It was a ship of Salarian build, but it had seen so much battle and subsequent repairs that its distinguishing characteristics had all but disappeared. Its owners were a loose group of ruthless mercenaries, a Batarian crew with a few Turians scattered among them. On a normal day they were a well-organized lot – for a bunch of criminals – but there was nothing normal about this trip. It'd been business as usual for the most part; the weird shit started when they started for the port of Omega.
The station was fairly new – that is to say, newly refurbished. A third such attempt apparently, in the last couple centuries. Time and again enterprising syndicates and pirate bands took up in the eezo goldmine, and time and again they failed.
Seemed to be like someone had finally gotten it right though. For the past three decades, 'Omega' fell from criminal lips with increasing frequency. Traders, mercenaries, killers, explorers; folk of all stripes and colors flocked to the asteroid in search of a gilded future.
The owners of the Atrocious were no different in this respect. This was the fifth successful month of raids they were returning from, cargo hold chock-full of stolen riches. Drugs, arms, rare species, exotic foods, experimental equipment, and one stowaway. A Batarian had found the illicit passenger secreted away among the towering piles of weapons crates after following a trail of rations wrappers. He hauled this resolution to the mystery of disappearing food into the mess hall with a pistol to her head and began the longest argument in the history of their group.
They were still bickering about the stowaway when the vessel passed through the spires of Omega, lovingly dubbed 'Hellgate'. A short and feisty Turian barked a few choice words at the glaring Batarian before turning to face a pair of guards. They'd come to collect the fee on part of the station's current overlord, a cruel Krogan of fearsome renown. Without complaint the leader settled their dues, all without taking his eyes off the point of contention in their midst.
"Well, sweet blue darling," he drawled into the silence, striding in front of the stowaway. He reached out with a single talon, lifting her chin to meet her eyes.
"What should we do with you, hmm?"
"Could always sell her," one of the Batarians piped in, a frequent advocate of slavery in their group.
"Not now, Gressh," the Turian shot back to a chorus of tired groans. Someone shoved the Batarian in question to the back of the room, muttering angrily in their mother tongue.
"So, what do you say, honey? Ever had any Turian?" His mandibles twitched excitedly as he raked a long gaze down her body. She was a young thing, hardly over a hundred by his reckoning. Deep blue skin, pouty lips, striking eyes… a flower in her prime, indeed. Only something was off, though he couldn't put his talon on it for the life of him.
If only he hadn't paid so much attention to her cleavage.
The Asari moved in a whirl of blues, assured on her feet like a dancer on a stage. A sickening crush burst the bubble of awed silence that had engulfed the group. They watched, gaping, as their commander stumbled backward with a broken jaw.
They were scrambling for their sidearms in the next moment. Instincts of a hundred battles betrayed them as they pulled out their guns, useless at such close quarters. Before any could get a bead on her, the Asari had already weaved through the crowd, dodging and rolling with the punches.
In the commotion that ensued, the only thing they managed to do effectively was block each other's way. Someone squeezed a trigger on reflex, burning a hole through a comrade. Another landed a glancing blow, but the woman slipped into the corridor before he could pin her in place.
Enraged screams followed her as she beelined for the exit, vaulting over the ramp to the echo of metal boots stampeding down the hall. She sprang from her landing with feline grace and melted into the milling people just as the Turian leader burst down the ramp.
"Fucking bitch!"
Welcome to Omega, alright.
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"What do you mean I can't go in?"
An hour later found her standing in front of the biggest, flashiest, loudest place in town. Afterlife. Her clothes, torn from the trip and the fight, helped her blend right in with the crowd. Trouble was, it was the wrong crowd she was blending with to be let in, apparently.
"No go, lady," the towering Krogan bouncer never missed a beat. The maiden huffed and turned on her heel, walking away with an air of arrogance that would make a Salarian Dalatrass green with envy. The moment she rounded the corner, though, her shoulders sagged.
Her first day on Omega hadn't gone exactly to plan. The way she'd imagined it, she would be sitting in a dark corner of some bar already, discussing contracts and employment with various recruiters. She'd take her time, assess her options, then finally decide for the most lucrative job and run with it 'till the end of the line.
Instead, she was wandering the safer parts of Omega, stuck in an endless loop of rejection and ridicule. With no armor and no weapons, no self-respecting mercenary spared her a second glance at the door. No matter what she tried, the only thing she gained was a growing vocabulary of colorful insults. Her initial awe had quickly faded when expectations crashed into the cold truth of reality. Even the enticing merchandise on display had lost its luster, revealing its counterfeit nature to her well-trained eye. Vendors called, offered, cajoled and haggled, but it was all the same to her. With a dejected pace the Asari meandered through the maze of the bazaar, lost in her ruminations.
How very different was the Omega of tall tales and the actuality of its experience. Where were the founts of riches? Where were the opportunities, the entertainment, the glory?
