I tried searching for fics about Garrus' time on Omega, and couldn't find too many of those. Don't know how much Bioware is gonna shed light into that, if at all.
We know the names of the team, and some other random facts about them... The names can give some idea of their races, though nothing conclusive... Just my vision, though I tried to make it as accurate as I could.
Read and review.
Arctus Nectos was an ordinary turian, at least in his opinion. He just wanted to support himself, see the galaxy a bit... Y'know, experience adventure, see things. Grand dreams for a man who drove a small shuttle.
He sighed at his pitiful and uneventful life. His shuttle was a reflection of that; small, regular, boring... Except that the shuttle wasn't actually his; his fear of change and danger had kept him from making any kind of big money... Or 'big money', since the volus he and his partner had bought it from had sold it for a few thousand credits. But Arctus hadn't even had that.
Or maybe the shuttle was more of a reflection of himself than he thought; it was not like his life was his to live either...
Luckily, or 'luckily', he had met someone who had no such monetary or moral restrictions as he: Tirz.
Tirz was a turian, just like him... which was where the similarities ended. Tirz wasn't bound by his fear; he did things he wanted, often to recklessness. As a matter of fact, Arctus could remember pulling his hide out from dozens of places it shouldn't have been in. However, the worst thing about him was not his negligence, but his never-stopping optimism. 'Everything will work out, you'll see...'
And Arctus had seen, usually for the things to turn out even worse than they were before. But Tirz just kept believing in himself.
Arctus wasn't perfect either; to escape his miserable life, he had started using red sand. He was constantly high, reduced to just a miserable junkie. Not that he had been anything special before... Arctus remembered hearing that the difference between a junkie and an addict was that the addict still cared about what his addiction looked like to outsiders. And Arctus hadn't cared for a long time; his eyes were red from the drug, and his face looked repugnant, even disgusting himself when looking to mirror. He looked just like a drug abuser did. And he didn't care.
Arctus hated his life, and he hated Tirz.
But the thing he hated most was himself. His fear of change, his fear of anything new... He could, and should quit. Tell Tirz that he'd had enough, that he was leaving.
Yet he did not do such things. He just was. And he continued on, like the coward he was.
He flexed his neck as the shuttle dropped out from FTL, setting the course towards Omega.
Omega... Arctus and Tirz had set up a regular route between that hellhole and the Citadel, attracting very diverse sort of passengers. Desperate drunks and addicts, mercenaries, businessmen and 'businessmen', and just some who wanted to disappear.
The work he did disgusted him; he felt like an errand boy for the criminal underworld, doing whatever they wanted for money. One time in particular was forever burned into his mind: He remembered a couple of Blue Suns having a prisoner with them, killing him on-board... Then forcing Tirz and him to help them dispose the body. Tirz hadn't cared; The Suns had paid them extra, which meant more money for Tirz to spend on his idiotic ventures to 'get rich quickly.' They always backfired though, often forcing Arctus rescue him with his own money.
He didn't know why he did it, why he didn't just leave the bastard to his own fate. He damn well should.
"Tirz," he said to the turian sleeping in the co-pilot's chair. "Tirz!"
The turian snapped awake, his dark eyes peering around the cockpit, noticing Arctus. "What, what?" his annoying staccato voice asked. Even his voice annoyed Arctus; he sounded like someone who'd constantly whine and bitch, which was exactly what he did and was. A moronic whiner with endless ambition; both the long and short description of Tirz.
"Go wake our guest up," Arctus ordered him, irritated that Tirz had again forgotten his duties. It was his job to handle the customer service, while he drove the junkbox... He had always been much smoother than Arctus, even before Arctus had regressed into a disgusting junkie. Tirz definitely could talk, but most often his own stupidity made things so bad that even his skills in oratory couldn't save him.
"Our guest..." Tirz muttered, his beady eyes narrowing in thought. Arctus was worried that he might again voice another one of his 'plans', but again did nothing to stop it. "I have an idea..."
Of course he did. "Your last few 'ideas' haven't worked out that well," Arctus said quietly, reminding Tirz of his latest endeavor with some batarian. The 'endeavor' had ended when the batarian had found out that Tirz was stealing money from him and beat him up.
