service. Here he quickly learned that the idea of Turian society being based on personal merit did not extend to children of convicted war criminals whose mothers were rumoured to be the cause of hundreds of dead soldiers. From the very first day, he was despised by the majority of his peers, discriminated heavily against by the officers, and ignored by most others. Ironically, being worked harder than anyone else during training and often given punishments such as running or completing some drill 100 times, may well be part of the reason that Zul is still alive. After training Zul was passed around from squad to squad much more than is normal in Turian military service. He was consistently sent on deployments or missions which were probably far above his level of experience, often equipped with substandard gear and on rare occasions, even his requests for back-up were ignored. The fact that he is still alive speaks to either supernatural luck, or an extreme ability to improvise and adapt to whatever his situation called for.
At the age of 30, somehow still alive, Zul’s mandatory military service ended. It is doubtful that he even for a second considered staying, and even more doubtful that he would have been allowed to do so. Zul had an impressive list of accomplishments – having often been sent on the most difficult missions – and not many prospects of making something of himself in Turian society. So he left. Working as a mercenary seemingly anywhere he could find work. He seems to have had some standards – not taking contracts involving slavers or actively working to undermine society or fighting authorities – but was otherwise not at all picky in the contracts he accepted, so long as they could afford his steadily climbing rates.
About two years ago, Zul took a contract from a Batarian business consortium. The contract involved procuring a formula for a newly invented polymer from a Salarian bio-tech company. Supposedly to ‘even out the competition’. It was when he was scoping out the laboratory in question that Zul came to the attention of C-Sec Commander Raelon Nom who was doing the same, if for different reasons. Raelon warned Zul to back off and cancel the contract he had. Zul did not listen. Fast forward 12 hours, Raelon and Zul are standing on the lab floor, guns aimed at each other, Zul with a briefcase in hand. Raelon just manages to inform Zul that he is really holding an advanced bio-weapon before the Batarians – who as is turns out are a ‘business’ consortium – bust down the door, having become impatient. Zul and Raelon ended up fighting their way out together, Zul supposedly saving Raelon’s life on the way. Raelon walked away with the weapon, Zul with a conveniently grateful new contact in C-Sec.
For the next year or so, Zul took on quite a lot of C-Sec contract work through his new acquaintance. When the Batarians came back for revenge, Raelon managed to convince Zul to join C-Sec proper for protection. No one can argue with the results obtained through the young Turian’s work during his year in C-Sec even if there have been arguments over his methods from time to time. When calls went out to find qualified people for the mission, Raelon recommended Zul.
Position: Infiltration Specialist
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics:
Wears a modified even lighter version of the Phantom Light Armour – allowing him to be stealthy when needed. Aside from giving moderate protection, the armour is outfitted with moderately advanced hacking tools and a personal cloaking device. The latter of which can only be used in short intervals due to power consumption.
Carries dual Raikou pistols which are heavily modified for silence and improved accuracy at the cost of less raw firepower, as well as an Omni-Blade for close combat.
Has consistent requests on file with the quartermaster for spare weapon parts, sheet music and brass instrument lubricant – which he seems to be using for his guns as well as his instrument.
Note: While Zul certainly prefers his own equipment, he has demonstrated a talent for improvising with whatever is at hand, probably born of being consistently under-equipped by begrudging Turian military outfitters.
Notoriety:
Generally: 6 – In the four years since leaving Turian military service, Zul has made a name for himself as someone who can get almost anything done, for a price. He has also managed to impress and/or piss off an astounding number of people.
Among Turians: 8 – The combination of an infamous family, his unusually light colouring and characteristic faded face tattoo leaves him easily recognized and widely despised among his own people.
Misc.:
Zul keeps his quarters very spartan, but can often be heard playing his instrument. While he is a competent player, this should probably be considered when assigning quarters.
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
Race: Turian
Citizenship: Turian
Aliases: Mostly goes by Zul, when not being called an expletive by other Turians. These expletives often include ‘Bareface’ due to his faded face tattoo.
Age: 34
Gender: Male
Psych. Eval.:
The typical Turian love of rules, hierarchy, and camaraderie is offset in Zul by his long time status as an outcast from Turian society. He is at once driven by a deep need to prove himself and his family honourable in the eyes of Turian society and a deep mistrust of and resentment towards that same society for the way they have treated his family. Zul seems to be searching for a place to belong, to contribute, but has a very hard time believing that such a place can be found. While he is often fairly calm and collected, he can be prone to outbursts of anger – especially if his competency is somehow questioned.
Questioning Zul’s former commanding officers was a difficult prospect, as they all seem to have extreme biases against him, to the point that it soon became apparent that either he was the devil reincarnate, or something else was going on (please refer to history section). Reading between the lines, we believe that Zul will follow any direct order without question, but will often make broad interpretations of said orders and improvise heavily. The fact that he is still alive – after what seems to be 15 years of commanding officers more or less overtly trying to get him killed through his assignments – seems to indicate that it is advisable to allow such improvisation to an extent, even if it should probably not be directly encouraged.
Zul seems highly patient and methodical when in the service of a specific goal, but can be a bit restless during downtime. He does not seem to have many interests beyond training, maintaining his equipment, and playing his so’la (a Turian analogue to the human trumpet). Care should be taken in his integration into the team, as he is very conditioned to be a loner at this point and has an understandable distrust of authority figures.
Zul is not forthcoming in his motivations for joining the mission. We believe that he may have joined C-Sec to gain protection from enemies created during his mercenary days. As for why he applied to join this particular mission, he may be looking to make a mark on the galaxy big enough that even the scorn of his own race can no longer dampen his accomplishments – or he may simply have been bored, we are unsure.
Phys. Eval.:
At 1.8 meters Zul is a bit short for a Turian. He is very lean despite being muscular, weighing in at approximately 100 kilos. His carapace is very light grey in colour and his face displays a very faded blue version of the characteristic Turian colony tattoos. The fading is supposedly the result of fellow students at his academy attempting to disgrace Zul further by removing his tattoo. His physical capabilities, while certainly above his species’ average, are fairly unremarkable aside from extremely quick reflexes.
No known medical issues or complications.
Biotics: None
Qualifications:
Zul is reasonably well educated, having had access to excellent tutors in early life. He is also an excellent marksman, a fair hacker, and a quite competent musician.
His mercenary days gave him a fairly large network of contacts across much of known space. Along with those of his father’s diplomatic contacts who are still willing to speak to him – mostly the non-Turians – Zul probably knows someone in most major travel and trade hubs. Whether or not that person is inclined to help or shoot him is another matter.
Zul has a very impressive list of accomplishments from his time in the Turian military and an equally impressive list of commanding officers who will swear that it was all blind luck and that he is actually the worst soldier to have ever disgraced the Turian military. During his time as a mercenary, Zul only added to his list of accomplishments, this time while being paid increasingly well for his services. He has a history of being able to accomplish almost any given objective – though often not in the way you meant or expected him to do so.
History:
The son of Aelia Ledanari, a well-respected general, and the famous diplomat Querris Ledanari, there were great expectations set for Zul and it seemed like it was only a matter of time before the young Turian would distinguish himself in some way too. His early life was spent in the heart of Palaven high society, learning all that he could from the very best tutors and trainers his parents could find. Once the Neo-Krogan Wars began, both of his parents became involved in the Turian response to the crisis, and Zul spent more time with his tutors and less with his parents. Still life was pretty good. Young Zul quickly showed an aptitude for problem solving as well as becoming an excellent marksman.
When Zul was 13, his father, Querris, brought him on a diplomatic mission to meet with some representatives of a minor Krogan rebel clan. The diplomat had been trying to negotiate a peace agreement with this particular clan in an attempt to set an example which could then be followed by other clans. This was the latest in a long line of meetings which had so far seemed promising and there was every reason to think it would be safe for the young Turian to have his first taste of interplanetary diplomacy. What no one had expected was the merciless reaction of Fortack, who did not appreciate what he perceived as treachery. The meeting was attacked by Krogan shock-troopers who operated with extreme prejudice. Few captives were taken from the meeting, including Zul, his father, and Nihlus Serio – one of Querris’ aides.
Very little is known of the two Turians’ time as prisoners. Zul refuses to talk about it, and it is no longer possible to question Querris. The little information Zul has been willing to give seems to suggest that he was kept isolated in a single room with Nihlus and was only very rarely permitted to see his father. Querris, meanwhile, is said to have been interrogated in quite a heavy-handed manner about Turian tactics, troop placements, the reborn genophage and more.
One day, the father and son turned up, without warning, at a Turian outpost. The soldiers at the outpost were quite astonished, as they had been assumed dead, and were now somehow flying a small a small Krogan spacecraft. According to Querris, Nihlus had perished while the three Turians attempted to escape – we have been unable to verify this.
The pair returned to sad news. Zul’s mother, Aelia, led a battle against one of Fortack’s clans. The battle had ended in absolute disaster, and cost almost an entire Turian battlefleet along with the lives of Aelia and hundreds of soldiers. Since the incident, there had been consistent rumours that Aelia had been somehow blackmailed into losing the battle. These rumours now came back in full force, as the live return of her mate and child gave credence to the Krogan rebels having had a hold over the general. While the two survivors mourned the loss of their wife and mother and tried to ignore public opinion increasingly turning against the deceased general, something else was underway.
Querris was put on trial, on suspicion of having given confidential military information to the Krogan rebels, as well as supplying them with information on how to find research on the genophage. Both of which he might have had access to, being a high-level diplomat and married to a general. It was assumed by many that he had given this information in exchange for being set free with his son. Querris repeatedly denied the accusations, but being unable or unwilling to adequately explain just how they had managed to escape a highly secure Krogan facility did not exactly help his case. One day, without explanation, Querris suddenly admitted to giving up information about the genophage to the Krogan rebels – something which Zul is still denying to this day, but has been unwilling to give further details on. The diplomat was eventually executed for treason against the Turian Hierarchy. Zul was now without parents and with a cloud of suspicion hanging over him. (it was during Querris’ trial that other students at the academy Zul was attending tried to remove his face tattoo.)
It was under this cloud that the young Turian, now 15, entered the mandatory Turian military service. Here he quickly learned that the idea of Turian society being based on personal merit did not extend to children of convicted war criminals whose mothers were rumoured to be the cause of hundreds of dead soldiers. From the very first day, he was despised by the majority of his peers, discriminated heavily against by the officers, and ignored by most others. Ironically, being worked harder than anyone else during training and often given punishments such as running or completing some drill 100 times, may well be part of the reason that Zul is still alive. After training Zul was passed around from squad to squad much more than is normal in Turian military service. He was consistently sent on deployments or missions which were probably far above his level of experience, often equipped with substandard gear and on rare occasions, even his requests for back-up were ignored. The fact that he is still alive speaks to either supernatural luck, or an extreme ability to improvise and adapt to whatever his situation called for.
At the age of 30, somehow still alive, Zul’s mandatory military service ended. It is doubtful that he even for a second considered staying, and even more doubtful that he would have been allowed to do so. Zul had an impressive list of accomplishments – having often been sent on the most difficult missions – and not many prospects of making something of himself in Turian society. So he left. Working as a mercenary seemingly anywhere he could find work. He seems to have had some standards – not taking contracts involving slavers or actively working to undermine society or fighting authorities – but was otherwise not at all picky in the contracts he accepted, so long as they could afford his steadily climbing rates.
About two years ago, Zul took a contract from a Batarian business consortium. The contract involved procuring a formula for a newly invented polymer from a Salarian bio-tech company. Supposedly to ‘even out the competition’. It was when he was scoping out the laboratory in question that Zul came to the attention of C-Sec Commander Raelon Nom who was doing the same, if for different reasons. Raelon warned Zul to back off and cancel the contract he had. Zul did not listen. Fast forward 12 hours, Raelon and Zul are standing on the lab floor, guns aimed at each other, Zul with a briefcase in hand. Raelon just manages to inform Zul that he is really holding an advanced bio-weapon before the Batarians – who as is turns out are a ‘business’ consortium – bust down the door, having become impatient. Zul and Raelon ended up fighting their way out together, Zul supposedly saving Raelon’s life on the way. Raelon walked away with the weapon, Zul with a conveniently grateful new contact in C-Sec.
For the next year or so, Zul took on quite a lot of C-Sec contract work through his new acquaintance. When the Batarians came back for revenge, Raelon managed to convince Zul to join C-Sec proper for protection. No one can argue with the results obtained through the young Turian’s work during his year in C-Sec even if there have been arguments over his methods from time to time. When calls went out to find qualified people for the mission, Raelon recommended Zul.
Position: Infiltration Specialist
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics:
Wears a modified even lighter version of the Phantom Light Armour – allowing him to be stealthy when needed. Aside from giving moderate protection, the armour is outfitted with moderately advanced hacking tools and a personal cloaking device. The latter of which can only be used in short intervals due to power consumption.
Carries dual Raikou pistols which are heavily modified for silence and improved accuracy at the cost of less raw firepower, as well as an Omni-Blade for close combat.
Has consistent requests on file with the quartermaster for spare weapon parts, sheet music and brass instrument lubricant – which he seems to be using for his guns as well as his instrument.
Note: While Zul certainly prefers his own equipment, he has demonstrated a talent for improvising with whatever is at hand, probably born of being consistently under-equipped by begrudging Turian military outfitters.
Notoriety:
Generally: 6 – In the four years since leaving Turian military service, Zul has made a name for himself as someone who can get almost anything done, for a price. He has also managed to impress and/or piss off an astounding number of people.
Among Turians: 8 – The combination of an infamous family, his unusually light colouring and characteristic faded face tattoo leaves him easily recognized and widely despised among his own people.
Misc.:
Zul keeps his quarters very spartan, but can often be heard playing his instrument. While he is a competent player, this should probably be considered when assigning quarters.
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes
1x Thank
GM
Andreyich AS THOUGH A THOUSAND MOUTHS CRY OUT IN PAIN
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Full name: Dreklei Harahn
Race: Turian
Citizenship: Citadel Registration
Aliases: None
Age: 40
Sex: Female
Psych. Eval.: Dreklei is atypical for a Turian. Though not possessing the traits of the rebellious outcasts from her race's society, her rather unique childhood meaning she was disconnected from Turian society and is nevertheless looked at with skepticism at best by her racial kinsmen. For her part she seems to not very much like her own kind very much either. Whether this is because of just variance in attitude and humours or because of resentment due to her father's absence from her life is unclear. The only thing she seems to have in common with Turians from the Hierarchy is species and a somewhat utilitarian outlook on life though what her application of it varies wildly. The woman is far less rigid and more adaptable than others of her race. She appears to be eager to make friendly relations with her colleagues though doesn't go far to consider them anything but exactly that: friendly colleagues. She joined the renewed Spectre Initiative after her more recent glimpses of the world outside of the Citadel convinced her that the world needed more fighters for what is right.
Phys. Eval.: About 200cm in height and 80kg in weight her carapace is beige and her eyes green with brown tattoos upon her face. Dreklei is more or less average for a Turian woman with perhaps a little more body fat lacking the Spartan regimen that most of the rest of her race have.
Biotics: None
Qualifications: From a very young age the Turian volunteered to aid C-Sec as an informant and in her time as a Duct Rat learning to be nimble despite being much taller than those around herself. After being taken into an orphanage it did not take very long for her to start once again aiding C-Sec as she matured and eventually go into their ranks. Starting in Enforcement and exemplary record lead to a swift transfer and promotion to Investigation. Therein she continued her service earning respect from all fellow officers in a very large list of references. Going through the ranks of the organization she was eventually made a C-Sec Investigation Liaison with C-Sec Patrol where she came to learn the ins and outs of flight becoming an accomplished pilot herself. Recently she was part of the long operation to catch the criminal kingpin rather ironically named Haymaker. Following this she was recommended to the restored Spectre program where now she shall be a shuttle pilot.