All behind barred doors, cold shoulders, menacing eyes. All behind the barrel of a gun and a palm open for payment. Just like Thessia, Omega, too, was pay to play. It nearly made her laugh as the bitter taste of disappointment flooded her mouth. They each strived to prove how they had nothing in common, how they would rather die than even be mentioned in the same sentence, and yet…
A hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present.
It was a rangy Salarian with kind amber eyes met her stare as she spun around. Didn't so much as raise a gun in her defense despite the blue wreath of biotics dancing inches from her face.
"What do you want?" the Asari barked, maintaining the protective glow.
"Calm down, girl. If I wanted to kill you, you'd be dead." She winked and continued as the Asari stayed quiet. "And believe you me, it was a close call."
She patted the gun at her side, voice still warm and neutral. "You're lucky Chief has a sense of humor. Derius demanded revenge, as usual, but some of his lads thought you might be more use to us alive than dead."
"The fuck are you on about?" The Asari lowered her palm, relaxing her tense fingers until the humming ebb of biotics retreated back under her skin.
"You the blunt type, huh? Fine by me," the Salarian laughed and started walking away. "You owe Gewitter a debt of transport and a broken jaw, girl, and it's awful bad business, owing a debt on Omega. Never know who might come collect. Or how."
The Asari felt her blood run cold as she stared at the retreating mercenary. "Wait!" Her feet moved of their own accord as she ran to catch up with the Salarian, wide-eyed. "How'd you find me?"
A muted chuckle was her answer. "Omega has its secrets, girl. Might live long enough to discover some of them, if Gressh wasn't lying outta his ass."
Recollection prodded at the back of her brain. "Gressh? The Batarian who wanted to sell me?"
"Sounds like something Gressh'd say," the Salarian nodded knowingly. "Now do us a favor honey, and shut up. Nobody likes a blabbermouth around here."
The Asari bristled, balling her hands into fists at her sides. She was about to try out one of her new curses when they rounded a corner, and then her throat went dry.
Under the flickering of a broken neon sign, the street ahead looked even more ominous than usual. Refuse littered the ground as if a storm had just passed through, and there was something suspiciously like an arm sticking out of a nearby garbage pile. She'd have stomached the sight and even the smell, if it weren't for a pair of vorcha rummaging through the torn belly of what might've been a Batarian. Three more stood watch on the other end of the narrow alley, each hefting a rifle.
"Want it or not, there's your chance to prove yourself," the Salarian muttered under her breath. An SMG found its way into her palm in the blink of an eye, safety released with a soft click.
"Mangara's runners. Looking for drugs, most like." She gave the Asari a once-over, then offered her the butt of a spare pistol. "Try anything and you'll wish the vorcha got you."
The Asari opened her mouth to protest, but the woman was already on the move. Training kicked in and she followed, plastered to the wall and its uneven shadows. Her breath shortened, her pupils dilated with the excitement pooling in her veins. She crouched low as she took aim, reminded once more why she'd sought out this station of all places.
Her finger came down hard on the trigger, three times. Three clean shots rang out, accompanied by the harsh staccato of the SMG. Five bodies dropped in tandem, flesh and armor, warm and cold against the indifference of Omega.
The Salarian whistled, holding out her hand for the pistol. "Gressh's gonna collect some winnings on ya, kid. Nice going."
They marched past the cooling bodies and continued deeper into the bowels of the asteroid, navigating level after level of barebones metal construction. Through the spires the Asari would sometimes glimpse the red sky of Omega's gaping chasms, but it happened ever more rarely the further they traveled. Heeding the warning, she kept quiet, listening instead to the thrum of life around her. The creaking of rusted alloy, the distant cries of domestic arguments, the bark of gunfire. Noise carried easily on the thick fumes that hung in the air, subsuming her in the potent stench of oil and blood until the very last of Thessia was exorcised from her pores.
She'd never felt so clean.
"Here we are, girl," the Salarian announced as she banged her fist on an unassuming door. There was a brief silence on the other side, and then they slid open, revealing four armed guards pointing their guns at the pair. When they had made sure the couple was indeed the only thing on the outside, they lowered their weapons and let them in.
"Took you long enough, Solus," one of them said as he led them into the compound. "Chief's waiting."
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"Well, well, well…"
A deep, flanging voice filled the office as she entered. She took in the space with a glance, straightening her shoulders. Most of the shit spewed by the Huntresses during her training was just that – shit – but there was one sentence that she'd come to accept as universal truth.
'However scared you feel, girls, you gotta look twice as confident.' Or else they'll put one right between your eyes.
The unspoken addition to that statement lingered like a ghost in the back of her mind the whole length of her trip from Thessia to Omega, an arduous eight months of her life. Despite the hardships they put them through at the Academy, reality trumped them ten times over without breaking a sweat.
It was with her chin held high, then, that she stood before the Chief, palms clasped behind her back.
Out of all the reactions she'd been expecting, laughter wasn't it.
"They still teach you that old garbage about fear and confidence, huh?" The Turian at the desk twitched his mandibles as the Salarian joined in with a quiet chuckle. She felt her heart plummet into her gut, eyes growing wide.