Of course, Tirz's explanation was completely different, telling Arctus about how the batarian was jealous of him for making so much money, and how he was making false accusations because of that jealousy. Arctus wasn't quite sure what the arrangement between them was, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with gambling. And extremely sure that the batarian wasn't making 'false accusations.'
He didn't care.
"No, no!" Tirz exclaimed, now turned at him. "Just hear me out. This plan is solid..."
…
Arctus didn't know how he'd let himself be talked into this again... And this plan was not only stupid, but also revolting and bad business. Even his drug-dulled mind knew that selling their passengers to the batarian slavers wasn't smart in the long run. Sure, they'd get compensated big, but after hearing that this line's passengers tend to disappear... Well, no more passengers, and most likely a C-Sec investigation on their asses the next time they arrived at the Citadel.
But Arctus did nothing to stop it, just found his mind craving for another fix... This could provide that.
The two turians had arrived to the cabin's door, when Tirz pulled out a pistol. "Where the hell did you get that?" Arctus asked in terror, afraid what Tirz had had in mind when buying it. Maybe Tirz thought about blowing a hole into him, then selling this ship? Arctus wouldn't even be surprised if that happened.
"I bought it, just in case," he replied, mandibles flickering excitedly once or twice, showing off by aiming the pistol everywhere, eventually at Arctus.
He slapped the pistol down. "Don't point that thing at me!" he whispered loudly, then glanced at the cabin's door, hoping that their passenger hadn't heard.
Tirz just looked even more excited. "C'mon," he said, nodding towards the same door.
Tirz opened the door, stepping in, with Arctus reluctantly following him. The lights were off in the room, the open doorway providing the only light. Tirz walked further into the room, pointing his gun towards the bed at the far-end. Arctus could see their passenger sleeping, wrapped under the covers, unknowing of what would happen next... Good for him.
Arctus' turian partner now stood right before the bed, and reached out for the covers slowly...
Then quickly tossed them aside, pointing his gun at...
A bag.
Before Arctus could even react, something struck the side of his head from the shadows, completely blind-siding him. Arctus lost his balance, and fell to the floor. He heard another similar sound, followed by a loud thump. The clattering of the pistol hitting the metallic floor confirmed that the one who had crashed down had been Tirz. Arctus didn't really know how to feel about that... He wasn't sure which one of them he'd prefer facing.
Then someone picked the pistol up, and Arctus heard steps. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the stars in his eyes, and looked up. Into a muzzle.
He felt terror creeping down his spine, the little that he still had. Even though he was pathetic, he didn't want to die. He found himself hoping for nothing else more. He was frozen.
"Here to bring breakfast to bed?" the turian passenger asked from behind the muzzle.
Arctus didn't even look at the man's face as he spoke, simply staring at the hole in his gun in horror. He couldn't move.
Suddenly, the turian before him chuckled dryly, lowering his pistol. Arctus watched as he took a few steps around the room, stopping over Tirz, who still lay on the floor, growling silently. The turian in blue outfit pointed his pistol at Tirz. "Whose plan was that?"
Slowly, and weakly, Tirz pointed at Arctus, who wasn't exactly surprised. Tirz always blamed others, nothing was ever his fault. Arctus snorted quietly. Sneaky bastard, he thought. This was it; if he survived, he'd quit. He was done. Tirz could roll and die in his own feces for all he cared. Damn, Arctus would even rather move to Invictus jungle than stay here...
Then the turian turned his head at Arctus, immediately freezing him. If he survived...
The turian passenger gazed at him for a second, then turned back to Tirz. "He's a drug addict. You lie." His mandibles moved in hate and disgust as he glared at Arctus' partner. "Turians don't lie."
He then aimed his pistol at Tirz's head, Arctus holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Was he going to kill them? He should; they were scum, slave-traders. They deserved to die.
And he fired.
But Tirz's terrified shriek meant that he was still alive, so the turian had probably missed. On purpose.
Leaving Tirz lying to the floor terrified at his near death, the blue turian stepped nearer Arctus, still cradling the pistol in his hand. "Slavers?" he asked, his mandibles moving knowingly, and Arctus couldn't help but nod. His honor was long gone, but at least he wouldn't lie.
