[IC] Mass Effect: Borealis

[Dervish]

SUBJECT: JERRELL LUZAMI, DECEASED
DATE: 07/21/2176CE
CORNERER: Dr. Ryla T’Leni
CAUSE OF DEATH: Fall causing compound neck fractures

The deceased’s body was discovered at the Sunfish Market at 1425h local time on 07/20/2176CE. Mr. Luzami had fallen to his death where the impact had broken his neck, causing compound fractures along his vertebrae, where he had fallen into shock and expired within minutes. The cause of the fall is still under investigation, but preliminary reports from the Nos Astra Security suggest he was thrown from the escalator that he had plummeted from by a petty thief that was attempting to evade security.

Mr. Luzami had no listed next of kin, and efforts are still under way to locate and contact any that may exist, but a lack of will and testament are hindering progress. Investigation is still ongoing.

A list of crew for a volus-manufactured Odea-class transport registered as Borealis have been recovered from his person, and the ship will be turned over to their possession as NAS has determined the ship is an essential part of their livelihood and a business expenditure for Mr. Luzami. Due to the lack of clear chain of succession, it has been decided to pass ownership over to the crew to sort out on their own with the instruction to clear the docks by 0900 on the 23rd, as that is when Mr. Luzami’s rent for Bay ET-6 expires.
For further elaboration on the legal matters, please contact the appropriate departments.

Signed,
Dr. Ryla T’Leni

~~~
Docking Bay ET-6, Nos Astra, Ilium

One could be forgiven for assuming the bored-looking group huddled in the rough equivalent of a circle on top of assorted luggage and equipment crates outside of a hideously ugly ship were collectively locked out of their worksite and were simply awaiting for the boss to show up with the keys. The truth of the matter was slightly more complicated, as the group was largely comprised of total strangers, most of whom had barely said more than a few words of non-committal greetings or inquiring if the flying eyesore was indeed where they were supposed to be, and not some kind of joke.

One could also be forgiven for interpreting the dawning realization upon their face that the flying tetanus box was going to be home for the foreseeable future as abject horror, because as crowded as life on military or most merchant vessels could be, it was a small wonder the ship that the tank-top wearing human woman with a stylized Mohawk and coveralls tied around her waist was immediately dubbed “The Jalopy”, despite its registration name of Borealis being somewhat legible on the rust and carbon scorched hull. There was a sense that none of them would live to see their first pay day, and any who had second feelings about their predicament could hardly have been blamed if they ran.

As if to rub salt on the wound even further, a harried looking turian security guard approached the assembled crew, looking like he was in a hurry to be somewhere, anywhere, else and was simply completing a last minute errand that was so beneath his station that he suspected he was being accused of sleeping with the station chief’s wife. The fact there was some merit to the claim did little to assuage his misgivings.

Handing an envelope to the nearest seated figure with about as much care as a luggage loader offloads a public transport, he declared boorishly that Captain Jerrall Luzami had died in a manslaughter incident two days prior and the assembled crew were now the proud owners of the Borealis, and contained within the envelope were the access cards required to take possession of the ship, and it didn’t matter who took possession of it, as long as it was no longer his problem.

They also had little over an hour to clear the docks.

Duty fulfilled, the turian officer sauntered off, humming a tuneless ditty, pleased to have another tedious task off his workload. The team exchanged glances, and hurried to get their gear loaded onto the Borealis, a task made needlessly complicated by having to smash the loading ramp access panel six times before it groaned to life, descending painfully slowly to reveal a hanger that was left much to be desired, including the marginally more impressive six wheeled cargo hauler and trailer and skid steer that were evidently meant to handle the loading and unloading of equipment or goods. They, at least, weren’t manufactured before most of the crew were born.

With most of the gear stashed haphazardly in the hanger, the turian pilot headed to the cockpit, securing the vessel for departure and after bringing the ship to life, eased it out into the Nos Astra skyline and out into Ilium’s atmosphere. Minutes later, the new crew of the Borealis was situated in the hanger, taking stock of their situation. Few, if any, of the crew knew one another, and they were very suddenly thrust upon the galaxy in a ship they had no time to inspect and no captain. A few things were agreed upon right away; no one had the right to the captain’s cabin, the first priority before going anywhere would be to determine what condition the ship was in, find out what contracts that Captain Luzami had arranged for the team to complete, and take stock of supplies and what range they had with the fuel. Several of the crew broke off to their respective duties, while others with nothing immediate to do began to unload their gear or stow it away in the hanger’s cargo spaces.

Tanya Carson had taken time to study the faces of the crew leading up to this moment, creating little stories for each of them to pass on. The blue-faced drell was suffering from a crippling STD that had turned his skin blue, and to escape the wrath of a paramour, he fled to the stars to look for a cure. The turian with the cybernetic arm lost a really shit arm wrestling competition where the winner played for keeps. The Slavic-looking man was also a loser of the same competition. The vorcha was there in case food ran short and they became stranded, and the maimed-looking asari had already tried without killing him first. There was an amusing anecdote for everyone, save the batarian. Tanya tried not to look at the bastard, and even years later, being around batarians made her skin crawl. How in the hell was she supposed to sleep knowing that one of the bastards they were supposed to be hunting was probably employed by Captain Dipshit before he died? Alliance therapy did nothing to dissuade the idea that all batarians were potentially slavers, rapists, and genocidal cunts who were animals.

Red dress, blonde hair hiding her face… flash of the knife…

Enough. Get your shit together.

Tanya moved with what she called “determined ease” and found the rolling cases with CARSON stenciled on the sides of the blue-grey impact resistant polymer cases, finding one of the unclaimed workstations near the as-of-yet unidentified vehicles that were at least strapped down to the floor. She would have time to transfer her tools to the wall-mounted toolboxes later, and for now it was enough to establish her territory, woe to those who dared defile it. Satisfied with her hard case-lined perimeter, Tanya brushed her hair back and with a flurry of finger motions on her left hand, her omni-tool emitted, giving the surrounding area a warm orange glow. Another few gestures, punctuated with a firmly extended middle finger brought her combat drone to life, its servos whirring as it settled its “eye” on Tanya, the spheroid constantly shifting as it awaited instruction. “Alright, Shithead. Give me a scan of the buggy, see if you can see anything’s wrong with it and if you can ID who the fuck made it so I can find the manufacture’s manual next time we send for an Extranet packet. I’ll be trying to do the same for this hauler and going to find out if I have to warn the gang if they’re going to have to update their shots if they get in the bloody thing.” The drone whirred, spinning in air, and headed off towards the smaller six-man wheeled transport that looked more like it was meant for back country camping trips than any serious business venture while Tanya looked at the heavy truck with the large caged cargo bed and chest-high tires. “Hey, Shithead.” She called out. “Continue playlist.”

The drone suddenly began playback of loud and driving percussion music and synth-guitars, sounding very much like the alien bastard offspring of heavy metal music. Contented, Tanya continued her inspection of the truck with a walk around, scanning things with her omni-tool as the music’s singer finally made an appearance.

With great anger: Dekuuna lies shrouded in flame/ the gravity of our homeworld can’t contain our rage…

Ignoring the indignant looks of anyone foolish enough to have lingered around, something caught Tanya’s eye as she looked at the rear wheel well. Reaching towards the straw-like mass, she pulled it free and a nest came free, along with the remains of three very tiny bird-like skeletons. “Oh, what the fuck.”

With rage: I will crush your skull and drink your blood, flay your entire clan… Screaming: You are all fuuuuuuuuu-

Crawling under the machine, Tanya’s worst nightmares were confirmed and whatever had eventually retired into the undignified tire-based graveyard had indeed made a habit of chewing on the wiring and hoses under the vehicles. If there was a likely culprit as to what had killed the bird-things, it was likely the semi-coagulated pool of brake fluid that had seeped into the floor grating. She regarded the skeletons scornfully. “You fucking wankers. Do you know how long it’s going to take me to pull this piece of shit apart?” The bird-things did not see fit to answer.

With dark conviction: We will march on your cities, cannons bringing down the foundations. Trembling in the rubble of your homes, our lust for vengeance cannot be quelled! Chorus: WE ARE THE ELCOR APOCALYPSE, WE ARE COMPELLED/ TO MOVE SLOWLY TOWARDS OUR DESTINY/ YOU CANNOT RUN, YOU CANNOT HIDE, WE ARE AN UNSTOPPABLE TIDE…

From under the hauler came a loud clang of a heavy metal object clanging to the floor and a string of muffled profanities. Shithead reacted by turning up the volume while continuing its lazy survey around the buggy, ignoring its master. This was all standard protocol. Ravanor Tonka looked at the vehicle and grunted. He was expecting the posting to last longer than 20 minutes before he found the first signs of the impending disaster he was certain this was going to be. He didn’t bother with his gear, save for a very large duffle bag that he dragged with him up the staircase as he searched for the crew quarters, leaving behind an arguably sane human woman with an affinity for elcor cultural appropriation and machines a krogan would consider a steal on Tuchanka. Ignoring the creature comforts for the time being and the siren-like allure of what was kept in the freezers of the kitchen, he found a spiral staircase that headed up towards a long hallway along the doral spine, with 8 rooms per side and one at the end.

“Home sweet home.” He rumbled, opening the first door on his right and tossing the duffle bag on the floor. The room wasn’t designed with krogan in mind, so he was going to have to pull the mattress off the bed and sleep on the floor, and fitting his armour in any of the compartments was out of the question. Maybe he’d talk to the others about constructing a communal armoury in the hanger before the short-haired woman appropriated the entire thing into her little empire. Not that she could have stopped him anyways; Tonka preferred not to physically relocate people unless he had no other option.

The krogan made his way down a level and found himself back in the common area, complete with furniture that looked like it had been appropriated from a garage sale decades before. It reminded him of the treasured Tomkah seat that had been his throne around the evening fires back in Clan Ravanor, roasting varren over a fire spit and telling stories. Tonka’s stomach growled, and he turned to regard the freezer longingly. “Soon.” He promised whatever was inside. Instead, he turned his attention to the door ahead with ENGINEERING lazily sprayed over the original sign, which was written in some volus commerce language that probably never left Irune.