History: Dreklei's mother was a bureacrat in the Turian embassy in the Citadel who developed a relationship with an officer of the Hierarchy's fleets. It took time for their relationship to blossom as he only appeared for shore leave every so often but eventually their romance produced little Dreklei. The young Turian only saw her father once so young that she can't quite remember his face. Her mother passed away following a drunk pilot crashing his shuttle in a hangar, the man chasing the Turian youth hoping to eliminate the sole witness to his crime. Though successfully evading the degenerate she got lost and so became a vagrant dweller of the Citadel's air ducts and other spaces living off of petty thefts and trash. She eventually became an informant to C-Sec witnessing many crimes dwelling in the quiet places of the Citadel.
Eventually as she grew older she could not live solely on scraps of trash and dead rodents. Forced to turn to public shelters and kitchens being snatched and placed into an orphanage was inevitable. Though she was far too old to be adopted she did not particularly mind the experience, three meals a day and warm bedding making whatever lack of freedom that other duct-rats lamented being well worth it. As she grew on Dreklei knew that it was far too late for her to get some sort of formal education and get a traditional job, so she went forth with the only work she had ever interacted with before.
Narrowly passing the entry she became a C-Sec officer, a job she eventually came to do very well. Having very little concept of leisure after her youth she was willing to spend far more hours a day working than other officers and thus Dreklei's progress was very fast; it took only a few years to rise through the enforcement officers and become an investigator. For the very same reasons she did very well in this role she succeeded as an investigator making up for experience of the more senior ones by sheer volume of time and effort inputted.
The choice was eventually made by her superiors to have her fill a vacancy of a Liaison with the Patrolmen coordinating investigators to work with the patrol. Here she made many more acquaintances with C-Sec now having not only investigators but patrolmen and enforcers in great number coordinating with her. Further she became an excellent pilot in her own right, the flying of aircraft apparently being one of the things she had an undiscovered talent for rather than simply learning by putting in extraordinary time and effort.
It was at this point in her career that Dreklei's big break came. There were inexplicable shipments to the Citadel of high grade drugs and their chemical components with no apparent source vessel. Dreklei was able to find this operation however after weeks of investigating docking bays and hangars until noticing a far greater volume of outgoing cargo from one of the loading bays. Having some patrol vessels hang around the area along with some Enforcement officers she ordered them to record all the ongoing events. After looking through the footage for hours on end she noticed strange shimmers in the air around the bay, which she went to investigate in person. Waiting for a long time Dreklei eventually saw one of the shimmers again which she promptly shot with her rifle. Rather than flying through the air her shot struck something metal and it was apparent that before her was an advanced stealth ship.
Alerting patrol she went on a chase through space after the vessel eventually following it through the Mass Relay to a Salarian System embattled with the Rebel Krogan Clans. Following contact with STG it was discovered that an Officer of theirs had been corrupt, using a Stealth vessel to ferry drugs from the warzone to the Citadel for massive profits. Though satisfied with her takedown Dreklei had witnessed an all-out war and by now knew she was just small fry in a massive Galaxy. She felt like all of her past successes were hollow knowing that every bad guy taken down meant nothing when entire worlds of people were dying.
Dreklei was thus very much excited when she was called to an unscheduled meeting with her superiors. She was informed of the Spectre program being restored and that she was one of the people selected for such a team. Though she knows it will be far more dangerous than any job she took before Dreklei takes to it with the knowledge that perhaps now when she chases villains the world at large might become a better place. With a team and ship at hand she is ready to set out for the Galaxy at large.
Position: Shuttle Pilot
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics: In the hopes of better surviving crash-landings she wears medium Hahne-Kedar armour. An M-13 Incisor will usually be with her on the shuttler for crash-landings (more in the interest of survivalist purposes than self defences ones) and an M-3 Predator will be a quick sidearm about her person for self-defence. Beyond that she demands little of life.
Notoriety: 3. More or less nobody outside of the Citadel knows of her.
Misc.:
Theme song. Fun fact thinking of chick I was thinking more of Turians being bird people
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes she will rope you all into her own life >:)
Race: Turian
Citizenship: Citadel Registration
Aliases: None
Age: 40
Sex: Female
Psych. Eval.: Dreklei is atypical for a Turian. Though not possessing the traits of the rebellious outcasts from her race's society, her rather unique childhood meaning she was disconnected from Turian society and is nevertheless looked at with skepticism at best by her racial kinsmen. For her part she seems to not very much like her own kind very much either. Whether this is because of just variance in attitude and humours or because of resentment due to her father's absence from her life is unclear. The only thing she seems to have in common with Turians from the Hierarchy is species and a somewhat utilitarian outlook on life though what her application of it varies wildly. The woman is far less rigid and more adaptable than others of her race. She appears to be eager to make friendly relations with her colleagues though doesn't go far to consider them anything but exactly that: friendly colleagues. She joined the renewed Spectre Initiative after her more recent glimpses of the world outside of the Citadel convinced her that the world needed more fighters for what is right.
Phys. Eval.: About 200cm in height and 80kg in weight her carapace is beige and her eyes green with brown tattoos upon her face. Dreklei is more or less average for a Turian woman with perhaps a little more body fat lacking the Spartan regimen that most of the rest of her race have.
Biotics: None
Qualifications: From a very young age the Turian volunteered to aid C-Sec as an informant and in her time as a Duct Rat learning to be nimble despite being much taller than those around herself. After being taken into an orphanage it did not take very long for her to start once again aiding C-Sec as she matured and eventually go into their ranks. Starting in Enforcement and exemplary record lead to a swift transfer and promotion to Investigation. Therein she continued her service earning respect from all fellow officers in a very large list of references. Going through the ranks of the organization she was eventually made a C-Sec Investigation Liaison with C-Sec Patrol where she came to learn the ins and outs of flight becoming an accomplished pilot herself. Recently she was part of the long operation to catch the criminal kingpin rather ironically named Haymaker. Following this she was recommended to the restored Spectre program where now she shall be a shuttle pilot.
History: Dreklei's mother was a bureacrat in the Turian embassy in the Citadel who developed a relationship with an officer of the Hierarchy's fleets. It took time for their relationship to blossom as he only appeared for shore leave every so often but eventually their romance produced little Dreklei. The young Turian only saw her father once so young that she can't quite remember his face. Her mother passed away following a drunk pilot crashing his shuttle in a hangar, the man chasing the Turian youth hoping to eliminate the sole witness to his crime. Though successfully evading the degenerate she got lost and so became a vagrant dweller of the Citadel's air ducts and other spaces living off of petty thefts and trash. She eventually became an informant to C-Sec witnessing many crimes dwelling in the quiet places of the Citadel.
Eventually as she grew older she could not live solely on scraps of trash and dead rodents. Forced to turn to public shelters and kitchens being snatched and placed into an orphanage was inevitable. Though she was far too old to be adopted she did not particularly mind the experience, three meals a day and warm bedding making whatever lack of freedom that other duct-rats lamented being well worth it. As she grew on Dreklei knew that it was far too late for her to get some sort of formal education and get a traditional job, so she went forth with the only work she had ever interacted with before.
Narrowly passing the entry she became a C-Sec officer, a job she eventually came to do very well. Having very little concept of leisure after her youth she was willing to spend far more hours a day working than other officers and thus Dreklei's progress was very fast; it took only a few years to rise through the enforcement officers and become an investigator. For the very same reasons she did very well in this role she succeeded as an investigator making up for experience of the more senior ones by sheer volume of time and effort inputted.
The choice was eventually made by her superiors to have her fill a vacancy of a Liaison with the Patrolmen coordinating investigators to work with the patrol. Here she made many more acquaintances with C-Sec now having not only investigators but patrolmen and enforcers in great number coordinating with her. Further she became an excellent pilot in her own right, the flying of aircraft apparently being one of the things she had an undiscovered talent for rather than simply learning by putting in extraordinary time and effort.
It was at this point in her career that Dreklei's big break came. There were inexplicable shipments to the Citadel of high grade drugs and their chemical components with no apparent source vessel. Dreklei was able to find this operation however after weeks of investigating docking bays and hangars until noticing a far greater volume of outgoing cargo from one of the loading bays. Having some patrol vessels hang around the area along with some Enforcement officers she ordered them to record all the ongoing events. After looking through the footage for hours on end she noticed strange shimmers in the air around the bay, which she went to investigate in person. Waiting for a long time Dreklei eventually saw one of the shimmers again which she promptly shot with her rifle. Rather than flying through the air her shot struck something metal and it was apparent that before her was an advanced stealth ship.
Alerting patrol she went on a chase through space after the vessel eventually following it through the Mass Relay to a Salarian System embattled with the Rebel Krogan Clans. Following contact with STG it was discovered that an Officer of theirs had been corrupt, using a Stealth vessel to ferry drugs from the warzone to the Citadel for massive profits. Though satisfied with her takedown Dreklei had witnessed an all-out war and by now knew she was just small fry in a massive Galaxy. She felt like all of her past successes were hollow knowing that every bad guy taken down meant nothing when entire worlds of people were dying.
Dreklei was thus very much excited when she was called to an unscheduled meeting with her superiors. She was informed of the Spectre program being restored and that she was one of the people selected for such a team. Though she knows it will be far more dangerous than any job she took before Dreklei takes to it with the knowledge that perhaps now when she chases villains the world at large might become a better place. With a team and ship at hand she is ready to set out for the Galaxy at large.
Position: Shuttle Pilot
Recruited: No
Inventory & Logistics: In the hopes of better surviving crash-landings she wears medium Hahne-Kedar armour. An M-13 Incisor will usually be with her on the shuttler for crash-landings (more in the interest of survivalist purposes than self defences ones) and an M-3 Predator will be a quick sidearm about her person for self-defence. Beyond that she demands little of life.
Notoriety: 3. More or less nobody outside of the Citadel knows of her.
Misc.:
Theme song. Fun fact thinking of chick I was thinking more of Turians being bird people
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes she will rope you all into her own life >:)
Naril Tinker, builder, hacker, thief
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Full name: Severin (Rin) Zahir
Race: Augmented Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance
Aliases: Doc, Zee (For intimate acquaintances)
Age: 39 Earth years
Gender: Female (Comfortable with she/her and they/them)
Psych. Eval.: Given her past, Ms. Zahir is not what you might expect. She is far from being a hardened, emotionally-distant veteran of firefights, skirmishes, and life-or-death combats; indeed, it appears that she made the conscious choice some time ago to approach the world with empathy, joy, and wonder. While this is, no doubt, in part a coping mechanism (Severin, in her own words, admits to as much), it is plain that there is no artifice here. She is interested in other people, in their stories, and in the universe at large, in a way that tends to put people at ease, certainly a necessary skill for a medical professional, but one that seems effortless and entirely genuine. Put plainly: Severin Zahir is a pleasure to spend time with, despite everything that has happened to her. She is intelligent, confident, and realistic, and while her wit is razor-sharp, she rarely deploys her words with any real malice. She is also, to be perfectly frank, ferociously flirtatious and forward, though without a characteristic aggression sometimes seen with similar individuals. She is a believer in intimacy of all kinds, and while she is not indiscriminate with emotional or physical intimacy, it is something she seeks out - with willing co-participants - on a frequent basis.
Also clear, however, is that Zahir is accustomed to working with smaller mission groups, and of having a very direct line to the local mission commander or other point of authority. This is not to say that she is insubordinate or needlessly argumentative, of course. While she trusts and will express her own opinion, that trust is not at the expense of others, and is rarely, if ever, without basis in reality. Rather, it is the opinion of the writer that Zahir is not well-suited for a position with multiple levels of bureaucracy, or where she is highly-isolated from decision-making processes. This, however, does not appear to be an issue with the mission currently under consideration.
In her official capacity, Zahir is a consummate professional. She keeps herself up-to-date on the state of the art for her fields, with a particular emphasis recently on maintenance and improvement of her own suite of prostheses and implants; a field of study that dovetails nicely with her existing understanding of biotic laces and mass effect field projection systems. Though her scope of practice has largely been focused on acute trauma for most of her career, she has made a point to develop, and to retain, a broader understanding of medicine across several galactic species, to ensure that she is more than only a battlefield medic.
Since her retirement from active duty, Severin seems to have adjusted well. Never one to compartmentalize or rationalize the apparent disconnect between being a combat specialist and a person whose first duty is to "do no harm," she believes that her past actions, taken together, tended on the whole toward more good, stability, and justice than otherwise. She has few regrets about her time working for Citadel Security, but also seems to be enjoying the new directions her life has taken her. Always profoundly spiritual, though in such a wide-ranging way that any particular facet of her beliefs can’t be called a specific religion, Severin has continued her study of faith throughout the galaxy, finding wisdom - of a sort - calm, and a belief in kindness in the words of prophets, saints, and madmen.
In her private life, Severin is a person that people enjoy being near. She is open and warm, curious and ferociously intelligent. A very driven woman, she is rarely idle - though she tends to work toward being able to function well, rather than trying to skip steps in an effort to reduce recovery or procedural time. In other words, when injured, she takes the time to recover, rather than rushing into the field with a still-broken leg, but she becomes restless if she's in one place without a clear objective for too long. She maintains a network of acquaintances, friends, and lovers across Citadel space and beyond, deliberately ensuring that she will rarely be without a friendly face, a sympathetic ear or, indeed, a companion in bed. She is recommended for the current mission by expedience of availability, practicality, experience, and a likelihood that medical personnel will be a valuable asset on this mission.
Phys. Eval.: Severin Zahir is a Human woman of Arabic descent, a little taller than average at 170cm, with elegant, playful features and large, mismatched eyes, though both are shades of dark green. Her hair is coffee-dark and kept tomboyishly short, framing a face that smiles more than anything else, full-lipped and inviting. Though her frame is no longer dangerously athletic as it once was, Severin is clearly someone who takes care of herself; the lines of her frame are long, lean, and obviously feminine. She usually dresses in something comfortable and made of soft fabric, tailored well and carefully flattering. She makes no particular effort to hide her artificial limbs or other prostheses, and often dresses to bring attention to them on dates.
Those augments - if such they can be called - are pervasive, invasive, and extensive. Due to previous injury, Severin's body is now filled with an extremely unusual number of artificial components. Most visible are her left eye (slightly darker than the living eye), her right arm, shoulder, and part of her chest, (Entirely artificial, replaced with an obvious, sculptural prosthesis in shades of onyx and turquoise, with metallic gold and silver accents), and the lower part of her left leg (from the knee down, following her arm's colours and designs). Internal damage has been addressed with artificial organs (particularly a lung, kidney, and liver), muscle damage has been repaired to the extent practical with implanted permanent prosthetics, pulverized skeletal tissues has been replaced with artificial bone and marrow, and an extensive neural lace has been installed to coordinate and support these systems.
It is entirely accurate to say that Severin is fully dependent on these systems to live. They are, however, the highest-quality commercially available at the time, installed by very competent technicians, and there have been no dexterity, sensory, or rejection issues thus far. However, even combined, all of this machinery has served to get Severin to a state where she can live independently, with a good quality of life; her recovery has not been complete. She is no longer the athletic, ferocious adventurer she once was, she moves a little more slowly and much more carefully, her physical strength is substantially reduced, and her time spent undergoing tests, adjustments, and dealing with her current condition are considerable. However, she does not currently suffer from any chronic illnesses, her issues with chronic pain related to implant sites have largely resolved, and while she will not be keeping up with a Krogan warrior charging into battle, she is not physically frail.
A small scar cuts through Severin's left eyebrow, the only remaining mark of the injury that ruined the eye beneath, and her body is lined with the delicate marks of surgical scars. Some of these are incorporated, or masked, by elaborate, mandala-like tattoos, which are complimented by patterns etched and highlighted on her artificial limbs. She is a little bit of a magpie, and tends to enjoy wearing jewelry, especially in shapes and colors that highlight her prosthetic body parts; both her ears are pierced several times, and she has a collection of eye-catching pendants, many of which are on chains that leave them more or less exactly at the level of her sternum.