The turian stared at him for a moment, like wondering about that same thing. Apparently he decided to believe him, because he turned around, walked to his bed and opened his bag. "You haven't done this before? Have you?" he asked, dropping the pistol into his bag.
"No," Arctus answered. "It was just spur of the moment..." Arctus again felt disgusted at himself, at his lack of spine. He wasn't a turian, but a vermin. How could he have let it come to this? To become a slaver? When had he completely forgotten his honor? He was filth. "I should have stopped it."
"Yeah, you should have," the turian responded blankly, still keeping his eyes on his bag's contents.
Arctus felt like that he could stand up now, that the turian wasn't going to harm him... He just didn't know if he should.
Despite not knowing he carefully, avoiding any sudden movements, rose back to his feet, nestling against the wall. "What... what do you want?" he asked, the turian looking at him after the question. Arctus' mind quickly starting listing for things the turian could possibly want. "Money? We don't have much, but you can have it all... Or this ship? You can have this ship..." Arctus lowered his head in shame, in self-contempt. If he should die, he should die standing like a true turian would... But he couldn't. "I... I just want to live."
The blue turian closed his bag, and lifted it over his shoulder. "Don't we all..."
As he stepped closer, he gazed at Arctus, who felt like shrinking before him. Like he was a worm, a varren. "And what I want is to get to Omega. Like we agreed."
Arctus nodded quickly. "O-of course."
"Good," the passenger replied, stepping outside the room, gesturing for Arctus to follow.
They stepped out, and the door closed up behind them, leaving Tirz in the darkness. "W-what about my partner?" Arctus asked hesitantly.
The blue turian stayed quiet, looking around the door for a moment, then found its power switch. He turned it off. "He can stay there and think for a moment."
Arctus glanced at the door, and despite his terror, his mandibles moved in glee. Tirz could definitely use some of that...
…
After approaching Omega and hailing, the Omega's flight control answered.
Or rather Aria's flight control. In exchange for a cut of their profits, Aria allowed them to use her safe docks. Even thought the docks weren't particularly well-guarded or anything, they were very safe; nobody would touch Aria's allies. And live, that is. Arctus didn't really understand how the politics on Omega worked, but he did understand that Aria was at the top, and no one would cross her.
"Dock 427," a batarian voice of the flight control grumbled. "Like always."
"Understood," Arctus acknowledged, locking into Omega's signal, maneuvering the shuttle towards the familiar docking bay.
"How's Tirz?" the batarian asked. "Still alive?"
Arctus glanced behind him, towards the cabin his partner was locked in, and his mandibles moved in glee again. "Unfortunately," he replied.
The blue turian was sitting on the co-pilot's seat, constantly keeping his pistol pointed at Arctus, who knew that even one false move or word would be deadly. Still, he wasn't very worried, since he didn't plan to make one. When looking at the pistol again, he noticed that it was not the same one Tirz had bought; this one looked much newer and powerful.
It wasn't exactly a surprise that their passenger was armed; any sane person traveling to Omega was. But the pistol looked pretty top of the line to Arctus, even though he didn't know much about weapons, being a pilot during his military service and all... But he did recognize jewels from crap. So to speak.
"Is Tirz the one thinking in there?" the blue turian asked suddenly, his head tilted towards Tirz's at-the-moment prison. Arctus nodded in response, not bothering to answer.
"You don't get along?" the passenger followed up with another question.
They had tried to sell him to slavery, yet he seemed to hold no resentment towards them? Well, towards him at least... Arctus did have his reservations though; if he'd be in that position, he'd already killed them. Just to be sure. But apparently the turian at his side had nothing to worry about.
He clearly had seen combat, taking down both him and Tirz without any effort... True, neither of them was much of a fighter, but they were still grown men.
His posture too reinforced his suspicions; he noticed the passenger's talon closed into a fist on his lap, ready to strike, his dark eyes constantly following him, his legs positioned beneath him to get up fast. Arctus knew he wouldn't have a chance.
"No, we don't," Arctus replied to him, feeling uneasy at being watched so closely, at being probably a second away from death.
The passenger didn't ask any more questions, but rather grabbed his bag and stood up. Arctus took that as a gesture that he wasn't in a mood to talk more, so he stayed quiet.
