ErsatzEmpress
Noctis
ButtsnBalls
Kaithe Dame
Andreyich
Rightful Heir
Naril
JJ Doe
DamyclesKysar Cont.
Since the Unification Wars of 500CE, Turians had worn their Colony Insignias with pride. Despite their xenophobic past, the face tattoos of their species took on a new meaning after the end of the war. Even though they were now one society, working towards one single goal, their individual homes still mattered and were something to be proud of. Barefaced was the derogatory term coined for those born without such privilege. Unlucky Turians who slipped through the gaps of their great hierarchical machine were shunned and harshly labelled as untrustworthy. Outcast, these individuals banded together to form small knit communities, often creating slums in the far corners of cities on Palaven. Despite their position and treatment, these Turians still dedicated themselves to society at large by often taking remedial roles such as cleaners, garbage collectors and menial labourers.
It was here, in one of these communities on Palaven, that Kysar Proctus was born to a poor mother and ailing father. Marcellus, Kysar’s father, was born with a genetic abnormality in which his ‘exoskeleton’ like plating was significantly less dense than that of regular Turians. Doomed to a life of poor health and unable to fulfil any role in supporting the Hierarchy, the Turian was given up for adoption by a prominent family at a young age. Unfortunately, the noticeable poor formation of his plating made selection near impossible, so in the end he was given to one of Palaven’s casteless communes. It was here in this community of barefaced Turians where he met Savita, Kysar’s mother.
Curious, fierce and passionate, Savita was the life of the party, full of energy and bouncing off the walls. Opposites attracted and from a young age the two were inseparable, with admiration turning to love during their adolescence. Despite their numerous adversities, the two had a whirlwind romance, the kind songs dream of, choosing to marry at quite a young age. With Marcellus unable to work, Savita took whatever jobs she could, often monkey branching from contract to contract. There, during one of her roles as a labourer to an offworld shipping yard, she fell pregnant with Kysar. They were both overjoyed at the news and even more so when Savita gave birth to a healthy baby boy. For the next two years, the family lived in absolute bliss.
Sadly, Marcellus was not long for the world, developing an invasive and aggressive cancer that riddled the poor Turians body. He died not long after, leaving Savita broken-hearted and with a boy to raise all on her own. Life had handed her lemons but the woman never complained, finding solace in the life they had shared and determined to give the living reminder of her husband a better life than either of them were ever afforded. Savita did her best to preserve the memory of Kysar’s father and pushed the boy to become something more. At 15 Kysar was made to apply for the military alongside the majority of Turians his age. Life in the military would either make or break him, Savita thought but adolescence had been kind to the boy who was a foot taller and a decent chunk wider than most. Little did she know, it would do both.
Barefaced. That was the name the others gave him, even his instructors. They did everything they could to bring Kysar down. On top of rigorous and gruelling training, he was given the worst duties, from latrine duty to cleaning the mess alone. Bullied wherever he went, he was constantly being physically challenged by groups of kids at a time. At first, he took it, believing that that’s what a true Turian would do. Stand with honour against the slings and arrows of others, never swaying in conviction. A noble but unrealistic view, it wasn’t long before Kysar learned the grim reality of torture, that everyone breaks eventually.
One evening, after a particularly long and hard day of training, Kysar was cleaning the latrines when several other Turians entered. Fresh from a bout of hand to hand training, the group were keen to test their ability, cornering Kysar, with the leader of the clique challenging him one on one. The teenager knew it was a trap, even if he bested their leader or came close to it, the others would join in and he would return back to his cot covered in bruises. He tried to walk away but the others encircled him, their leader calling him every name in the book, throwing the odd jab here and there. It wasn’t until they began on his mother that the group really got underneath his skin. Shoving the leader back, the group pounced, fists and feet flying everywhere as they pummelled Kysar into the wall. It was there, in that moment, that the young Turian thought of his mother, ashamed that he had failed her and the memory of his father. He knew she wanted more from him but he could no longer abstain from temptation.
Anger surged through him like lightning as a blue light enveloped his being. The more they punched, the stronger the light grew, finally erupting with a roar from Kysar. The others flew back through stalls and walls, each of them receiving some sort of serious injury. The Turian had just discovered he was a biotic.
Branches shifted with Kysar being made to train with the Cabals. Life was harder and more physical than ever before. Here they were pushed to be the best of the best and there was no room, or tolerance, for weakness of any kind. Trainees were to be ground into dust so they could be remade from clay anew. Still an outcast, Kysar was no longer left behind. Trained in everything from infiltration to piloting, a Cabal was only as strong as its weakest link. His Kabalim, Inventus Scipio, was one of the best. The ageing Turian always seemed to churn out the cream of the crop but was often mired in controversy. He was obsessed with personal glory and seemingly clung to this feeling by constantly putting his own needs above that of hierarchy.
Regardless, Kysar was finally becoming the Turian he had always dreamt of. The Cabal moved past training and into live scenarios. Their first assignment handed to them by Scipio was to infiltrate a recently formed smuggling ring. Turian military hardware was being sold to the Blue Suns by an unknown official and it was their job to find out who. Kysar was chosen to make contact with a long standing inside man they had placed within the Suns, who would then accompany him during weapon sales. The goal was to offer them the same hardware at a better price, hopefully drawing their competitor out of the shadows or at least gathering more information about them. The rest of the group would play supporting roles, keeping an eye on hand offs from the shadows and finding what they could through any other means. Kysar played the role of smuggler for years, gathering all the evidence he could but was always seemingly one step behind his faux rival. It wasn’t until a deal went wrong that the Turian found out why.
Deep in the hidden corridors of the Citadel, the usual suspects met to complete the transaction. A crate of Armax Arsenal was on offer, being sold for a quarter of what they were worth on the open market. The deal unfolded just like any other until officers from C-Sec swooped in from all sides. Outgunned and outmanned, the few there surrendered, with Kysar coming in without issue. In the interrogation room, the Turian spilled out their sting operation, angry that C-Sec had interfered with Cabal operations. The officers retorted with an investigation of their own, dropping a huge vanilla folder packed to the brim with evidence. They claimed that there was no ‘other smuggling ring’, only his. Laid out before him were logs upon logs of evidence, claiming that Kysar had gone rogue due to his mistreatment in the military, highlighting the incidents reported during his youth as a root cause. They then went on to show how the report of the original smuggling ring was doctored, an excuse to launch a venture of his own.
