Standard disclaimer: I don't own any franchises, I make no money off of this, and there is only a passing resemblance to the official comic book/videogame canon.
He was a creature of habit. The days before this hunt were spent in front of his trophy wall, thoughtfully studying each skull, tooth and claw hung there. To the ignorant it would appear as crass navel-gazing, but each trophy contained a parable, a lesson in success hard-learned and oft-valuable. His three scaly fingers whispered lightly over the relic that had granted him the status of Master of the Hunt, a set of jaws longer than he was tall and studded at the tips with arm-sized tusks. The beast that gave them up was as large as a personal starcruiser, had taken two weeks to track and a day to kill, and yet- his arms lowered to his sides- it was such a disappointing kill. The young hunters now, they were obsessed with the largest of prey and would give an arm to take down an urd'ahk of this size, but for the veteran such as himself the only real challenge of slaying these dumb beasts was dealing with the carcass. His gaze settled upon the chest-sized triangular skull of a whl-kah, all thin plates and empty eyesockets and he caressed it lovingly with the back of one talon. This was a proper trophy, a reminder of a hunt that pushed him to his mental and physical limits. The true hunter sought prey that would challenge him with more than its mass. Speed, defenses, viciousness… and intelligence, these were the qualities to be sought. He returned to his comfortable recliner in front of the trophy wall and raked his gaze over the hundreds of skulls as he activated the holographic data he had been perusing earlier.
The central belt of the second-nearest spiral galaxy was well-known to his people. Within it lay hundreds of naturally-inhabited worlds, and scores more that had been engineered by the sentient races dwelling there. Once, it had hosted countless hunts as his people pitted themselves against the greatest beasts and most dangerous sapients the galaxy had to offer. Once, it had been a place where a single system could fill out a capable hunter's trophy rack, or send six lesser ones to their doom. Now… he activated a map display of one of the galactic arms and was greeted by a flashing red warning. OFF LIMITS BY ELDERS DECREE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH. Death, he scoffed. The elders, in their overly-prudent fear, would not even grant violators a trial. Now, the sentients in this galaxy had discovered remnants of an older civilization and from these remnants, had been granted the power to conquer the stars. The Elders believed that they were no longer prey. Now, the beings of this galaxy were a threat.
The hunter shook his head slowly as he zoomed and reoriented the map. Powerful though they may have become, these lesser beings were shackled to the mysterious gravitational relays that dotted their systems. They did not possess true faster-than-light travel, and they could not bring their war fleets to bear on the homeworld, providing they were even able to discern its coordinates. His people were secure in their isolation, unseen with their technology. The hunt could go on, provided that someone could show the Elders the error in their thinking.
Which is precisely why he was plotting a navigational course to the forbidden galaxy.
He closed the star-map and brought up the Tome, the encyclopedia of all suitable quarry within the known universe. Rays of light danced over the contours of his face as he surfed through the entries, locating the desired one and placing it to one side of the window. On the other side, he opened his personal file, the sum total of all the information he had gathered about this particular individual. The hunter dared not risk the wrath of the Elders for any common prey; he knew he must bring back a figurehead, a sentient who was for all intents and purposes an Elder to their species. He stared reflectively at his display, remembering the stories passed down from generation to generation about the hunts in this galaxy.
The specimen was perfect. His kind hailed from the fourth world of a star in the far arm of this spiral galaxy. Among all the sentient races, they alone were not the apex predator in their homeworld's food chain. They alone knew what it meant to be prey, to wake and regard each dawn not as a promise, but as a challenge. Reptiloid, standing nearly as tall to their humped back as the hunter himself, with the strength to match him and a physiology to endure the harshest of punishment, this race had been held back from master-level prey only by their relative dunderheadedness and obtrusive tempers. Most lived as warriors for hire; their millennial lifespans cut short after only a hundred cycles from careless violence and useless mercenary actions. Their species had been genetically shackled by the other sentient races, a terrible waste in the hunter's eye that left them bitter and scattered and given to useless killing for material profit.
This one, this reptiloid biped, though, was different. He was a leader among his people, concerned with their well-being and frustrated with their lack of direction. A mercenary, he worked alone, never trusting or employing others, preferring to see all jobs to completion by himself. He was gifted with a natural ability to manipulate the gravitational-based energy of the mysterious forerunner civilization and proficient in all the primitive weapons of this galaxy's races. The number he had slewn with his own bare hands, sentient and beast alike, and his considerable wisdom gave him the respect normally due to an entire battalion of warriors. Yet, unlike so many, the wealth and power had not corrupted him one bit, and he remained wholly dedicated to the hunt as a way of self-betterment. Many of the hunter's own people could learn lessons from this prey. The hunter reached a hand up to the hologram, clawed finger tracing the contours of the red-armoured being as he quietly, ritually whispered its name in its native tongue.
"Oohhhrrd-nahhht…"
"-Wrex, always a pleasant day when you drop in." Captain Fulgrim narrowed his eyes and glared down at the krogan mercenary at his desk. Wrex leaned further back in the chair and stubbed out the burning leafy wrap in his hand but made no attempt to remove his crossed feet from the captain's desk. A single dirt clod fell off the tip of one boot and landed on a datapad. Fulgrim's mandibles twitched.
