Author's Notes: this is just a simple warning that I'm giving to my readers, No, I have not abandoned my FFT story, I'm currently in the process of doing extensive Act 2 edits to cut down on various grammatical errors and to adjust the dialogue to be more fitting with each individual character's identity. The next chapter of that will be in a few days hopefully.

As for new readers to my work, welcome, I hope you enjoy what I have written and I certainly encourage creating stories of your own. Do leave any feedback you'd find helpful, I'm always editing and writing new chapters however it should be known that while I'm in college the time schedule for updates is primarily going to see production during the weekends when I've got free time. So there may be short periods where I don't update frequently. I of course have no intention to let these stories remain unfinished. Now, with that all said, I think it's high time I actually began the story

By the Spirits:

Chapter 1 "Turf Wars"

Omega Station, Omega Nebula: 2185 CE.

Scouts had eyes on the situation as it progressed. Informants were in position eyeing the war of attrition as the hours drew on. Archangel had been at it for days, looked like playing with the hornet's nest didn't pay off for him. Poor bastard didn't look to be getting out of this one alive, not with the Blue Suns, The Eclipse, and the Blood Pack all gunning for him.

They peered through slits in windows, or lay prone on distant roofs with spotting scopes to get a clear view of the action. All the best viewing locations were too dangerous to occupy. Archangel was a skilled marksman, and the wounds to the mercenaries who had tried to set up sniping positions were a clear testament to that fact.

So they watched, waiting.

A wave of freelancers would jump the barricade, Archangel would gun them down, and periodically he'd take the relative calm when a wave was slaughtered to try and eat the scant amount of food from an already emptied food tube or to check his rifle for technical faults.

The watchers would make notes of this. 1450. He's running out of Levo-amino rations. 1700 Another thermal clip has been expended. A bullet grazed his shoulder plates at 2200. He opened an ammo-crate, looks like he's digging in for the long run.

"Eyes up, another wave is incoming." The Omni-tools on the scouts' arms glowed slightly as they re-routed the message among the onlookers. Across the district various people all began watching the scene unfold intently.

The various eyes all pieced together the aspects of the battlefield. Each one gave a specific viewpoint of the scenario to the rest of the scouts.

"Wave just came over the wall, looks like freelancers again; I don't see any markings on them." A human voice announced, his communications running through his earpiece and redirecting through to the Omni-tool channel the others shared. Their tools universally translated into the various languages used by the rest of the group.

"No markings spotted on this side either, doesn't look like anything special from this side. Freelance fodder, expendable infantry." A Turian voice answered, noticeable only by the vocal reverberation that marked a turian voice from other species voices.

"Guys, you're not going to believe this. The one in the middle, in the black armor, he's got a November Seven logo. I repeat that mercenary is November Seven." The human responded once more, urgency in his rapid speaking. He had barely spotted the small design as the man jumped over the wall and stood still for a few seconds to crack his knuckles.

"You're sure? It could be a forgery; there are a lot of freelancers down there…" The Turian implied the question; any mercenary looking to work with the bigger groups would love to flaunt an N7 designation. It would mark a soldier as especially dangerous, and extremely well trained.

"I don't think so. There aren't many soldiers with an N7 ranking, and the ones that get it rarely end up CAT6'd. Hell, most soldiers with a November designation at all don't retire. They're the closest thing Humanity's had to Spectres." The human answered, he leaned in closer to look through high powered scope, his eyes were still trained on the N7 man. He blinked for a moment, trying to process the images. The N7 man had pulled out his sidearm and opened fire…on the other freelancers?

"Are you all seeing the same thing I am?" The human asked his comrades.

"Positive. N7 just opened fire on the other freelance mercs." Another scout responded, this one a female human. If he looked into the distance he could just barely see her hiding spot, hidden inside an abandoned apartment. The windows were covered with plates of rusted scrap metal barely giving enough room for a spotting scope to peek out the holes. Luckily for her, it didn't face Archangel's hideout directly; instead it focused onto the mercenary barricade from the west side and gave her a good view of the stairway in Archangel's hideout.