Someone evidently got sick and tired of trying to explain to the crew where things were located and took matter into their own hands. The ancient plasma cuts in the door frames also suggested the ship had been retrofitted by a crew that was tired of having to crouch under every door frame to cope with the volus’ tiny frames. Everything about the Borealis just screamed half-assed and Tonka was loving every moment of it. He very rarely saw someone have a mental breakdown in deep space, and he was not at all ashamed to admit watching aliens engage in TV-quality drama and feuds was a pleasure. Life for big corporations was boring, sterile, safe. Credits weren’t everything, and sometimes the good things in life were watching asari freak out about hull breaches and trying to understand what the hell a salarian was trying to say when they were in a full-blown panic. From first impressions, this lot would not disappoint, the ship would crash land on some uncharted world, and he would finally get a chance to enjoy some of that vacation time he was entitled to but could never find the satisfaction to use.

Entering engineering, Tonka was immediately overcome with the smell of burnt oils and wiring, and the engine’s drive core was surprisingly stable-sounding. Not interested in that at the moment, Tonka found a console that gave off fuel readings and set to work, determining exactly what range they had and where they could feasibly get to without being set adrift and too far from aid. He’d pass that information off to navigation, and let the more plucky bastards decide where to go while he fulfilled his promise to the kitchen and begin preparing something to eat.

[Bright_Ops]

Where others would have looked at the Borealis as a run down death trap that would most likely be the death of them all (And it was easy to see why most people would see that), Duuka felt quiet at ease walking through it's hallways and rooms; The ship reminded him on Omega, only with a much lower risk of being murdered by some random ganger or suffering some other kind of 'accident'. It felt like a better version of home!

He wasn't just wondering the halls and rooms for no reason through; He was getting a lay out of the territory, taking special note of defensive locations and trying to locate any possible security system that the ship might have possessed. Granted it was doubtful that there was anything like that (At least not in working condition) but it gave him something to do and it gave him a perfect opportunity to get to know his new home... and learn a bit about his fellow crew members.

There were humans, turians, asari, a batarian, a blue drell and a krogan... but the one that stood out most in his mind was the quarian. Besides his mother Si he had only met the odd pilgrim that had been traveling through Omega on their pilgrimage and the opportunity to meet another one of his mothers people was an opportunity that he wasn't going to pass up. Of course he would have to find her first, but it wasn't a big ship; It was going to happen sooner or later.

[The Grey Warden]

"Cooking is like painting or writing a song. Just as there are only so many notes or colors, there are only so many flavors - it's how you combine them that sets you apart."
— Wolfgang Puck

Marco Castillo had spent most of his day near The Jalopy awaiting the captain to arrive and address the group. He was sitting on top of his crate, which contained his weapons and equipment for the kitchen (which he 'borrowed' for his sister). Then, the turian officer gave off the news that the captain was dead and the ship was now theirs. He also told that they had an hour to load up and leave the dock, so he begun to carry his crate to the hanger as the loading ramp slowly came crashing down.

Soon enough, he made it to the hanger with the crate as he waited for the vessel to depart for Ilium. He saw the turian pilot headed to the cockpit and hoped that the turian knew how to fly this piece of crap. When the turian disappeared, he looked down at the crate until he felt the ship leaving the dock bay and going to the atmosphere.

A couple minutes had passed by as the crew tried to deal with the sudden shift, their captain was dead and they didn't know the condition of the ship. Now, it was their job to check around the ship for the contracts and to give a report of the ship. After Marco's first meeting ended, he went to his respective duty at the kitchen. Many would think that being a cook aboard a ship is a useless job; however, he would say that he could be feeding the crew their last meal.

That's why he signed up for the position of the cook, that must have been why the old captain contacted Marco. He had been running his sister's restaurant for years before and after he joined the Alliance, mastering in preparing foods for all species in the Citadel. "Being a cook was a lot harder than it was a hundred years ago", Joanna said to Marco after his first day on the job as he had complained about it. They have to prepared foods for different species and know the foods that each species can and can't have. Despite his complaints, he kept going and eventually he loved the job and became the head chef of the restaurant.

The kitchen wasn't in the best condition as the kitchens that he has been in, but it had anything that a kitchen needs to have. He began to check out the fridge as he opened it and discovered the limited amount of food. They need to earn some credits before they run out of food; despite the limitations that the kitchen offered, there was food to satisfy everybody from the humans to the krogan. Then, he realized that the crew had a batarian.

Marco sighed as he had to deal with them since the attack on Mindoir, the horrors of it still scared him. He got over the fact that all batarians were the cause of Mindoir, humans had done similar things to each other in history; however, it was the first time that he had seen one without his weapon nearby. That also meant that he had to find out the foods that batarians can't and can eat.

Looking around the common area, he saw a data pad on the top of the counter top. The light gray counter top was made out of cheap steel and he felt the coldness of it as he reached for the data pad. Marco opened it up and saw files with the names of the species that made up the crew, and he quickly saw “Batarians”. Then, he tapped on the icon and it loaded a list of foods that Batarians can have. The list was easy to read and it went something like this:

Batarians have sharp, obviously carnivorous teeth. Predatory, they're ominvores but eat a great deal of meat. The list of foods that they can and can't eat should be easy enough for you to get at a local market (hopefully).

B'garn (like Terran pasta)
Er’thak (which may be served minced)
Goro Root
K'nar Cream
Keron Pie
Kruottolk (an exotic dish resembling balut in nature, made from Qlygh eggs)
Larmo fruit (like a large yellow grape, but less tart)
Raksha
Sharamik Eggs
Thurai (a meat that refers to a specific cut from a large, stupid aquatic animal commonly used as livestock)
Tsyplionok (poultry)
Va'shanosh dal (as a seasoning)
Yora (a tiny blue fruit with a subtle sweetness; difficult to grow, and arguably more difficult to peel)

Marco Castillo was confused by some of the names of foods, like Thurai and Larmo fruit. Thankfully, the list had provided with pictures of the foods. Then, he saw the drinks that the batarians were able to drink and it made him thirsty for something to drink. He walked away from the counter top and headed towards the fridge to make a drink inspired by his home country of the Philippines, Mojito de Mayon. It's based on the cone-shaped volcano in the Philippines province of Albay and it's made with vodka, sugar syrup and muddled lime then topped with a cone of shaved ice. It comes in strawberry, cherry, passion fruit and mango flavors, but the strawberry is recommended as it makes the drink look like there's lava erupting from the "volcano."

He opened the fridge and grabbed the limes, the strawberry, mint leaves, simple syrup, ice, mint sprig, and strawberry garnish. The vodka and grenadine were hidden in the shelves about the dishwasher, right next to the cups as they grabbed them and set it down on the counter top next to the fridge. He was ready to make it and it only took a couple of minutes to make. It looked good despite the kitchen having none of the newer equipments. He carried his Mojito de Mayon with him as he grabbed the stool with another hand and sat on it as he sat the drink near the data pad.

Then, he got back to work as he started a new file and writing on the report on the kitchen and the simulation of the supplies. That was when the krogan walked towards the kitchen.

[Heat]

About one hour earlier...

Illium, a world all too familar to Valiss, it was one of her people's most astounding planets second only to the homeworld. The world was packed as always with tourists, merchants and visitors of all kinds. She had always seen it as a shadier place than Thessia, anything someone wanted could be bought here, even slaves, though the proper term was indentured servant. She preferred her homeplanet, but Illium had its own perks.

The Asari sat inside a bar, dance music blaring behind her. She was the only one at her table, three empty glasses alongside, she had just signaled for one more. Valiss had never been an extreme drinker, though her intake of alcohol had seemed to increase ever since her dismissal from the military. No one would fault her for sampling Illium's bars, she had found they always had unique types of alocoholic beverages. Plus she still had her military discount, even though her time in the military was very over.

Valiss had her armor on, one of the few inside of the club that was wearing such attire. A few curious glances had been given to her when she entered the establishment, it was probably the reason why no one had tried to approach her to flirt with her. That didn't upset her at all, she had business later. A glass was placed in front of her, the liquid a pink color. She reached for it, noticing another Asari lock eyes with her, a grin on her face as Valiss downed the drink.

Well, some flirtation could be fun. Valiss thought as she swallowed the shot. A glance at her omni-tool reveled the time, She probably didn't want to show up to her newest mission late, it was bad enough she was indulging herself right before. Just then she noticed the other Asari had left her seat and approached Valiss' table. A smile on her face, a beautiful scent of perfume surrounding her.

"Why are you drinking alone?" The Asari asked Valiss as she placed her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her palm. Valiss was almost jealous of the girl, she was younger, seemed like she had just hit adulthood. Probably had rich parents somewhere on the world, wealthy enough to afford her the dark red dress she wore.

"I just stopped by to quench my thirst. Gotta go work a new job in a little bit." Valiss replied with a smile, which the other asari returned.

"Security?"

"Nope, but how'd you venture that guess? Was it the armor of the assault rifle on my back?" Valiss said as she debated ordering one more shot. She decided against it. "I got a job as a crewman on some starship. Haven't met a single person on it yet."

"So you're getting ready?" The asari asked her.

"You could say that. I'm just sampling the finest of Illium." Valiss answered. The other Asari giggled a cute laugh, she had forgotten how charming some of her own race could really be.

"So you're not staying here?"

"I'm not, kind of wish I could now. But duty calls." Valiss replied, a ting of disappointment in her words.

"Well, can I get your name at least?"

"Valiss, whats yours?"

"Eaese."

"That's a pretty name. I'll remember it the next time I'm planetside, maybe we'll see each other then." Valiss said, then started out of her seat, the other Asari standing up in front of her. She planted a kiss on Valiss' cheek, a smirk on both of their faces at the gesture.

"For good luck. Space is very dangerous, not like Illium." Eaese said with a flirty smile. Valiss had to practically kick herself to get moving but not before she spoke once more to the pretty asari.

"That's why I like it." Valiss said with a wink, then made her way out of the bar. She tapped into her omni-tool, paying her tab in full with a generous tip. It wasn't like she was going to be spending many credits in outer space.

---

Valiss stood on board the vessel. It sure didn't look like very much, she hoped it would actually be able to fly. That wasn't even concerning the armaments, it was one thing to fly, a whole different thing entirely to not get shot down. Thankfully she wasn't going to be the one to fly it, that was a task for a different crewman. She hadn't said much to the others after arriving, a few nods and hellos. It was a varied crew which would be something to get used to, but she was not the only asari which relieved her.