Biotics: None present.
Qualifications: Put bluntly, the ship needs a doctor; one who has, by custom and practice, become familiar with a variety of species' medical requirements, and who knows how to work quickly, under pressure, and can deal with being shot at. It doesn't hurt that Rin answered C-Sec's call (though her initial confusion suggests she was waiting for a different call from someone else on the Citadel), that she has extensive experience working in a largely-deniable fashion for Citadel Security, and that, it appears, Severin knows - and possibly, has slept with - someone who may be helpful at a tremendous number of planets, stations, shipyards, and orbiting bars across the galaxy.
History:
Position: Ship's doctor / chief medical officer / chaplain / counselor. She can, and will if required, function in a combat or battlefield capacity, but would prefer not to.
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Full suite of installation, modification, removal, and maintenance tools for cybernetic implants (including biotics) from a variety of manufacturers, including firmware for her own implants and a collection of spare parts.
Medical texts (Digital, holographic, and physical) detailing particulars of Drell, Quarian, Krogan, Human, and Asari medicine; obviously frequently referred to.
The ship’s medbay and its equipment.
Her own medical kit; battered, scarred, burned, dented, and containing almost everything she’d want in a hurry under fire.
A collection of small drones, which tend to follow Rin around like a flock, doing small, useful tasks while she’s focused on something else. Some open cupboards and bring her tools, some assist with medical procedures, some maintain inventories, some bring her coffee while she’s walking so that she doesn’t have to make a detour to the kitchen. Some play music. Some do...other things. They are controlled either by verbal commands or directives sent from Rin’s implanted neural lace.
An M300 Claymore, mounted on the wall of her office in the medbay. This was a gift from Urd. It looks heavily used, and is in perfect working order. Rin would normally store one thermal clip of ammunition (or one shot) in her desk drawer, but at the request of Seraph, all ammunition is safely deposited in the ship’s armory.
A collection of small plants and fungi from across the galaxy; the equivalent of a very exotic succulent garden. She is very evasive about whether any of them possess psychoactive qualities.
A cane made from hickory wood. She hasn’t had to use it in a long time.
An acoustic guitar; both something she's good at playing, and something useful for ongoing physical therapy.
Requisition requests have been made for wine, chocolate, scotch, and dextro-compatible intoxicants.
Notoriety: 6. Rin knows a lot of people, but she tends to know them socially, rather than having an established reputation.
Misc.:
On Rin’s Background - I have ideas for things that have happened during her career with C-Sec (In particular, a deliberately comedic mutual-lifesaving moment with Urd, and that whatever mission she was on last was exploded by the Shadowy Cabal we’re going after), but I didn’t think it was useful to have a blow-by-blow breakdown of every single one of her adventures. My pitch here is this: She worked for C-Sec, she was good at it, she mustered out after being hurt, and isn’t that mad they pulled her back in. She did Stuff, and when it’s useful to the story, I’m perfectly happy slotting that Stuff in, but otherwise the specifics of those exploits will be things told in-character over drinks, or in boast-offs with Urd, or whatever seems like it might be funny at the time. I will never use this lack of specificity to try and break the story; you won’t ever have to worry about my trying to claim that Rin knows how to hotwire a hyperdrive blindfolded “because she had to do that once, it’s in part of her backstory I didn’t explain!” or anything like that.
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes. Please. I have given you so much ammunition for this, and that was fully intentional.
Race: Augmented Human
Citizenship: Systems Alliance
Aliases: Doc, Zee (For intimate acquaintances)
Age: 39 Earth years
Gender: Female (Comfortable with she/her and they/them)
Psych. Eval.: Given her past, Ms. Zahir is not what you might expect. She is far from being a hardened, emotionally-distant veteran of firefights, skirmishes, and life-or-death combats; indeed, it appears that she made the conscious choice some time ago to approach the world with empathy, joy, and wonder. While this is, no doubt, in part a coping mechanism (Severin, in her own words, admits to as much), it is plain that there is no artifice here. She is interested in other people, in their stories, and in the universe at large, in a way that tends to put people at ease, certainly a necessary skill for a medical professional, but one that seems effortless and entirely genuine. Put plainly: Severin Zahir is a pleasure to spend time with, despite everything that has happened to her. She is intelligent, confident, and realistic, and while her wit is razor-sharp, she rarely deploys her words with any real malice. She is also, to be perfectly frank, ferociously flirtatious and forward, though without a characteristic aggression sometimes seen with similar individuals. She is a believer in intimacy of all kinds, and while she is not indiscriminate with emotional or physical intimacy, it is something she seeks out - with willing co-participants - on a frequent basis.
Also clear, however, is that Zahir is accustomed to working with smaller mission groups, and of having a very direct line to the local mission commander or other point of authority. This is not to say that she is insubordinate or needlessly argumentative, of course. While she trusts and will express her own opinion, that trust is not at the expense of others, and is rarely, if ever, without basis in reality. Rather, it is the opinion of the writer that Zahir is not well-suited for a position with multiple levels of bureaucracy, or where she is highly-isolated from decision-making processes. This, however, does not appear to be an issue with the mission currently under consideration.
In her official capacity, Zahir is a consummate professional. She keeps herself up-to-date on the state of the art for her fields, with a particular emphasis recently on maintenance and improvement of her own suite of prostheses and implants; a field of study that dovetails nicely with her existing understanding of biotic laces and mass effect field projection systems. Though her scope of practice has largely been focused on acute trauma for most of her career, she has made a point to develop, and to retain, a broader understanding of medicine across several galactic species, to ensure that she is more than only a battlefield medic.
Since her retirement from active duty, Severin seems to have adjusted well. Never one to compartmentalize or rationalize the apparent disconnect between being a combat specialist and a person whose first duty is to "do no harm," she believes that her past actions, taken together, tended on the whole toward more good, stability, and justice than otherwise. She has few regrets about her time working for Citadel Security, but also seems to be enjoying the new directions her life has taken her. Always profoundly spiritual, though in such a wide-ranging way that any particular facet of her beliefs can’t be called a specific religion, Severin has continued her study of faith throughout the galaxy, finding wisdom - of a sort - calm, and a belief in kindness in the words of prophets, saints, and madmen.
In her private life, Severin is a person that people enjoy being near. She is open and warm, curious and ferociously intelligent. A very driven woman, she is rarely idle - though she tends to work toward being able to function well, rather than trying to skip steps in an effort to reduce recovery or procedural time. In other words, when injured, she takes the time to recover, rather than rushing into the field with a still-broken leg, but she becomes restless if she's in one place without a clear objective for too long. She maintains a network of acquaintances, friends, and lovers across Citadel space and beyond, deliberately ensuring that she will rarely be without a friendly face, a sympathetic ear or, indeed, a companion in bed. She is recommended for the current mission by expedience of availability, practicality, experience, and a likelihood that medical personnel will be a valuable asset on this mission.
Phys. Eval.: Severin Zahir is a Human woman of Arabic descent, a little taller than average at 170cm, with elegant, playful features and large, mismatched eyes, though both are shades of dark green. Her hair is coffee-dark and kept tomboyishly short, framing a face that smiles more than anything else, full-lipped and inviting. Though her frame is no longer dangerously athletic as it once was, Severin is clearly someone who takes care of herself; the lines of her frame are long, lean, and obviously feminine. She usually dresses in something comfortable and made of soft fabric, tailored well and carefully flattering. She makes no particular effort to hide her artificial limbs or other prostheses, and often dresses to bring attention to them on dates.
Those augments - if such they can be called - are pervasive, invasive, and extensive. Due to previous injury, Severin's body is now filled with an extremely unusual number of artificial components. Most visible are her left eye (slightly darker than the living eye), her right arm, shoulder, and part of her chest, (Entirely artificial, replaced with an obvious, sculptural prosthesis in shades of onyx and turquoise, with metallic gold and silver accents), and the lower part of her left leg (from the knee down, following her arm's colours and designs). Internal damage has been addressed with artificial organs (particularly a lung, kidney, and liver), muscle damage has been repaired to the extent practical with implanted permanent prosthetics, pulverized skeletal tissues has been replaced with artificial bone and marrow, and an extensive neural lace has been installed to coordinate and support these systems.
It is entirely accurate to say that Severin is fully dependent on these systems to live. They are, however, the highest-quality commercially available at the time, installed by very competent technicians, and there have been no dexterity, sensory, or rejection issues thus far. However, even combined, all of this machinery has served to get Severin to a state where she can live independently, with a good quality of life; her recovery has not been complete. She is no longer the athletic, ferocious adventurer she once was, she moves a little more slowly and much more carefully, her physical strength is substantially reduced, and her time spent undergoing tests, adjustments, and dealing with her current condition are considerable. However, she does not currently suffer from any chronic illnesses, her issues with chronic pain related to implant sites have largely resolved, and while she will not be keeping up with a Krogan warrior charging into battle, she is not physically frail.
A small scar cuts through Severin's left eyebrow, the only remaining mark of the injury that ruined the eye beneath, and her body is lined with the delicate marks of surgical scars. Some of these are incorporated, or masked, by elaborate, mandala-like tattoos, which are complimented by patterns etched and highlighted on her artificial limbs. She is a little bit of a magpie, and tends to enjoy wearing jewelry, especially in shapes and colors that highlight her prosthetic body parts; both her ears are pierced several times, and she has a collection of eye-catching pendants, many of which are on chains that leave them more or less exactly at the level of her sternum.
Biotics: None present.
Qualifications: Put bluntly, the ship needs a doctor; one who has, by custom and practice, become familiar with a variety of species' medical requirements, and who knows how to work quickly, under pressure, and can deal with being shot at. It doesn't hurt that Rin answered C-Sec's call (though her initial confusion suggests she was waiting for a different call from someone else on the Citadel), that she has extensive experience working in a largely-deniable fashion for Citadel Security, and that, it appears, Severin knows - and possibly, has slept with - someone who may be helpful at a tremendous number of planets, stations, shipyards, and orbiting bars across the galaxy.
History:
A sun's light always looks different from the view out a station window. Brighter, more white, without the filtering through a planet's atmosphere, and casting knife-sharp shadows on ships and structures beyond. Severin admired the view - below, and to every side, she could see lightning flashing between cloud-tops while a storm churned across the surface of the gas giant this station anchored to, a convenient fueling stop on the way to or from the system’s Relay.
On the star maps, the station was nothing special, just Transit Hub 87, but for the locals - and Severin - the place was Toren’s Landing. An old story - spacers telling stories after their third drink that there was an old, derelict ship down there, crashed from some long-ago cataclysm. People said if you spent too long in orbit before hitting the relay, you’d start hearing things - a woman’s voice, the sound of a barking dog, wind through trees that couldn’t possibly be there. Officially, nobody had been down to take a look at the strange sensor echo on the planet’s surface.
Severin, however, had. But that life was a long time ago - though maybe not so far gone that it couldn’t catch up.
Behind her, the door opened with a small whir, the kiss of changing air pressure on the back of Rin’s neck. Still leaning on the frame, her arms crossed, she glanced up a little at the door’s reflection in the window, and grinned. She shifted, lifted one hand in a wave, but didn’t turn away from the view.
“Heya, Zee,” the new arrival said, “Not easy to book the rooms on planetside - but I thought you’d like the view.” She was tall, taller than Severin, her C-Sec uniform crisp, bright, and flattering against her dark skin. Then again, almost anything would be flattering on her, at least so far as Rin was concerned.
Rin chuckled, a smile spreading across her face, “Oyin Kalu, as I live and breathe.” She put her artificial hand against the window and propped herself back up to stand, turning to face the other woman. She made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down.
“You know, most people don’t get to call me that ‘till we’ve had sex, and while I’ve got a few holes in my memory...well. I’m sure I’d remember that,” Rin said with a smirk.
“Get over yourself,” Oyin said with her own grin, her voice playful, “You had my blood pumping through your heart and keeping you alive for two days, so I can call you what I damn well please.”
“All right, all right, I concede,” Severin said with a laugh, “Less than a minute and we’re at war stories.”
“Old soldiers,” Oyin said, and stepped forward, “Come here, Rin. It’s been too long.”
She let out a sound that landed somewhere between a laugh and something tearful, and took the pair of steps toward Oyin. Her balance wavered on her artificial leg, and she caught herself on the edge of the table in the room’s center, an awkward, if small, stumble. Still, Rin wrapped her arms around Oyin, pulling the woman into an embrace. She held it for a long moment, then pulled back, her hands on her friends shoulders.
“Are the implants bothering you?” Oyin said, her own hands on Rin’s waist, “We can sit, if you’d like.”
“I’ve done enough sitting for a lifetime,” Rin said with a shake of her head, “I’ll be fine in a moment.” She grinned, her eyes darting to the rank insignia on Oyin’s jacket, “But look at you! A Captain now, yeah? Now that had to feel good.”
Oyin laughed, the sound warm and inviting, “Last week, yes. The bars are still shiny, see?” She took her hand from Rin’s waist, which she found herself already missing, and turned the rank insignia to the light, “Brand new ship, too, a frigate - Light of Thiala. You’re actually my first mission, officially, at least.”
Rin smirked and took a step back, the movement almost subconscious, “Would you like me to salute?”
“Do you remember how?” Oyin said, one side of her mouth pulling up in a half-grin.
Rin waved her living hand in dismissal, “I was never good at it.”
“Oh, sure,” Oyin said, “That’s why you’ve got enough medals to melt them down and make a life-sized statue of yourself.”
“Hey, now,” Rin said, feigning hurt, “The statue would only be about fifteen centimeters tall. Leave a girl some pride.”
“All right, all right,” Oyin said with another laugh, “Fifteen centimeters. And I’m sure you actually did the math. But, look -” She touched the back of her arm, an omni-tool’s glow casting pools of candlelight glow on her dark skin, “You know why I’m here, right? Heard about the new mission?”
Rin crossed her arms, shifted her weight to her living leg, “I’ve got the general idea.”
“Rin.” A hint of exasperation came into Oyin’s voice, “There was a two-hour comm call. I was on it. So were you.”
“And I was hung over, and I only picked up because I was expecting a call from someone else and it seemed impolite to hang up.” Rin looked away, then back at Oyin, “Listen. I was trying to arrange a threesome from across three different star systems, and your number at C-Sec looked a lot like the one I was waiting on. I was distracted.”
Oyin paused, blinked, “You know, I’m not even surprised.”
Rin smirked, “We were only together for ten years. I’m glad I left that much of an impression.”
“Well…” Oyin cleared her throat, tried to look official, “Look. You - we - already did this kind of thing, right? Deniable work for C-Sec? Except this time it’ll matter. No more brush fires, no more border skirmishes, no more maintaining the status quo. It’s a chance to make a change. To see behind the curtain.”
Rin looked to the side again, the smirk fading from her lips like sunset, “I seem to remember a time when we thought we were going to get a look at the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” She shrugged her artificial shoulder, making sure the golden filigree caught the light, “I don’t remember the next week. And there are things we did that...well.” She leveled her gaze at Oyin, “Don’t tell me you were always happy about it.”
“We…” Oyin sighed, “Rin. I know it’s asking a lot. But it’s been a long time - and things are changing. I don’t know how much you’ve been keeping up, but it’s getting worse. Or at least, it’s getting different. Things like that are happening more and more; we lost two scout ships from the Citadel Fleet last month when they went to check out some kind of sensor ghost.” She swallowed, “You know I’m not supposed to have told you that, but there’s something wrong, Rin. C-Sec’s trying to do something about it, but there aren’t a lot of people like...well.”
“Like us?” Rin smirked, “You coming along, with that shiny new ship?”
Oyin’s smile turned sad, “I’m gonna be making a difference in my own way, Rin. This isn’t for me. The Light is too big, too flashy. And she’s painted C-Sec colors. We stick out.”
