Legion X51 — Roleplayer Guild

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Marianna didn't sleep. She never did when jobs were the next day, it always seemed a waste of time, and anyway, the adrenaline in preparation for the task at hand prevented her from resting. All 'night' she had been preparing for the mission, disassembling and reassembling her weapons and maintaining them in case one of them had developed a fault (it turned out her ammunition block for her left-hand pistol was out of line slightly leading to an imbalance in the shot distribution), and waiting for morning so that she could get out there and get that job done. She had considered heading immediately to the hospital, but figured that others would have had the same idea, and therefore she reckoned she'd wait for the moment. She wasn't stupid; she knew that Rakaelum had offered this mission to others - she'd been able to figure that out fairly simply - and she also knew that they would have been given the same instructions as she had. Shoot on sight. Assume hostility. Whatever version of it he'd said to them. It was a survival of the fittest contest, which was oddly stringent for an Omega recruiting centre. Usually, Marianna thought, you could take any old person off the street because nine times out of ten they'd be able to handle themselves around guns and gunfire, so this sort of selection process was strangely taxing. There was definitely more to this than a simple mercenary group trying to get some more muscle. This was something else, but exactly what Marianna wasn't sure of. I'll probably find out in due time... Probably. Let's just hope I don't catch a bullet in this maelstrom of a job.

A bleeping from her omni-tool indicated that it was time to get ready. By standard time, 0330 on the 16th of December, 2185. Even if she had slept, it would only have been 5 or 6 hours. She was better off going the full cycle and getting her head down when she didn't have a job looming over her, she thought. Looking into her pack, she went about making herself a sandwich for breakfast and washing it down with a cup of human tea. She enjoyed human cuisine, on the whole. It was varied, and almost always delicious. Probably not all that good for her, health-wise, but health be damned, she was here to enjoy life, not count calories. Besides, a soldier like her needed all the energy she could get, even snipers. Donning her Colossus armour, Marianna slipped out of her apartment at 0345 and disappeared into the Omegan early morning. She'd been able to source in-depth maps of Omega from her mother (I keep saying this, but she really *is* giving a damn...), and thusly had figured out the route between her safe house and the location of the infirmary, which, as Rakaelum had said, was fairly deep inside old, abandoned slums of Omega, lost to vorcha and god-knows-what else that lived in the darkest alleys of the station. Part of the challenge was getting there without attracting the attention of every vorcha in the district, as well as anybody else who had decided to venture out this early in the morning, but Marianna had a plan - it involved copious quantities of knifing - as to how to silently work her way to the infirmary. As for staying hidden, well, that depended on her own skill. She'd have to trust to skill and a little luck to get through this. Weapons folded away and in their holsters, as well as her twin knives, Marianna was ready. She hoped. Moving towards the older parts of the district she was currently in, she had been able to route a way through a disused and mostly-ruined factory that she hoped was not particularly full of vorcha and vermin, as well as several old, abandoned tunnels through the rock.

It had taken a fair amount of time to reach the abandoned factory, twisting and turning through the strangely-quiet streets of the station. Quiet on Omega meant one of two things - an ambush waiting to happen, or a lack of activity, and for the most part, Marianna had been able to reassure herself it was the latter, for the former hadn't happened in the time it had taken her to get to the factory. She'd turned off a side street down another alleyway, and with it lost anybody who had been tailing her (you could never be too careful on Omega), and entered the factory from a side entrance. Immediately, her recon hood was able to spot three vorcha who looked to be chattering away off in a corner, seemingly unaware of her presence. Marianna's hand strayed to her Kovalyov, but she stopped herself from arming up for the moment. There was clearly no need to attack, the vorcha hadn't seen her and they were no threat at the moment. Looking around, she could tell this was a former assembly line - rows of machines, mostly half-disassembled probably by the current occupiers (Vorcha were always good with machines...) lay silent and limp, whilst consoles were dark, dusty and powerless. The lights were off, though Marianna doubted they were supplied with electricity any more anyway. She noticed more vorcha off in the distance, standing guard over... something, she couldn't quite make it out. Again, didn't matter. What did matter was the approaching sound of gunfire - gunfire that seemed to be fairly heavy-duty to boot: assault rifles, the odd heavy machine gun, pistols... And that was right when the vorcha in the factory started to get up and go. None of them saw Marianna slipping from machine to machine behind them, as several heavily-armed thugs battered down the front door and opened up with a hail of gunfire, killing and wounding many of the vorcha who had mustered to defend their patch of land. The leader of the thugs, a... batarian from the sound of his voice, yelled out commands to his comrades, ordering them to search for anything valuable before they took over the factory as a base of operations. This was only slightly inconvenient to Marianna, who had planned to return this way after getting hold of the data, but there were ways around it. For now, she kept her head down and continued on her way through the factory, down into  a tunnel system, which, according to her schematics of the Omega station, should lead her directly to the infirmary. 

At least, that was the plan. Plans had a nasty habit of going wrong. Especially when the one making the plan has had no sleep and it's 0500.
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