She had placed her cargo inside of her storage locker, it was not very much, a picture of her parents and some spare clothing. She glanced at the picture, it flickering to life inside the frame. Her father would have been proud of her for her time in the military, she knew he would have believed her about her dismissal. If she could only see Lisal once more, understand why that snake sold her out. Asari lived very long lives, Valiss had gotten used to being patient.

Valiss still wore her armor and had her weapons clipped to the back of it, one by one she unhooked them and secured them inside the tight locker. It probably wouldn't be best to wander around the ship with her weapons displayed, might give off the wrong message to people she would have to get used to living alongside. If goddess forbid she did actually get into a scuffle with someone, then her martial arts would be more than enough to properly defend herself.

Valiss wandered into the common area, she had to admit that it was simple but quite cozy. The Asari was quite pleased to find a fully stocked bar nearby. It wasn't anything extraordinary, kind of cramped, but it was something. There looked to be enough for a few weeks. She would be able to pick right back up where she had left off on Illium.

Her eyes scanned the bottles of booze, nothing ultra pricey or fancy. Her fingers found a glass, then a bottle of whiskey. She poured herself a sturdy drink, then sat in the common room. Unsure of her next move onboard her new home.

[DJAtomika]

"Oh Spirits. Damn it."

The captain was dead.

After summarily lugging his duffel bag and equipment cases onto the ship, they'd hauled ass clean out of Ilium. No time to wait.

Now they floated, still, in the space just outside of Ilium. Everyone had agreed on the one condition that no one claim the captain's cabin, and as far as he was concerned he didn't care. The journey to the planet hadn't been easy; hitching a ride was hard enough, but paying the ship's captain to look the other way regarding his active bounty was harder. Hazan had hoped the journey away from Omega would've made the heat disappear, but last he'd checked...it wasn't the case.

Whatever, he thought, at least I'm away from that hellhole. Lost too many friends there, made too many enemies to go back.

He waited until everyone else had dispersed. Frankly the size of the team the ex-captain had gathered here was impressive. A Krogan, a Drell, a Quarian, four turians (including himself), five humans, a Batarian, two Asari and a vorcha. The single biggest crew he'd ever worked with. Impressive for a dead Salarian smuggler. The other details he'd worked were smaller, four or five person teams. Usually running smaller jobs; someone wanted someone else dead, or something moved from place to place. Omega was a dirty station, and everyone had dirt on everyone else. Most of the time. Hopefully no one here was a bounty hunter that secretly wanted him dead. The life he'd left behind on Omega was a violent one, full of death, mostly aimed at him now that he was gone.

As he watched the last of the crew leave the hangar, he got off the cargo crate he was sitting on and grabbed his stuff. His armour and weapons sat in two black cases, and the rest of his belongings were in the duffel bag on his shoulder. With the layout of the Borealis saved safely in his omnitool, he found his way to the crew bunks. He chucked his duffel on the table, stacked his cases, grabbed his visor and left immediately for the bridge. He'd signed up as navigator, best to get straight to his job just in case something came up.

Passing the krogan (whose name he'd not remembered) in the hall, he headed straight for the navigation bank, which happened to be...one console. He sat in the chair and clipped the visor to his head. Hazan rolled his neck, got the kinks out and, with a wave of his fingers his omnitool glowed into power. With a simple few keystrokes he synced his visor and omnitool to the ship's database, and began slowly studying what maps the rust bucket had in its system. Not much, but it was something he could work with. Hopefully when the rest of the crew got their shit together and decided on a course of action, he'd be of help.

As it stood now, he had nothing to do so he instead settled on reading the latest ANN articles and browsing whatever maps and star charts the ship database had. He sat back in his chair, idly scrolling through the console and his omnitool. If anyone else entered the bridge, he'd notice.

[Rtron]

Serena sighed when she saw the Borealis. If anything stuck out like a sore thumb on Illium, it did. It was a ruined, rusty, ancient and seemed more like a death trap than an actual ship. All around her were strangers, excluding Vellios, with crates and bags of what she could only assume contained their personal items (and, as was a certainty, their weapons). She herself had a travelling case with all of her tools and her various personal items in it and a crate with all of her building materials for more mechs and repairs. The crate was being carried by her latest prototype, a floating mech (or was it a drone with arms? She'd work on the name later) named Sal, while she carried the tools and personal items. She could practically feel Vellios' eyes burrowing into her as they walked towards the rusted freighter.

She looked over, seeing the 'I told you so' look on his face. Serena could only shrug sheepishly at Vellios. "I never said it was going to be a good job." She muttered, slightly defensively. "It'll at least be interesting, huh? Right? That's a bright side?" She stared skeptically at the Borealis again or, Jalopy depending on who you are. "Okay. We might die horribly upon boarding." She smiled nervously, wondering how they were going to take on the contracts they had if they even got out of the docks.

Vellios chuckled a bit, amused. "I wouldn't say that, but you are right. It won't be boring..."

Serena rolled her eyes, before having Sal drop the crate and fly over to her. He still needed some work. "If I could just get this wiring right he should be perfect..." She muttered, largely to herself. Her omni-tool turned into the necessary tool she needed and she began to work, passing the time while they waited for the captain of this doomed venture to show up.

"I can't really help you there, sweetie. You know me and wiring tend to only get along when I'm strangling someone." Vellios smirked as if he had made a joke, despite its morbid nature

"Oh hardy har har. You should be a comedian Vellios, it suits you so much better than following me around and making sure I don't accidentally shoot myself in the foot or something. Or a chef! I can see you being a chef. You like knives so much, after all. Chop up some fruit for your salsa, or something." She was referring to his current, and nigh constant, playing with his knife.

It was when she was almost done with Sal's wiring that she noticed the security officer approaching them, and she felt an uncomfortable feeling race through her. "This...isn't going to end well." She spoke aloud. As she predicted, it wasn't good. The captain was dead, they all had control of the rustbucket, and they had an hour to leave before the Illium security force made them leave. "Fuck.." Serena declared with considerable feeling, closing up Sal's body and picking up her suitcase. Sal, drone with arms (floating mech? She really needed to start naming her creations before actually creating them), picked up the crate once more and they all began loading up on the hangar bay, after the door ungraciously decided to open and let them in.

It was even worse on the inside. At least, Serena thought, The cargo equipment looks marginally up-to-date. Not that it'll matter since we're going to blow up upon lifting off because the engines have rusted into dust. She set up in an unoccupied corner, evidently the other human (the one who had named the Borealis the Jalopy) had the same idea. Her small belongings and crate sat down, she began to unload her tools and arrange them in her particular pattern, with the help of Sal. This way, she would know where to find her tools and instantly know if anyone took them without her permission. She set up her sleeping bag a little bit away from the work bench, so she could avoid sleeping in wiring and shrapnel. The final touch was to place up her blueprint plans for Barat there, ready to be worked on for the duration of her time here. Looking around, she thought things were as bad as they could get.

She was wrong. So very wrong.

Almost as soon as she and Sal had finished organizing their area, the other woman began yelling at her drone (evidently named Shithead. Serena couldn't help a giggle at that.) Then the drone began blasting terrible alien music. Serena winced, attempting to block out the sound by covering her ears. That failed, especially when the Elcor began singing. "This...is gonna be a long job." Serena was speaking too Sal, but she somehow doubted that he could have heard her. Enough. I've had Alliance training. Surely I have enough discipline to deal with this. "Sarah, Del, start running a sweep of the area and see if there's anything worth noting like holes in the ship. Sal, come here I still need to finish your wiring." Her other two, much more finished and stable, drones rose up and came to life, acting upon her command.

She tried. She really did. She hunched her shoulders and tried to focus on working on Sal, even when the music merely got louder. After a few more minutes of hearing Elcor scream, however, she broke. Serena stood up, closing Sal's body once more, and headed over too the woman. She could have just tried to hack into the drone, but that would have been rude. She didn't even bother trying to be heard over the deafening, painful, music. She simply walked over to where the woman was under the vehicle and nudged her exposed foot. "Excuse me!" She called, before she could get a response, she just barely heard an alarming grinding noise.

It took her a moment to realize that the sound wasn't coming from the vehicle the woman was working on. Whirling around she saw that Sal was smoking and shaking. "Shit! Stay down!" She shouted, perhaps unnecessarily, swinging up her omni-shield and throwing a barrier around the prototype.

BOOM!

Her latest droid exploded in a fantastic shower of sparks and shrapnel, contained by the barrier Serena had around him. Cautiously, she poked her head over the Omni-shield. "Well. There goes another one."

[Sundered Echo]

“Keelah.” Kasyra said to no-one in particular, disgust oozing from her voice.

“This is a piece of junk.”

As a Quarian, Kasyra had served and lived on ships her entire life, and seen more variety in ship design and quality than possibly anyone else on the crew, excepting perhaps the long lived species. The Migrant Fleet had some real junkers, and though she’d managed to avoid serving on any of them, she’d known other Quarians who had. Their stories didn’t even compare to this thing. The Borealis redefined the very idea of ‘junker.’ She hadn’t even been inside it and she already hated it.

She’d been waiting at the meeting point for far longer than she thought was reasonable - everyone else had arrived, but somehow the captain had managed to be late to his own party. Kasyra’s sinking feeling had been there for some time already when she spied the security guard approaching the group, looking like he wanted to be anywhere but here. She could tell already something had gone wrong.

Then the guard said that the Captain was dead and that they were the proud new owners of the rustiest bucket in the galaxy. “Bosh’tet.” She cursed the captain and his idiocy. “Not even the decency to tell us the job before getting yourself killed.”

Kasyra Vas Borealis. The chilling thought popped into her mind, eliciting a visible shudder throughout her body. For a moment she regretted not taking her old scout ship back to the Migrant Fleet and trying to explain away the events of the last few days. Surely that would be better than ending up stuck crewing this thing.

No. She had to exact vengeance on the Blue Suns first. She had to make sure that they never came after her again.

---

The ship was just as bad inside as it was outside. The Volus built cheap ships to start with, and the refitting of it was extremely dodgy. When the ship had ascended into Illium orbit, She had half expected the air to rush out of some unseen hull breach. She’d kept her suit on internal recycling just in case, though now they were in space and no one was suffocating on the ground, she had relaxed a little.

But only a little. This crew was completely unknown. All manner of species made up the crew, far more diverse than she was used to. They even had a Vorcha. She thought she recognised one of the Turians, but wherever she recognised him from, it had been a long time, and from a part of her life she did her best to forget. She’d find out soon who he was, but she had the feeling that he was one of the few people that actually treated her well in that time.