“And it would look bad for the newest captain in the Fleet to go missing with her new ship.” Rin smirked, “I get it. I already know the rules, and I never actually retired. Call up the reserves -” Rin raised a finger, “the expendable reserves, and send ‘em off to solve the mystery.”
“Have you really been happy, living this way, Rin?” Oyin said, her voice gentle, “You’re hardly in the same place for more than a couple of months, and it’s not like you’ve just been lying back and letting someone feed you grapes -” She bowled ahead, talking over Rin’s incipient retort, “Not all the time, anyway. I know you’re not going stir-crazy, but...are you really happy, Rin? Or are you still looking for a purpose?”
Severin crossed her arms again, looked to the side, to the ceiling. She even turned her body a little to look out the window again, but there seemed to be a little less peace in the view than there had been just a few minutes ago. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, took a long, slow breath. She’d known the fun part of this conversation couldn’t last. And, gods damn her, Oyin always knew what buttons to push, it’s why they’d never gotten together. Too much like one another. Not two peas in a pod, no - more like two halves of a criticality experiment.
But the damn of it all was this: She wasn’t wrong. Like a moth to a flame, a fool to her folly, her palms itched to see the galaxy again. Even after everything, after waking up in a medbay and realizing she wasn’t whole anymore and maybe she never would be again, after all the pain and loss, the confusion, the triumph and the terror, part of her had never wanted to walk away. It was the part of her that took the offer for C-Sec’s reserves, the part that still looked at the medals, the part that still sent postcards to that Krogan she’d met a decade ago on a world choked with ash.
All the same, the years hadn’t been that unkind. The pain had gone, and if she wasn’t who she once had been, Severin still recognized the woman in the mirror. If she lost her balance walking across a room, she still knew how to restart a Drell’s heart, how to diagnose malnutrition in an Asari, how to set a bone, how to make people believe it would be all right, and how to be honest when it wouldn’t. She was still herself, and that meant something too. Rin turned back to Oyin, meeting the other woman’s eyes.
“I’m taking care of kids, now, Oyin,” Rin said, her voice getting a little more somber, “Orphans. Some of them were left behind after things we did. Or things we didn’t stop. Or that we couldn’t help, but at the end of the day, they’re still there. And I’ve got a clinic on Omega; by Arashu, I’ve got staff. You’re not wrong, Oyin. Sure, there’s a part of me that misses the life, sure, I move around a lot. But you want me to walk away from this? Why?”
Oyin took a small step forward, and reached to take Rin’s artificial hand, clasping it between hers. The onyx and gold of the digits complimented Oyin’s skin, and Rin enjoyed the warmth. Oyin closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath.
“For a galaxy with fewer orphans in it going forward, Rin. For parents who don’t have to bury empty caskets. To finally find out why Zaro and Rafael died, why Ilia disappeared, why you were hurt.” Oyin opened her eyes, meeting Rin’s, “Because this is the right thing to do. Not because C-Sec is asking you, because I know that was barely worked at the best of times. Because I’m asking you, Severin.” A small smirk, “Because if I have to bury you, it’s not going to be because you decided to try Hanar drugs again.”
Rin spluttered, laughed, and the laugh built, bubbled over, became something with a life of its own. She leaned against the table, propping herself up, and laughed until the tears came, and until the tears turned into real tears, and until she left dark stains on the shoulder of Oyin’s uniform. The minutes passed, the world below turned, the lightning flashed, and at the end, Oyin’s arms held Rin close, one of her broad palms on the back of her head, the other making slow circles on her back.
Rin sniffled, “They sent the right woman for the job, didn’t they?” She straightened, wiped a stray tear from her artificial eye.
“You’re coming, then?” Oyin said, the smile on her face halfway between sad and amused.
“Oh, gods damn you,” Rin said, wiping another tear from her cheek, “You know the answer to that.”
“Let me walk with you,” Oyin said, gesturing to the door with an elaborate, needless flourish.
“In case I run away?” Rin said, “Or fall over?” She grinned.
“No, Zee,” Oyin said, “Because if I know you, you still need to pack. And I still haven’t seen your bedroom, after all these years.” She smirked, “You can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom.”
Rin laughed, “Like there’s anything about me you don’t already know.”
“I’m always willing to be surprised,” Oyin said with a wink.
The pair walked out of the room, away from the storms, away from the lightning on the planet below. The corridor curved up and away from them, the station’s habitation ring making the characteristic strange horizons. Oyin’s boots clicked on the worn deckplates, Rin’s steps made almost no noise.
“Hey,” Oyin said after a few minutes, “Did you really go down to the surface here? To find the ghost ship?”
Severin smiled, “We did. About a month before we stood down.” Rin smiled, “You were on vacation with that Quarian boy-toy.”
Oyin rolled her eyes, “Yeah? What did you find?”
Rin walked a few more steps, then put her hand on the control panel to her quarters, “Well…” She said with a smirk, “That sounds like a conversation to have over dinner.” She touched the panel, and the door slid open. “I’ll cook, you listen.”
“And in the morning?” Oyin said.
“You’ll take me to the Citadel,” Rin said, with a small smile, “And we’ll find out what happens next.”
On the star maps, the station was nothing special, just Transit Hub 87, but for the locals - and Severin - the place was Toren’s Landing. An old story - spacers telling stories after their third drink that there was an old, derelict ship down there, crashed from some long-ago cataclysm. People said if you spent too long in orbit before hitting the relay, you’d start hearing things - a woman’s voice, the sound of a barking dog, wind through trees that couldn’t possibly be there. Officially, nobody had been down to take a look at the strange sensor echo on the planet’s surface.
Severin, however, had. But that life was a long time ago - though maybe not so far gone that it couldn’t catch up.
Behind her, the door opened with a small whir, the kiss of changing air pressure on the back of Rin’s neck. Still leaning on the frame, her arms crossed, she glanced up a little at the door’s reflection in the window, and grinned. She shifted, lifted one hand in a wave, but didn’t turn away from the view.
“Heya, Zee,” the new arrival said, “Not easy to book the rooms on planetside - but I thought you’d like the view.” She was tall, taller than Severin, her C-Sec uniform crisp, bright, and flattering against her dark skin. Then again, almost anything would be flattering on her, at least so far as Rin was concerned.
Rin chuckled, a smile spreading across her face, “Oyin Kalu, as I live and breathe.” She put her artificial hand against the window and propped herself back up to stand, turning to face the other woman. She made an exaggerated show of looking her up and down.
“You know, most people don’t get to call me that ‘till we’ve had sex, and while I’ve got a few holes in my memory...well. I’m sure I’d remember that,” Rin said with a smirk.
“Get over yourself,” Oyin said with her own grin, her voice playful, “You had my blood pumping through your heart and keeping you alive for two days, so I can call you what I damn well please.”
“All right, all right, I concede,” Severin said with a laugh, “Less than a minute and we’re at war stories.”
“Old soldiers,” Oyin said, and stepped forward, “Come here, Rin. It’s been too long.”
She let out a sound that landed somewhere between a laugh and something tearful, and took the pair of steps toward Oyin. Her balance wavered on her artificial leg, and she caught herself on the edge of the table in the room’s center, an awkward, if small, stumble. Still, Rin wrapped her arms around Oyin, pulling the woman into an embrace. She held it for a long moment, then pulled back, her hands on her friends shoulders.
“Are the implants bothering you?” Oyin said, her own hands on Rin’s waist, “We can sit, if you’d like.”
“I’ve done enough sitting for a lifetime,” Rin said with a shake of her head, “I’ll be fine in a moment.” She grinned, her eyes darting to the rank insignia on Oyin’s jacket, “But look at you! A Captain now, yeah? Now that had to feel good.”
Oyin laughed, the sound warm and inviting, “Last week, yes. The bars are still shiny, see?” She took her hand from Rin’s waist, which she found herself already missing, and turned the rank insignia to the light, “Brand new ship, too, a frigate - Light of Thiala. You’re actually my first mission, officially, at least.”
Rin smirked and took a step back, the movement almost subconscious, “Would you like me to salute?”
“Do you remember how?” Oyin said, one side of her mouth pulling up in a half-grin.
Rin waved her living hand in dismissal, “I was never good at it.”
“Oh, sure,” Oyin said, “That’s why you’ve got enough medals to melt them down and make a life-sized statue of yourself.”
“Hey, now,” Rin said, feigning hurt, “The statue would only be about fifteen centimeters tall. Leave a girl some pride.”
“All right, all right,” Oyin said with another laugh, “Fifteen centimeters. And I’m sure you actually did the math. But, look -” She touched the back of her arm, an omni-tool’s glow casting pools of candlelight glow on her dark skin, “You know why I’m here, right? Heard about the new mission?”
Rin crossed her arms, shifted her weight to her living leg, “I’ve got the general idea.”
“Rin.” A hint of exasperation came into Oyin’s voice, “There was a two-hour comm call. I was on it. So were you.”
“And I was hung over, and I only picked up because I was expecting a call from someone else and it seemed impolite to hang up.” Rin looked away, then back at Oyin, “Listen. I was trying to arrange a threesome from across three different star systems, and your number at C-Sec looked a lot like the one I was waiting on. I was distracted.”
Oyin paused, blinked, “You know, I’m not even surprised.”
Rin smirked, “We were only together for ten years. I’m glad I left that much of an impression.”
“Well…” Oyin cleared her throat, tried to look official, “Look. You - we - already did this kind of thing, right? Deniable work for C-Sec? Except this time it’ll matter. No more brush fires, no more border skirmishes, no more maintaining the status quo. It’s a chance to make a change. To see behind the curtain.”
Rin looked to the side again, the smirk fading from her lips like sunset, “I seem to remember a time when we thought we were going to get a look at the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” She shrugged her artificial shoulder, making sure the golden filigree caught the light, “I don’t remember the next week. And there are things we did that...well.” She leveled her gaze at Oyin, “Don’t tell me you were always happy about it.”
“We…” Oyin sighed, “Rin. I know it’s asking a lot. But it’s been a long time - and things are changing. I don’t know how much you’ve been keeping up, but it’s getting worse. Or at least, it’s getting different. Things like that are happening more and more; we lost two scout ships from the Citadel Fleet last month when they went to check out some kind of sensor ghost.” She swallowed, “You know I’m not supposed to have told you that, but there’s something wrong, Rin. C-Sec’s trying to do something about it, but there aren’t a lot of people like...well.”
“Like us?” Rin smirked, “You coming along, with that shiny new ship?”
Oyin’s smile turned sad, “I’m gonna be making a difference in my own way, Rin. This isn’t for me. The Light is too big, too flashy. And she’s painted C-Sec colors. We stick out.”
“And it would look bad for the newest captain in the Fleet to go missing with her new ship.” Rin smirked, “I get it. I already know the rules, and I never actually retired. Call up the reserves -” Rin raised a finger, “the expendable reserves, and send ‘em off to solve the mystery.”
“Have you really been happy, living this way, Rin?” Oyin said, her voice gentle, “You’re hardly in the same place for more than a couple of months, and it’s not like you’ve just been lying back and letting someone feed you grapes -” She bowled ahead, talking over Rin’s incipient retort, “Not all the time, anyway. I know you’re not going stir-crazy, but...are you really happy, Rin? Or are you still looking for a purpose?”
Severin crossed her arms again, looked to the side, to the ceiling. She even turned her body a little to look out the window again, but there seemed to be a little less peace in the view than there had been just a few minutes ago. She closed her eyes, lowered her head, took a long, slow breath. She’d known the fun part of this conversation couldn’t last. And, gods damn her, Oyin always knew what buttons to push, it’s why they’d never gotten together. Too much like one another. Not two peas in a pod, no - more like two halves of a criticality experiment.
But the damn of it all was this: She wasn’t wrong. Like a moth to a flame, a fool to her folly, her palms itched to see the galaxy again. Even after everything, after waking up in a medbay and realizing she wasn’t whole anymore and maybe she never would be again, after all the pain and loss, the confusion, the triumph and the terror, part of her had never wanted to walk away. It was the part of her that took the offer for C-Sec’s reserves, the part that still looked at the medals, the part that still sent postcards to that Krogan she’d met a decade ago on a world choked with ash.
All the same, the years hadn’t been that unkind. The pain had gone, and if she wasn’t who she once had been, Severin still recognized the woman in the mirror. If she lost her balance walking across a room, she still knew how to restart a Drell’s heart, how to diagnose malnutrition in an Asari, how to set a bone, how to make people believe it would be all right, and how to be honest when it wouldn’t. She was still herself, and that meant something too. Rin turned back to Oyin, meeting the other woman’s eyes.
“I’m taking care of kids, now, Oyin,” Rin said, her voice getting a little more somber, “Orphans. Some of them were left behind after things we did. Or things we didn’t stop. Or that we couldn’t help, but at the end of the day, they’re still there. And I’ve got a clinic on Omega; by Arashu, I’ve got staff. You’re not wrong, Oyin. Sure, there’s a part of me that misses the life, sure, I move around a lot. But you want me to walk away from this? Why?”
Oyin took a small step forward, and reached to take Rin’s artificial hand, clasping it between hers. The onyx and gold of the digits complimented Oyin’s skin, and Rin enjoyed the warmth. Oyin closed her eyes, took a long, deep breath.
“For a galaxy with fewer orphans in it going forward, Rin. For parents who don’t have to bury empty caskets. To finally find out why Zaro and Rafael died, why Ilia disappeared, why you were hurt.” Oyin opened her eyes, meeting Rin’s, “Because this is the right thing to do. Not because C-Sec is asking you, because I know that was barely worked at the best of times. Because I’m asking you, Severin.” A small smirk, “Because if I have to bury you, it’s not going to be because you decided to try Hanar drugs again.”
Rin spluttered, laughed, and the laugh built, bubbled over, became something with a life of its own. She leaned against the table, propping herself up, and laughed until the tears came, and until the tears turned into real tears, and until she left dark stains on the shoulder of Oyin’s uniform. The minutes passed, the world below turned, the lightning flashed, and at the end, Oyin’s arms held Rin close, one of her broad palms on the back of her head, the other making slow circles on her back.
Rin sniffled, “They sent the right woman for the job, didn’t they?” She straightened, wiped a stray tear from her artificial eye.
“You’re coming, then?” Oyin said, the smile on her face halfway between sad and amused.
“Oh, gods damn you,” Rin said, wiping another tear from her cheek, “You know the answer to that.”
“Let me walk with you,” Oyin said, gesturing to the door with an elaborate, needless flourish.
“In case I run away?” Rin said, “Or fall over?” She grinned.
“No, Zee,” Oyin said, “Because if I know you, you still need to pack. And I still haven’t seen your bedroom, after all these years.” She smirked, “You can tell a lot about a person by their bedroom.”
Rin laughed, “Like there’s anything about me you don’t already know.”
“I’m always willing to be surprised,” Oyin said with a wink.
The pair walked out of the room, away from the storms, away from the lightning on the planet below. The corridor curved up and away from them, the station’s habitation ring making the characteristic strange horizons. Oyin’s boots clicked on the worn deckplates, Rin’s steps made almost no noise.
“Hey,” Oyin said after a few minutes, “Did you really go down to the surface here? To find the ghost ship?”
Severin smiled, “We did. About a month before we stood down.” Rin smiled, “You were on vacation with that Quarian boy-toy.”
Oyin rolled her eyes, “Yeah? What did you find?”
Rin walked a few more steps, then put her hand on the control panel to her quarters, “Well…” She said with a smirk, “That sounds like a conversation to have over dinner.” She touched the panel, and the door slid open. “I’ll cook, you listen.”
“And in the morning?” Oyin said.
“You’ll take me to the Citadel,” Rin said, with a small smile, “And we’ll find out what happens next.”
