McHaggis

Naruto: Black Sun

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Omega Serenade

𝗣𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗡𝗧 𝗗𝗔𝗬

𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗘𝗟𝗗𝗦 : 𝟬%
𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗚𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗬 : 𝟱𝟬%
𝗘𝗡𝗩𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗦𝗨𝗜𝗧 𝗙𝗔𝗜𝗟𝗨𝗥𝗘 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗜𝗡𝗘𝗡𝗧
𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠 𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗦 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬
𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠 𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗦 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬

Keelah, so much death. The impenetrable smoke bombs and the roar of assault rifles, the kickback from her shotgun and the buzz of an successful electrocution-by-drone––none of it could disguise the sights and sounds of bodies hitting the ground, never to rise again.

One of their number cried for a medic, and Daro began to crawl along the side of cover (lest she lose her head to the sniper on the rooftops opposite their last stand). Her previously-pristine suit was coated in all sorts of fluids. Flammable liquids leftover from the traps. Orange, blue, red blood all the same, lurid and horrid on the fabric. She steeled her nerve, and rolled into cover just before the storm of bullets overcame her position.

It would end here. Two injections of numbing agents and adrenaline for her ally later and after sealing a large rift in her own suit with omnigel, her certainty was reinvigorated that one way or another, it would end. The fear of running from mercenaries, of looking of her shoulder, it would be done after this. If the spirits were merciful, the Blue Suns would turn tail and run as soon as Bertram was dead.

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 : 𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗢𝗥𝗠 𝗘𝗠𝗘𝗥𝗚𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗬 𝗥𝗘𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗦 𝗜𝗠𝗠𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗟𝗬

Or perhaps it was a beginning instead?

^{_{██████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████████}}

𝗦𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗔𝗟 𝗪𝗘𝗘𝗞𝗦 𝗔𝗚𝗢

"Your suit's in better shape now, but the circulatory capacitor is going to fail within the next two months. Then you'll only have your back-up, and given you were just shot, I wouldn't risk it."

Daro's omni-tool clicked off just as the volus, a taxation officer by the name of Batnor Cal, lit up the room with the light blue display of his own. "It is appreciated, Migrant-clan. My suits last much longer with your tune-ups." Privately, the quarian reckoned that he ought to by more expensive envirosuits, the hardier kind, like her own, but then again, given that a single high-velocity round could ruin so many internal mechanisms and let the ammonia escape –– or, in her own case, let bacteria in –– the actual cost-effectiveness may have been in Cal's favor. "How much do I owe you?"

"One thousand for the consultation and the meds." She should have become a mechanic instead for all the time she spent fixing up his outer shell of the years, but given it wasn't her specialty and more of a favour, Daro couldn't ever stomach the idea of overcharging him for a hobbyist's level of work. "I'll give you the patch-job on the suit 50% off out of sheer amazement at the bullet which somehow missed every vital system in it and only nicked your lung."

"A generous price." He scanned his credit chit and made the payment, and suddenly Daro could afford most of next month's supplies. In the dim light of the clinic, she could also see the volus waver, even though his mask, like her own, blocked all facial expression.

"Something on my face?" Daro joked as she began to walk him out of the building. She picked up a bag of clinical waste to take down with her to save herself a second trip.

"No," Batnor Cal said with a distinct lack of amusement that was not uncharacteristic, though the extent of the seriousness in his tone left the quarian uneasy. "But you may wish to sleep with one eye open in the near future. Or, more practically, take a look into home defense."

"Why?"

As if revealling such secrets was the equivalent of having his teeth pulled, the volus reluctantly answered, "Your information must have been sold on. Someone is asking old patients of yours from the old place if they've – we've – had any contact since the takeover. I would not patronise you by suggesting you don't know who is behind it, but..."

"No, I know it's them. It always is." Daro sighed, rubbing at her mask which did nothing to relieve the stress threatening to bubble over. "I'm sorry you were put in that situation. Thank you for letting me know."

As they stood ready to part ways at the back entrance to the housing block, the volus reached up to pat her elbow awkwardly. "Not everyone is willing to give up your location, and those that would are not worth treating."

Daro smiled mirthlessly behind her mask, but bit her tongue rather than respond until he was walking away, "Take care of yourself. Don't get shot!"

Patients were few and far between these days. She shook her head and hoisted up the bags to drag them forcefully towards the designated trash deposit. Hot steam billowed up from pipes that ran parallel to one another, stretching vertically as far as the eye could see. Daro's (new) clinic was situated on the sixth floor of a six-storey block, but the alleyway behind it was seldom used by the residents, despite being the drop-off point for utilities. She supposed that most of them just threw their refuse out the window and hoped for the best: that it didn't hit any skycars on its way down to the bottom of the asteroid. The quarian envied those able to do so, but running a clinic out of her home generated medical waste of the sort that identified the existence of a clinic being ran out of someone's home. It wouldn't be difficult to notice, and all it took was one person to let it slip to a friend of a friend, and then teh Blue Suns would be on her doorstep.