She had stayed in the cargo bay while the ship rose into space, watching the crew as they all went about finding their place on the ship, some leaving to explore deeper into the vessel, others also remaining in the hold. Some of them had quite a lot of gear with them, whole crates worth. She didn’t understand how they could have so much stuff. Everything she needed was on her person. It seemed to be one of the oddities of the other races, they placed so much value on things.

An amusing scene began playing out in the hold, two human women, both obviously engineers had started setting up their own spaces in the hold, one marked out by crates in an almost fortified manner, the other by the rather rickety looking mech (or was it a drone?) that had taken up residence. The fortifier had a drone of her own, apparently called ‘shithead’ that began loudly playing some truly awful music on command. Kasyra turned her suits audio receptors down quickly, considering leaving to explore the rest of the ship, but changing her mind when she noticed that mech girls mech (drone?) had begun sparking and smoking, shaking in a rather comical way.

The girl hadn’t noticed yet, and Kasy thought it might be amusing to see how things played out, cautiously shunting power to her suits shields for defence while taking hold of a nearby bulkhead in case the drone (mech?) blew a hole in the ship’s hull. She wouldn’t be surprised, given the state of the vessel.

Mech girl was distracted trying to get music girl to turn her music down when it happened. Just as the music was reaching its crescendo (in so much as Elcor music reached any crescendo) a glowing barrier appeared around the mech and it exploded.

She found the entire scene quite amusing, if a little worrying (she hoped this display would not be characteristic of mech-girls combat skills). Someone evidently agreed with her, a peel of laughter reaching her ears past the music. She looked around to see who it was, before realising with no small surprise that it had, in fact, been her own laughter. She cast a furtive glance about the room to see if anyone had noticed, her expression of joy instantly replaced by her usual serious glare. The music was still blaring, and she quickly decided that she had probably not been heard. Just in case though, she turned and left the hold, heading deeper into the ship to explore. she didn’t feel like being happy right now.

She would distract herself by checking out the kitchen and its dextro supplies.

[Hellis]

”Guns.” The Drell stared at the stall infront of him. ”So many, glorious, well made, death spitting guns.” Drono spoke as his face was all but glued to the glass. The proprietor of said guns glared at him,. ”Get your face off the glass Drono. You are drooling.” The turian was named Karris and was about as fond of of the Drell mercenary in front of him as he was exotic diseases. For two years, Drono had showed up only to not buy anything, he just stuck around and acted like the worst case of window shopper possible. About a year or so ago, Drono had appeared at his door waving his over sized handgun and tried to rob him. Karris had been able to talk the distressed Drell down from being quite so dumb. After that he had found out Drono was apparently dependent on super expensive treatments and in desperate need of cash. In the time they had known each other, Drono had changed from a level headed if quick talking and stupidly flashy asshat. Into a desperate, irrational yet quick talking and stupidly flashy asshat. The turian folded his arms across his chest and stared at the drell infront of him. When Drono finally tore his head from the displays he grinned sheepishly.

”I don't suppose you take debit card?” Drono said as he his fingers played across the displaycasing. ”I would. If it was from some guy with money. Get out of my shop Drono. I know you are broke. Everyone knows it.” The Turian didn't sound angry, or even stern. He sounded almost pleading. It ticked Drono off. It was all he could do from pulling his executioner and start some bullet diplomacy. But Karris did not deserve his ire, it was true, Drono spent to much time drooling over his guns. The former smuggler now bounty hunter had likely wierded out more then one customer in the store. He straightened his back out and affixed Karris with a stare that lasted for all but two second before he turned on his heel.

”Screw you Karris. You won't be laughing when my rich ass returns and refuses to shop at your place but go down to that Krogans workshop.” He waved dismissively, not hearing Karris call him some words that'd make even a elcor ambassador upset. Making his way towards the rust bucket that was their ship, he managed to lift some sweet and sticky fruit out of a humans rug sac when the owner wasn't looking. Placing the succulent delicacy between his teeth as he chomped down, the reality of his economical situation truly sank in as his belly rumbled and objected. He hadn't eaten a proper meal all day. But he pushed it out of his head. He had a captain to see about a bright and expensive future.

.-....-...

Drono cursed. He cursed the Hanar for saving his people. He cursed his crewmates for simply being around him while he cursed. He cursed his own dumb ass for turning his back on a Salarian. He cursed the bucket of bolts and rickety rigging that was their ship. The goddamn captain was dead. Beyond that, he was dead and they had no idea what to do, who to do it to, and where to begin doing things. Disaster was to kind of a word. A ship exploding and killing people was a disaster. At least they were put out of their miserty. This was down right a catastrophe. For all but a second, he wondered what a bullet to the temple would feel like. He contemplated shooting the Turian that came hurdling towards them before that however. Just because he reminded him of Karris. And the urge only grew as more bad news heaped upon the allready steaming pile of vorcha excrement that was his life. Speaking of Vorcha. They had a Vorcha on board. Who thought that was a good idea? So many questions ran trough his admittedly confused mind. How old was it. Would it just drop dead on them? Would it try to eat them? Would it take affront to the fact that Dronos gun had been looted from a dead Vorcha? All these though came out as a very poignant and thought provoking;

”Gunners Seat is mine.” Smooth Drono. Real smooth. ”And I am not taking a bottom bunk. Ever.” Wow. He was a real talker. They were all eating out of the palm of his hand. Or thinking of eating the the palm of his hand maybe. Thats when he realized the crowd had dispersed well before he had fished talking. So much for a career as a public spokesman. He narrowed his eyes and ducked into the ship himself.

”By the hanars most private tentacle, this place is a junkyard.” He mused, not entirely in a disapproving way either. The ship was a rust bucket, it was true. But it had charm he had to admit. The Drell made his way to the crew quarters and he found that the beds were about as rickety as the rest of the ship. Oh well, who needed sleep anyways. His next stop on the tour of their flying coffin was the ships main gunnery station. At this point, they had left the dock and headed out for space

”uh guys.” He said once he located the ships intercom. ”Why does the ship have a 22 year old Targeting System?” He keyed trough a series of algorithms and checked that there was no blockage in the ships main cannon. Then he stared at the screen, the coolant system was unfinished. Firing their one remotely big gun could make the entire thing melt. Making some quick calculations in his head he swore. He had a hour to fix this. Grabbing a harness he grunted. ”Dont fly anywhere just yet. I need to fix something.” He headed out after grabbing a few tools from the service locker. Fastening the harness to him, he clipped it to the side of the ship and began the climb along along the underside of it. He finally found the service hatch and with some effort got it open. ”....Hanars holy Enlightened cloeka” He said as he just barely avoided getting coolant all over his face.

"Well. Shit.” He mumbled as he crawled inside the outer interior of the ship.

[Fallenreaper]

The day had been interesting so far until their arrival at the Docking Bay ET-6.

When he entered the air sealed doors and walked out onto the platform, Vellios immediately gave a cynical look at the Borealis. His icy blue eyes scanned the hovering to take into its distinct details, from the rusted over hull to the numerous patched jobs that looked like faded over scars. The back thrusters rattled and puffed, his mind not wanting to consider the reasons but sure Serena would’ve identified them in a millisecond. It was all too obvious the thing had been through several owners before its current one causing the turian to question his partner’s sense of self preservation. His overall estimation was pretty simple: the ship itself looked like a prime example of a shipyard reject even by the Quarian Migrant Fleet standards. It was likely a miracle how it was even still flying at all, let alone parked and sitting on llium. Letting that thought settle in his mind, the turian’s scarred head twisted about and lowered his gaze to penetrate Serena’s head back. His mandibles wiggled at his maw’s side, but Vellios said not a word to his companion over her ill choice in jobs. He knew, even told her, the data on the advisteristment sounded too good to be true and here was the proof.

Vellios’ expression softened into a wicked smile as he watched her mutter, slightly defensively. "I never said it was going to be a good job."

His eyes, however, never left while she continued to add more trying to be postive.

"It'll at least be interesting, huh? Right? That's a bright side?" She stared skeptically at the Borealis again, then admitted. "Okay. We might die horribly upon boarding."

Vellios chuckled a bit, amused clearly. It was plain to see he didn’t think the idea was as horrible as it sounded when he replied. "I wouldn't say that, but you are right. It won't be boring…"

Serena rolled her eyes, before dragging up her latest prototype of a drone she had dubbed 'Sal'. It was a floating mech with arms. "If I could just get this wiring right she should be up and running…"

"I can't really help you there, sweetie. You know me and wiring tend to only get along when I'm strangling someone." He smirked as if he had made a joke, despite its morbid nature.

Vellios’ smirk hadn’t faded while his arm adjusted, feeling stiff from the weight hanging off his shoulder. Currently he had about three different bags hanging from his thin frame which was dressed in casual clothing, not his usual armor. He quickly tugged then laid the strap back down on his shoulder where it settled comfortably compared to before. The movement was enough to cause the weapon case to sway a bit and smack his side lightly. Inside the hard, beaten up thing were several guns he owned. All his weapons had been disassembled then packed tightly inside one case to save room, their contents previously screened by the lax authorities here and sent on their way quickly. The only piece not stored away was his Karpov. His little pistol was strapped onto his hip by a belt and sided by several ammo cartilages in easy to get reach. The other two held his armors, two additional sets of casual clothing, basic bath stuff, enough drugs for about half month, a bottle of Horosk, cleaning kit for his weapons and any other essentials for the long ass trip.

Seeing the small group growing while some pushed themselves onto the ground and sat upon their belongs, settling in for the long wait, it was pretty clear to Vellios the alien in charge hadn’t arrived. He flicked out his omni-tool causing an orange blade of light to form just over his hand, his wrist flicking it back then forward again in thought while he considered where they would sit. His eyes seemed to grin at the lethal action, letting the sound drown away his boredom and comfort him. It was a old habit from his youth that he could never break through the action likely unnerved Serena.

“Oh hardy har har. You should be a comedian Vellios, it suits you so much better than following me around and making sure I don’t accidentally shoot myself in the foot or something. Or a chef! I can see you being a chef. You like knives so much, after all. Chop up some fruit for your salsa, or something.” Her tone seemed amit sarcastic to him.