Severin Zahir was born on October the 3rd, 2259, in Queens, New York, one of the first areas of the Five Boroughs to be reconstructed following the events of the Reaper War. Her parents, Imal and Layla Zahir, were second-generation immigrants to the area, their family having relocated from the greater destruction done to their home in what had been the United Arab Emirates some time earlier. She grew up in a home busy with life, with her father an Imam in the local mosque, and her mother spending her time between Earth and the Citadel, working with the Systems Alliance to normalize relations with the Council Races and pull what resources she could to the ongoing efforts to rebuild Earth; a task that would easily last longer than her lifetime, and likely Severin's as well.
She is the oldest of three children, all sisters. Her middle sister, Rania, is two years younger, and the youngest, Safiya, is five years junior to Severin. All three children excelled in school, and were, in general, no more a handful than a person might already expect of a household with three daughters in it. Safiya currently owns her own clothing line, specializing in Quarian suit decorations, and Rania followed their mother's footsteps into the Systems Alliance diplomatic corps, spending more of her time in space than she does at home, though that does at least mean that their parents get time to themselves, on occasion.
Severin, always with a flashing, glittering intellect, took to sciences early, and medicine in particular. Not particularly shy about using her mother's connections with the Citadel, Severin found a place with Citadel Security as a very young woman. Nepotism or not, Severin had a passion for C-Sec's work, believing that the Citadel's stabilizing influence in the galaxy was important, and she felt like she wanted to spend her time in that pursuit. Though Citadel power, and C-Sec in particular, may have been reduced in respect and influence, the Citadel's cosmopolitan population - and lucky meetings with like-minded people - helped Severin on a fast-track through medical training. Like anyone starting a career, there were stumbling blocks along the way, and no notable disasters. Despite this, Severin tends to joke that "Of course I'm a good doctor. I have several living patients."
Though she could have simply stayed on the station, absorbed its vast wealths of knowledge, and followed a highly traditional path through medical training, when Severin was offered the opportunity to join a more far-ranging group, she jumped at it. During an early attempt for the Citadel to start rebuilding its reputation for cross-border problem solving, C-Sec saw fit to send small groups of generally well-trained individuals to problem areas, brush fires, or on humanitarian outreach missions - though usually even those were dangerous, to one degree or another. These were early trials, designed to test the waters, and if they weren't secret, they also weren't exactly well-advertised.
Severin's team, given the designation of Deployment Nine, which eventually the group shortened to "Niners," or simply, "Nines," initially spent time largely on humanitarian missions. There were six of them in all, and they they were close enough to be a second family by the end. First was Ilia T'lana, a young Asari woman and, by luck of the draw, the group's nominal leader; already an inspiring figure, her compassion seemed infinite, matched by her incredible talent for software and hardware overrides - which, more often than not, were used to defeat 'licensed' features on farming equipment. Then there was Oyin Kalu, a fellow Human and a year older than Severin, from a fourth-generation family of merchant marines, who could untangle patterns in data quicker than full-fledged artificial intelligence. Kariss Zaro was by far the strangest Krogan that Severin had ever met; like all his people he was a mountain of a being but he practiced an art similar to embroidery, could civil-engineer in his sleep, and fought with hand-to-hand weapons that looked like sculptures in steel and eezo. Over nearly a decade, Rafael Singer solved engineering problems that Rin couldn't even begin to understand, turning the questions on their sides until everything lined up like pins in a lock; he rarely spoke, but he was the kind of man whose smile said volumes. Lanar Rix, a Turian with a laugh like spring rain, taught most of the rest of them how to survive, to fight when necessary, to believe in the being next to you, and how to tell a well-made automated defense system from shoddy workmanship - and, with care, to turn the latter into the former.
They assisted colonies in setting up defensive grids, dealing with disease outbreaks, working on soil remediation to deal with impending famines, and other activities related to the endless fallout from the Reaper War. They often worked alone, or in contact with one other Deployment group, and were expected to operate in a highly-independent fashion, frequently out of easy range of Citadel leadership. Over time, the Deployment groups became if not semi-autonomous, at least very accustomed to receiving broad orders, a goal, and returning the C-Sec (or, on rare occasion, the Council itself) later for debriefing and finding out what their next task would be.
However, not every mission was something with the relative safety of repairing waterworks on a colony world nominally friendly to the Citadel and patrolled by either a local fleet or the Citadel fleet itself. Before long, the Deployment groups, Severin's included, found themselves having to defend themselves and, occasionally, the people they'd been sent to help, from those who saw the Deployments as easy prey, and their 'clients' nothing but carrion. Generally far from Citadel response, the Deployment groups were, in a very real sense, put in the choice of adapting to their increasingly-hostile environment, or not making it home. Some were captured, killed, lost, or destroyed, but a surprising fraction came back again and again - smoke-blackened, scarred, with their ships held together with bailing wire and hope. They became, by necessity, ferocious fighters, brilliant improvisors, and unlike people trained from the ground up for that kind of hostile environment, often still deeply committed to their cause of helping people.
While some of the Deployment teams would go on to be fashioned into high-profile Citadel outreach functions, it became clear that there were forces at work beyond simple piracy and expanding criminal empires. Some of the groups - the Niners included - were repurposed into more directly stabilizing forces. Less and less of their work became nation-building infrastructure management, because it became clear there was something out there directly, and deliberately, trying to tip the balances of power, pulling levers that shouldn't be pulled. There was someone - or a group of someones - testing the waters, to see where their influences would be felt, and where they would be ignored. The Niners, and some other groups like them, became rapid-response units, not precisely black ops, but not exactly anything else, an active attempt to throw wrenches into what increasingly appeared to be some kind of plan.
But even at that, C-Sec's resources were stretched thin. This work would have been done by Spectres in ages past, but there weren't any of those around anymore, and the galaxy at large had lost their taste for the Council's shadowy operatives in any event. Severin and her fellows were reactive, not proactive, and there was a general feeling that they may have been slowing some unseen adversary, they certainly weren't stopping them. And every year, another Deployment group would go silent, never returning home, their fate completely uncertain. There were rumors of capture, of enslavement, but none of them ever seemed to come to anything - or, if they were, C-Sec carefully withheld that information from their very, very unofficial collection of 'special agents.'
By the time Severin was 25, she had been with the Niners for half a decade, had more light-years behind her than some freighter captains, and knew how to triage, treat, stabilize, resuscitate, and revive half a dozen species in the acute, battlefield-medic kind of way that harsh practicality teaches. Between missions, she would spend time attending actual medical school, and arguing with college administrators about what counted for credit and what didn't on her increasingly-adventurous career. She wouldn't officially graduate until 27, and though it would take some arguing, the next decade would more than count for "residency." It would take her nearly that long to actually apply for, and be granted, a license to practice medicine.
Severin's career with Citadel Security, the Council, and Citadel space in general, would occupy this not-quite-black-ops position for almost ten years, and on the whole, she loved what she did - though she may have developed something of a complicated relationship with C-Sec authorities. She would take orders from Ilia, of course; they all would, but she started to wonder if the folks at the top were losing sight of what they'd started out to do. All the same, there were mysteries, puzzles, and adventures, camaraderie, and the opportunity to travel the broader galaxy, and it was all in the pursuit of something meaningful. There were people who needed help, and they were tasked to offer it. There was nothing flashy to the job - their ship was well-maintained but uncomplicated, the gear workmanlike. The hours were long, but for ten years, she was never truly alone, wrapped in the care and love of her companions, living in the light of the next mass relay jump.
Though there was considerable downtime between missions - occasionally more than a month would go by, and Rin would wonder if she'd have to get a 'real' job - but in the end, C-Sec never failed to provide the next adventure. In the meantime, though, Severin spent her spare time in the pursuit of the twin passions that drive a substantial part of her life: Satisfying her intellectual curiosity, and sex. While she has had boyfriends, and masculine-presenting partners, she finds herself more likely to spend the evening with female-presenting human partners, and the occasional alien (No, not only Asari) that might catch her eye. She traveled widely, including frequent trips to Earth to visit her family, and spent time with her sister when they were both on the Citadel. While the two of them did find themselves occasionally pursuing the same person (not usually at the same time, though that did happen), Rania and Severin are the kind of people to laugh uproariously about that and go about their lives, rather than nurture resentment or jealousy.
Over her career with Citadel Security, Rin's life was never boring, and the job never became a blur. Their adventures were many, including working with the Loyalist Clans during the Neo-Krogan War for a brief period, during which time she met and befriended Urdnot Shephurd. That outing remains the only time Rin has ever actually tried firing a Krogan shotgun - an experience she is not keen on repeating. She's participated in rescues from pirates, stabilizing the engines on asteroid mining platforms, bringing medical supplies to distant worlds, and defending herself from slavers and worse. To Rin's point of view, a life, and a career, of Doing Good, or at least the good she could find, was all the reward she could ask for.
In the early weeks of 2294 the arc of Rin's life changed, sharply. Their latest mission had seemed routine by the standards of the Niners' usual jobs, looking into a freighter that had stopped responding on its way to a nearby mass relay, only a couple of jumps away from the Citadel. The freighter's owners were both not local to the system and it appeared they couldn't be contacted, and since its trajectory wouldn't take it into the relay at that point, it became the Niners problem, at least for now. While they didn't expect something simple - they didn't get a call until all the 'simple' steps had already been taken - Severin and her team were prepared to be back on the Citadel in a few days, maybe a week, and that she could finish up the paperwork for her medical license. The last, at least, would turn out to be true.
The freighter, once they arrived, was anything but straightforward. The engines were offline, but the attitude thrusters weren't; the ship wasn't drifting, but it also wasn't accelerating or on any specific course. It also wasn't responding to standard communications or approach requests - the power was on, but it appeared that nobody was home. More worryingly, a scan of the ship showed that most of it was standing in hard vacuum - an airlock had been forced open, and along with it, most of the ship's air had exploded into the void. There were still pockets of pressure, though, showing that interior compartments were still sealed, which may have meant someone had survived whatever happened here. Not only that, the sealed areas were warm, while the rest of the ship had cooled nearly to ambient.
Finding an undamaged airlock, the Niners made their way into the freighter without even bothering to come to a consensus first. Something had happened, and it seemed like someone may have survived. Even the suspicion that there had been no radio traffic faded, as the moment their ship made hard connection, they heard crackled, distorted voices over the local comm. Not enough signal to make out what they were saying, but enough to know someone was alive, further into the ship. Three team members - Severin, Zaro, and Rafael - made their way into the freighter, with Ilia standing guard by the Niners' ship.
That the freighter was an elaborate trap, and one set for C-Sec's bands of misfits, didn't become clear until they were quite deep in the freighter, having to override access doors one by one on the way to the pressurized crew areas. The voice on the comm became clearer and clearer the closer they got to the warm, sealed compartments, but it would go quiet for minutes at a time, and any responses were broken, malformed, and less clear. They were still half a deck away when Oyin, who had been listening in, told everyone to hold. She had found patterns in the comm signal - not only what it was saying, but in the bursts of static, and even in the carrier signals themselves. There was nobody trapped in those pressurized areas - there was only the ship's VI, damaged, configured to repeat some barely-coherent messaging over the local feed.
They may have been a step closer to figuring out what was going on, but the Niners were still no closer to the why. While Rin's group made their way back through the ship, Ilia suggested sending a shutdown-and-restore command to the VI, that maybe the old standby of "plugging it in again" might shake some of its marbles loose and maybe they could get some useful information out of it. The command was, to everyone's surprise, accepted using its vendor-default credential string, and that was when Rin really started to worry. The lights died, even the floor strips, and a moment later Lanar was yelling into the comm that Rin's group, and Ilia, had to get out of the ship, and they had to do it now.
They didn't usually scan ships for explosives, especially not apparently-derelict cargo vessels, no matter how strange they were. This one had even been manifested that it was hauling grain, and should have been no more dangerous than any other enormous, spacefaring vessel capable of transiting entire solar systems. But what it should not have had were corridors lined with mines, or remote detonators, or to suddenly come alive with detonator-synchronization signals. It seemed that, in addition to having been tampered with to draw people into the ship, the VI had been additionally configured to reboot into something connected to enough explosives to wipe out a battalion, and certainly to blow away any evidence of what happened.
And that would have been the end of the story, had Ilia not reached into the ship's network, grabbed the VI by its virtual throat, and tried to throttle it into submission - digitally speaking, at least. She broke past its firewalls with all the speed she could, redirected or spoofed commands, buried directives, and reset timers, but the rebooting VI still spawned more. Rin and her group ran for everything they were worth, and if the direct path to the ship was mined, that didn't really matter - if the mines went off, there were enough of them that even more remote areas of the freighter would be torn apart. They ran, and Ilia fought, and the VI still slowly went though its boot cycle, every moment getting closer to the command sequence that would trigger the mines.
Rin's group came around the corner, boots pounding on the corridor. Rafael led, Severin behind, and Zaro brought up the rear, moving with the unexpected grace of Krogan under threat. The airlock was still dozens of meters away, Ilia still engrossed in her omni-tool, voices shouting over the comm to hurry. To each side, small lights on detonators came on, lining the wall in pulsing crimson pinpricks, each one a deadly promise. The three redoubled their efforts, trying not to think about the explosives. To Rin, heart pounding in her ears, every step seemed to take longer than the last.
Ilia gasped over the comm, her omni-tool suddenly flaring with alert glyphs. She looked down, then looked back out at the group, her eyes wide. She choked out a message: The VI had rebooted again, this time of its own accord. Time seemed to slow, and a message flashed across the local comm feed.
The lights overhead went out. The lights on the detonators did not.
In Rin's memory, the next moments are a mixture of frozen images, gaps, and fleeting moments of terror. Zaro roared and came from behind like a freight train, grabbing Rin with one arm and Rafael with the other. She felt the deck rumble and shake when the mines started exploding, she saw the stars, bright with white-hot metal burst into view while the freighter's hull split like a shattered egg. A handful of meters from the airlock, she felt Zaro turn, putting his armored back and body between the wall and the humans, and the world went white. She remembers seeing a lance of fire burst through Zaro's chest along with the white clouds of escaping air, she remembers feeling him fall to his knees. She didn't realize then that he wasn't the only one hurt, and she couldn't figure out why she couldn't grab him to help him up, or why she couldn't stand, or why any of this was happening. Then Zaro grabbed her by the front of her hardsuit, which Rin just now realized was flashing every alarm it could, and with a strength that seemed impossible in one arm, threw Rin down the corridor, toward Ilia and the airlock. The last thing she remembers was the moment of weightlessness after Zaro let go, and the bloom of another explosion.
In the end, their ship survived - barely - but the team itself was wounded beyond saving. Zaro and Rafael had been killed by the mines on the freighter - by Ilia's recollection, it took four of them, all heavy-duty anti-personnel mines to take Zaro down, and he tried to keep Rafael safe to the very end. Even with every piece of emergency kit the team had, if they hadn't been in such relative closeness to the Citadel, Rin would have joined them.
Rin was in a medically-induced coma for some time, and only intermittently lucid after that, during the start of her recovery. She underwent more surgeries than a person should in their lifetime, let alone during a critical-care phase, just to get back to something like crippled, but stable. The choices she made after that exhausted most of her own credit account, even with her family's help, but in the end, she would be, if not recovered, at least whole. For months, she barely left her hospital room, collecting scars and slowly coming back to herself.
Word of what happened to the Niners came in a single perfunctory visit from a C-Sec officer that Rin had never met before. The Deployment project was being dismantled - their team wasn't the only one to come across some kind of trap or lure, and internal pressures in the Citadel were moving toward winding down the groups in any event. They weren't being fired, but the man suggested that they may want to make plans for their futures before nodding and leaving without giving Rin a chance to reply.
There were visits, commiserations, grief, and laughter during Rin's stay in the hospital, but in the end, the Niners very much wound up going their separate ways. During their last visit, Ilia said that she'd found something in the pieces of the VI's code that she'd managed to keep that she needed to follow up on, but Rin hasn't heard from her in years. Oyin transferred to Citadel Fleet, which had been her plan all along, on the command track. Lanar decided to stay with C-Sec, which surprised nobody, and made a point to check in on Severin during her recovery, and afterward.