It was impossible, the Turian claimed, he couldn’t have co-ordinated this by himself as a mere trainee. Plus, the others in his Cabal could also vouch for him, they too were put on assignment and Scipio had all their proof collected. The C-Sec officers then produced further evidence; no one in his Cabal, bar Kysar, had been assigned to any such thing. The truth finally dawned on the young Turian when his Kabalim entered the room. Scipio played the victim, disgusted by his students choices, condemning him as a Turian and claiming that he knew he shouldn’t have allowed a barefaced into the program. The case was airtight and of course the money from the smuggling had disappeared into the ether. Now there was just one loose end to take care of. Invictus asked for the officers to clear the room, releasing Kysar to make it appear as if he had broken free. When asked why he did it, Scipio simply laughed, it was the money of course, the military paid like shit and…
Kysar ignited, hitting his former instructor with a slam mid speech. The Kabalim hit the floor with such force, his side arm came loose. The young Turian was quick to collect it and even quicker to fire, killing the older of the two. When interviewed later, officers would ask Kysar why, if he was truly innocent, would he kill Scipio.
“I knew the score.” Kysar replied. “He betrayed us all and was going to get away with it. There was no choice, not really.”
With murder of a senior official added to the charge list, Kysar was sent to Purgatory. Despite the claim of the prison’s warden, the floating penal colony was easier on the Turian than his time in the military. The guards, mostly made up of his own kind, were quick to resurrect his old label of barefaced. Though, finally off the leash, any inmate who repeated such a thing was killed unless the guards got there first. Held over the course of several years, the Turian earned a reputation just shy of their meanest inmate, Jack. Perhaps inspired by the best, he also allowed other human inmates to tattoo his face, seeing it as a final ‘fuck you’ to the customs that had plagued him his whole life. He may have been clanless but at least he was now his own Turian.
Freedom came shortly after, when Shepard’s release of Jack brought the entire prison crashing down around them. Overpowering a guard moments after the kerfuffle began, Kysar managed to acquire a gun, using it to force his way onto one of the few lifeboats on board. Ejecting from the doomed vessel alone, the Turian fled the system, charting a course for Palaven. Instead of choosing to go on the run, Kysar returned to the Hierarchy in a bid to honour Turian tradition and try to clear his name once and for all. Impressed with the soldier’s survivability, the powers that be promptly threw him back into military prison, resealing his case without further investigation. There he remained until the Reaper invasion.
Attacking several systems at once, the Reapers moved quickly to overwhelm both the Batarian and Human forces. Striking at the Turians next, Taetrus fell before the Hierarchy could lift a finger. With the realisation of just what they were up against dawning on every species, the brass was quick to enact a sweeping declaration. All hands were needed on deck and those in military prison had a chance of freedom if they signed up for the ‘Extreme Tactical Insertion Squads’, colloquially known as suicide squads. Not wishing to die in prison, Kysar signed and was assigned to a squad of 15 others. Their first task was to wait as Fleets 29 through 32 retook the Mactare Relay then they would follow with a planet invasion of Taetrus.
Warp bombs were sent via the relay to clear the enemy laying in wait on the other side. The Hierarchy’s tactic of smothering the enemy with overwhelming force was employed with the fleets performing a mass jump. What followed was horrific. Live videos were broadcasted from the Reapers as they tore the fleets apart, followed by more footage of them saturating ground forces planet side. The order for reinforcements to be sent through the relay came just as the Reapers appeared, Palaven side.
Kysar’s mission was scrapped, with his new one being to report for active duty on Manae. There, he and his squad were put to the test by clearing LZ’s and scouting positions for forward bases. Unable to get a communication away from his mother on Palaven, Kysar's request to be redeployed to the surface was denied. The fighting on Manae continued, even after the assassination of their Primarch and the flight of their newly appointed General turned politician. They were ordered to hold for as long as possible until reinforcements arrived.
Doing so in the most unexpected fashion, re-supply came in the form of Krogans who hit the planet's surface running. Together, ground forces on Palaven pushed back the Reapers and gained significant ground. It was a huge morale boost for the Turians with Kysar and squad being ordered to return to orbit and link up with 6th Fleet. There they’d assault the Cerberus held world of Aephus, infiltrating and downing several anti-air batteries, allowing the fleet to take back the surface and send the human terrorist organisation packing.
A final order was given for the Turians dwindling squad to meet up for a final assault on Earth. Linking up with an armada of galactic forces, Kysar’s mission was to assist the human’s in a direct assault on London. They were to reach a forward base in the capital before participating in a final attack on a heavily fortified Reaper position. Saddled up, the crew made it far enough to be dropped from orbit in one of many Kodiaks. Reaper resistance was fierce as the crew approached the FOB, with flak from AA darkening the sky. Just as their target crested the horizon, the crew were winged by shrapnel, sending the carrier careening towards the ground. Crash-landing in the desolate city, they were quickly engaged by Reaper ground forces, pushing the five survivors of Kysar’s squad into a nearby office building. Doing what they could, the Turian’s barricaded the door. Attempting to establish communication with command, all they were met with was the static of white noise.
Stranded on a foreign world in the middle of a warzone, the squad began to panic. Kysar tempered their fear by suggesting that they head to the roof. The building was effectively a maze, the Reapers could lose track of them and a visible line of sight would help them reconnect with their main objective. With everyone in agreement, the crew made their way up a single floor, only to bump into a small family of surviving humans. Two children, a boy and a girl, a young woman and a man begged Kysar’s squad for help. The husband was in a bad way, bleeding heavily from a gunshot to the gut, they had been caught in the commotion caused by the Turians crash landing. The others in the squad were quick to dismiss them, there was little hope for them as things were without the anchoring of civilians.
Kysar, on the other hand, couldn’t help but draw a parallel between the humans. It was something about the way the wife dragged her husband along, something in her eyes that screamed determination. She wasn’t going to give up on him, just like his mother refused to give up on his father. Kysar ordered the others to go on ahead, picking up the husband and slinging him over his shoulder. He would be right behind them.
Scrambling up the stairwell, everyone moved as quickly as they could. The squad had long moved ahead when Kysar began to hear shooting. Reapers had dropped in from above, with dozens upon dozens of husks scaling the side of the building and scouring it for survivors. Ducking onto the 33rd floor, Kysar burst through the door, barricading them all in an office, preparing to make a final stand. Deciding to radio into command one final time, he received word that Shepard was aboard the Citadel and was trying to activate the Conduit. His final orders were to survive and pray to the Spirits that the human could end this. With his rifle empty, Kyser made his final stand, unleashing his biotics as husks began to break through the barrier. As hopelessness closed in around them, a blinding red light rushed from on high, blanketing the city.
The husks fell dead as Kysar, wounded but alive, returned to the office to celebrate. Sadly for the family, the Turian was only able to share in a bittersweet moment, finding the husband dead in his wife’s arms. Leaving them to their moment, Kysar climbed the stairwell to find the body of three of his comrades. Removing their dog tags, he pocketed them and returned once more to wrap the body of the man. Spotting the FOB, the survivors make their way across, meeting up and being processed with the few that remained.
