Edit: I added a bar name that was already in game, which seemed a bit weak to me. I was wondering where I got the idea from, oh well. Also decided to spruce the story up a bit, if you enjoyed or wish to leave some helpful criticism please review.

Mass Effect: From Ashes

Getting lucky at The Dark Star

Far below Omega inside its corrupted slums sits an old, rundown bar. The exterior is streaked with rust and grime. The windows that aren't broken are covered in a thick layer of intergalactic dust. Neither has seen the wet side of a sponge in decades. The cleanliness is seconded only by the massive violation in its integrity. The building leans perilously to one side as if, like its patrons, it has become so inebriated it is ready to fall into the gutter. To some it resembles an old haunted house. To others, it is a delicate pyramid of cards that could be toppled in even the slightest wind. Bribes and important friends are the only things that have kept this particular bar in business for so long.

The place is relatively nondescript and fits in well with the other buildings which inhabit this lowly level of Omega. What sets it apart is its bright, flashing neon sign. The light is well tended and looks almost new, if completely out of place on the dilapidated building. Hanging crooked, it proudly flashes at five second intervals which light up the entire street. It assaults all passers by with a violent violet flash. The sign is hard to miss and like a moth to a flame it attracts those who need a bad drink in a dirty hole. The sign reads one word only, 'Solas'

Behind this well known galactic drunk-hole is an alleyway. It is a decidedly average alley, one you wouldn't normally give a second glance. It is primarily used by employees for the dumpster access. It stinks. The festering slop inside is emptied twice a week, but the contents of the dumpster usually smell rotten even when they're fresh. It is what's passed off as food inside Solas, and it is why no one eats there. No one who knows better anyway, and that's fine by the owner. Solas isn't known for the food, it's known for the cheap, strong alcohol. Any tourist dumb enough to enter the bar and order the food deserves what they get. It's what they deserve in the majority of the patrons honest opinions. Most new faces aren't welcomed here, this is a bar built on and kept up by the regulars. And boy, how it shows.

There is another smell in the alley, sweeter and more poignant than the garbage. It is the musk of almost every known species combined vomit. The ones with the ability to vomit anyway. No one has attempted to clean it in decades. There aren't many people who come out to the alley. It is mostly nice and quiet. The only company you would be likely to find here is old, sluggish rats. They are abundant and greedy; most have set up homes in or near the dumpsters. They have become fat and domesticated thanks to the volumes and quality of easy to reach food. The chow is the perfect standard for them, disease infested and close to rotting. They do not have much to contend with down here and have grown content with their easy lifestyles. Their only concern is other rats or the occasional starving Vorcha looking for a slow, easy meal.

This alley is near-legendary to the patrons of Solas and the people of Omega. In keeping with the bars haunted house appearance, there are many horror stories passed around about this place. Sadly, most of them turn out to be true. The alley is a place of death, where warm blood flows and fresh bodies are left to stagnate. The rats love it. Besides the employees there aren't many people who venture into the alley of their own volition. If you are taken there it is because you have crossed T'lutus, the bars brutal owner. That rancid smell of vomit is usually emitted from terrified victims who have taken too much punishment, as opposed to the drunks. On a planet such as this, the alleyway is the closest thing to law as it can get.

If you were to deal with T'lutus face to face he would appear understanding and sympathetic. He is a master of manipulation and tragically, many people only discover this when it is too late. You may find yourself in the alley for a score of offenses. Touch one of T'lutus girls and you may come away with nothing but a broken hand. For starting a fight, you might get beaten within an inch of your life. Try to outrun T'lutus and he will break your knees. If you owe T'lutus money and don't come through you are as good as dead. That's after he takes everything you own (Which usually isn't much). Here on Omega it is common knowledge that no one takes a loan from T'lutus. Sometimes however desperation overrides knowledge. As does foolishness, and once in debt to T'lutus, you're always in. This alley truly is where Solas takes out its trash.