In the end, Rin functionally retired from C-Sec, although she was never entirely off their roster; more of a reservist, if such she could be called. There are questions she's never been able to answer - clearly, someone had put a lot of effort into trying to kill her and her team. All the same, who, and why, remained an open question. No shadowy figures have come out of the dark to try and finish the job, and other than Ilia's disappearance, none of the other team members seem to have had more than the usual amount of problems and complications with their lives. She is not particularly comfortable with the question being so unresolved - but in her current state, she's in no shape to figure it out.
In the years since, Rin has applied for, and been granted, her license to practice medicine as a full doctor in Citadel Space and the Systems Alliance. She has spent a considerable amount of time trying to find places that can use a doctor, places that might otherwise be in dire straits or hardship, and offering her services where and when she can. In this capacity, she's spent some time on Rows with Sam Bridge's orphanage, stopping by the place several times a year to offer medical services, share a drink, and laugh about the way the universe is strange. She is not broken, or repressed, or angry about what has happened to her; rather, Rin sees it simply as the next chapter of her life.
Though, perhaps, the past won't be the past for much longer. Recently, Rin has been contacted by C-Sec, and offered a position - a new ship, a new crew, and this time, a chance to maybe find the center of a mystery that cost her an eye, her friends, and so much more besides...
She is the oldest of three children, all sisters. Her middle sister, Rania, is two years younger, and the youngest, Safiya, is five years junior to Severin. All three children excelled in school, and were, in general, no more a handful than a person might already expect of a household with three daughters in it. Safiya currently owns her own clothing line, specializing in Quarian suit decorations, and Rania followed their mother's footsteps into the Systems Alliance diplomatic corps, spending more of her time in space than she does at home, though that does at least mean that their parents get time to themselves, on occasion.
Severin, always with a flashing, glittering intellect, took to sciences early, and medicine in particular. Not particularly shy about using her mother's connections with the Citadel, Severin found a place with Citadel Security as a very young woman. Nepotism or not, Severin had a passion for C-Sec's work, believing that the Citadel's stabilizing influence in the galaxy was important, and she felt like she wanted to spend her time in that pursuit. Though Citadel power, and C-Sec in particular, may have been reduced in respect and influence, the Citadel's cosmopolitan population - and lucky meetings with like-minded people - helped Severin on a fast-track through medical training. Like anyone starting a career, there were stumbling blocks along the way, and no notable disasters. Despite this, Severin tends to joke that "Of course I'm a good doctor. I have several living patients."
Though she could have simply stayed on the station, absorbed its vast wealths of knowledge, and followed a highly traditional path through medical training, when Severin was offered the opportunity to join a more far-ranging group, she jumped at it. During an early attempt for the Citadel to start rebuilding its reputation for cross-border problem solving, C-Sec saw fit to send small groups of generally well-trained individuals to problem areas, brush fires, or on humanitarian outreach missions - though usually even those were dangerous, to one degree or another. These were early trials, designed to test the waters, and if they weren't secret, they also weren't exactly well-advertised.
Severin's team, given the designation of Deployment Nine, which eventually the group shortened to "Niners," or simply, "Nines," initially spent time largely on humanitarian missions. There were six of them in all, and they they were close enough to be a second family by the end. First was Ilia T'lana, a young Asari woman and, by luck of the draw, the group's nominal leader; already an inspiring figure, her compassion seemed infinite, matched by her incredible talent for software and hardware overrides - which, more often than not, were used to defeat 'licensed' features on farming equipment. Then there was Oyin Kalu, a fellow Human and a year older than Severin, from a fourth-generation family of merchant marines, who could untangle patterns in data quicker than full-fledged artificial intelligence. Kariss Zaro was by far the strangest Krogan that Severin had ever met; like all his people he was a mountain of a being but he practiced an art similar to embroidery, could civil-engineer in his sleep, and fought with hand-to-hand weapons that looked like sculptures in steel and eezo. Over nearly a decade, Rafael Singer solved engineering problems that Rin couldn't even begin to understand, turning the questions on their sides until everything lined up like pins in a lock; he rarely spoke, but he was the kind of man whose smile said volumes. Lanar Rix, a Turian with a laugh like spring rain, taught most of the rest of them how to survive, to fight when necessary, to believe in the being next to you, and how to tell a well-made automated defense system from shoddy workmanship - and, with care, to turn the latter into the former.
They assisted colonies in setting up defensive grids, dealing with disease outbreaks, working on soil remediation to deal with impending famines, and other activities related to the endless fallout from the Reaper War. They often worked alone, or in contact with one other Deployment group, and were expected to operate in a highly-independent fashion, frequently out of easy range of Citadel leadership. Over time, the Deployment groups became if not semi-autonomous, at least very accustomed to receiving broad orders, a goal, and returning the C-Sec (or, on rare occasion, the Council itself) later for debriefing and finding out what their next task would be.
However, not every mission was something with the relative safety of repairing waterworks on a colony world nominally friendly to the Citadel and patrolled by either a local fleet or the Citadel fleet itself. Before long, the Deployment groups, Severin's included, found themselves having to defend themselves and, occasionally, the people they'd been sent to help, from those who saw the Deployments as easy prey, and their 'clients' nothing but carrion. Generally far from Citadel response, the Deployment groups were, in a very real sense, put in the choice of adapting to their increasingly-hostile environment, or not making it home. Some were captured, killed, lost, or destroyed, but a surprising fraction came back again and again - smoke-blackened, scarred, with their ships held together with bailing wire and hope. They became, by necessity, ferocious fighters, brilliant improvisors, and unlike people trained from the ground up for that kind of hostile environment, often still deeply committed to their cause of helping people.
While some of the Deployment teams would go on to be fashioned into high-profile Citadel outreach functions, it became clear that there were forces at work beyond simple piracy and expanding criminal empires. Some of the groups - the Niners included - were repurposed into more directly stabilizing forces. Less and less of their work became nation-building infrastructure management, because it became clear there was something out there directly, and deliberately, trying to tip the balances of power, pulling levers that shouldn't be pulled. There was someone - or a group of someones - testing the waters, to see where their influences would be felt, and where they would be ignored. The Niners, and some other groups like them, became rapid-response units, not precisely black ops, but not exactly anything else, an active attempt to throw wrenches into what increasingly appeared to be some kind of plan.
But even at that, C-Sec's resources were stretched thin. This work would have been done by Spectres in ages past, but there weren't any of those around anymore, and the galaxy at large had lost their taste for the Council's shadowy operatives in any event. Severin and her fellows were reactive, not proactive, and there was a general feeling that they may have been slowing some unseen adversary, they certainly weren't stopping them. And every year, another Deployment group would go silent, never returning home, their fate completely uncertain. There were rumors of capture, of enslavement, but none of them ever seemed to come to anything - or, if they were, C-Sec carefully withheld that information from their very, very unofficial collection of 'special agents.'
By the time Severin was 25, she had been with the Niners for half a decade, had more light-years behind her than some freighter captains, and knew how to triage, treat, stabilize, resuscitate, and revive half a dozen species in the acute, battlefield-medic kind of way that harsh practicality teaches. Between missions, she would spend time attending actual medical school, and arguing with college administrators about what counted for credit and what didn't on her increasingly-adventurous career. She wouldn't officially graduate until 27, and though it would take some arguing, the next decade would more than count for "residency." It would take her nearly that long to actually apply for, and be granted, a license to practice medicine.
Severin's career with Citadel Security, the Council, and Citadel space in general, would occupy this not-quite-black-ops position for almost ten years, and on the whole, she loved what she did - though she may have developed something of a complicated relationship with C-Sec authorities. She would take orders from Ilia, of course; they all would, but she started to wonder if the folks at the top were losing sight of what they'd started out to do. All the same, there were mysteries, puzzles, and adventures, camaraderie, and the opportunity to travel the broader galaxy, and it was all in the pursuit of something meaningful. There were people who needed help, and they were tasked to offer it. There was nothing flashy to the job - their ship was well-maintained but uncomplicated, the gear workmanlike. The hours were long, but for ten years, she was never truly alone, wrapped in the care and love of her companions, living in the light of the next mass relay jump.
Though there was considerable downtime between missions - occasionally more than a month would go by, and Rin would wonder if she'd have to get a 'real' job - but in the end, C-Sec never failed to provide the next adventure. In the meantime, though, Severin spent her spare time in the pursuit of the twin passions that drive a substantial part of her life: Satisfying her intellectual curiosity, and sex. While she has had boyfriends, and masculine-presenting partners, she finds herself more likely to spend the evening with female-presenting human partners, and the occasional alien (No, not only Asari) that might catch her eye. She traveled widely, including frequent trips to Earth to visit her family, and spent time with her sister when they were both on the Citadel. While the two of them did find themselves occasionally pursuing the same person (not usually at the same time, though that did happen), Rania and Severin are the kind of people to laugh uproariously about that and go about their lives, rather than nurture resentment or jealousy.
Over her career with Citadel Security, Rin's life was never boring, and the job never became a blur. Their adventures were many, including working with the Loyalist Clans during the Neo-Krogan War for a brief period, during which time she met and befriended Urdnot Shephurd. That outing remains the only time Rin has ever actually tried firing a Krogan shotgun - an experience she is not keen on repeating. She's participated in rescues from pirates, stabilizing the engines on asteroid mining platforms, bringing medical supplies to distant worlds, and defending herself from slavers and worse. To Rin's point of view, a life, and a career, of Doing Good, or at least the good she could find, was all the reward she could ask for.
In the early weeks of 2294 the arc of Rin's life changed, sharply. Their latest mission had seemed routine by the standards of the Niners' usual jobs, looking into a freighter that had stopped responding on its way to a nearby mass relay, only a couple of jumps away from the Citadel. The freighter's owners were both not local to the system and it appeared they couldn't be contacted, and since its trajectory wouldn't take it into the relay at that point, it became the Niners problem, at least for now. While they didn't expect something simple - they didn't get a call until all the 'simple' steps had already been taken - Severin and her team were prepared to be back on the Citadel in a few days, maybe a week, and that she could finish up the paperwork for her medical license. The last, at least, would turn out to be true.
The freighter, once they arrived, was anything but straightforward. The engines were offline, but the attitude thrusters weren't; the ship wasn't drifting, but it also wasn't accelerating or on any specific course. It also wasn't responding to standard communications or approach requests - the power was on, but it appeared that nobody was home. More worryingly, a scan of the ship showed that most of it was standing in hard vacuum - an airlock had been forced open, and along with it, most of the ship's air had exploded into the void. There were still pockets of pressure, though, showing that interior compartments were still sealed, which may have meant someone had survived whatever happened here. Not only that, the sealed areas were warm, while the rest of the ship had cooled nearly to ambient.
Finding an undamaged airlock, the Niners made their way into the freighter without even bothering to come to a consensus first. Something had happened, and it seemed like someone may have survived. Even the suspicion that there had been no radio traffic faded, as the moment their ship made hard connection, they heard crackled, distorted voices over the local comm. Not enough signal to make out what they were saying, but enough to know someone was alive, further into the ship. Three team members - Severin, Zaro, and Rafael - made their way into the freighter, with Ilia standing guard by the Niners' ship.
That the freighter was an elaborate trap, and one set for C-Sec's bands of misfits, didn't become clear until they were quite deep in the freighter, having to override access doors one by one on the way to the pressurized crew areas. The voice on the comm became clearer and clearer the closer they got to the warm, sealed compartments, but it would go quiet for minutes at a time, and any responses were broken, malformed, and less clear. They were still half a deck away when Oyin, who had been listening in, told everyone to hold. She had found patterns in the comm signal - not only what it was saying, but in the bursts of static, and even in the carrier signals themselves. There was nobody trapped in those pressurized areas - there was only the ship's VI, damaged, configured to repeat some barely-coherent messaging over the local feed.
They may have been a step closer to figuring out what was going on, but the Niners were still no closer to the why. While Rin's group made their way back through the ship, Ilia suggested sending a shutdown-and-restore command to the VI, that maybe the old standby of "plugging it in again" might shake some of its marbles loose and maybe they could get some useful information out of it. The command was, to everyone's surprise, accepted using its vendor-default credential string, and that was when Rin really started to worry. The lights died, even the floor strips, and a moment later Lanar was yelling into the comm that Rin's group, and Ilia, had to get out of the ship, and they had to do it now.
They didn't usually scan ships for explosives, especially not apparently-derelict cargo vessels, no matter how strange they were. This one had even been manifested that it was hauling grain, and should have been no more dangerous than any other enormous, spacefaring vessel capable of transiting entire solar systems. But what it should not have had were corridors lined with mines, or remote detonators, or to suddenly come alive with detonator-synchronization signals. It seemed that, in addition to having been tampered with to draw people into the ship, the VI had been additionally configured to reboot into something connected to enough explosives to wipe out a battalion, and certainly to blow away any evidence of what happened.
And that would have been the end of the story, had Ilia not reached into the ship's network, grabbed the VI by its virtual throat, and tried to throttle it into submission - digitally speaking, at least. She broke past its firewalls with all the speed she could, redirected or spoofed commands, buried directives, and reset timers, but the rebooting VI still spawned more. Rin and her group ran for everything they were worth, and if the direct path to the ship was mined, that didn't really matter - if the mines went off, there were enough of them that even more remote areas of the freighter would be torn apart. They ran, and Ilia fought, and the VI still slowly went though its boot cycle, every moment getting closer to the command sequence that would trigger the mines.
Rin's group came around the corner, boots pounding on the corridor. Rafael led, Severin behind, and Zaro brought up the rear, moving with the unexpected grace of Krogan under threat. The airlock was still dozens of meters away, Ilia still engrossed in her omni-tool, voices shouting over the comm to hurry. To each side, small lights on detonators came on, lining the wall in pulsing crimson pinpricks, each one a deadly promise. The three redoubled their efforts, trying not to think about the explosives. To Rin, heart pounding in her ears, every step seemed to take longer than the last.
Ilia gasped over the comm, her omni-tool suddenly flaring with alert glyphs. She looked down, then looked back out at the group, her eyes wide. She choked out a message: The VI had rebooted again, this time of its own accord. Time seemed to slow, and a message flashed across the local comm feed.
Identified: Long-range shuttle IS-992
Registration: Citadel Security
Clearance accepted.
Transmission begins:
I heard them
They knew you would come
I can't stop it
I am so, so sorry
I can't
I can't
I cant
I cThe lights overhead went out. The lights on the detonators did not.
In Rin's memory, the next moments are a mixture of frozen images, gaps, and fleeting moments of terror. Zaro roared and came from behind like a freight train, grabbing Rin with one arm and Rafael with the other. She felt the deck rumble and shake when the mines started exploding, she saw the stars, bright with white-hot metal burst into view while the freighter's hull split like a shattered egg. A handful of meters from the airlock, she felt Zaro turn, putting his armored back and body between the wall and the humans, and the world went white. She remembers seeing a lance of fire burst through Zaro's chest along with the white clouds of escaping air, she remembers feeling him fall to his knees. She didn't realize then that he wasn't the only one hurt, and she couldn't figure out why she couldn't grab him to help him up, or why she couldn't stand, or why any of this was happening. Then Zaro grabbed her by the front of her hardsuit, which Rin just now realized was flashing every alarm it could, and with a strength that seemed impossible in one arm, threw Rin down the corridor, toward Ilia and the airlock. The last thing she remembers was the moment of weightlessness after Zaro let go, and the bloom of another explosion.
In the end, their ship survived - barely - but the team itself was wounded beyond saving. Zaro and Rafael had been killed by the mines on the freighter - by Ilia's recollection, it took four of them, all heavy-duty anti-personnel mines to take Zaro down, and he tried to keep Rafael safe to the very end. Even with every piece of emergency kit the team had, if they hadn't been in such relative closeness to the Citadel, Rin would have joined them.