Reconnecting with what was left of High Command, Kysar came to learn that their forces had committed to the restoration of the relay. Dextro rations were finite and the stranded Turian population numbers in the millions. Without possibility of resupply on Earth, returning back to their own system was their only hope. Brought before General Invectus, Kysar was told he is one of the last biotic soldiers that remained. The Cabals were all but wiped out during their high-risk missions and the Turian is needed now more than ever. Admiral Nitesh, leader of the human forces, had been making moves that left the non-human forces wary. As such Kysar’s orders were to infiltrate the ranks of the Earth forces and report back on their movements. Finding the irony hilarious, he reluctantly agrees on the written promise that if he does it, he’ll be free from prison. Accepting their arrangement, the General detailed his mission as two-fold. Several downed Turian ships had been raided by human survivors, rations had been taken and were now being sold in a black-market rings. Kysar is to do his part in dismantling this network or expose it to the correct authorities. His other mission is to keep an eye on Admiral Nitesh Singh as the Hierarchy doesn’t trust him. He’s to report anything that is ordered of him as a part of this new group that has arisen.
It was here, in one of these communities on Palaven, that Kysar Proctus was born to a poor mother and ailing father. Marcellus, Kysar’s father, was born with a genetic abnormality in which his ‘exoskeleton’ like plating was significantly less dense than that of regular Turians. Doomed to a life of poor health and unable to fulfil any role in supporting the Hierarchy, the Turian was given up for adoption by a prominent family at a young age. Unfortunately, the noticeable poor formation of his plating made selection near impossible, so in the end he was given to one of Palaven’s casteless communes. It was here in this community of barefaced Turians where he met Savita, Kysar’s mother.
Curious, fierce and passionate, Savita was the life of the party, full of energy and bouncing off the walls. Opposites attracted and from a young age the two were inseparable, with admiration turning to love during their adolescence. Despite their numerous adversities, the two had a whirlwind romance, the kind songs dream of, choosing to marry at quite a young age. With Marcellus unable to work, Savita took whatever jobs she could, often monkey branching from contract to contract. There, during one of her roles as a labourer to an offworld shipping yard, she fell pregnant with Kysar. They were both overjoyed at the news and even more so when Savita gave birth to a healthy baby boy. For the next two years, the family lived in absolute bliss.
Sadly, Marcellus was not long for the world, developing an invasive and aggressive cancer that riddled the poor Turians body. He died not long after, leaving Savita broken-hearted and with a boy to raise all on her own. Life had handed her lemons but the woman never complained, finding solace in the life they had shared and determined to give the living reminder of her husband a better life than either of them were ever afforded. Savita did her best to preserve the memory of Kysar’s father and pushed the boy to become something more. At 15 Kysar was made to apply for the military alongside the majority of Turians his age. Life in the military would either make or break him, Savita thought but adolescence had been kind to the boy who was a foot taller and a decent chunk wider than most. Little did she know, it would do both.
Barefaced. That was the name the others gave him, even his instructors. They did everything they could to bring Kysar down. On top of rigorous and gruelling training, he was given the worst duties, from latrine duty to cleaning the mess alone. Bullied wherever he went, he was constantly being physically challenged by groups of kids at a time. At first, he took it, believing that that’s what a true Turian would do. Stand with honour against the slings and arrows of others, never swaying in conviction. A noble but unrealistic view, it wasn’t long before Kysar learned the grim reality of torture, that everyone breaks eventually.
One evening, after a particularly long and hard day of training, Kysar was cleaning the latrines when several other Turians entered. Fresh from a bout of hand to hand training, the group were keen to test their ability, cornering Kysar, with the leader of the clique challenging him one on one. The teenager knew it was a trap, even if he bested their leader or came close to it, the others would join in and he would return back to his cot covered in bruises. He tried to walk away but the others encircled him, their leader calling him every name in the book, throwing the odd jab here and there. It wasn’t until they began on his mother that the group really got underneath his skin. Shoving the leader back, the group pounced, fists and feet flying everywhere as they pummelled Kysar into the wall. It was there, in that moment, that the young Turian thought of his mother, ashamed that he had failed her and the memory of his father. He knew she wanted more from him but he could no longer abstain from temptation.
Anger surged through him like lightning as a blue light enveloped his being. The more they punched, the stronger the light grew, finally erupting with a roar from Kysar. The others flew back through stalls and walls, each of them receiving some sort of serious injury. The Turian had just discovered he was a biotic.
Branches shifted with Kysar being made to train with the Cabals. Life was harder and more physical than ever before. Here they were pushed to be the best of the best and there was no room, or tolerance, for weakness of any kind. Trainees were to be ground into dust so they could be remade from clay anew. Still an outcast, Kysar was no longer left behind. Trained in everything from infiltration to piloting, a Cabal was only as strong as its weakest link. His Kabalim, Inventus Scipio, was one of the best. The ageing Turian always seemed to churn out the cream of the crop but was often mired in controversy. He was obsessed with personal glory and seemingly clung to this feeling by constantly putting his own needs above that of hierarchy.
Regardless, Kysar was finally becoming the Turian he had always dreamt of. The Cabal moved past training and into live scenarios. Their first assignment handed to them by Scipio was to infiltrate a recently formed smuggling ring. Turian military hardware was being sold to the Blue Suns by an unknown official and it was their job to find out who. Kysar was chosen to make contact with a long standing inside man they had placed within the Suns, who would then accompany him during weapon sales. The goal was to offer them the same hardware at a better price, hopefully drawing their competitor out of the shadows or at least gathering more information about them. The rest of the group would play supporting roles, keeping an eye on hand offs from the shadows and finding what they could through any other means. Kysar played the role of smuggler for years, gathering all the evidence he could but was always seemingly one step behind his faux rival. It wasn’t until a deal went wrong that the Turian found out why.
Deep in the hidden corridors of the Citadel, the usual suspects met to complete the transaction. A crate of Armax Arsenal was on offer, being sold for a quarter of what they were worth on the open market. The deal unfolded just like any other until officers from C-Sec swooped in from all sides. Outgunned and outmanned, the few there surrendered, with Kysar coming in without issue. In the interrogation room, the Turian spilled out their sting operation, angry that C-Sec had interfered with Cabal operations. The officers retorted with an investigation of their own, dropping a huge vanilla folder packed to the brim with evidence. They claimed that there was no ‘other smuggling ring’, only his. Laid out before him were logs upon logs of evidence, claiming that Kysar had gone rogue due to his mistreatment in the military, highlighting the incidents reported during his youth as a root cause. They then went on to show how the report of the original smuggling ring was doctored, an excuse to launch a venture of his own.