His eyes stared out into the crowd like a predator and absorbed individuals he would likely be stuck with on board. When his eyes rested on the masked turian, the individual confined to a wheel chair and covered in layers of clothing, Syberus’ voice rang out loudly in Vellios’ head. The sharpness was clearer than daylight causing his hand to tighten upon one of his straps, his fingers gripping deep for several moments. His knuckles were pure white, letting the bastard’s memory pass through his focus. The weak have no place in the world save for reminding us of our strength.

“This...isn’t going to end well.” She said, speaking truer words than Vellios ever suspected, causing his eyes snap from his own mental hell to her. He had noticed him marching across the port through hadn’t focused on him yet. A turian security guard held a sour look on his features, added with narrow eyes and a stiff limbed body, made him look more like an asshole who was late for his morning sleep in. Promptly the security officer held out an envelope before telling them all the current captain they all had been waiting for was officially dead. Vellios thought it couldn’t get any worse. That’s when the turian added the ship was theirs and they had an hour to haul their shit, get on board and leave to who knew where or be evicted. He wasn’t sure if it was rotten luck or a blessing with the shape the ship was in thought Serena’s words summed his thoughts up nicely.

“ Fuck..”

Seeing little point in merely delaying their fate, Vellios’ stretched a bit in place then heard low mumblings and curses off most the crew. He turned to Serena with a cheeky smirk on his mandibled face. “Well, time to head out darlin’.” His words soft and gentle while he continued. “ Looks like we’re about to find if that ship is safer than it looks…”

His tone eager, Vellios shifted his belongs more comfortably upon his frame through the straps were starting to chafe his carapace. They would figure out who got to be the ‘leader’ later he assumed, securing his luggage then climbed into the ship. His peripheral vision noting Serena was already staking claim within the hangar as her body flirted over her things like a mother hen over her chicks, arranging them so not to be crushed by the hazardous packing occurring. The image was enough to cause him in enjoy the lighthearted mood he was in. He paused enough to place his things into the hanger beside Serena’s and quickly get ready for departure.

Currently wth no set course and the ship pretty much floating around, the ‘new’ owners had established some nonverbal rules and all were now free to get situated in their new home. Stretching his legs, Vellios proceeded back down to the hangar bay where his belongings were currently stored. His feet thumped against the metal grating with each step on his way down, narrowly avoiding a krogan passing him on the way. He assumed the big guy was on his way to the crew’s quarters since his hand held a duffle bag. In the background, heavy metal Elcor music was trying to drown out what hearing he had left. The sound seemed to vibrate off the very hull the closer he drew, accompanied by softer profanities and sounds of something being torn apart.

A muffled “Excuse me” followed by a sudden, hellish explosion and a warning cry was heard just before he arrived on the scene. Naturally assuming the worse, Vellios’ body moved quickly for his scrawny figure. He pulled past the exiting quarian, nearly brushing her shoulder, while he jerked to the side in his rush to avoid collision. He didn’t even turn his head turned back to make a quick, polite apology. Pulling to an abrupt stop, his eyes widened at the scene only to relax when he realized the cause: Sal had exploded. Thankfully Serena had enough practice with her inventions rather unpredictable results that she managed to contain it. However, she failed to save the droid.

Vellios eyed the damage when Serena let down the shield, exposing Sal’s current state. Charred shrapnel was littering the metal flooring, the side of what served as its body jerked out as if someone had sent a large shotgun bullet through the bot’s temple and it came out the other side. Wiring and fluid seemed to leak from the outside, drawing a lighthearted smirk from the turian on his approach.

“What happened now? Bad wiring or another core melt down?” He asked, his figure halted at the now nearly scrapped droid and hunched down to examine the ‘wound’ with idle interest. After being with Serena for about over a year, he long stopped being surprised whenever Sal managed to make an explosive impression. His knife flipped out and caught a now melted wiring on its tip, pulling the hot piece from the wreckage to study. Granted he knew nothing about machines, his role merely muscle, but he enjoyed the sound of someone’s enjoyment over sharing what they knew.

The chance to reply was quickly gone when a voice came on over the intercom. “Uh guys. Why does this ship have a 22 year old Targeting System?” There was a pause, Vellios’ gut tingling in suspicion that something else was about to go wrong and his head lifted when the voice started again. “Don’t fly anyway just yet. I need to fix something.”

“We’re only going to be able to do so much patch work with this junker with what we have currently. Without parts, we're dead in space.” Vellios stated, his voice still pretty calm despite the intercom speaker’s unsavory comment. “I know exactly where to get them too, but we’d have to locate old Groto Carthragan first. ”

He naturally braced him, tilting his head away instinctively when Serena’s next words would likely chew him out. Groto’s profession was of the illegal nature, his crew of Batarians like himself, would ‘acquire’ abandoned ships and pull them apart for salvage for decent credits. The one massive highlight was the parts worked and could be bought with a combination of favors, usually manual tasks like picking up illegal cargo or escorting someone to a destination, and credits. Few places ever did that which made his business rather popular with both smugglers and poorer class.

[Thundercrash]

Wonderful. Just wonderful. That was what was going through Tia’s mind as she examined the ship sitting before her. Not only is my employer dead, but I am now part owner of a ship that is probably worth more in its weight in scrap than anything else I could use it for. Really, why is this thing even still in service?

She was half-tempted to just walk away. Since Luzami was dead, and she hadn’t actually done anything yet, the contract was essentially void. There was virtually nothing keeping her here, and no reason to set foot aboard a ship whose flight-worthiness was in serious question.

And yet, she picked up her bag, slung it into one of the cabins, made sure to lock it behind her, and made her way to the bridge. When she had last actually spoken to Luzami, he had mentioned that he already had some jobs lined up for them. Since she was already here, she might as well at least see what kind of worked they needed. Furthermore, since they apparently needed to vacate their docking pad, it would be a good idea to stay on-board until the issue of ownership could be resolved.

The booming music coming from the hanger, loud enough to set the corridor walls rattling, made her wince. Great, one of those engineers. She was thankful that her visor unit included earpieces. It also turned her thoughts to the rest of her possible crewmates. Five Humans of what were likely various backgrounds, four Turians with what were likely at least military grade training, a Drell, another Asari, a Quarian, a Vorcha, a Krogan, and a Batarian. Certainly one of the more eclectic crews that she had been a part of. The one blaring the music was probably one of the human females, she had seen one of them stay in the hanger. The Krogan was likely another hired gun; whether or not he’d be an asset or a liability would depend on his temperament. The Vorcha was equally uncertain; if he was trained, then he’d be worth his weight in credits, otherwise he would most likely end up being a nuisance.

She paused when she spied him examining the corridors. Definitely trained, his movements were too purposeful just to be wandering around. Tia had made similar walkthroughs herself. Good to know.

By far the most interesting member of the crew, to her at least, was the Batarian. If she had to guess from the way they carried themselves, at least half of the humans were probably former military, and after Mindoir neither race was able to get along in any meaningful way. Even among the gangs of Omega, it was rare to find Humans and Batarians working together in significant numbers. While it was doubtful that he had been involved in the attack, he didn’t carry himself like a pirate, it was still a grenade just waiting to go off. His neck tattoo was also interesting. It had taken her a few minutes to place it from a distance, but she was fairly certain that it was the Blue Suns emblem. It also looked like he had tried to get it removed and did a rather poor job of it. Likely a former member then. It didn’t matter much to her, in fact she had a certain amount of respect for her former gang rivals. Of course, most of her interactions with them had involved gunfire, but that was beside the point. If the Eclipse could be considered professional, then the Blue Suns were rigid to the point of unyielding. She had also worked a couple of jobs for them, and they could at least be mostly relied upon to make payment.

Yes, it would definitely be worth keeping an eye on him, if only to make sure he didn’t get anyone, or himself, killed. As for the rest, there was nothing noteworthy. The Drell and the Turians she’d have to figure out individually, and while it wasn’t often one saw a Quarian, she was also an unknown. The Asari looked young enough to still be in her maiden stage like herself, but she also seemed like she had military experience. First, however, Tia had to decide whether or not any of this was going to be her problem.

Two of the Turians were already in the bridge when finally found her way there, a male lounging in the navigator’s seat, and a female taking the ship up into low orbit. A pity that they had to vacate the docking pad so quickly, but if the condition of his ship was any indication, then Tia really wasn’t surprised. It was looking doubtful that, even had Luzami still been alive he wouldn’t have had the money to keep them paid.

Not acknowledging either of her companions on the bridge, Tia settled into the captain’s chair. It did not particularly concern her what they thought of it. She was in the middle of trying to access Luzami’s files when an explosion rattled the consoles. For a few seconds, Tia was silent, waiting. No alarms, which means no damage to the ship. Yet. She activated her omni-tool, calling up a simple clock function. Huh. Took almost half an hour. Already exceeding my expectations.

Arriving in the hanger, passing by the Quarian without a word, Tia surveyed the carnage. Two Human women and one Turian male. She ignored the Drell’s announcement about the weapons system, that was his problem, and she wasn’t expecting them to be in combat with anyone in the near future.

The shattered remains of a drone lay scattered across the floor, and the Turian and one of the Humans were conversing about something. Taking slow, measured steps into the hanger, Tia spoke. “So, who’s drone exploded, and who do I need to talk to to make sure it doesn’t happen again?”

[Hank]

Well aware his bulky force chair would only get in the way of others, Mirage waited with boarding their rickety ship until all the others had preceded him. There were many; other turians, humans, a krogan, a quarian, a batarian -- hell, he'd even spotted a vorcha. Mirage had also seen a drell, much to his carefully contained disgust, but he supposed that couldn't be helped.

The fact that their captain was dead amused Mirage to no end, but he admired the way the crew had agreed that nobody should be elected replacement captain just yet. During the short negotiations Mirage had remained silent, hovering at the edge of the group, his face hidden in the shade of his cowl. He'd noticed the looks the others gave him, of course -- what use could a mercenary group possibly have for a cripple in a force chair? None of them had said anything out loud about it, however, which was a relief. At least they tolerated his presence so far.

Once inside the ship, Mirage had a little difficulty moving around the ship's small corridors. He often had to pause to adjust his chair in order to round particularly tight corners and getting out of people's way was easier said than done. Longing for space, he hovered his way to the bridge, where he saw two other turians -- one behind the navigation console and the other being the pilot.

