We do not own Mass Effect
Harrison stares at the black armored figure before him as his loyal bodyguard is slayed, the stranger's pistol splaying the Batarian's blood over the floor like the painting of a four year old. He unsuccessfully tries to slow his breathing as he feels the fear deepen in his body. Smoothly, the assassin turns to him and takes one menacing step towards him. His heart skips a whole beat as it aimed the primed pistol right at him.
One shot and Harrison's head is shot open, the force of the bullet painting the wall behind him with sinisterly extravagant beauty. The figure replaces its pistol to its hip, taking a second to stare at Harrison's lifeless corpse before snapping its head away, leaving without a trace. From there it slips into an ally, away from sight, heading deeper in the crime infestation of Omega. The individual wavers with the shadows, deserving of its name… Omega's Ghost.
An assassin that asks for little, and performs high, killing the target the very night of assignment. The Ghost has lurked Omega for three years, and not one clue is known to who the person is under the helmet. Yet, one thing is known, Omega's Ghost isn't to be under estimated. Never to be under paid. For there will be consequences.
In the solitude of an empty bedroom, an Asari transfers her credits to the black armored apparition in her window. With a whisper of thanks and a nod the assassin accepts the payment. With a final salute, Ghost jumps out the window, riding the ledge till it reaches a fire escape. From there, it merges with the shadows once again. Not a sound, not a sign left behind, just a single memory.
The Ghost slips through the window of a worn down apartment checking its Omni Tool, curious of anything new, glad to find nothing. It slides onto the central couch and sighs tiredly before leaning forward and taking off its helmet. The black is forgotten as a short cut of blazing Auburn takes its place. Underneath, green eyes brighten a freckled face as they stare across the room. With a sigh, the helmet slips out of black gloved fingers.
"So… how did it go?" A human woman of light skin and jet black hair enters the room, taking a long drag of her cigarette. She gets no answer for the other just sighs and stares at the helmet as it rolls farther across the floor, giving no hint of looking up. The woman gives a distasteful 'humph' and walks to the kitchen. The redhead can't help but to flinch at the painfully tall high heels the woman wears, pressing its eyes close as with another sigh.
"I can't do this anymore. It is not what a girl my age does."
The woman lifts her head from her liquor, looking as if she was just insulted. She closes her brown eyes and lets off a soft breath as she lets herself calm down, opening them once again. She tilts her head upward, faking an innocent smile while she struts up to the girl. Gently, a falsely reassuring hand is laid on the saddened killer's shoulder.
"You have to go on though." The woman whispers, leaving a short silence as she observes the girl's lanky posture and hooded eyes, "Why don't you get some sleep my dear? You look exhausted."
The adolescent girl looks up to the woman with a trained smile, as fake as the woman's, "I guess I should. You are the boss Carla."
"Good night Maria."
"Night." Maria mutters getting up off the couch and grabbing her helmet. Silently she heads through the hallway, looking over her shoulder at her guardian as she opens the closest door. Rushing through the doorway she enters her room, her head low as the door closes behind her. With an angered growl she throws her helmet to the floor, her body tense and shaking.
"I'm not Maria. I'm White, bitch."
White doesn't know when she started to use her last name to refer to herself, but she always found it fitting. Safe in her room, she slows her breathing as she calms down her temper, taking off her armor and clothing till she is left to her underwear. Sitting on her bed, she wipes away the sweat on her body with a dirty shirt before standing and adding chalk mark to her counting on the far wall, above her disorderly desk. Adrenaline leaving her body, exhaustion takes over as she gives off a long yawn. Turning from the display of numerous white lines, she settles into her bed, hoping to finally get some proper sleep.
Multiple loud yells and the sound of breaking glass outside her window pulls her from her thoughts. Yet, for now all she can do now is roll onto her back and stare at the white ceiling.
"Oh, 98 bottles of beer on the wall. 98 bottles of beer. You take one down, pass it around, 97 bottles of beer on the wall."
Three whole years since she had woke up on this very bed, in this very building with a headache pounding her temples like a flaming hammer and not a single memory in her head. Through days of panic and anger, she quickly discovered her great skill in defense, figuring out her love of martial arts, and her powerful ability to use pistols and sniper rifles. Over the years multiple muggers and thieves lost their lives to the wrong sides of their own pistols, a couple of assassins themselves lost, countless dead for money, and one vigilante limping away, clear not to forget her temper.
"Oh, 1 bottle of beer on the wall, one bottle of beer. You take it down. Pass it around, no bottles of beer on the wall."
White swallows heavily, her throat tired and cracked. Weary with a week of sleepless nights, she lets out a drowsy sigh and rolls to her side, staring out the window. Very few people loom the street outside, very few people come to this neighborhood period. Yet this night is different, for there is a large group of Blood Pack mercenaries making their way down the street, and they look like they mean business. White creeps to the window and presses her ear to the glass, hearing the booming voice of the lead Krogan echoing in the mostly desolate street, "We're looking for Ghost, and we know you know where she is."
White turns her head to see the Krogan pinning her neighbor, a Turian she knows as Neff, to the wall of the building across the street. Swallowing a heavy lump in her throat, she jumps out of bed, making sure to pull a large duffle bag out from under the mattress in the process. Inside, she carelessly piles in her clothes, her black armor, sniper rifle, her teddy bear Mr. Bon Bon, and the rotting paper book that she found on the streets two years ago. With little thought she dresses herself in a shirt, jeans, and her pistol belt, nearly forgetting her overly large shoes. Reloading her pistol one more time, she throws it onto her side, swinging the duffle onto her back.