Suddenly, the door next to the dumpster burst open. It happened so quickly and with such force that the dumpster rattled savagely. Only a few of the rats scattered, these were newer to the dumpster life. The older, wiser ones became incensed with the noise, the sound promised death and death promised dinner. A man flew through the doorway and hit the opposite wall; his head whipped back and struck the cement with a loud, hollow thud. He hit the ground next and managed to catch his fall with his face, his nose and mouth exploded with bright red blood. The victim grunted and with much effort managed to lift himself onto his hands and knees. He spat the blood from his mouth and looked up. A huge Krogan strode out of the doorway and loomed over the man.

'You owe T'lutus, Grenick.' It said in a deep, guttural growl.

The man named Grenick looked up at the Krogan, wiping blood from a quickly swelling bottom lip. There was another above his eye but he paid that no notice.

'This how you treat all of your patrons Panthos?' His voice sounded muffled through his ruined nose. It was swollen and painful but Grenick didn't think it was broken. No one had ever broken his nose.

'Only the ones who don't pay their tab' growled Panthos.

Grenick stood on shaky legs and pulled his lank, shoulder length black hair back behind his ears. He took a stumbling step towards the Krogan so that they were almost touching chests. He seemed to be sizing the immense creature up. Grenick was a big man, standing at two-hundred and twenty pounds and six foot three. Not an ounce of fat on his body. He would be mistaken for a monster in his own race. Here however, standing in front of the Krogan known as Panthos he was severely dwarfed. The alien was close to eight feet and weighed nearly triple the man. The Krogan smiled, wrapped a huge, vice like hand around the smaller mans neck and hoisted him high into the air. He lifted Grenick like a ragdoll and brought him close until they were face to face.

'You're scum; you know what I do to scum?'

Grenick shrugged, he looked almost nonchalant save for his face which was slowly turning a deep purple. He grappled with the bulging, unmoving wrist. Panthos chuckled, shook him once or twice then let him go. Grenick fell to the ground gasping and holding his bruised neck.

'My my, what big hands you have.' Grenick said, wheezing

He spat again, clotted blood and mucus landed near the dumpster. A bold rat came forth to sample the morsel. The Krogan took a pistol from his holster and pointed it at the kneeling man.

'Now this is starting to get unfair.'

'You're a real smartass Grenick you know that? I'm going to enjoy killing you.'

The man did not say a thing.

'What? Getting scared now? Quick-hands ain't going to come to your rescue this time. My boys hunted him down and killed him this morning.'

Grenick showed concern over this. It was nothing more than a quick furrowing of the brow but Panthos noticed and smiled. Then Grenick smirked, it was almost trademark to the man. Panthos wanted to destroy his face so he could never smile like that again. Sadly he was pressed for time; he had three more 'Meetings' this evening.

'You didn't kill quick-hands' It was a statement. Grenicks cold, ice blue eyes settled on the Krogan. They danced with morbid light, seeming to mock the immense beast. They showed no fear, something Panthos wasn't used to. He wanted to scream. Instead:

'No,' admitted the Krogan 'He pays his tab, but trust me he doesn't look to good no more.'

'He never did' Said Grenick.

Despite his smiling, a cold rage had settled over him. Grenick may be scum; even here in Omega where all scum was welcomed with open arms. But he was not disloyal, if someone had hurt his friend he would see to it that they were made to pay.

'Do you have any last words or, better yet, three thousand credits?' Asked Panthos

'If I hadn't sold my blaster to pay your last outrageous debt, I'd kill you.'

'You're pathetic.'

Panthos cocked his weapon and levered it at Grenicks face. He was still smiling; maybe he could blow the smile off. His finger tightened on the trigger.

'Wait.' Came a voice

Panthos sighed, noticeably irritated. He thought about pulling the trigger and ending the mans miserable existence. Instead he reluctantly turned to the new voice.

'Who are you?' He asked.

'Names Karsa, I work for Cerberus.'

The Krogan grunted with disapproval and then said:

'What do you want?'