Though apparently, they already were.

There were only two people crazy enough for humanitarian projects on Omega, and the Salarian doctor who worked out of the slums recently left the station, or so the rumor mill informed her. That left Daro, an annoyance to someone important who paid the mercs protection money, hence the target on her back. Cutting up the medi-gel containers into tiny pieces and shredding identifying documents before sending them for incineration had worked so far, and Daro hoped that it would continue to do so, despite Batnor Cal's warning. Being run out of one clinic was bad enough; there was no need for a repeat of that in one lifetime.

As she shoved large sacks of wasted plastic into a garbage chute two sizes too small, she was reminded that some people in the galaxy could afford to pay people to do this. Not Quarians, of course, but Turians and Asari and Salarians... If she could pay her way on the Citadel, perhaps she could find work at Huerta Memorial.

Nah.

Her omnitool beeped in alarm, an automated response from one of the drones she kept at the entrances to the district. It caught most of the commuters, but it wasn't so sensitive as to tag them as a point of interest.

Other than the alleyway she was currently standing in, there was only one other possible route to reach the apartment building. A defensible position. It wasn't one she would have chosen herself while hunting for a new place to set up shop, if it hadn't been for a certain Turian friend's suggestion. (Though, in hindsight, the other option was eighteenth floor and had large windows made of stained glass instead of hard-wearing plastic –– not so practical.)

"Well, what is it? Is it a threat? Blue Suns?" she asked the drone as the data transfer plodded along then critically failed in the last moments. "Oh, that's not normal. I'll have to check your camera out." Motion detected, but no footage. She tutted. "I bet it's Hazan either way, though it is quite late for him to show up out of the blue."

I wonder if something's happened.

Omega Serenade

aaand its up

Bits and Bobs

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Bits and Bobs

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The Wolves of Red Lake (Completed)

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Robin Marshall

Location: The Café
Interacting With: Olivia Johnson, Heather Ali

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"Don't worry about it, Heather," Robin said, with a casual wave of his hand, pushing in his chair and leaving the cafe, holding the door open for the others as he left. "What's a van you don't make use of? A waste of money, that's what." He patted the Dancing Queen on her mural before unlocking the passenger side door to let Olivia in and heading around to the back to get the main doors for the 'extra seat'.

After, he hopped into the front of the cab. "Alright. Directionally-challenged," he continued, starting the engine. "Since you called shotgun, that's your job. What's the best way to get to this house?"

Naruto: Black Sun

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Naruto: Black Sun

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Omega Serenade

Daro'Shuris nar Konesh

_{^{#E6CEC1 | TYPEFACE}}

⋙ Full Name

Daro'Shuris nar Konesh

⋙ Sex

Female

⋙ Age

26 Years Old

⋙ Profile

Engineer (Medic) | Tech Powers | Shotgun & Heavy Pistol

⋙ D.o.B.

2159 CE

⋙ Birthplace

The Migrant Fleet

⋙ Appearance

Daro is a Quarian of fairly average height for her race, standing at 5'5", but would be considered small in the grand scheme of things. Her envirosuit is the only armor she can use in a firefight –– light, but able enough to hold off a few shots before failure –– and thus even in the darkest corners of Omega, she seems to be wearing 'civilian' clothes. Her headpiece is one of flowery, lacy fabric, pure white and impossible to keep clean for long in the grime of the station.

As for casual settings, she frequently wears vests or even hoodies above her envirosuit with a hand-stitched logo of the universal symbol for medic. It tends to keep the riff-raff away. While working in a surgical environment or improving the anti-organic powers of her omnitool by the means of trial and error, she wears a second-hand Huerta Memorial lab coat.

⋙ Background

Daro'Shuris was born aboard one of the smaller ships that made up the Migrant Fleet, the Konesh, of which her mother was the Captain. Daro's father was not quite so reputable, a brilliant soldier but not all there in the common sense department. He brought home so poor a Pilgrimage gift that most of the residents of the Konesh looked down on him for, even twenty years later. Of course, to the captain who accepted him, "love knew no bounds". It's abundantly clear where their daughter's idealism came from.

Naturally, Daro was known as the Captain's kid and so was fairly well-known, especially on-board such a cramped vessel. Then again, there were always those who remembered her father's embarrassing youth and their children often parroted what their parents said – "Did he really bring back..?" – to pull on her metaphorical pigtails. Still, there were no complaints about her abilities and precocious talent for science, only a resounding relief that she wasn't as dumb as a rock like her father.