Rin was in a medically-induced coma for some time, and only intermittently lucid after that, during the start of her recovery. She underwent more surgeries than a person should in their lifetime, let alone during a critical-care phase, just to get back to something like crippled, but stable. The choices she made after that exhausted most of her own credit account, even with her family's help, but in the end, she would be, if not recovered, at least whole. For months, she barely left her hospital room, collecting scars and slowly coming back to herself.
Word of what happened to the Niners came in a single perfunctory visit from a C-Sec officer that Rin had never met before. The Deployment project was being dismantled - their team wasn't the only one to come across some kind of trap or lure, and internal pressures in the Citadel were moving toward winding down the groups in any event. They weren't being fired, but the man suggested that they may want to make plans for their futures before nodding and leaving without giving Rin a chance to reply.
There were visits, commiserations, grief, and laughter during Rin's stay in the hospital, but in the end, the Niners very much wound up going their separate ways. During their last visit, Ilia said that she'd found something in the pieces of the VI's code that she'd managed to keep that she needed to follow up on, but Rin hasn't heard from her in years. Oyin transferred to Citadel Fleet, which had been her plan all along, on the command track. Lanar decided to stay with C-Sec, which surprised nobody, and made a point to check in on Severin during her recovery, and afterward.
In the end, Rin functionally retired from C-Sec, although she was never entirely off their roster; more of a reservist, if such she could be called. There are questions she's never been able to answer - clearly, someone had put a lot of effort into trying to kill her and her team. All the same, who, and why, remained an open question. No shadowy figures have come out of the dark to try and finish the job, and other than Ilia's disappearance, none of the other team members seem to have had more than the usual amount of problems and complications with their lives. She is not particularly comfortable with the question being so unresolved - but in her current state, she's in no shape to figure it out.
In the years since, Rin has applied for, and been granted, her license to practice medicine as a full doctor in Citadel Space and the Systems Alliance. She has spent a considerable amount of time trying to find places that can use a doctor, places that might otherwise be in dire straits or hardship, and offering her services where and when she can. In this capacity, she's spent some time on Rows with Sam Bridge's orphanage, stopping by the place several times a year to offer medical services, share a drink, and laugh about the way the universe is strange. She is not broken, or repressed, or angry about what has happened to her; rather, Rin sees it simply as the next chapter of her life.
Though, perhaps, the past won't be the past for much longer. Recently, Rin has been contacted by C-Sec, and offered a position - a new ship, a new crew, and this time, a chance to maybe find the center of a mystery that cost her an eye, her friends, and so much more besides...
Position: Ship's doctor / chief medical officer / chaplain / counselor. She can, and will if required, function in a combat or battlefield capacity, but would prefer not to.
Recruited: No.
Inventory & Logistics:
Full suite of installation, modification, removal, and maintenance tools for cybernetic implants (including biotics) from a variety of manufacturers, including firmware for her own implants and a collection of spare parts.
Medical texts (Digital, holographic, and physical) detailing particulars of Drell, Quarian, Krogan, Human, and Asari medicine; obviously frequently referred to.
The ship’s medbay and its equipment.
Her own medical kit; battered, scarred, burned, dented, and containing almost everything she’d want in a hurry under fire.
A collection of small drones, which tend to follow Rin around like a flock, doing small, useful tasks while she’s focused on something else. Some open cupboards and bring her tools, some assist with medical procedures, some maintain inventories, some bring her coffee while she’s walking so that she doesn’t have to make a detour to the kitchen. Some play music. Some do...other things. They are controlled either by verbal commands or directives sent from Rin’s implanted neural lace.
An M300 Claymore, mounted on the wall of her office in the medbay. This was a gift from Urd. It looks heavily used, and is in perfect working order. Rin would normally store one thermal clip of ammunition (or one shot) in her desk drawer, but at the request of Seraph, all ammunition is safely deposited in the ship’s armory.
A collection of small plants and fungi from across the galaxy; the equivalent of a very exotic succulent garden. She is very evasive about whether any of them possess psychoactive qualities.
A cane made from hickory wood. She hasn’t had to use it in a long time.
An acoustic guitar; both something she's good at playing, and something useful for ongoing physical therapy.
Requisition requests have been made for wine, chocolate, scotch, and dextro-compatible intoxicants.
Notoriety: 6. Rin knows a lot of people, but she tends to know them socially, rather than having an established reputation.
Misc.:
On Rin’s Background - I have ideas for things that have happened during her career with C-Sec (In particular, a deliberately comedic mutual-lifesaving moment with Urd, and that whatever mission she was on last was exploded by the Shadowy Cabal we’re going after), but I didn’t think it was useful to have a blow-by-blow breakdown of every single one of her adventures. My pitch here is this: She worked for C-Sec, she was good at it, she mustered out after being hurt, and isn’t that mad they pulled her back in. She did Stuff, and when it’s useful to the story, I’m perfectly happy slotting that Stuff in, but otherwise the specifics of those exploits will be things told in-character over drinks, or in boast-offs with Urd, or whatever seems like it might be funny at the time. I will never use this lack of specificity to try and break the story; you won’t ever have to worry about my trying to claim that Rin knows how to hotwire a hyperdrive blindfolded “because she had to do that once, it’s in part of her backstory I didn’t explain!” or anything like that.
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes. Please. I have given you so much ammunition for this, and that was fully intentional.
Antediluvixen Kemonomimi Dystopia Creator
Member
Seen
16 days ago
Anderson, Mckenna:
Race: Human (cyborg)
Citizenship: Systems Alliance. Most of recent life spent in Terminus systems.
Aliases: “Kenna”, “that robot bitch”, “The Butcher of Turgix”
Age: 58
Gender: Female
Psych. Eval.: Subject Anderson presents an unusual psychological profile for evaluation. Anderson is unusually cooperative with Council authorities, freely offering information when interrogated with no need for enhanced tactics. The information offered is, however, limited and only that which is pertinent to the exact question asked. Subject is able to clearly and concisely summarize the charges brought against her under galactic law, and shows full understanding of the degree to which she stands in breach.
When asked about motive to crimes, the answer is without fail the phrase “To erase human limitations and create a better world.” Information suspected to be withheld, though some believe it to be truthful. Senior officials believe such motive does not explain Anderson’s multiple and severe violations of galactic law and insist Anderson has some ulterior motive or is concealing information.
Outside of C-Sec interrogation, Anderson has been observed to generally avoid conflict with and seek friendly relations with those she is permitted contact with. It is yet unknown if this is a ruse by Anderson or if Anderson is behaving normally. Further study is advised, consensus of the team is that Anderson should be held further for greater questioning and the determination of her safety.
Phys. Eval.: Anderson stands at approximately 160 centimeters in height, and approximately 148.8kg - she has indicated her weight is a result of the extensive cybernetic implantation she has subjected herself to. Anderson is evaluated to be in excellent physical condition and shows no signs of her true biological age, what parts of her organic body remain have been well conditioned and enhanced. Even beyond standard improved human life expectancy, Anderson shows no signs of aging.
Anderson’s body has been heavily augmented or replaced with various cybernetics. Both arms, one leg in its entirety and another halfway above the knee, part of her liver, her lungs, both kidneys, her heart, significant portions of the intestines, part of her esophagus, large stretches of muscle, and more have been replaced - what is not synthetic has been subject to genetic enhancement similar to that given to Systems Alliance Marines.
Biotics: None. Anderson experienced high exposure to element zero in-utero, and subsequently born with multiple serious birth defects. No known biotic ability manifested at present time.
Qualifications: Anderson holds three Doctorates in genetic engineering, mechanical engineering, and neuroengineering - it is suspected that she used illegal genetic enhancement technology and cybernetic implants from an early age to make these significant accomplishments. She has demonstrated a seemingly eidetic memory as a result of her implants, and it is suspected this is but one of her abilities. Anderson has spent cumulative decades studying and researching in her field and can easily be considered one of the top minds in illegal genetic and cybernetic enhancement. Her capture brings the potential of her use as an asset of C-Sec, and a significant one at that. Some have advocated for keeping her confined to a laboratory environment to put her abilities to work developing genetic and cybernetic enhancements for human Spectre operatives, however higher ranking officials have ruled she willed be first deployed in a field unit for evaluation. While deployed in the field, Anderson’s profile indicates significant combative ability both at close and medium ranges. While Anderson does not divulge information of her own accord, she has indicated the ability to see in infrared, ultraviolet, and other wavelengths; the ability to establish guncam connections with most standard infantry small arms to facilitate accurate firing of the weapon without diverting primary attention; extreme physical hardiness and strength; moderate close quarters training augmented by heightened reflexes; and more.
Position: Anderson shows aptitude in a wide range of fields. Her primary expertise lies in genetic, neurological, and mechanical engineering - official consensus is Anderson likely utilized illegal genetic engineering techniques and cybernetic augmentation to gain expertise in these fields. She is noted to be a skilled combatant as well, and though her arrest was peaceful, experts in C-Sec warn that Anderson is a deceptively dangerous foe even without a weapon. She has claimed basic mechanical and medical knowledge, though it is not recommended that she be looked to as a source of medical or engineering assistance unless all other options are unavailable.
Recruited: Yes.
Inventory & Logistics: Anderson is barred, at present, from bringing materials aboard the vessel without express, written authorization. Anderson has been barred from access to any potential development of a ship science lab for the near future, until such time command has deemed her safe to give such tools. Anderson has been barred from handling heavy weapons or bringing her own for the near future until such time command has deemed her safe to permit such. Anderson is equipped with two (x2) Shuriken submachine guns, two (x2) M-3 Predator Heavy Pistols, and one (x1) set of Hahne Kedar Heavy Armour.
Notoriety: 7
Misc.:
List of Anderson’s cybernetics:
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes.
Race: Human (cyborg)
Citizenship: Systems Alliance. Most of recent life spent in Terminus systems.
Aliases: “Kenna”, “that robot bitch”, “The Butcher of Turgix”
Age: 58
Gender: Female
Psych. Eval.: Subject Anderson presents an unusual psychological profile for evaluation. Anderson is unusually cooperative with Council authorities, freely offering information when interrogated with no need for enhanced tactics. The information offered is, however, limited and only that which is pertinent to the exact question asked. Subject is able to clearly and concisely summarize the charges brought against her under galactic law, and shows full understanding of the degree to which she stands in breach.
When asked about motive to crimes, the answer is without fail the phrase “To erase human limitations and create a better world.” Information suspected to be withheld, though some believe it to be truthful. Senior officials believe such motive does not explain Anderson’s multiple and severe violations of galactic law and insist Anderson has some ulterior motive or is concealing information.
Outside of C-Sec interrogation, Anderson has been observed to generally avoid conflict with and seek friendly relations with those she is permitted contact with. It is yet unknown if this is a ruse by Anderson or if Anderson is behaving normally. Further study is advised, consensus of the team is that Anderson should be held further for greater questioning and the determination of her safety.
Phys. Eval.: Anderson stands at approximately 160 centimeters in height, and approximately 148.8kg - she has indicated her weight is a result of the extensive cybernetic implantation she has subjected herself to. Anderson is evaluated to be in excellent physical condition and shows no signs of her true biological age, what parts of her organic body remain have been well conditioned and enhanced. Even beyond standard improved human life expectancy, Anderson shows no signs of aging.
Anderson’s body has been heavily augmented or replaced with various cybernetics. Both arms, one leg in its entirety and another halfway above the knee, part of her liver, her lungs, both kidneys, her heart, significant portions of the intestines, part of her esophagus, large stretches of muscle, and more have been replaced - what is not synthetic has been subject to genetic enhancement similar to that given to Systems Alliance Marines.
Biotics: None. Anderson experienced high exposure to element zero in-utero, and subsequently born with multiple serious birth defects. No known biotic ability manifested at present time.
Qualifications: Anderson holds three Doctorates in genetic engineering, mechanical engineering, and neuroengineering - it is suspected that she used illegal genetic enhancement technology and cybernetic implants from an early age to make these significant accomplishments. She has demonstrated a seemingly eidetic memory as a result of her implants, and it is suspected this is but one of her abilities. Anderson has spent cumulative decades studying and researching in her field and can easily be considered one of the top minds in illegal genetic and cybernetic enhancement. Her capture brings the potential of her use as an asset of C-Sec, and a significant one at that. Some have advocated for keeping her confined to a laboratory environment to put her abilities to work developing genetic and cybernetic enhancements for human Spectre operatives, however higher ranking officials have ruled she willed be first deployed in a field unit for evaluation. While deployed in the field, Anderson’s profile indicates significant combative ability both at close and medium ranges. While Anderson does not divulge information of her own accord, she has indicated the ability to see in infrared, ultraviolet, and other wavelengths; the ability to establish guncam connections with most standard infantry small arms to facilitate accurate firing of the weapon without diverting primary attention; extreme physical hardiness and strength; moderate close quarters training augmented by heightened reflexes; and more.
Subject: Anderson, Mckenna
Anderson is the child of independently contracted salvage operators from the Earth Systems Alliance, both from the region of Scotland. Anderson’s birth occurred shortly after the wreck of the MTS Idruni salvage vessel during operations in a former battleground of the Reaper War. Casualty rate amongst the crew was estimated later to be approximately 53%, but both parents survived, albeit badly injured, saved by a rescue team composed of Quarians dispatched from another nearby vessel and brought to a human ship for treatment. During this time, Anderson’s mother went into labor, and Anderson was born at approximately 0200 Hours, February 24th, 2241 under the name of Brodie Anderson. Subsequent inquiry determined Anderson was born biologically male, and her makeup is the product of extensive genetic therapy. When asked, Anderson became belligerent, refusing to answer to the name of Brodie.
Anderson’s birth was marked by life threatening birth defects from extensive exposure to dust form element zero in-utero, including the total absence of both arms, one leg, the other leg ending above the knee, and numerous organs nonfunctional or barely functional from excessive tumor growth. Anderson’s life was saved at this time by emergency surgical intervention and the replacement of nonfunctioning organs with neonatal cybernetics.
Anderson’s family returned to Earth after the events of her birth, retiring from the hazardous career of salvage, having amassed considerable wealth. Anderson was enrolled in a well funded educational facility, approximately five years of age at the time.
Anderson is reported to have had an interest in cybernetics from an early age, as indicated during interviews, knowing what technology had saved her life and given her the ability to walk spurred a sustained curiosity and passion for the subject that lasts to the present day. Anderson admits to involvement in small scale organized crime during her early adulthood to facilitate and fund her interest in self-cybernetic enhancement, as well as the funding for early gene-therapy to facilitate transition.
Anderson continued to apply extensive cybernetic enhancements and replacements to her body over the years, in addition to non-genetic efforts for a social gender transition. Anderson has expressed reluctance to discuss this aspect of her history, indicating it is irrelevant to her current circumstances. At the age of eighteen, Anderson enrolled in university, achieving a four year degree in mechanical engineering at the age of 22. At this point, Anderson indicated that she joined the military of the Earth Systems Alliance as a commissioned officer in the Marine Corps, receiving medical dispensation to join due to the already extensive degree of cybernetic enhancement she had undertaken.
Anderson’s military record is marked as being that of an above average combatant, serving with distinction in the Alliance wars against the Rachni and decorated for heroism under fire, including leading the defense of a forward position threatened with encirclement whilst conducting repairs on a malfunctioned and damaged heavy weapon. The citation for her Distinguished Service Cross reads:
Anderson left the military of the Systems Alliance approximately one year after her moment of heroism against the Rachni, upon the expiration of her term of service. Disillusioned in many things, Anderson explains she retained a conviction for her transhumanist ideals. At the age of 28, Anderson returned to higher education pursuing further degrees relevant to her research. At the age of 30, Anderson received her a PhD in Mechanical engineering. Subsequently, and through a combination of natural intellect and cybernetic and genetic enhancement, Anderson received PhDs in genetic engineering at age 36, and neurological engineering at age 42.