It was impossible, the Turian claimed, he couldn’t have co-ordinated this by himself as a mere trainee. Plus, the others in his Cabal could also vouch for him, they too were put on assignment and Scipio had all their proof collected. The C-Sec officers then produced further evidence; no one in his Cabal, bar Kysar, had been assigned to any such thing. The truth finally dawned on the young Turian when his Kabalim entered the room. Scipio played the victim, disgusted by his students choices, condemning him as a Turian and claiming that he knew he shouldn’t have allowed a barefaced into the program. The case was airtight and of course the money from the smuggling had disappeared into the ether. Now there was just one loose end to take care of. Invictus asked for the officers to clear the room, releasing Kysar to make it appear as if he had broken free. When asked why he did it, Scipio simply laughed, it was the money of course, the military paid like shit and…
Kysar ignited, hitting his former instructor with a slam mid speech. The Kabalim hit the floor with such force, his side arm came loose. The young Turian was quick to collect it and even quicker to fire, killing the older of the two. When interviewed later, officers would ask Kysar why, if he was truly innocent, would he kill Scipio.
“I knew the score.” Kysar replied. “He betrayed us all and was going to get away with it. There was no choice, not really.”
With murder of a senior official added to the charge list, Kysar was sent to Purgatory. Despite the claim of the prison’s warden, the floating penal colony was easier on the Turian than his time in the military. The guards, mostly made up of his own kind, were quick to resurrect his old label of barefaced. Though, finally off the leash, any inmate who repeated such a thing was killed unless the guards got there first. Held over the course of several years, the Turian earned a reputation just shy of their meanest inmate, Jack. Perhaps inspired by the best, he also allowed other human inmates to tattoo his face, seeing it as a final ‘fuck you’ to the customs that had plagued him his whole life. He may have been clanless but at least he was now his own Turian.
Freedom came shortly after, when Shepard’s release of Jack brought the entire prison crashing down around them. Overpowering a guard moments after the kerfuffle began, Kysar managed to acquire a gun, using it to force his way onto one of the few lifeboats on board. Ejecting from the doomed vessel alone, the Turian fled the system, charting a course for Palaven. Instead of choosing to go on the run, Kysar returned to the Hierarchy in a bid to honour Turian tradition and try to clear his name once and for all. Impressed with the soldier’s survivability, the powers that be promptly threw him back into military prison, resealing his case without further investigation. There he remained until the Reaper invasion.
Attacking several systems at once, the Reapers moved quickly to overwhelm both the Batarian and Human forces. Striking at the Turians next, Taetrus fell before the Hierarchy could lift a finger. With the realisation of just what they were up against dawning on every species, the brass was quick to enact a sweeping declaration. All hands were needed on deck and those in military prison had a chance of freedom if they signed up for the ‘Extreme Tactical Insertion Squads’, colloquially known as suicide squads. Not wishing to die in prison, Kysar signed and was assigned to a squad of 15 others. Their first task was to wait as Fleets 29 through 32 retook the Mactare Relay then they would follow with a planet invasion of Taetrus.
Warp bombs were sent via the relay to clear the enemy laying in wait on the other side. The Hierarchy’s tactic of smothering the enemy with overwhelming force was employed with the fleets performing a mass jump. What followed was horrific. Live videos were broadcasted from the Reapers as they tore the fleets apart, followed by more footage of them saturating ground forces planet side. The order for reinforcements to be sent through the relay came just as the Reapers appeared, Palaven side.
Kysar’s mission was scrapped, with his new one being to report for active duty on Manae. There, he and his squad were put to the test by clearing LZ’s and scouting positions for forward bases. Unable to get a communication away from his mother on Palaven, Kysar's request to be redeployed to the surface was denied. The fighting on Manae continued, even after the assassination of their Primarch and the flight of their newly appointed General turned politician. They were ordered to hold for as long as possible until reinforcements arrived.
Doing so in the most unexpected fashion, re-supply came in the form of Krogans who hit the planet's surface running. Together, ground forces on Palaven pushed back the Reapers and gained significant ground. It was a huge morale boost for the Turians with Kysar and squad being ordered to return to orbit and link up with 6th Fleet. There they’d assault the Cerberus held world of Aephus, infiltrating and downing several anti-air batteries, allowing the fleet to take back the surface and send the human terrorist organisation packing.
A final order was given for the Turians dwindling squad to meet up for a final assault on Earth. Linking up with an armada of galactic forces, Kysar’s mission was to assist the human’s in a direct assault on London. They were to reach a forward base in the capital before participating in a final attack on a heavily fortified Reaper position. Saddled up, the crew made it far enough to be dropped from orbit in one of many Kodiaks. Reaper resistance was fierce as the crew approached the FOB, with flak from AA darkening the sky. Just as their target crested the horizon, the crew were winged by shrapnel, sending the carrier careening towards the ground. Crash-landing in the desolate city, they were quickly engaged by Reaper ground forces, pushing the five survivors of Kysar’s squad into a nearby office building. Doing what they could, the Turian’s barricaded the door. Attempting to establish communication with command, all they were met with was the static of white noise.
Stranded on a foreign world in the middle of a warzone, the squad began to panic. Kysar tempered their fear by suggesting that they head to the roof. The building was effectively a maze, the Reapers could lose track of them and a visible line of sight would help them reconnect with their main objective. With everyone in agreement, the crew made their way up a single floor, only to bump into a small family of surviving humans. Two children, a boy and a girl, a young woman and a man begged Kysar’s squad for help. The husband was in a bad way, bleeding heavily from a gunshot to the gut, they had been caught in the commotion caused by the Turians crash landing. The others in the squad were quick to dismiss them, there was little hope for them as things were without the anchoring of civilians.
Kysar, on the other hand, couldn’t help but draw a parallel between the humans. It was something about the way the wife dragged her husband along, something in her eyes that screamed determination. She wasn’t going to give up on him, just like his mother refused to give up on his father. Kysar ordered the others to go on ahead, picking up the husband and slinging him over his shoulder. He would be right behind them.
Scrambling up the stairwell, everyone moved as quickly as they could. The squad had long moved ahead when Kysar began to hear shooting. Reapers had dropped in from above, with dozens upon dozens of husks scaling the side of the building and scouring it for survivors. Ducking onto the 33rd floor, Kysar burst through the door, barricading them all in an office, preparing to make a final stand. Deciding to radio into command one final time, he received word that Shepard was aboard the Citadel and was trying to activate the Conduit. His final orders were to survive and pray to the Spirits that the human could end this. With his rifle empty, Kyser made his final stand, unleashing his biotics as husks began to break through the barrier. As hopelessness closed in around them, a blinding red light rushed from on high, blanketing the city.