Even as a child, Daro expected to volunteer working aboard one of the Liveships, perhaps as one of the many engineers required to keep such a large operation running. Overall, she found herself attracted to the prospect of helping others rather than harming them – she would be no Quarian mercenary selling herself for work when the Flotilla entered a new system. It was only as a teenager, perhaps twelve or thirteen, that she wondered if her talents were better suited towards helping her people combat illnesses and prevent needless death by infection. Thus she "helped out" in the medical bay of the Konesh, at first clumsily sterilising hundreds of instruments, but later she was allowed to assist in patching up injured Quarians, studying biology under the watchful eye of the ship's own Doctor.

While Daro was preparing for her Pilgrimage, her mind was made up for her. A system fault in the Konesh destroyed it quickly, and it was her mother who was blamed and exiled for it, although nothing could have been done about it. Out of the three hundred strong crew, including Quarians who had not yet become recognised adults, only half survived to flee onto its sister ship. Given that Daro's suit was irreprably damaged in the process, she saw first hand how vital medical care was. A nasty infection that set her back a whole year when it came to leaving the Flotilla for her coming-of-age experience.

When Daro was eventually fit and able-bodied enough to head out on her own, she did so leaving nothing behind save casual companionship and the never-ending amount of other Quarians to avoid talking to. While she did intend on returning, at least in the first few weeks, her first stop was Omega. That's where the ship taking her to the starting destination left, and suddenly she was all alone in one of the worst cesspools in the galaxy. The only Quarians on Omega were those who had either failed their Pilgrimage, been Exiled, or had left the Fleet of their own accord, so she worked for a time in a gun shop ran by her people.

The knowledge that those weapons were being used by various merc gangs all over Omega – sometimes on the innocent, or as innocent as someone on the asteroid could possibly be – was difficult. While initially she hoped to work only long enough to fund a trip to Ilium or perhaps the Citadel, she ended up remaining on the crime-ridden asteroid for much longer, having found a purpose.

Doctors were in short supply, she quickly realised, and murders were, of course, as high as ever. Word got around that there was a Quarian who could prevent infection like the best of them and was adept at risky surgeries. It was sort of true, she was just used to working on herself. She had so many customers showing up just asking to be treated that her employer suggested she take her business into the slums where it might help others.

(Maybe he thought she would die down there. Who knows?)

Daro genuinely thought she was doing the right thing. The clinic she set up (in a small, cramped flat that was near-impossible to do anything with let alone sterile enough to take her envirosuit off) didn't ask any questions and payment was often not mandatory. It might have helped the underdogs at first, those who had nowhere else to turn to and no association with the mercenary groups, but soon she had a suspicion that most of those she was treating were trained killers themselves.

Which was okay! Except they didn't pay. Ever. Daro, whose funds were running low as prices of medigel rapidly increased, made an executive decision to steal it from one of the suppliers, a Salarian who cared little for the good cause it was being used for and everything for the money the doctor had to pay him.

Problem One: it was quite obvious it was her that stole it.

Problem Two: he was under the protection of another mercenary group.

Two weeks ago, Daro didn't expect to return home from her part-time job to find her clinic overrun with armed guards, effectively locking her out of it (even though she didn't try to enter since she would quite obviously die). The mercs were hunting her too, of course, if only lazily. Three years of hard work – the most productive months of her entire life – had gone to waste.

⋙ Psych Profile

If nothing else, Daro is determined to as much good as possible in the world while she is still living. Often she can be ditzy, idealistic over realistic, and almost hard to take seriously with how little she understands the circle of life on Omega; however, it's hard to argue that she hasn't seen it. It's almost willful ignorance of just how evil other sentient beings can be, but that ignorance is what keeps her going.

Presumably over the time she's spent on Omega, she has learned that not everyone is worth saving and that her own life is important too. Somehow she finds it within herself to shoot right back at those attacking her without losing even a fraction of a second to doubt. She's not stupid. Still, if there is an opportunity to spare someone she will take it; if there is someone requiring help then she'll offer it before asking the details.

⋙ Equipment

• M-3 Predator (Heavy Pistol)
• AT-12 Raider (Shotgun)
• Weapon Mods: Combat Optics, •Chemical Rounds
• Quarian Envirosuit – Explorer Model
• Serrice Council's Savant Omnitool

⋙ Powers

• Incinerate
• Neural Shock
• Damping
• Cryo Blast
• Combat Drone

Omega Serenade

_{@DJAtomika & @McHaggis}



^{◄ In loving memory of Hexaflexagon's excellent Mass Effect: Omega Serenade. ►}

Timeline of events that happen in the IC to go here.

Hazan Volintis
Daro'Shuris nar Konesh