Anderson began working for an undisclosed laboratory researching genetic modification techniques and integration with cybernetics for approximately three years, leaving at the age of 39. Anderson has indicated this was due to frustration and the slow progress and reluctance by management to come under tighter supervision due to Council laws.
Anderson relocated to the Terminus Systems, motivated by these opinions. She quickly used her experience and knowledge to establish a small but thriving black market cybernetic and genetic clinic, amassing not wealth from the process. Anderson indicates that during this time she was frequently forced to defend the clinic through violent means against mercenary groups seeking to take control, and eventually hired independent contractors to help defend its location. It was at this time Anderson has indicated some of the more dramatic, and illegal, modifications began to take place with the stated goal of “becoming superhuman”. Many of her mercenary guards accepted such modifications as well, many intrigued by the promises of longer life and longer lasting youth like herself. It was by this time, at the age of approximately 47, that Anderson had fully completed transition down to the chromosonal and genetic level, and she has indicated most of her other baseline genetic modifications were completed around this time as well.
Anderson then encountered an interested small time businessman looking to introduce some of her legal products on the galactic market. Though negotiations fell through, Anderson indicates she developed feelings for the man. Details have not been provided, but she has indicated a brief romance followed, and Anderson became pregnant following at least one sexual encounter, giving birth to twins later that year at the age of 48. Though feelings remained, the father of her children took the children with him back to Systems Alliance space. Anderson indicates that he wished the children not know their mother, deeming her dangerous for them.
Anderson then explains that the loss of her children was emotionally traumatic, and she returned to her research with extra energy. The funds required, however, exceeded the income she could provide for herself via small scale operations. Seeing no other choices, Anderson explains, she eventually fell into the employ of Aria T’Loak, her lab and guards relocated to the Omega station. Anderson claims her agreement with T’loak was to create combat implants and genetic enhancements to enhance the performance of Omegan operatives, to which Anderson agreed. When asked why she went down this route, Anderson’s answer was “Because I saw no other choice. My children were gone, their father had taken them away from me. Would you have had me abandon my life’s work and motivation? I wanted to create a world where sickness and premature death were a thing of the past. I still want to. I couldn’t simply cast that aside.”
Anderson then explains that she soon regretted her employ with T’Loak. Though she had the funding, more than she could have ever hoped for and skilled assistants, Anderson says that, “friendship was limited in Omegan space”. Though she made impressive progress, Anderson says the demands of T’Loak, whose threats hung constantly overhead, constituted a great stressor in her life.. Anderson, in this time, applied many of these experimental modifications to her own body, holding the opinion that only she could properly calibrate and analyze their effects and any potential limitations. It was at this point an advanced model of graybox, parts of it designed by Anderson herself, was implanted in her brain, granting an eidetic memory of everything following.
Anderson indicates that around 2296, research began to slow slightly, and her team approached leadership seeking more resources. Instead of the greater funding or redistribution of assets they had expected, a detachment of the team was deployed to the world of Turgix alongside a large Omegan mercenary force. They learned, later, that the corrupt Salarian governor of the world, rather than see it run roughshod over by the rebel Krogan forces, had contracted the Omegans to deny the world to the Krogan. If the Salarian Union could not have the world, he reasoned, then neither would the Krogan. Anderson and her team were employed in various activities over the world, both research and combat based.
[REDACTED]
Anderson’s operations gained notoriety, and she became wanted for trial for her crimes of illegal medical experimentation. The neokrogan of Turgix referred to her as “the butcher” - a name Anderson claims was earned both for her actions in combat as well as out of it. While she has not provided full details, Anderson has provided the account of her defeat of a neokrogan in close quarters combat, ambushing the first from behind and claiming to have the muscular power to push an omni-blade through the skull of the krogan and into the brain, though she admits the account is “probably a little embellished”. In later interviews, Anderson admitted the neokrogan in question had also been injured by proximity to an antipersonnel mine blast.
Anderson’s account is in line with official reports from the coalition forces. Omegan mercenary units, through standard military tactics and the employment of [REDACTED] were able to hold the planet long enough for Coalition forces to arrive on the world and re-establish control, by which time the Omegan teams had departed and evidence of crimes systematically cleansed.
Anderson was taken into custody in Council Space, on a journey commanded by Aria T’Loak to meet with and discuss the funding of the Omegan cybernetics and [REDACTED] program and possible sale of such items. Recognized by a former member of her security team before her employment in Omega, and turned in to local law enforcement. Extradited to Citadel where remained in holding cell until supervised assignment to Spectre field team.
Anderson is the child of independently contracted salvage operators from the Earth Systems Alliance, both from the region of Scotland. Anderson’s birth occurred shortly after the wreck of the MTS Idruni salvage vessel during operations in a former battleground of the Reaper War. Casualty rate amongst the crew was estimated later to be approximately 53%, but both parents survived, albeit badly injured, saved by a rescue team composed of Quarians dispatched from another nearby vessel and brought to a human ship for treatment. During this time, Anderson’s mother went into labor, and Anderson was born at approximately 0200 Hours, February 24th, 2241 under the name of Brodie Anderson. Subsequent inquiry determined Anderson was born biologically male, and her makeup is the product of extensive genetic therapy. When asked, Anderson became belligerent, refusing to answer to the name of Brodie.
Anderson’s birth was marked by life threatening birth defects from extensive exposure to dust form element zero in-utero, including the total absence of both arms, one leg, the other leg ending above the knee, and numerous organs nonfunctional or barely functional from excessive tumor growth. Anderson’s life was saved at this time by emergency surgical intervention and the replacement of nonfunctioning organs with neonatal cybernetics.
Anderson’s family returned to Earth after the events of her birth, retiring from the hazardous career of salvage, having amassed considerable wealth. Anderson was enrolled in a well funded educational facility, approximately five years of age at the time.
Anderson is reported to have had an interest in cybernetics from an early age, as indicated during interviews, knowing what technology had saved her life and given her the ability to walk spurred a sustained curiosity and passion for the subject that lasts to the present day. Anderson admits to involvement in small scale organized crime during her early adulthood to facilitate and fund her interest in self-cybernetic enhancement, as well as the funding for early gene-therapy to facilitate transition.
Anderson continued to apply extensive cybernetic enhancements and replacements to her body over the years, in addition to non-genetic efforts for a social gender transition. Anderson has expressed reluctance to discuss this aspect of her history, indicating it is irrelevant to her current circumstances. At the age of eighteen, Anderson enrolled in university, achieving a four year degree in mechanical engineering at the age of 22. At this point, Anderson indicated that she joined the military of the Earth Systems Alliance as a commissioned officer in the Marine Corps, receiving medical dispensation to join due to the already extensive degree of cybernetic enhancement she had undertaken.
Anderson’s military record is marked as being that of an above average combatant, serving with distinction in the Alliance wars against the Rachni and decorated for heroism under fire, including leading the defense of a forward position threatened with encirclement whilst conducting repairs on a malfunctioned and damaged heavy weapon. The citation for her Distinguished Service Cross reads:
For conspicuous gallantry and skill in action against the enemy while stationed in a forward position with C Company, 8th Battalion, 2nd Systems Alliance Marine Expeditionary Force, Sergeant Anderson tenacity in the face of the enemy is credited with saving the lives of her unit through her courage and heroism. Laying suppressive fire and pulling wounded comrades behind cover, Sergeant Anderson risked her own life to bring heavy weapons back online, enabling Alliance forces to execute a safe and orderly withdrawal from untenable circumstances. Sergeant Anderson’s selfless and valorant actions are in keeping with the noblest of human military tradition.
Anderson left the military of the Systems Alliance approximately one year after her moment of heroism against the Rachni, upon the expiration of her term of service. Disillusioned in many things, Anderson explains she retained a conviction for her transhumanist ideals. At the age of 28, Anderson returned to higher education pursuing further degrees relevant to her research. At the age of 30, Anderson received her a PhD in Mechanical engineering. Subsequently, and through a combination of natural intellect and cybernetic and genetic enhancement, Anderson received PhDs in genetic engineering at age 36, and neurological engineering at age 42.
Anderson began working for an undisclosed laboratory researching genetic modification techniques and integration with cybernetics for approximately three years, leaving at the age of 39. Anderson has indicated this was due to frustration and the slow progress and reluctance by management to come under tighter supervision due to Council laws.
Anderson relocated to the Terminus Systems, motivated by these opinions. She quickly used her experience and knowledge to establish a small but thriving black market cybernetic and genetic clinic, amassing not wealth from the process. Anderson indicates that during this time she was frequently forced to defend the clinic through violent means against mercenary groups seeking to take control, and eventually hired independent contractors to help defend its location. It was at this time Anderson has indicated some of the more dramatic, and illegal, modifications began to take place with the stated goal of “becoming superhuman”. Many of her mercenary guards accepted such modifications as well, many intrigued by the promises of longer life and longer lasting youth like herself. It was by this time, at the age of approximately 47, that Anderson had fully completed transition down to the chromosonal and genetic level, and she has indicated most of her other baseline genetic modifications were completed around this time as well.
Anderson then encountered an interested small time businessman looking to introduce some of her legal products on the galactic market. Though negotiations fell through, Anderson indicates she developed feelings for the man. Details have not been provided, but she has indicated a brief romance followed, and Anderson became pregnant following at least one sexual encounter, giving birth to twins later that year at the age of 48. Though feelings remained, the father of her children took the children with him back to Systems Alliance space. Anderson indicates that he wished the children not know their mother, deeming her dangerous for them.
Anderson then explains that the loss of her children was emotionally traumatic, and she returned to her research with extra energy. The funds required, however, exceeded the income she could provide for herself via small scale operations. Seeing no other choices, Anderson explains, she eventually fell into the employ of Aria T’Loak, her lab and guards relocated to the Omega station. Anderson claims her agreement with T’loak was to create combat implants and genetic enhancements to enhance the performance of Omegan operatives, to which Anderson agreed. When asked why she went down this route, Anderson’s answer was “Because I saw no other choice. My children were gone, their father had taken them away from me. Would you have had me abandon my life’s work and motivation? I wanted to create a world where sickness and premature death were a thing of the past. I still want to. I couldn’t simply cast that aside.”
Anderson then explains that she soon regretted her employ with T’Loak. Though she had the funding, more than she could have ever hoped for and skilled assistants, Anderson says that, “friendship was limited in Omegan space”. Though she made impressive progress, Anderson says the demands of T’Loak, whose threats hung constantly overhead, constituted a great stressor in her life.. Anderson, in this time, applied many of these experimental modifications to her own body, holding the opinion that only she could properly calibrate and analyze their effects and any potential limitations. It was at this point an advanced model of graybox, parts of it designed by Anderson herself, was implanted in her brain, granting an eidetic memory of everything following.
Anderson indicates that around 2296, research began to slow slightly, and her team approached leadership seeking more resources. Instead of the greater funding or redistribution of assets they had expected, a detachment of the team was deployed to the world of Turgix alongside a large Omegan mercenary force. They learned, later, that the corrupt Salarian governor of the world, rather than see it run roughshod over by the rebel Krogan forces, had contracted the Omegans to deny the world to the Krogan. If the Salarian Union could not have the world, he reasoned, then neither would the Krogan. Anderson and her team were employed in various activities over the world, both research and combat based.
[REDACTED]
Anderson’s operations gained notoriety, and she became wanted for trial for her crimes of illegal medical experimentation. The neokrogan of Turgix referred to her as “the butcher” - a name Anderson claims was earned both for her actions in combat as well as out of it. While she has not provided full details, Anderson has provided the account of her defeat of a neokrogan in close quarters combat, ambushing the first from behind and claiming to have the muscular power to push an omni-blade through the skull of the krogan and into the brain, though she admits the account is “probably a little embellished”. In later interviews, Anderson admitted the neokrogan in question had also been injured by proximity to an antipersonnel mine blast.
Anderson’s account is in line with official reports from the coalition forces. Omegan mercenary units, through standard military tactics and the employment of [REDACTED] were able to hold the planet long enough for Coalition forces to arrive on the world and re-establish control, by which time the Omegan teams had departed and evidence of crimes systematically cleansed.
Anderson was taken into custody in Council Space, on a journey commanded by Aria T’Loak to meet with and discuss the funding of the Omegan cybernetics and [REDACTED] program and possible sale of such items. Recognized by a former member of her security team before her employment in Omega, and turned in to local law enforcement. Extradited to Citadel where remained in holding cell until supervised assignment to Spectre field team.
Position: Anderson shows aptitude in a wide range of fields. Her primary expertise lies in genetic, neurological, and mechanical engineering - official consensus is Anderson likely utilized illegal genetic engineering techniques and cybernetic augmentation to gain expertise in these fields. She is noted to be a skilled combatant as well, and though her arrest was peaceful, experts in C-Sec warn that Anderson is a deceptively dangerous foe even without a weapon. She has claimed basic mechanical and medical knowledge, though it is not recommended that she be looked to as a source of medical or engineering assistance unless all other options are unavailable.
Recruited: Yes.
Inventory & Logistics: Anderson is barred, at present, from bringing materials aboard the vessel without express, written authorization. Anderson has been barred from access to any potential development of a ship science lab for the near future, until such time command has deemed her safe to give such tools. Anderson has been barred from handling heavy weapons or bringing her own for the near future until such time command has deemed her safe to permit such. Anderson is equipped with two (x2) Shuriken submachine guns, two (x2) M-3 Predator Heavy Pistols, and one (x1) set of Hahne Kedar Heavy Armour.
Notoriety: 7
Misc.:
List of Anderson’s cybernetics:
- KU-I Model 3 Cybernetic Leg Prosthetic (above knee)
- Anderson-C 43-2i Cybernetic Leg Prosthetic (Total)
- Anderson-C 129-73u Cybernetic Arm Prosthetic (Total, 2x)
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Heart
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Lungs
- Anderson-C 233-i Cybernetic Liver Augmentation
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Kidneys
- Anderson-C Synhetic Trachea
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Skeletal reinforcement
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Spleen
- Anderson-C Cybernetic Intesintal Augmentation
- ZTI i-249.3 Graybox.
- KmTI-002a Infolink Wireless Communicator.
- ZTI Calculation Matrix: Implanted into the brain, aids in making raw numerical calculations.
- ZTI LiDAR Scanning Matrix: Permits range and elevation triangulation via optical input alone.
- ZTI Smart Vision Matrix: Enables the user to see in infrared and ultraviolet spectrums (functions akin to military thermal and night sights, instructions very clear, cannot see through walls or thick dust), provides ability to “zoom” vision in by a magnitude of up to 20x, directly projects weapon status, vital and suit readouts, and other information into user’s vision, provides some measure of protection against visual effects of flashbang and concussive weaponry, in concert with ZTI LiDAR Scanning Matrix, can project topographic information in real time into user’s view.
- SentinelX RTI Tissue Regenerative System: Speeds the healing of wounds, automatically deploys medi-gel to affected tissue.
- Seryff Series XVII Metabolic Energy Conversion System: Produces energy for implants from a greatly increased caloric intake.
- Seryff Series XVII Rebreathing System: Built in lung filtration enables the user to survive in chemically hazardous environments for an extended period of time over that of an unprotected individual.
- Anderson-C 34D-ii Cybernetic Combat Package: A multifunction upgrade kit developed by Anderson, enables a myriad of combat functions such as simultaneous gun cam footage use (third party camera), enabling the dual wielding of separate firearms, stabilized aim, and recoil compensation.
- Anderson-C t-992 Reflex Booster: Speeds reaction time and improves coordination
- Anderson-C e-23 Subdermal Armor: Capable of withstanding shots from mid-power submachine gun caliber weapons and foiling attempted stabbings from standard strength humans, implanted in the torso.
- [REDACTED]
[Blasts from the Past]: Yes.
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