The husks fell dead as Kysar, wounded but alive, returned to the office to celebrate. Sadly for the family, the Turian was only able to share in a bittersweet moment, finding the husband dead in his wife’s arms. Leaving them to their moment, Kysar climbed the stairwell to find the body of three of his comrades. Removing their dog tags, he pocketed them and returned once more to wrap the body of the man. Spotting the FOB, the survivors make their way across, meeting up and being processed with the few that remained.
Reconnecting with what was left of High Command, Kysar came to learn that their forces had committed to the restoration of the relay. Dextro rations were finite and the stranded Turian population numbers in the millions. Without possibility of resupply on Earth, returning back to their own system was their only hope. Brought before General Invectus, Kysar was told he is one of the last biotic soldiers that remained. The Cabals were all but wiped out during their high-risk missions and the Turian is needed now more than ever. Admiral Nitesh, leader of the human forces, had been making moves that left the non-human forces wary. As such Kysar’s orders were to infiltrate the ranks of the Earth forces and report back on their movements. Finding the irony hilarious, he reluctantly agrees on the written promise that if he does it, he’ll be free from prison. Accepting their arrangement, the General detailed his mission as two-fold. Several downed Turian ships had been raided by human survivors, rations had been taken and were now being sold in a black-market rings. Kysar is to do his part in dismantling this network or expose it to the correct authorities. His other mission is to keep an eye on Admiral Nitesh Singh as the Hierarchy doesn’t trust him. He’s to report anything that is ordered of him as a part of this new group that has arisen.
Other Snippets
Zenn | Shadow
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Amina | Rogue
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Zenobia | Lunatic
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Solveig | Wraith
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Nadara | Sunset
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Kysar doubts Zenn would punch him.
↳Hmmm. Zenn is short and so thin. Sometimes the little guy just blends into the background. Though I suppose what else are you supposed to do when your callsign is Shadow. He's also got a bit of pep to him in a firefight, so what should I call him? Maybe.. firework? Spark plug? Sparky? Eh, it'll come to me.
↳Zenn. Not too long ago I was wondering what name to call him, didn't expect it to be friend. Now we're close, the do anything for each other type close. Spirits. I do wish he'd stop saying nice things about me and maybe say some more about himself. He deserves it. A good soldier, a better friend, the best man.
Amina | Rogue
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Kysar thinks Amina will punch him at some point.
↳Aha man, what to call this one? So spoilt for choice here. Cerberus dog, space racist, reaper lacky, reaper lover, Illusive loyalty? I guess these are supposed to be shorter and catchy. Reapy? Ha! Cerberus was a funny group though, thinking aliens are assholes only out for themselves, only to become the biggest group of assholes out for themselves. But eh, what do I know, I'm also an asshole out for myself, so maybe she's not half wrong.
↳I didn't expect Cerbs to be the wildcard. Zenobia had that crown fair and square. But Amina surprised me. Seems obvious the more I think about it. Our conversation has left me wanting more, to unravel the enigma. I think there's a lot we can learn from each other.
Zenobia | Lunatic
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Kysar thinks Zenobia might karate chop a butterfly? (He doesn't know what crazy people will do)
↳This chick is bonkers (heh that's the name right there). Reading her dossier was creeeeepy. Me in another life shit. Ugh, gives me the shivers. Bonkers is alright though, just don't know why you'd want to be a part of the Eclipse aka the galaxy's cannon fodder but hey, maybe that's one reason why she's called Lunatic.
↳Bonkers is still cool. I didn't know anyone was capable of wolfing down food like that. I knew Turian's couldn't sing, maybe that's why we're so serious. I think I saw her disappear with the Pinball towards the end of things. Ha! Classic Z.
Solveig | Wraith
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Kysar would love to see Solveigs arm punch through someone (Not him though).
↳Gotta love Awks, she's got perseverance I'll give her that. Doing her best to connect with others in the group through awkward conversation. Maybe she feels bad for not reaching out more with our last team? I.. er.. guess I still don't know how I feel about her leaving. I, um, well? Ah shit, I think her foot in mouth syndrome is contagious.
↳Awks is quite the woman. I've enjoyed watching her open up; her jokes, her awkward smiles, her efforts to talk even though she hates it. I admire her. I'm happy she's got someone like Zenn and Zenn has someone like her. It would be too obvious to talk about her as a soldier, it's the person underneath all that, she's the one worth applauding.
Nadara | Sunset
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Kysar thinks Nadara might punch him if her eyes don't stop rolling at him.
↳This one is easy. Heels. The way she spends her time clomping around on those bad boys, I'm surprised the enemy don't hear her coming from a mile away. Such a picturesque portrait of an Asari. She's endlessly fun to annoy. I suppose I did let her down, though I heard her father was a Krogan. They dig scars right?
↳If you'd asked me about Heels yesterday, my opinion would've been day and night to how I feel now. Can't say it's the opposite but it's good to know there's something rolling around up there. Seems like life might be a bit of a burden to her, so she tries to shrug the whole thing off. As long as she doesn't hand another one of us over to her mother we'll be ok. Although, word around base is that she's got that Matriarch charm. So maybe I wouldn't mind being handed off...
Six years ago…
“He’s a slow eater.” Kysar sat, hunched over the table, looming over a book he had open on the desk. Sat opposite the Turian was a skinny human, his face long and bony as if he was sorely underfed. Also reading a book, the man brushed his long straight black hair behind his ear, using a finger to run along the page sentence by sentence.
“This is what you called me into the library for? To tell me Voeus has trouble with mastication?”
Kysar rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wording. “Kerry, c’mo- Ugh, no. It’s because he eats slowly. It means he's the last one out of the mess hall almost every time. The other guards get so sick of waiting for him that they all leave bar one.”
Kerry flipped the page of the book, raising an eyebrow as he did so. “So, what, you mean to tell me you’re planning on taking out one of Augutius’ top enforcers and a guard? That’s vacuous, even for you.”
The Turian growled, if only he could huff red hot steam out of his nose like a dragon. “Will you just shut up and listen?” The human held up his hands, gesturing he’d let it go. “The guards take turns on whoever stays behind in the mess to look after Voeus. Every second week of the month, on a Tuesday, it’s the Batarian, Krarvan.” Kysar flipped a page of his book, refusing to look anywhere else. “The guy’s got a bladder the size of a peanut and can’t hold in anything. I’ve got us kitchen duty, so you offer all the guards a nice big drink about 20 minutes before everyone starts to clear out and then we wait.”