White runs out of her room and through the front door leaving Carla behind, but that didn't bother her. She dashes down the stairs and sprints out the back entrance, slowing as she carefully creeps down the alley ways. She has a plan as she heads to the slightly more crowded street that leads to the market district.
She leaves the current alley and tries to casually walk down the empty street to the next, tensing when footsteps come up from behind her. She turns to suddenly be face to face with a Vorcha. The Vorcha has on armor, Blood Pack armor. White backs up a step, her right hand creeping to her pistol. The Vorcha lets out a disgusting laugh as he grabs White's right arm and pulls her close.
She coughs at the Vorcha's putrid breath when he starts to speak, "Have you seen Ghost?"
White could feel herself shaking in fear as she closes her eyes. She lets out a stuttering breath and opens her eyes, staring in revulsion into the Vorcha's.
"Hell no, if I did I would probably be dead." She winces as the grip on her arm tightens and the Vorcha lets off a snarl, "I know you're lying you pitiful human, tell me the truth."
White freezes in disbelief. Her eyes look around desperately as she quickly looks for a plan, licking her lips. Her head lowers as she gives the Vorcha a wicked smile.
"I don't know where to find Ghost, but I know one thing…" She kicks the Vorcha, grabbing her pistol with her left hand before shooting him without hesitation, "you're dead."
Shadows emerge at the street's far end, causing White to sprint away. Soon enough, voices erupt behind her as she tears her way to the next alley. She just has to make it through the next street, and then she can lose them in the markets. Yet as she reaches the alley's exit, White finds large crowds shuffling down the next street, lightly cursing under her breath as she finds trouble entering the mass of shifting bodies.
Knowing of the large shadow looming behind her, and cursing her easy to see hair, she presses herself onto the wall of the nearest building and shimmies against it, finally catching a hole the crowds. People pass her, giving her looks of disgust or looks of curiosity. Ignoring them she continues until loud yelling and chaos erupts behind her, causing her to reluctantly freeze in her tracks. She looks over her shoulder to find the lead Krogan pushing his way through the crowd in her direction.
The Krogan doesn't know that she is Ghost, just someone that shot down the Vorcha, but White knew she is still in trouble and needs to lose him. Instead, she tries to fit into the crowd as best she could and fakes shock. The Krogan is getting closer and White is regretting waiting for other people to start running before she does.
Thankfully they do and White follows, sprinting with then with all her strength and stamina. Finally dashing through the door to the market district where she stops. Panting, White finds a familiar food stand.
White sits on one of the stools in front of the stand and kicks her bag under the counter. She grabs a menu and leans into it, turning the menu so she can see into the stand but can't be recognized by passing people. Lifting her head slightly, she gives sharp whistle to gain the attention of the Turian in charge.
With a groan, he turns and gives the teenager a Turian smirk, "Aw White, what is that get up for?"
"Just looking at the spe..." White freezes when she hears heavy footsteps coming from the back of the district where she had entered, "…cials."
White turns to see the Blood Pack Krogan, obviously pissed to no end and hides behind the menu again. The Krogan growls as he takes a look around, passing the stand without any second glances, heading deeper into the markets. White sighs as she lets out the breath she didn't even know she was holding and lowers the menu, turning to the Turian.
One look at his face, she knew his question is answered, "Um… You know, you look too busy to… make a special… um… how about one of your Varren meat sandwiches."
The Turian shakes his head before turning to make the order, "For the last time, they're not Varren meat."
White leans on her elbows, chuckling away her stress, "Well then, care to explain the bullet wounds I sometimes find in my meat patties… or maybe you should explain that little exchange with the Blood pack some time ago. You know, the one ended with you leaving carrying a dead Varren."
The Turian tenses, slowly turning before he hands her the sandwich, "Have you been spying on me?"
"Not spying per say, I've… oh I don't know… been keeping an eye on you."
"And how long have you been, 'keeping an eye on me?"
"Since the first time I had to peel scales from my sandwich." She jokes lifting off the top bread slice and starts scratching the meat, "Seeing that exchange got me thinking, you don't get much money from this stand, and Varren, though cheaper than most other meat, are still quite expensive. You need to pay in some way, and you get plenty of information from costumers. I can only guess that instead of credits you gave them information… information about Ghost. Now tell me, what did you tell them about Ghost?"
"What makes you think that the exchange involved Ghost?" If the Turian could he would narrow his eyes in suspicion, but all that showed was a subtle shaking. White smiled in satisfaction and leaned closer, her hands traveling to her side.
"That Krogan isn't all too subtle in his search." White states idly aiming her pistol over the counter. The Turian's eyes switch between White and the pistol, and his shaking increases. Slowly raising his hands he stutters to save his life.
"All I told him what I've been hearing. The rumors of how Ghost is maybe an Asari, or a human female looking at the armor's shape, a… and how people had seen her in the Apartment District, m…mostly around the 30 buildings. T…that's all, please don't kill me."
White smiles and replaces her pistol. She takes a bite of her sandwich and her Omni Tool glows.
"Thank you sir, here are the credits for the sandwich."
She slides off her seat and slings her bag back over her shoulder and struts back down the streets like nothing happened. The Turian lowers his hands and watches her leave before turning back around, "White, 19 years old? Bullshit."