"Solus told me how you handled those poor vorcha fuckers on the way, kid. Not much of a guess after that."
"You mean—" she licked her lips, found her voice again, "they weren't Mangara's… runners?" Craning her neck, the Asari chanced a glance at the Salarian at her back. Solus grinned, winking again, and she felt all the more foolish.
"She pulls that on everyone, kid, don't sweat it. I just had to go and get the only fucking Salarian in the whole damn galaxy who has a sense of humor. Spirits punishing me for something or other, I reckon." He slapped a hand on his desk, rising out of his chair in one swift movement.
"Didn't bring you here to chat now, did I? We've got business, kid. Or, well," he waved at the wall in a dismissive gesture, "Derius's got business with you. Had to have been a real nice punch, that." Chief's mandibles twitched again as he drew closer, coming to a stop right in front of her.
"While he's nursing his bruised pride, I'm gonna ask you some questions. A couple of basics so I've got something to write down in a file, you see. Indulge an old military man?"
The Asari nodded, shifting under the Turian's clear blue gaze.
"Alright, let's see here…" he trailed off as he plucked a datapad from the clutter. Leaning back against the sturdy frame of his desk, the Chief began.
"Training? Commando, we've cleared that up. Age?"
"102."
"Still a maiden, huh? Any previous mercenary gigs?"
"None."
"Job preference?" he fired next, and was only met with a blank stare. "You know, area of expertise? Protective detail, bruiser jobs, wetwork, all that noise?"
The Asari shrugged. "I'm pretty adaptive. Always been better at offense than defense, though."
"Good, good. One last thing, then we're done here. Your name?"
A beat of silence passed as the Asari bit her lip, shifting on the spot again. The Turian twitched a mandible and tore his gaze off the datapad, boring into her eyes.
"Your name, kid. Ain't that hard."
"I… oh, fuck it. Talesa Tevos."
"See? Easy as popping a couple of vorcha. Solus'll escort you to Remnih. He's gonna be your boss until further notice." Chief went back to his desk and Tevos, a freshly anointed mercenary, went towards her future.
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"Here's your gear, kid," the Salarian handed her a set of leathers as soon as they reached the armory. "There's guns in the other locker, take what you need."
"We going somewhere?"
"We? Nope. But you're going out to meet Remnih on patrol. He's short a guy who got drunk and gambled his equipment away at Five Fingers'." Solus leaned on a nearby wall with arms folded across her chest, idly tapping a boot against the floor. "Word of advice, kid; don't do that. Pisses Chief off something fierce."
"Chief have a name by any chance?" Tevos glanced at the Salarian as she began clasping the buckles closed with practiced ease.
"Not for you, whelp," Solus shot back, grinning horn to horn. "Awful curious, aren't you?"
The Asari shrugged in reply and bent over to start on the boots. "Knowledge is power. Shouldn't you know that better than me?"
A snort sounded behind her. "Shouldn't you know better than to stereotype by species? Then again, you are a mercenary… and an Asari. Maybe you dance too?"
Tevos whirled around on the spot, one boot pointed squarely at Solus and her shit-eating grin. She just stood there for a beat, tongue burning with insults she couldn't voice. Not without getting her brains splattered all over the back wall. "Ugh, fine. Point taken," she backed down with a huff.
Surprisingly comfortable silence stretched between them as Tevos checked over her leathers and busied herself with picking her weaponry. The Salarian, to her credit, didn't needle her again until they were heading back out, shoulder to shoulder in the narrow corridor.
"You could dance though, you know. Looking pretty sleek in those leathers."
"Oh, screw you." The words tumbled past her lips before Tevos could bite them back, but Solus only laughed.
"Feel better?" Her amber eyes danced with amusement as she pushed open one of the side entrances. The light was dimmer outside now, having retreated at the onslaught of shadows. Darkness now crept from every corner, engulfing whole districts with its protective shroud. In another city, on another planet, this might've been cause to return to the safety of home. On Omega, night was merely another shift in a never-ending workday.
"So… where do I find this Remnih? And how? What does he loo—"
"Spirits, girl, do you ever shut up?" Solus shook her head and shoved her outside. "Otrin Remnih is a Batarian, looks like he washes his face with blood every damn morning. Fuck, knowing him, he just might. As for finding the guy…" the Salarian gestured at her wrist, "use your omnitool, kid. And try not to get killed, will you? That gun's worth more than your sorry blue ass."
"Hey! My ass is fucking fine, I'll have you know!" she yelled, but Solus was already gone, the echo of her laugh disappearing down the hall.
With a sigh, Tevos turned her back on the compound and took in the sprawling metal jungle of the station. Streets and gutters ran from the square every which way, each begging to be walked, explored, tasted. Even though there was no sun on the asteroid, this lack of artificial light still electrified the atmosphere the way the real thing did. Her skin tingled under the cool leathers, nerve endings alight with excitement. Blood sang in her ears as her heart drummed against her ribs, a caged animal aching to break out and embrace the greatest treasure offered by Omega.
Finally, she was free.