"Confirmed, N7 has engaged the mercenaries." The Turian answered, all professionalism now that the stakes had been raised.

"I can't get a good look at his face; any of you have a visual?" The man asked as he followed the situation on the killing fields outside of Archangel's hideout.

"Negative, no visual on his face, he's in cover behind a taxi, he'll be out of visual range soon. Can you garner any other information on the subject?" The woman answered him. "There's an insignia on one of the other freelancers. This one seems to be on his side. Are any of you able to recognize it? Subject is female. White skin. Wearing something similar to an Asari barrier suit."

"That symbol is for Cerberus." The male human answered, finally bringing his sight to focus on the woman instead of the man. He had a good view of the symbol as he zoomed in on it. "Definitely Cerberus, no doubt about it."

"How do you know, I've never seen it before." The Turian interjected.

"Makes sense, they're a shadow organization, I only heard a couple years ago, real hush-hush in the Alliance. The investigation into Admiral Kahoku's death brought up that symbol on a lot of the bodies Commander Shepard recovered. Whoever they are, they definitely mean business."

"I've lost visual on the subjects. Does anyone else still have an eye on the situation?" The woman answered, letting the new information dangle. They'd have time to sort out the detail later, back to their jobs.

"Negative, Subject has entered Archangel's hideout, I repeat, negative visual." The Turian answered.

"No go, he's inside the building, we'll just have to wait and see what happens." The man concluded for them all.

There were a couple minutes of silence. Nobody attempted to go over the barricade and the scouts didn't open the comms channel at all. They simply watched, and listened.

"I'm spotting movement, looks like one of the freelancers is still alive on the bridge." The Turian stated, focusing his scope on the last man standing as he tried to sneak around the front of a fallen storage canister before a shot slammed through the man's skull, showering the canister behind him with blood and grey matter. "Looks like Archangel is still alive." The human scout reported in.

Another minute passed. This one the scouts did not spend idly.

"Eclipse is gearing up to make their move. Archangel is still active, which means N7 and the Cerberus Operative are either dead, or working with him. Did you guys see anything else before they made it inside?" The man asked.

"A few of the freelancers made it into the building, not sure how many are working with them. I can only guarantee those two are not a part of the mercs. " The woman mentioned.

"Anybody get a look at the man in the orange armor?" The Turian asked next.

"No, I was focusing on N7. Why?" The man answered.

"He looked a lot like Zaeed Masani."

"Who?"

"Newcomer in the Terminus Systems? Zaeed Masani is one of the most dangerous bounty hunters out there. The man isn't really dangerous because he's a perfect manhunter, way I hear it, he just refuses to die." The woman answered. "There's a lot of freelance agents here, why's it so special that Zaeed is gunning for Archangel too? There's a decent payday for the one to bag him after all."

"He stopped next to N7 when they came over the wall and it looked like he said something to him."

"So that's what? Three people gunning for the mercs, and then Archangel. It's still at best four against a few dozen mercenaries from the local syndicates. "

"Eyes up, looks like Eclipse is moving." The Turian alerted the party.

They watched for several moments as various mechs and technically skilled soldiers attempted to breach the compound. After a moment of carnage a heavy YMIR mech was dropped onto the bridge.

"Brought out the big guns, I think Archangel is running out of luck." The human male commented.

As it began to advance across the bridge, the signaling light on the front of it flashed a couple times before the large mech turned and fired on the Eclipse troops. The ensuing fight was one sided as the Eclipse infantry was mowed down by the heavy mech and the combined fire from the hideout.

The comms line stayed down for the majority of the fight, only restarting once the Eclipse band was effectively eliminated.

"Jaroth went down. That only leaves the Blue Suns and the Blood Pack. Should we make the call?" The male asked.

"Negative. Let's see where this goes."

"Focus on the lower access bridges, I'm spotting a lot of Vorcha moving across. " The woman signaled.