The Turian cleared his throat, quickly looking around to make sure no one could hear them. The coast was clear. “He’ll radio someone to replace him but won’t be able to hang around long enough to do a proper switch. I test ran this last week. When he leaves the room, I’ll strike hard and fast. Voeus won’t know what hit him.”
Kerry smiled. “Venator.”
“What?” Kysar replied, his face screwing up with confusion.
“Venator. It was a position in the Roman army, an ancient human civilisation that conquered a decent chunk of the known world. These guys were expert hunters and trackers, had a natural gift for it as well as a lifetime of training. A very honourable job. It’s what you are, in fact, you’d be interested to know that it’s born of the latin word-”
“Kerry,” Kysar grabbed the edge of the human's book, making sure his pronged fingers were in view of the human’s peripherals. “Don’t do the encyclopaedia thing, we don’t have time.”
Though normally impressed, on the inside at least, the Turian was trying to be somewhat subtle and didn’t need Kerry getting locked on, spouting things he’d seen with his perfect photographic memory. Kysar had chosen the library especially, so as not to over stimulate his neuro-divergent friend with the overwhelming noise of the prison but he also did not want the man to draw any attention.
“Right, sorry Kysar.” Kerry turned another page with a sheepish look on his face. “I do have one question though, why do this? Why risk starting something with Augutius? I know he controls the next few blocks over but the guy is well connected. He also has a small army at his beckon, even you can’t kill them all. Something like that would take like a decade.”
“I reckon I could do it in five.” Kysar chuckled, smiling. “But er, um no, it’s not because of that. It’s because…” The Turian looked up from the book at Kerry. Life in Purgatory had been hell but both had landed on the inside at about the same time, sharing the cells next to each other. They’d decided to watch each other's back and as such had become almost friends. Well, as close to it as you could become in a place like that anyway. Kysar couldn’t be around Kerry 24/7 though and lately Voeus had taken issue with the human. Their last interaction in the shower room had left Kerry in a semi-serious condition in the med-bay.
The Turian felt his knuckles tighten as his mouth remained open, barely able to croak. The human looked up, catching Kysar’s straining hands. “Oh don’t tell me, it’s because he called you Bareface?”
There was a violent snap inside the Turian’s chest as his anger bubbled up. “Don’t.” He warned.
“C’mon Kysar, you’ve really got to do something about that temper. You’re a smart guy but that anger just steamrolls over everything. You can’t go starting a war all becau-”
The Turian stood, resisting the urge to pound his fist into the table, or the human’s face. “Kerry, shut the fuck up.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man watched as Kysar left the room, shaking his head. “And they tell me I’ve got issues processing emotion.”
Two Weeks Later…
The heavily mechanised door whirred, springing to life as a series of encryptions connected to its locking mechanics were solved and opened. The door smoothly and slowly opened to a cramped, dingy cell with no windows and a single bright light. Slumped in a corner with an empty look in his eyes sat Kysar. The plan had gone off without a hitch, Voeus was dead and the Turian had been thrown into solitary confinement. Unlocking the shackles from around his feet, the guards grabbed Kysar from under his arms and began dragging him back to his cell.
As with most fresh out of isolation, it would take tens of metres before the Turian could walk on his own two feet. He had been starved, beaten and mentally tortured. The light in his cell never shut off and the room was too small to lie down completely flat in. With no furniture or any level of stimulation, two weeks felt like two years.
Almost back at his cell, Kysar found his feet and tried shrugging off the guards grip to walk on his own. The Turian was too weak though and the two men threw him down, back into his cell. Coughing, Kysar sat up as the doors closed and put his back against the bars, calling out for Kerry.
“Hey! Ker-” The Turian was interrupted by a round of coughing, quickly remembering he hadn’t spoken to another soul in two weeks. Slowly making his way over to the sink, he cupped some water in his hand and began to gently drink. After finishing, Kysar approached the bars again, standing and leaning on them. “Kerry? Spirits; you there? Have you had too good a week without me?”
“Shut the fuck up!” A fearsome growl came deep from within the cell next door. Way too deep for Kerry or any other human for that matter. What? A Batarian?
“Where’s the human? Did they transfer him after the incident two weeks ago?”
The Batarian chuckled, a long and slimy whine from the back of his throat. “Your human friend is dead. Word is that Augutius saw to it personally. I heard they did him nice and slow, slit his cheeks open, pulled out an eye, took fingernails and teeth.” The creature stopped, his laugh interrupting him. “Ohhh that boy suffered. Augutius wanted to send a message…”
Suddenly the bars began to move, disappearing into the walls as both cells opened. Kysar backed away, moving further into his cell, his face expressionless. Deep within his mind the words of the Batarian replayed over and over. His friend was dead. His friend had been brutally tortured to death. His friend was dead and it was his fault.
A wound began to open up deep inside. As if someone had pulled the plug from a drain and now everything that had made the Turian who he was, was now circling it. One by one pieces of him fell away as an icy grip breezed over him like a dry ice mist.
Standing in the doorway, the Batarian snarled, closing in on Kysar with a makeshift shiv in his hand. Flourishing back and forth, he flipped the knife in a threatening motion. And yet, the Turian stood still, his face giving away no expression, just frozen like a statue. The stranger closed the gap between them and with a vicious thrust, the knife slipped into Kysar like butter, stabbing him in the side of the abdomen.
The Turian made no noise, only looking down to see the shiv stuck inside of him before meeting the eyes of the Batarian. The stranger smiled, his needlepoint teeth salivating. Kysar felt… nothing. No hate, no anger, there was nothing left, except death. In a flash, the Turian’s hand shot from his side, grabbing the intruder’s hand and the handle of the shiv in one swift movement. With an iron-like grip, he held both in place as he snatched the creature by the scruff of his top. Pulling the Batarian in, Kysar met his nose with his own forehead, causing a sickening crunch.
Falling to the floor, the intruder wailed out in pain. Kysar, without a word or an expression, removed the knife from his side and in one fell swoop, slashed the bastard's throat. Removing his bedsheet, he cut a small bandage for himself and twisted the rest into a kind of rope. Tying it around the Batarians ankle, the Turian went out to the balcony and tied the other end to the railing. His row of cells overlooked their wings’ yard, everybody in the whole block could see what Kysar was doing. Flinging the body over the edge, prisoners began to whoop as Batarian hung there, being bled dry.
With a message of his own, Kysar had begun a crusade of vengeance.
Five years later…
Warden Kuril sat high above his subordinates in the prison's control room. His chair resembled more of a throne with plush, comfortable leather, adorned with silk capes that draped from its armrests and back. The space itself was laid out in a stair-like formation, with each level down deemed less and less important. No one sat at the top level with the Warden. To even approach the Turian meant you were met with daggering eyes and a great big sneer.