But as they got closer to the landing zone, Arctus' mandibles started to flicker nervously, finding his hands not working with such automated precision as they usually did... Could be that he had a gun pointed at him. Still, following the signal Omega sent was easy enough, probably easy enough that not even Tirz could fuck it up.
And therefore, neither could Arctus.
The shuttle landed on a familiar pad, probably for the hundredth time with a soft thump.
They had arrived.
...
Garrus picked up his bag from the floor, constantly keeping his gun pointed at his chauffeur. He was a drug addict, and Garrus knew better than to trust drug addicts. He had met countless during his time on C-Sec, and had quickly realized that they cared for nothing else except their next fix. Everything was fair game, if it could somehow help them satisfy their addiction.
Like most, he felt revolted by them, but didn't exactly hate them. Some were addicts by choice, but he could understand that some of them were swept into their chemical-filled existences by events much larger than them. Still, he didn't pity them either.
Strangely though the turian before him wasn't exactly a typical junkie; he had a legal job, owned property... Garrus couldn't understand why he would have to search for comfort from chemicals.
Yet, it wasn't like Garrus understood much of anything actually; that was the reason he'd left the Citadel, left the Spectre training. Because he didn't understand.
He couldn't understand how none of the people there had any spine. Everyone just talked, and talked, and talked. Nobody ever did anything. Just empty words, empty promises.
With Reapers on the loose... How could someone not act?
Finally, he'd just had enough. He had thought the Spectres were free of regulations and rules made by people who had no idea what field work was, yet there was enough red tape to wrap one's self in. Report this, report that. Three copies of this, three copies of that. That's what everyone cared about; protocol.
Like there weren't worse problems.
So he had left. Left the pathetic bureaucrats to their own devices. They could talk for all he cared; talk about reports, about how many copies one should make. Talk about protocol, what was proper.
Let them do that. Let them talk.
He would actually step up and do what he said.
Omega was perfect for that; no rules, no reports. He was in charge, he answered only to himself. He made the decisions.
And carried the consequences.
It was probably the reason why he hadn't killed that lying bastard of a turian. He knew he should have, the scum deserved it. Yet he had not, had just scared him. Garrus didn't know why; he had not come to Omega to be lenient to criminals, especially to slavers.
But even so, the decision had been his, and it felt liberating. He made the calls, whatever those calls may be. He was actually doing something, not just sitting around and talking about it.
With a quiet thump, the shuttle landed to a landing pad.
His pistol still pointed at the pilot, he muttered a new threat. "I should kill you. You are a criminal."
The turian before him tensed up again, his mandibles twitching erratically in fear. Garrus felt some strange pleasure at seeing the junkie before him squirm, some sinister enjoyment over seeing the disgusting creature trembling in terror. Sometimes melodrama worked, especially on the dumber ones.
But the joy he felt wasn't simply some sadistic pleasure, but rather that Garrus felt like he was making a difference. The turian would think twice before trying that again. This was why he had left for Omega; to make a difference.
He wouldn't have to make any reports of this; just handle the situation the way he pleased and carry on. He felt free.
Killing him was one solution, the most efficient one, but somehow it just didn't feel right. If the junkie was telling the truth, this was the first time he'd done something like that, and Garrus wanted to believe him. Somehow he felt slight pity at the creature, being manipulated by that other scum...
So Garrus lowered his pistol, holstering it back into the thigh-holster. The turian before him almost sighed of relief at seeing that, the feeling of glee again surfacing inside Garrus. He dug his hand into his bag, his talons wrapping around a handle of a pistol. His assailants' pistol. He pulled it out, and tossed it to the junkie's lap, who simply stared at it in disbelief. "I don't steal," Garrus said coldly.
Then he pulled a credit chit from his pocket, tossing it to the turian as well, landing on top of the pistol. The turian simply kept staring at Garrus, his mandibles opening in confusion.
Garrus was pretty certain that the junkie wouldn't shoot him in the back, but as a precaution had still removed the ammo block from it. He wasn't putting his life in the hands of an addict, he wasn't that stupid.
"You should think more carefully at who you pair up with," Garrus said thoughtfully before turning around and starting towards the airlock. "Have a nice trip. Stay clean."
And exiting the ship.
...