"The Blood Pack is looking to get in underneath him. They get in close and there won't be a thing Archangel can do to stop them. Garm's the toughest Krogan on Omega. " The man commented.

"I've got a faint image, can barely see it but it looks like our friend N7 just popped up again. He just closed a shutter on the east side of the building. Watch the fire shutters. He's shutting them to block the Blood Pack."

"Smart move, that'll funnel them up to the top and back into the kill zone." The Turian said as he spotted the N7 man again, this time on his side of the building.

"Garm looks pissed." The man mentioned as he saw the Krogan warrior march across the bridge, flanked by flamethrower hauling Vorcha.

"Don't they always?" The woman chuckled as she watched from her position, only slightly catching a glimpse of motion before scoping in to take a look. "Whoa, you guys are not going to believe this. I can barely see the stairs inside but it looks like Zaeed's on top of Garm, he's…He's hanging onto a knife! The thing is shoved up under his skull plate!"

"Must hurt." The Turian answered.

"That'll make one hell of a trophy!" The man stated over the comms.

"Who the hell are these people?" The woman finally asked.

"Doesn't matter. Tarak's group is all that's left. They've got the biggest presence on Omega, let's see where this goes." The Turian answered, keeping the people focused on the objective of gathering information.

"Gunship is in the air." The woman said moments later as she spotted the vehicle fly up into position above the window on the second floor. "Dropping off troops."

"I'm seeing weapons fire coming from inside the building; they're still applying heavy fire onto the Gunship." The Turian responded.

They all watched on for the remainder of the battle, silently appraising the situation as the fighters inside the building cut through the armor on the Gunship and finally put it down.

The scouts all watched in stunned silence as from the building, the man in N7 armor, the Cerberus operative, and Zaeed carried a wounded Turian from the building, small amounts of blue blood dripping from him.

"Archangel is down. Looks like they did manage to get him, lot of good it did them." The Turian said, breaking the silence.

"Everybody, break camp, we're moving out." A Turian voice announced through the communications channel, the reverberation and flanged vocals indicated as such, however it was higher in pitch if ever so slightly.

"Acknowledged."

"Heading to Rendezvous."

"Orders received."

The chorus of confirmations rang through the Omni-tool channel. The leader of the scouting party finally stood from the position on the roof of Archangel's hideout, taking only the slightest move to step over the broken bodies of the Eclipse infiltrators who'd tried to slip in from the rooftop. She silently watched as the three scouts emerged from their hiding spots and took to the back alleys and maintenance passages of Omega, each heading to an agreed upon location.

They'd wait at the meeting point. That was a given. These were skilled scouts, or at least, as skilled as scouts that could be obtained on Omega, especially now that the other mercenary gangs had lost their leadership, manpower, and territory dealing with Archangel and the Plague respectively.

As they reached the meeting point, the dim light of a maintenance lamp flickered in the dark, barely illuminating the small corridor as the scouts arrived. "I'll make the call."

"Yes, Captain."

The leader pressed a number of buttons on the Omni-tool for a few moments before the message was encrypted enough for transmission between the scouting party and their leaders.

"Report." Was the first order received once the line opened.

"Archangel has been critically injured. Tarak, Garm, and Jaroth are all dead, as well as the entirety of the forces they deployed." The leader announced over the communications channel.

"Good. Report back to base, we're moving out soon. Derius out." The gruff sounding Turian commanded before closing the channel.

"Let's move, we won't get a better chance than this." The leader commanded, throwing her hood back and withdrawing her rifle from the magnetic clamp on her back. The Phaeston combat rifle extended from its compact size, ready for use. Her hands fell into familiar positions along the weapon's grip and body.

"Yes Ma'am." They chorused as each member withdrew their personal firearms from the positions on their armor.

As they marched away, the maintenance lights revealed the crimson armor they all wore, the claw crest etched into their suits, the red downwards facing arrow clan crest on the female Turian's face, and the metal tags around her neck imprinted with the terms "Cabal Infantry: N. Kandros," on the illuminated side.