'Him' she said pointing at Grenick.

Grenick looked at her, pale, flowing red hair. She was beautiful. Her cold green eyes settled on him her face was stern and buisiness like. I love you he thought.

'What do you want with this weed?' asked Panthos breaking Grenicks revere.

'Well believe it or not, he was of some value at one point in his miserable life.'

'Hey,' Said Grenick protesting, 'I take offense to that.'

'Shut up.' Said the Krogan

'Yes shut up.' Said Karsa

Panthos seemed to think for a moment, his big brow furrowed. He growled from somewhere near his stomach from the sounds of it and then said:

'You can have him, he owes T'lutus money though.'

'How much?'

The Krogan's eyes flickered briefly, first to the man then to the female.

'Eight thousand credits.'

Grenick smiled.

'And you called me scum? Trying to hustle a pretty lady? That's low even for you Panthos. I owed him three-thousand credits, beautiful and not a penny more.'

'I'm charging her another five for not allowing me the satisfaction of killing you myself' said Panthos.

Karsa sighed, looked from the big Krogan to the unsightly man and nodded.

'Five sounds fair to me. If I had eight I would give it to you, this one looks like a handful.'

'You got it.' Said Panthos 'I was going to pop him anyway, I still could, free of charge.'

'Tempting. but no. The boss would not be thrilled if I returned with a corpse.'

The woman counted out the credits and then handed them to the man.

'Courtesy of Cerberus' she said with such little enthusiasm it sounded automatic.

'Pleasure doin' buisiness with you,' Panthos looked at Grenick 'and you, looks like your luck still ain't run out.'

'Hey what can I say? I'm a lucky guy.'

'You come to this bar again and I'll rip off your arms.'

'Shake on it?'

The Krogan muttered something and strode back into the bar. The door slid closed easily this time and the rats went on eating. If you did hurt Quick-hands I'll be back for you thought Grenick.

They walked out of the dead alleyway in silence. Karsa was several feet in front of the man who was still rather drunk. He had trouble keeping up with the pretty red head when the world was tilting madly from side to side.

'So you going to tell me why you saved my hide back there?' he slurred.

'You are of value to the Illusive Man Commander Grenick' she sounding annoyed.

The man stopped, when was the last time someone had called him commander? He couldn't remember. No one on Omega knew who he was; at least he didn't think they did.

'Who told you that name?'

'We have an entire dossier on you Grenick, your past, the reasons for leaving the alliance. I hate to sound Cliché but I know you better than you know yourself.'

'Wouldn't be hard,' He sighed 'What does the Cerberus want with me? I haven't commanded anything more than a bottle in five years.'

'I do not know the answer to this question. I had direct orders on getting you from Omega to our station in one piece. You will have to ask the illusive man yourself.'

She stopped and looked at the man, smiling again.

'That is…if you wish to come.'

'Sweetheart I really don't have a choice. Every one of T'lutus cronies will be out to get me now.'

'Good. I enjoy non-negotiation, saves time.'

'I do have one request actually.'

'Can't wait' She said, her words dripped with sarcasm.

'I have a friend who I won't leave behind.'

He thought of Quick-hands, he couldn't leave him here all alone. He was quick but someone would eventually catch him.

'Good, you have some semblance of honor. Does he have value to us?'

'He's the fastest son of a bitch you'll ever meet.' said Grenick matter of factly

'The Illusive man did say to find anyone of value for your team.'

'Team? I get a team? Good to know I won't be scrubbing toilets.'

'We have a lot of toilets on our base. It could take a team.'

'Karsa, if that was your attempt at a joke I say stick to what your good at.'

The woman smiled shyly. She wasn't used to speaking the way she had. Grenick had brought it out of her without even trying.

'Come on let's go get quick-hands.' He said

'Why do you call him that?'

The man chuckled.

'How about you see for yourself?'

Together they strode into the night. Grenick was still alive and now taking orders from a ravishing red head. He could barely believe his luck.