Hanlen Kibbolt, the Warden’s Second in command, could never bring herself to look up as she climbed to his side. A nervous mess of a woman, she had permanent beads of sweat on her forehead. Kuril enjoyed watching her squirm and grovel at his side. “Er.. Sir, we have an issue with one of the inmates.”
The Warden snorted a laugh. “All of these beasts have issues Hanlen, it’s why they’re here.”
The woman shifted, what had begun as beads of sweat had now turned into a river. “Yes, of course Sir, sorry, Sir. It’s just that, well,” she paused, placing a datapad on the armrest of the Warden. Hanlen was never allowed to hand him something directly. “This one is causing us extra issues.”
Lazily, Kuril picked up the pad, flicking through the personnel file of inmate 14677. “Hanlen, I’m running an entire prison of these primitive animals. Why are you talking to me about one single inmate?” The Warden sighed, tossing the datapad on the ground for his Second to retrieve.
“Well, Sir,” she said, as she bent down. “His name is Kysar Proctus and he’s taken out several high profile inmates. Totally wiped out the block king, Augutius and his gang. It’s cost us quite a large chunk of investment.”
The Warden gripped the arms of his chair tightly, grumbling as he swung around to face his Second. “So?! Just bill the Hierarchy to make up the difference? Do you really need me to tell you how to do your job?”
The Second gulped, using her sleeve to wipe away the now ocean of sweat on her forehead. “Um, well, Sir, that’s the issue. The Hierarchy won’t pay up anymore for the inmate and he’s not exactly a threat to civilians like some of our other inmates are, so we’re unable to cajole them.”
The Warden roared, standing to his feet and grabbing the rail in front of him. “These disgusting creatures, can’t they see what I’m trying to do here? What I’m trying to build? They’re lucky they’re little cash cows or so help me I’d just space all of them.”
Kuril’s eyebrows raised as the Turian had an ‘aha!’ moment. Turning back to his Second, he hissed. “There’s your answer Hanlen, we simply cut our losses with the inmate. Have them tossed into the void.”
Suddenly an alert sounded off in the room as a yellow warning light flashed.
“Cerberus ship on approach, Sir.” One of the subordinates stationed near the bottom called out.
The Warden stopped, sitting back down in his chair. “Belay that request Hanlen, we can see to it after. I need to focus all our resources on this next guest. This Cerberus operative is worth more than every inmate in here combined, we need to be ready to take him by surprise.” The Second nodded, opening her omni-tool and sending out a command for the crew to be on standby.
Below the Warden, a traffic control officer radioed in. “Normandy SR-2, you’re all clear to dock.”
“He’s a slow eater.” Kysar sat, hunched over the table, looming over a book he had open on the desk. Sat opposite the Turian was a skinny human, his face long and bony as if he was sorely underfed. Also reading a book, the man brushed his long straight black hair behind his ear, using a finger to run along the page sentence by sentence.
“This is what you called me into the library for? To tell me Voeus has trouble with mastication?”
Kysar rolled his eyes at the unnecessary wording. “Kerry, c’mo- Ugh, no. It’s because he eats slowly. It means he's the last one out of the mess hall almost every time. The other guards get so sick of waiting for him that they all leave bar one.”
Kerry flipped the page of the book, raising an eyebrow as he did so. “So, what, you mean to tell me you’re planning on taking out one of Augutius’ top enforcers and a guard? That’s vacuous, even for you.”
The Turian growled, if only he could huff red hot steam out of his nose like a dragon. “Will you just shut up and listen?” The human held up his hands, gesturing he’d let it go. “The guards take turns on whoever stays behind in the mess to look after Voeus. Every second week of the month, on a Tuesday, it’s the Batarian, Krarvan.” Kysar flipped a page of his book, refusing to look anywhere else. “The guy’s got a bladder the size of a peanut and can’t hold in anything. I’ve got us kitchen duty, so you offer all the guards a nice big drink about 20 minutes before everyone starts to clear out and then we wait.”
The Turian cleared his throat, quickly looking around to make sure no one could hear them. The coast was clear. “He’ll radio someone to replace him but won’t be able to hang around long enough to do a proper switch. I test ran this last week. When he leaves the room, I’ll strike hard and fast. Voeus won’t know what hit him.”
Kerry smiled. “Venator.”
“What?” Kysar replied, his face screwing up with confusion.
“Venator. It was a position in the Roman army, an ancient human civilisation that conquered a decent chunk of the known world. These guys were expert hunters and trackers, had a natural gift for it as well as a lifetime of training. A very honourable job. It’s what you are, in fact, you’d be interested to know that it’s born of the latin word-”
“Kerry,” Kysar grabbed the edge of the human's book, making sure his pronged fingers were in view of the human’s peripherals. “Don’t do the encyclopaedia thing, we don’t have time.”
Though normally impressed, on the inside at least, the Turian was trying to be somewhat subtle and didn’t need Kerry getting locked on, spouting things he’d seen with his perfect photographic memory. Kysar had chosen the library especially, so as not to over stimulate his neuro-divergent friend with the overwhelming noise of the prison but he also did not want the man to draw any attention.
“Right, sorry Kysar.” Kerry turned another page with a sheepish look on his face. “I do have one question though, why do this? Why risk starting something with Augutius? I know he controls the next few blocks over but the guy is well connected. He also has a small army at his beckon, even you can’t kill them all. Something like that would take like a decade.”
“I reckon I could do it in five.” Kysar chuckled, smiling. “But er, um no, it’s not because of that. It’s because…” The Turian looked up from the book at Kerry. Life in Purgatory had been hell but both had landed on the inside at about the same time, sharing the cells next to each other. They’d decided to watch each other's back and as such had become almost friends. Well, as close to it as you could become in a place like that anyway. Kysar couldn’t be around Kerry 24/7 though and lately Voeus had taken issue with the human. Their last interaction in the shower room had left Kerry in a semi-serious condition in the med-bay.
The Turian felt his knuckles tighten as his mouth remained open, barely able to croak. The human looked up, catching Kysar’s straining hands. “Oh don’t tell me, it’s because he called you Bareface?”
There was a violent snap inside the Turian’s chest as his anger bubbled up. “Don’t.” He warned.
“C’mon Kysar, you’ve really got to do something about that temper. You’re a smart guy but that anger just steamrolls over everything. You can’t go starting a war all becau-”
The Turian stood, resisting the urge to pound his fist into the table, or the human’s face. “Kerry, shut the fuck up.” He hissed through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The man watched as Kysar left the room, shaking his head. “And they tell me I’ve got issues processing emotion.”