"You're the navigator?" Mirage asked the turian behind the console while setting his force chair down, using mag-clamps to attach himself to the floor with a satisfying thunk. He opened one of his Omni-tools to the comms chatter flying around the system and started filtering out the useless noise, trying to pinpoint useful channels. "Name's Mirage. Nice to meet you." Mirage's voice was raspy and rough, like sandpaper, and further distorted by the rebreather grafted into his face. He sounded more like a robot from an old science-fiction film than a real person.

[AeronFarron]

The young woman chewed on her ration bar idly as she watched the batarian in front of her begin to wake up. It'd taken a long while to track this particular bastard down, far too long if she were being honest. It was just her luck that he thought he'd be safe in Illium...Illum of all places. She gave a soft laugh at the thought, then bit into the ration bar.

Mm, peanut butter was always my favorite. Don't know how to feel about the nut blend in it though. Probably would have been better with some sort of berry flavor. Her face screwed up in thought as the Batarian's eyes began to open...well...one of them anyway. The other two were in no condition to even blink. "Which do you think goes better with tree nut substitute, Barvarn? Raspberry or blackberry substitute? Personally, I'd go with blackberry. It's a little more tart, you know?"

The batarian's good eye was finally focused on her, and she was sure that the glowing visor was off putting in the near dark. The alien had tried to struggle to his feet, to throw something...to escape. But the human just watched from behind her visor, chewing steadily. "I suggest that you take this time to pray to your gods, Batarian. You and I have a lot to talk about once I finish this bar." She took a bite then pointed it at the incapacitated alien as she walked towards him. Idly, she wondered if aliens could sweat. The sheer amount of terror in his eyes certainly suggested that this one would be if he could.

"You could stand, you know. You're not tied down--" She gave a smirk of amusement from behind her helmet as the batarian's struggles returned. He only slipped from the chair he had been propped up in. "My, impatient aren't you? " She walked over to him and gripped him by the collar of his shirt. She forcefully yanked him up and roughly pushed him back into the seat with one hand. "I said that you could stand. Didn't mean that you would. Your legs are broken after all. You took a nasty tumble." She swallowed her bite rhen tossed the bar over her shoulder. The Batarian watched the bar as it disappeared into the darkness, then gulped when her felt an armored hand grip his jaw, "So...where are those humans that you kidnapped? Cooperate, and I will bring you in for the bounty, alive." She pulled the cloth gag down but didn't relinquish her grip. "You've got one shot to have some honor, Slaver."

----

Alex looked down at her omni-tool as she sat on some of the crates near the rust bucket she'd be calling "home" for a while.

Package received, full payment has been sent, plus the agreed bonus. Good work. Additional payment will be sent if bonus parameters are met.

Alex snorted at the message but made sure to check her account. When everything was verified and cleared, a turian gave the news that their captain was dead and the rustbucket now belonged to all of them. Alex had forgone her helmet, visor, and armor, and seemed comfy in her pants, boots and hoodie. When they were told they would have to vacate the bay, Alex hurried to follow her new crewmates.

When her eyes caught sight of a batarian, she saw little else. She waited, of course, any decent bounty hunter knew that making enemies was just like making friends. She would wait, watch and study. If he was worth the associated risks, then she would go for the end game. Any moves beforehand would render the powder keg inert...or it would explode before she was prepared for it.

She turned away for the time being and began to walk around. She had noticed a few humans and turians, a quarter, a vorcha, two asari, and a vorcha while she surveyed the ship and it's defensive capabilities as a battleground. Oh, and the sick looking drell.

Her ration bag was slung over her shoulder while her armor and weapon case was clutched in her free hand. After a few minutes, she found the medical bay and began to settle in. She was no doctor, but she was pretty good at patching herself up after a battle--in her humble opinion. She figured it would be best to have someone with some measure of medical experience rather than no one at all.

Once she began to familiarize herself with the equipment, she began to move the various crates to proper places. Once everything was relatively clear, sterilized, and put away, she headed towards the kitchen. While she wouldn't be able to practice her biotics on the ship--hah, the hunk of junk looked like it would get torn apart by Baby's First Biotic Charge!--her metabolism kept chugging along. A small snack was in order...even with the sound of an explosion from somewhere on the ship that wasn't near her.

She was going to strangle Captain Hills for roping her into this...

[DearTrickster]

Aboard the beautifully named Borealis Dexureta Noratus could hardly see past the years of grime built up over the portholes. The ship itself creaked and moaned in the way an old house would settle for the evening. The ventilation was in full force pumping air laced with dust. Dex, it’s newly appointed pilot ducked multiple times through archways finally remembering this was an old Volus vessel. Shaking her head dismissively she rushed up to the bridge. Before sitting down she reached over the seat booting up the dashboard controls.

Before she boarded the news of the Captain Luzami being dead shocked her to some degree but with her recent string of luck it was par for the course.

Dex plopped unceremoniously into the springy pilot’s seat, a rush exit was in order it seemed. She primed the engine hoping it would do it good for a smooth departure. The orange glow of the dashboard flickered to life under the layers of dust. She coughed into her mechanical fist swiping at the air to disperse the dust motes. The engine groaned then complained, her hands drifted up swiping away the dozens of minor warning windows that popped up. Carefully, she guided the Borealis out of it’s dock then maneuvered it past the atmosphere into Illum’s orbit shortly thereafter. Completing the launch within a few minutes. Quickly flipping to autopilot she rushed off back to the hanger to join the crew.

In her civilian clothes, a light brown jacket with form fitting dark blue pants, she seemed to blend even among the mismatched crew. Despite being among the tallest members, everyone seemed small beside the krogan.

When she arrived she stood beside Hazan nodding shortly at him. Briefly they discussed some pressing details and issues. Dex took a small comfort in that everybody was just about on the same page. They were all here for their own reasons. Dex brought up a few points in deciding shift duty or chores.

With no line of command to refer to it irked her a little bit, rarely did she serve on vessels where there wasn’t a clear leader in name or rank.

Each face had their own quirks or distinct features; while everyone introduced themselves she knew in two seconds she’d forget their names. She took note of the three that would be joining her on the bridge. Hazan, Mirage and Iosif. Covering their bases with navigation, communication and co-pilot. Out of the three, Mirage was possibly the most ghastly, between his mask and scars she could only imagine the level of shit he had gone through.

Dex tried her best not to stare it was rude.

The crew broke apart when they had a list of priorities. Dex without a second thought returned to the bridge following close behind Hazan, the Turian navigator. She was hoping to plot a course from Illum to the local fuel port. Favourably, using the local gas giant Thail’s gravitational pull to conserve fuel. Also making a huge assumption she’d be able to get some decent readings from the instruments. When she situated herself she began scanning the systems getting ridiculous numbers from all over the place. Life support seemed shaky at best while the mass effect core was holding steady numbers. She squinted at the dash again having little faith these were accurate.

The drell’s voice came on over the intercom, “Uh guys.” Dex waited for the bad news, “Why does the ship have a 22 year old targeting system?”

Dex sat back in the chair with a sigh she had been holding in since news of the captain's death. While a warning window popped up alerting her of the low capacity the thrusters were sitting at, only adding insult to injury.

Her hand drifted to the intercom about to reply when a shock wave from an explosion rolled through the bridge. She hadn’t said much of two words to anybody, usually by now she’d be cracking jokes having a riot. She glared then hit the intercom, “Which one of you tech heads is setting off bombs in the goddamn hanger?”

[Dervish]

A kick found Tanya’s boot, a not entirely unexpected reaction. She pushed people’s buttons intentionally, and sometimes people pushed back. She shoved the protective cover that had come loose off to the side. Before she could free herself from the undercarriage of the hauler, the woman shouted for people to take cover and an explosion rocked the hold, the concussion rocking Tanya’s body and making her wince as her ears screamed in protest at the sudden sound in confined spaces. Once the threat had passed, Tanya pulled herself out and stood upright, crossing her arms as she looked between the brown-eyed woman with the burns and the scraps that now littered the floor. “I’m beginning to see how you got those.” Tanya said, indelicately gesturing to the woman’s burn marks. “I’m not sure if we were measuring dick sizes or something, but don’t fret; performance anxiety happens to the best of us. Hey, Shithead!” She called out to the drone. “Volume down 25%.” Despite her snarky tone, Tanya had a good natured grin on her face. The music resumed, but at a much more tolerable level. This clearly could change at any moment.

A genuine laugh, sounding like it was coming from a modulator, caught Tanya’s attention and she took note of the quarian who had watched the whole affair, likely in amusement at the humans who were managing to fuck up technology her people had mastered centuries ago. “If it makes you feel better, I think you might have a fan.” She said to the brown-eyed woman, giving the quarian a wave. “Just tell her it was a part of your new comedy routine. Just don’t let her tell you to up your game next time. Anyways, you wanted me for something?” Tanya asked innocently, taking note of the scarred asari who was still in the hanger when the drone went off like a firework, demanding to know who it was. Tanya jerked her thumb at Serena’s direction.

The distinctive tones of the drell filled the intercom, inquiring about why the targeting system was almost as old as a good portion of the crew. Tanya snorted, bemused. “You know, this Jalopy’s barely holding together to the extent I’m surprised your drone malfunction didn’t break something else, and he’s wondering why the ancient targeting system isn’t the exception for this flying antique. This ship shouldn’t even have a gun.” Almost immediately, the female turian angrily exploded on the intercom. Tanya gestured to Serena to follow her to the closest intercom panel, hitting the button. “Oh, don’t mind us, we’re just renovating. We thought the hull needed a new window and couldn’t wait until we hit dry dock. Don’t you worry your pretty little fringes, nobody’s dead yet.” She said, removing her finger from the transmission, winking at the two women who were with her.

___

Ravanor Tonka stared at a relay chart and compared it to the fuel reserve gauge, drumming his massive fingers on the console as he ran some quick calculations through his mind. There was enough fuel for one, maybe two, mass relay jumps and unless there was a reserve of credits hidden somewhere on the ship, the only way anyone was paying for more fuel was out of pocket, or if they completed whatever contracts had already been outlined. Seeing as nothing of interest was located in the Shrike Abyssal except for Heshtok, which was a shithole by any measure, anything within a single relay of any use would be Omega, just a single jump away, was still pushing the range. If they didn’t do any detours, they’d be able to arrive on fumes. At least it wasn’t hard finding paid work on Omega, if you were morally flexible, and there was likely quite a few scrap yards that had parts to do some much needed repairs on the Borealis. As far as Tonka was concerned, it was a no brainer. He copied the data onto a pad and left engineering, heading towards the cockpit, noticing that the kitchen was becoming a popular drinking spot. He’d come back, but duty came first.