Two Weeks Later…
The heavily mechanised door whirred, springing to life as a series of encryptions connected to its locking mechanics were solved and opened. The door smoothly and slowly opened to a cramped, dingy cell with no windows and a single bright light. Slumped in a corner with an empty look in his eyes sat Kysar. The plan had gone off without a hitch, Voeus was dead and the Turian had been thrown into solitary confinement. Unlocking the shackles from around his feet, the guards grabbed Kysar from under his arms and began dragging him back to his cell.
As with most fresh out of isolation, it would take tens of metres before the Turian could walk on his own two feet. He had been starved, beaten and mentally tortured. The light in his cell never shut off and the room was too small to lie down completely flat in. With no furniture or any level of stimulation, two weeks felt like two years.
Almost back at his cell, Kysar found his feet and tried shrugging off the guards grip to walk on his own. The Turian was too weak though and the two men threw him down, back into his cell. Coughing, Kysar sat up as the doors closed and put his back against the bars, calling out for Kerry.
“Hey! Ker-” The Turian was interrupted by a round of coughing, quickly remembering he hadn’t spoken to another soul in two weeks. Slowly making his way over to the sink, he cupped some water in his hand and began to gently drink. After finishing, Kysar approached the bars again, standing and leaning on them. “Kerry? Spirits; you there? Have you had too good a week without me?”
“Shut the fuck up!” A fearsome growl came deep from within the cell next door. Way too deep for Kerry or any other human for that matter. What? A Batarian?
“Where’s the human? Did they transfer him after the incident two weeks ago?”
The Batarian chuckled, a long and slimy whine from the back of his throat. “Your human friend is dead. Word is that Augutius saw to it personally. I heard they did him nice and slow, slit his cheeks open, pulled out an eye, took fingernails and teeth.” The creature stopped, his laugh interrupting him. “Ohhh that boy suffered. Augutius wanted to send a message…”
Suddenly the bars began to move, disappearing into the walls as both cells opened. Kysar backed away, moving further into his cell, his face expressionless. Deep within his mind the words of the Batarian replayed over and over. His friend was dead. His friend had been brutally tortured to death. His friend was dead and it was his fault.
A wound began to open up deep inside. As if someone had pulled the plug from a drain and now everything that had made the Turian who he was, was now circling it. One by one pieces of him fell away as an icy grip breezed over him like a dry ice mist.
Standing in the doorway, the Batarian snarled, closing in on Kysar with a makeshift shiv in his hand. Flourishing back and forth, he flipped the knife in a threatening motion. And yet, the Turian stood still, his face giving away no expression, just frozen like a statue. The stranger closed the gap between them and with a vicious thrust, the knife slipped into Kysar like butter, stabbing him in the side of the abdomen.
The Turian made no noise, only looking down to see the shiv stuck inside of him before meeting the eyes of the Batarian. The stranger smiled, his needlepoint teeth salivating. Kysar felt… nothing. No hate, no anger, there was nothing left, except death. In a flash, the Turian’s hand shot from his side, grabbing the intruder’s hand and the handle of the shiv in one swift movement. With an iron-like grip, he held both in place as he snatched the creature by the scruff of his top. Pulling the Batarian in, Kysar met his nose with his own forehead, causing a sickening crunch.
Falling to the floor, the intruder wailed out in pain. Kysar, without a word or an expression, removed the knife from his side and in one fell swoop, slashed the bastard's throat. Removing his bedsheet, he cut a small bandage for himself and twisted the rest into a kind of rope. Tying it around the Batarians ankle, the Turian went out to the balcony and tied the other end to the railing. His row of cells overlooked their wings’ yard, everybody in the whole block could see what Kysar was doing. Flinging the body over the edge, prisoners began to whoop as Batarian hung there, being bled dry.
With a message of his own, Kysar had begun a crusade of vengeance.
Five years later…
Warden Kuril sat high above his subordinates in the prison's control room. His chair resembled more of a throne with plush, comfortable leather, adorned with silk capes that draped from its armrests and back. The space itself was laid out in a stair-like formation, with each level down deemed less and less important. No one sat at the top level with the Warden. To even approach the Turian meant you were met with daggering eyes and a great big sneer.
Hanlen Kibbolt, the Warden’s Second in command, could never bring herself to look up as she climbed to his side. A nervous mess of a woman, she had permanent beads of sweat on her forehead. Kuril enjoyed watching her squirm and grovel at his side. “Er.. Sir, we have an issue with one of the inmates.”
The Warden snorted a laugh. “All of these beasts have issues Hanlen, it’s why they’re here.”
The woman shifted, what had begun as beads of sweat had now turned into a river. “Yes, of course Sir, sorry, Sir. It’s just that, well,” she paused, placing a datapad on the armrest of the Warden. Hanlen was never allowed to hand him something directly. “This one is causing us extra issues.”
Lazily, Kuril picked up the pad, flicking through the personnel file of inmate 14677. “Hanlen, I’m running an entire prison of these primitive animals. Why are you talking to me about one single inmate?” The Warden sighed, tossing the datapad on the ground for his Second to retrieve.
“Well, Sir,” she said, as she bent down. “His name is Kysar Proctus and he’s taken out several high profile inmates. Totally wiped out the block king, Augutius and his gang. It’s cost us quite a large chunk of investment.”
The Warden gripped the arms of his chair tightly, grumbling as he swung around to face his Second. “So?! Just bill the Hierarchy to make up the difference? Do you really need me to tell you how to do your job?”
The Second gulped, using her sleeve to wipe away the now ocean of sweat on her forehead. “Um, well, Sir, that’s the issue. The Hierarchy won’t pay up anymore for the inmate and he’s not exactly a threat to civilians like some of our other inmates are, so we’re unable to cajole them.”
The Warden roared, standing to his feet and grabbing the rail in front of him. “These disgusting creatures, can’t they see what I’m trying to do here? What I’m trying to build? They’re lucky they’re little cash cows or so help me I’d just space all of them.”
Kuril’s eyebrows raised as the Turian had an ‘aha!’ moment. Turning back to his Second, he hissed. “There’s your answer Hanlen, we simply cut our losses with the inmate. Have them tossed into the void.”
Suddenly an alert sounded off in the room as a yellow warning light flashed.
“Cerberus ship on approach, Sir.” One of the subordinates stationed near the bottom called out.
The Warden stopped, sitting back down in his chair. “Belay that request Hanlen, we can see to it after. I need to focus all our resources on this next guest. This Cerberus operative is worth more than every inmate in here combined, we need to be ready to take him by surprise.” The Second nodded, opening her omni-tool and sending out a command for the crew to be on standby.
Below the Warden, a traffic control officer radioed in. “Normandy SR-2, you’re all clear to dock.”