When the krogan reached the cockpit, he easily filled the door frame, even without the armour. He looked at the largely-turian crew and handed off the data pad to the one at the navigation station. “Ran some numbers, Omega’s the only viable location for us to jump to if we actually want to get paid and overhaul the ship. Luzami didn’t fill the tank before he died.” He grunted. “Probably would have forgot to pay us, the way the ship looks.” Duty done, Tonka turned off and headed towards the kitchen to see if the stores were in as a sorry state of affairs as the fuel. Lurking around were the quarian, an asari, and one of the human males, this one lacking a cybernetic arm. He found his way to the freezer, opening it to find something worth his while. “So, anything worthwhile here, or do we have to order takeout?” he asked.

[DearTrickster]

“Oh, don’t mind us, we’re just renovating. We thought the hull needed a new window and couldn’t wait until we hit dry dock. Don’t you worry your pretty little fringes, nobody’s dead yet.” One of the human women replied over the intercom. She sounded amused more than anything.

Dex regained composure taking a deep breath in, “Keep the mad science down to a minimum.” She earned a look from Hazan -Haze- and Mirage. Two nicknames for bad visibility, she wondered if that was a sign for things to come.

She began compiling the readings hoping to get a good scope of what this ship was capable of. Dex heard some heavy footsteps before the krogan, Tonka's, arrival.

“Ran some numbers, Omega’s the only viable location for us to jump to if we actually want to get paid and overhaul the ship. Luzami didn’t fill the tank before he died.” He grunted handing the data pad to Haze. “Probably would have forgot to pay us, the way the ship looks.” He left quickly making it rather obvious he wasn’t one to sit around and chat.

She shrugged at Haze, “He’s not wrong. Plot a course for Omega, try to avoid excessive use of the thrusters. They’re not reliable right now.”

Opening the intercoms for the entire ship she spoke evenly, “Attention all crew, we’re plotting a course nonstop for Omega. We’ll be making the jump within an hour. If you haven’t already started on taking stock of what we need, do that now while you have time.” She paused then allowed herself a smile, "Pack your shit, folks."

She ended the announcement smiling, she knew in her heart of hearts that despite how big of a headache she already had what she needed from this venture was a distraction luckily for her it's what she got. A new message pinged on her omnitool from Galentos. Silencing it immediately not wanting to deal with him. Instead she finally introducing herself to Mirage, when he arrived she had all but ignored him. “The name is Dex, nice to meet you Mirage.” She stood up crossing the space to shake his hand, “I’m going to assume you’re on comms.”

[Rtron]

Serena could only shrug and smile sheepishly at the woman as she gestured to her burn scars. "Robots tend to spark whenever you start working on them and I didn't always have the proper protection. No pain no gain, right?" Serena sighed in visible relief as the music lowered to a much more tolerable level. It was still painfully audible, but at least now it wasn't beating against her ear drums like a gang member coming to collect dues. She still couldn't completely stifle a laugh at the drone's name, smiling as she thanked the woman. "Thank God. I don't know how much more of that I could have taken. There's a reason Elcor aren't known for their music." Her eyes turned speculatively on the retreating Quarian's back, a slight curiosity on her face. Done with watching the fun, or something else?

She raised an eyebrow at Tonya, Omni-shield disappearing. "Are you sure? We can do a team show or something. You blast that terrible music and I'll make various robots explode in spectacular ways. It'll be sure to draw laughs and awe from even the most stone-faced of Hanar. We might even get a show right here on Illium, and have to give up our nefarious bounty hunting ways in favor of the bright lights of stardom." She spread her hands wide, watching as Vellios walked in. "Think about it! We could become the next Blasto!"

Borealis Hangar, mini collab.

Serena glanced over at the ruins of Sal at Vellios' question and shrugged, her mind beginning to work over all that could have happened and could not have happened. "Who knows Vellios? At a guess I'm going to say wiring because it was what I was messing with before he decided to explode, but it could have been a faulty gear I put in, or the motor that made it float blew, or any number of things. It wasn't the core this time, I know that much. I made it from scratch and put it through it's paces before I even considered putting it in-" Her excited babbling was silenced by Vellios putting a finger on her lips, drawing a surprised look that quickly turned into a scowl at his next words.

The moment Serena's words poured out, Vellios was already shifting himself upright. His feet cut the distance in a smooth, feline like reflex as his finger settled on the human's lips hushing her near endless stream of words. "Easy, dear. Recall my request of you taking a breath? You're scaring people by forgetting that."

He was thankful she was more focused on the tech first before she started to chew him out over his suggestion, her mind taking a bit to register what he had said. Now it was starting to click causing him to smirk lightly in a cheeky grin at her reaction. Before either of them could address the matter, a scarred asari entered the scene. Her words were rather reasonable when she addressed about the explosion's cause and how to prevent it, causing Vellios to turn his jagged smile upon the new comer. Thankfully it was the techie that answered, saving him the trouble, making him shrug in apology.

"Her tech has done much worse, at least it was mild this time. And it didn't explode in anyone's face either. Though before we all start chewing each other out, let's at least know what to call each other. My name is Vellios Malkai, my companion with the exploding droids is Serena Mathews." He added following Tanya's comment, his body twisted away, finger removing from Serena's mouth and placed himslf in front of his companion. Though there was little signs his stance was aggressive, it was clear any violence wasn't about to be tolerated.

As she was stopped from babbling about her favorite subject, Serena had a moment to think about what else Vellios had said. She scowled even worse as she remembered Groto. It wasn't the fact that he was a Batarian that she took issue with (though that was more than enough of a reason for most humans), it was the fact that she had no doubt some of the 'abandoned' ships he had scrapped still had crew when he found them. Her mouth opened to chew Vellios out of the suggestion when she paused. We don't have much, if any, money, and we're on a ship that might explode the second we try to fly.

"Fine."She spat the word out as if it left a bad taste in her mouth. "But promise me we're going to try to find more reputable and less murderous junk dealers."

That done, she turned her attention to the scarred Asari that had just entered the hangar. "The robot was mine, and all I can promise is that I won't be blowing any holes in the ship. If I had the money for the matierials required to make that kind of bang when a drone broke, we wouldn't be on this ship." She turned to glare at Vellios. "That was one time, and the Vorcha was fine afterwards!" She paused, guiltily remembering the second time a creation of hers had exploded in someone's face. "Okay, twice, and your dashing good looks haven't suffered from it. I did warn you not to get so close!" She slipped from behind Vellios, following the other human towards the intercom. Presumably so they could both reply.

She chimed in as Tanya held onto the intercom. "We promise nothing! Mad science makes the galaxy go round!" She returned her attention to the curious Asari. "I promise that there won't be any holes in the ship, and that I won't break anything, but I'm not going to stop working on prototypes." Her eyes flicked briefly to her plans for Barat, before turning back, waiting for the reply as the pilot announced their first stop. Oh, Omega. Well...it'll be just like home, won't it?

[Zombiedude101]

Of all the things that Iosif had checked off on his 'expect the unexpected' register, this wasn't one of them. Well, it was half true - he'd harboured a few doubts about whether or not this Captain Luzai was actually going to follow through and upon seeing the rust-bucket that was the Borealis, he wondered whether this was part of some kind of elaborate scheme that salarians often liked to come up with - tricky bastards that they could be. No, what he hadn't expected was to find out he and the rest of this gathered crew had inherited the Captain's ship.

For a brief moment, he was almost tempted to see about selling or trading off his share of the ship whilst he could, cutting his losses there and then - yet something restrained him. Hell, he had to admit - one of the only reasons he was on Illium in the first place was out of a slim hope of finding that bastard Jedrah and putting one through the backstabbing salarian's skull. Yet he'd found no trace, nothing. Sitting on this world was a waste of time and potential credits earned - at least with a ship and a small crew, there was potential for profit.

By the time he’d made his way inside, hauling his own personal crate alongside him, it didn’t take long for them to hash a few things out; captain’s cabin was off-limits, they were going to give the ship a once-over to see if it was actually capable of flight and then figure out what the good Captain had in store for them before his untimely demise, then taking stock of what they actually had - fuel, supplies, the usual routine. As this was all done with, he made sure to get a good idea of who he'd be working with just one more time and gave them all a brief glance.

A few of his own - humans, that is. For the most part, he wasn't particularly interested, though the one wearing a tank top struck him as an engineering type - if only by the analytical way she was examining the ship - which was probably a good thing in the long run. Then came a few turians - one looked like they'd gone through the same cybernetics procedure as he had whilst another was, interesting enough, a sickly looking turian with a respiratory device and what looked like a supportive chair - a strange contradiction for a member species who's military strength and prowess was one of its main facets.

Other faces caught his eye; two asari (their biotics always came in handy) a lethargic drell, a krogan, the vorcha who looked like it had crudely tried to paint itself as a quarian (he made a mental note to keep both raw meat and salvaged tech away from them, in jest) and then an actual quarian - who strangely reminded him of Rael. Part of him missed that boastful quarian, even now.

When he finally saw the batarian, it made him grit his teeth for a brief moment with disgust and muscle-memory told him to reach for his sidearm. If there was any species that he held a particular prejudice towards, it was those four-eyed bastards and for all intents and purposes he had every right to. It wasn't the whole media portrayal of their kind by the Systems Alliance that had set him against their kind, or even when he was sent up against pirate crews whilst he served in the 21st Airborne. No, it was without a doubt the months he had spent in those shithole mines on Aratoht that had cemented his views of their kind. For all intents and purposes, this batarian was, if anything, a loose business associate, nothing more.

He shrugged at last and, free to do whatever for the time being, opted to drop off his things before he did anything else, Iosif headed to the cargo bay and sat out the take-off there, taking a couple of extra moments to make sure the lock on his singular crate was secure - last thing he needed would be the few belongings he had going missing because of something like an opportunistic batarian. On his way back through the hangar, he took a brief moment to give it another once-over, musing over the prospect of fitting a gunship in here like the one he once piloted, before he noticed the woman in the tank-top doing some work on a strapped-down buggy, listening to an elcor rendition of heavy-death-metal blasted out from her drone as she uncovered the remains of some long-dead alien vermin. It was funny, to say the least; soliciting a brief chuckle before he decided that a trip to the bridge would be far more productive than risking damage to his hearing.

Analysing his surroundings on the way, he couldn’t help but note that the apty-named Jalopy had certainly seen better days, even for a former Volus ship. Between the many patch jobs this ship had seen to accommodate a larger crew and the wear-and-tear it entailed, the name dubbed by the engineer-type fit so much that it actually made his cybernetic arm itch for the first time in a while, perhaps because it looked like staying onboard raised the prospect of losing yet another another.

Before he could dwell on that point any further, that particular train of thought was rudely interrupted by an explosion that rocked the ship, coming from the hangar if that shockwave was anything to go by and for a moment he wondered if the Jalopy had suffered a hull breach or something equally disastrous, before the intercom chatter that followed set his mind to rest. Well, kind of - the engineer’s sarcasm was appreciated, at any rate.

Just as he entered the bridge, the announcement of their course for Omega was blasted over the intercom. A novel prospect, he mused. He hadn’t actually stopped by the old haunt since his last partnership had gone to shit. Shrugging, he stepped inside and glanced around, quickly spotting the others occupying the place - all turians, conveniently enough. His gaze passed from one to another, one by one - two of them quickly got past him like before but he noted yet again the presence of the other two interesting cases; the unlucky hacker with the respirator and the anti-grav chair and the one with the cybernetic prosthesis, like him. Without much else to say, he threw each of them a nod and headed up to what he could only presume was the co-pilot’s chair, pulling up a seat and clearing his throat.

”I take it we’ll all be working together, up here?”

[Hellis]

One can only crawl trough so many cramped spaces in ones life before it got a tad bothersome. Duros had well passed the bothersome stage several years ago while sneaking past C-Sec officers via a airwent. He grunted as he hit his head against another crisscrossing tube of wires. The swearing that escaped him was not that of his own people, rather it was a mix of krogan and turian. Most of his extra-species vocabulary had come courtesy of mercenaries and a poor choice in cross-species music. Finally, he reached his destination. Their cannon had no place on a ship such as this in the first place. It had been added in a later state and fitted to the underside of the damn thing by cutting into where the hull had been thickest and rigged it alongside the belly of the ship. Only problem with this, as Drono was experiencing, was that such a addition had to be reached from the outside. And that's why the Drell gunner was crawling about. It was a good thing he didn't have any claustrophobia, or he would likely be a whimpering mess at this point. As it were however, the drell was cursing fouler words by the minute and switching between languages. His target was the myriad of tubes that coiled around the base of the cannon,put there to quickly cool it after each mass accelerated shot. As far as a Mass Acceleration cannon went, it was the smallest of potatoes. But even a small gun was better then no gun.

Luckily, the tubes he found were mostly intact. All but for one. It had broken of from the main coolant dispenser and as he began to fasten the damn thing he noted the break was clean. He tried not to get to much of the super cold, blue liquid on himself. He might be wearing a protective suit and facial shield. It did not stop it from getting into tiny crevasses and cover him with cold blisters. He was just starting when the explosion rocked the hull, sending vibrations trough the hull and spilling coolant all over his hand. He quickly tore of the protective glove before it froze into hardness. He swore under his breath. Luckily, he brought more then one pair. He had worked with similar things before and knew the need for backup protection. While he was no mechanic, he was something of a weapon aficionado and had maintained the weapon systems back in the day. And the problem he was facing was nothing any smart, gun obsessed Drell couldn't fix.

Once satisfied with is work he bagan to crawl out. A process that had him crawl backwards, and hitting his head even more. ”This. This is why father said I should have studied” He murmured darkly, chuckling ever so softly. Once he was out, he shut the hatch and let himself hang in the harness, looking around, watching illium below. A smile curled on his lips. He wasn't your average Drell. He didn't feel any great need to be some Hanars pet murderer. He had been prepared for such a life before, true. But they had rejected him. What he had found instead, had been a world much more colorfull, much less restricted. And much, much less forgiving. His eyes closed, and the face of a Salarian flashed before his minds eye. Looking smug, staring down at him as he tried to move his arms in vain. That thought snapped him out of his reverie and he hauled himself up inside the Ship.

”Gun is good to go” He spoke into the Intercom. ”For now anyway. The fix is temporary and we lost maybe thirty percent in the coolant tank. But I don't expect to be shooting that thing alot just yet." He shook his head. "The thing is sloppy work to, they all but welded the thing and jury rigged it to draw from the Mass Core. Crazy stuff.” He let the intercom button go as he undid the harness and stretched. He headed for the Kitchen, thinking he might see if he can't get something to eat and get a better look at his new crew mates.

As he entered, he noted that he was not the first to arrive there. An Asari, looking as Asari did. That is attractive and likely to biotic kick his ass. His infatuation with a certein Asari singer aside, his attempts to socialize with them had ended poorly. There was also a was a Quarian, he had forgotten about that. A wry smile etched itself on his face. ”Heh. How do you like the bird?” He asked, referring to the ship. ”It might not be a great splendid one. But it got wings.” H

His eyes glanced at the Krogan busy rummaging trough the freezer. ”Find anything edible.” He then turned his head to the apparent chef.

”If you can make something not fish, I'd be grateful. I come from a water planet. I have seen enough fish to last me a lifetime.” He noted. He was relaxed, as relaxed as he could be around stranger anyway.

[Thundercrash]

Tia listened quietly as the first human woman spoke, followed by the Turian introducing himself as Vellios, and finally the woman responsible for the disturbance, whom her companion had introduced as Serena. "Malkai and Mathews." So they know each other. Good to know. She had to admit, the Mathews girl had quite the mouth on her. If she half as talented with machines as she was at talking, perhaps the ship wasn't a completely useless wreck after all. "This ship is barely holding itself together as it is. At least wait until we're planetside again before you start helping it along?" she dryly responded.

She was about to introduce herself in kind (since it seemed that she was going to be in their company for the time being), when she was interrupted by the pilot over the intercom. Her eyes widened slightly at their destination's name. Omega? Dammit! Cursing under her breath, she promptly turned around and stalked from the hanger.

Entering the cockpit, and barely remembering to not brush past the krogan who was making his exit, Tia approached the female Turian. "Why are we going to Omega?" She was careful to keep her voice tightly controlled. As anxious as the situation was going to make her, it would not do to lose her temper.

[DJAtomika]

Hazan yawned as he scrolled through yet another boring news article. Seems like the Citadel was in an uproar over more political shit slinging. As usual. He was glad he'd left the station, he couldn't take how stuffy and bureaucratic it had been there. Stupid boring. Now he was here, hunted by bigger criminals than he. Bounty on his head. Whoop dee doo.

The door to the bridge whooshed open and he heard the sound of a force chair slowly whirring in. As he gave the noise a glance he saw the masked Turian seated in the chair and recognised him from earlier.

He hadn't gotten a name, but that thought dissipated as the Turian took a seat (pun not intended) next to him and introduced himself.

"You're the navigator?"

"Yep. You must be the comms man."

"Name's Mirage. Nice to meet you."

"Haze. Pleasure's all mine."

As a muted explosion rocked the ship, he gave it no mind. With a gesture he shut down the news feed and returned himself to the system charts. They weren't too far off of Illium, and the sync he'd done with the database had thankfully updated the extremely old star charts to current ones. He brought up the one for Illium and its system, Tasale. They were still in the Terminus Systems, unfortunately. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't far from his problems. A simple update burst from Omega would alert all the hunters in the Terminus Systems that they had a new contract: him. It wasn't a heartening thought.

Without a moment's pause, the crew's only krogan plodded his way into the bridge. His massive form filled the door as he looked around for a moment, before beelining straight for him. Hazan turned in his chair and accepted the datapad which was handed to him. He raised his eye ridges in curiosity as he skimmed through the datapad. Information about the ship, it seemed. He looked up at the krogan (Tonka, finally remembered) and raised a question.

"Thanks. What's this?"

“Ran some numbers, Omega’s the only viable location for us to jump to if we actually want to get paid and overhaul the ship. Luzami didn’t fill the tank before he died.”

The silence after that was palpable. If a turian could visibly pale, he didn't want to know. Hazan's heart dropped straight into his stomach.

They had to go back to Omega. By some cruel twist of fate. He'd spent nearly everything he had to get off that shithole station and now he was going straight back. Like it didn't even matter that he'd escaped his pursuers.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The krogan shrugged and left while he picked up the pieces. The other turian at the pilot's chair, Dex, spoke up.

“He’s not wrong. Plot a course for Omega, try to avoid excessive use of the thrusters. They’re not reliable right now.”

"Well...you got it, Dex. We can use Thail's field to slingshot off of to get to the relay. After that, it's a short jump to the Omega Nebula. Shouldn't take too much, considering her thrusters are out of whack."

With a weary sigh and a shake of his shoulders, Hazan got to work. He pulled up a map of the Tasale system and used his omnitool to draw a glowing line from Illium, where they were, to Thail. The gas giant was huge, and if they avoided the rings of rocks around it they could use its gravitational field to slingshot themselves right at the mass relay. He pulled up a visualisation of Thail alongside the map as he worked out how tilted its rings were. The line curved right around the planet and he aimed it straight at the mass relay.

He shot that map to Dex's terminal as he got to work with the other end of the connection. The Sahrabarik system was tiny, and it wasn't hard to link the mass relay there to the little grid of space that Omega was in.

"Done. I guess if we use minimal power to putter our way from the mass relay to Omega, we could save on fuel. Of course you'd have to fly us in, Dex. Asteroids and shit."

He sent the Sahrabarik map to her and sat back in his chair.

"Fuck me, we're going back to Omega. Thought I had my last taste of that fucking place when I left."

"Why are we going to Omega?"

One of the crew's two Asari decided to barge into the bridge, voicing a question he had in his mind. Without waiting for Dex to respond, he replied.

"Well, according to our funds, we've got enough juice to get to Omega to tie up our ex-captain's loose ends. Hopefully that'll get us enough credits to refuel and outfit this junker with better parts. Our krogan told us that."

He sighed and returned his gaze to the terminal in front of him.

"Fuck, this day is only gonna get better and better."

”I take it we’ll all be working together, up here?”

Just then a human man elected to walk into the bridge. Their co-pilot, from the look of how he seated himself next to Dex. Hazan groaned and nodded. Although First Contact was nothing but a distant history lesson, it was still one of the rare occasions that work with a human was necessary. He suppressed the urge to say something sarcastic and made his reply.

"Yeah, we are. I'm the nav man. Name's Haze."