"Afternoon," the krogan replied in an unnervingly cordial voice. "You made good time getting here all the way from the Presidium. I thought I'd have time to finish this." He tossed the smouldering thing at one of the wasted disposal chutes; it missed and riccoched under the turian's chair. "Ever had a human sig-arr, Fulgrim? Not bad. Puts scales on your chest."
"You don't make social visits, Wrex, so don't pretend this is one. I'm assuming you have something important to justify wasting my time." Fulgrim swept some dirt off his workspace and jabbed a talon into the krogan's booted feet.
"For all the rushing around you C-Sec types do, it never seems any cleaner or more peaceful here." Wrex chuckled and finally shifted his dirty boots to the floor. 'I need some information."
"And just why would I give you anything besides a ticket for public littering?"
"Because I hear you have more work for me."
Caught off-guard, the turian tried not to let his surprise show. For a krogan thug, Wrex was far too well-connected and briefed. He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out a datapad. "Four associates who supply sixty percent of the red sand dealers in Tayseri and Zakera wards. I can arrest every scumbag they hire to push their product here, but I can't touch them because they never visit the Citadel in person. I was hoping you could go to Sahera and… talk with them."
Wrex studied the datapad with a bored expression, then handed it back to the captain. "How loudly would you like me to talk to them?"
"Very loudly." The turian lowered his voice in case anyone outside the office was listening. "Enough that they are no longer a problem for me. I'll have the credits washed and transferred to an account of your choosing within three standard days."
Sighing loudly, the krogan idly tossed the datapad into Fulgrim's lap. "Always small fry with you, Fulgrim. Boring, boring, boooring." Two massive hands gripped the table as Wrex leaned forward into the turian's face. "You know Elarm Talid?"
Fulgrim folded his hands together. "The architect? He's had no trouble with C-Sec thus far. Are you planning on redecorating, Wrex?"
"I need the keycodes to his penthouse door."
"Absolutely not!," Fulgrim stated firmly.
The krogan was nonplussed. "I need to get some blueprints from him and he has an unpleasant habit of not answering his calls."
"Talid is a popular socialite! He donates a considerablae amount to our yearly fundraising gala!" Fulgrim raised his voice to a hoarsely-whispered shout. "Do you have any idea what the repercussions would be like if it was discovered that a C-Sec officer had aided a known criminal in a break-and-enter involving one of our major benefactors?"
Wrex cracked his knuckles, gave Fulgrim a disinterested look, and rose from his seat. He turned to the door and paused for effect. "Probably not as much as if they found out a C-Sec officer had been using a known criminal to carry out extrajudicial killings for the past twelve years." The door hissed open and he shoved his way past a salarian officer waiting outside. "Three days," Wrex called back. "The credits and my codes, whole and complete. I'll let you know which account to put it in."
The turian's only response was a hissed exhalation. He glared at the retreating krogan backside with enough intensity to convince the salarian that now was not the best time to speak with his captain. Slowly, forcing each talon down for every keystroke, Fulgrim brought up the information request system on his terminal and started typing.
Ward Six Security Asst: Routine Sweep Protocol. Request entry codes for apartment seven-six-zero…
A single belch filtered out electronically through the volus' breathing mask. He pushed himself back from the table, clawed manipulators rubbing at his belly contentedly. "I must say, Commander, that when I hired you to protect me, I expected the meals to be somewhat less… delicious." The tubby little alien nodded politely towards the turian at the opposite end of the table, clad in rich blue robes with white trim.
"You're most welcome, Anis Nain. Guests of your caliber are few and far between, and the Blue Suns always strive to be the most civilized freelance military specialists in the galaxy." The turian extended one taloned hand towards the black-clad krogan beside the volus. "Tea, Ganthog?" The dumb reptile merely blinked.
The door chimed. A batarian in combat armor, followed by a human female in simple Kevlar fatigues strode in after it opened. "Ahh, perfect timing. Sergeant Kel'vahn, your nightly report, please."
Kel'vahn spoke with the same gravelly impatience as every batarian. "Security is green across the board, no trips, no alarms. I've put the extra men you asked on sweep duty, Commander Velorum, starting with the 1500-hour shift." Turning to the volus, he added, "Your room has been left untouched as you asked, sir."
"Excellent," Velorum replied, dabbing a napkin at one mandible. "Technician Jez, how are things looking on the system today?" If the volus caught the slight accent on 'system', he didn't seem to care.
The human woman fidgeted a bit with the hem of her tunic. "The, ah, systems are all fine, no faults. We've made some progress with the new uh, inspection techniques you asked for. I have my full report here on my omnitool for your approval, sir."
The turian rose from his seat gracefully and beckoned his two soldiers closer. Taking his cue to leave, Anis Nain bowed to all three and turned to waddle out the door, trailed by his ever-watchful krogan bodyguard. As soon as the door closed behind them, the Commanders demeanour took a sharp turn south.
"When you were in his room this time, Sergeant, I hope you remembered not to touch anything," he groused after sitting back down and serving himself another helping of food. "If he even begins to suspect-"
"He won't," the batarian interjected, drawing a glare from his commanding officer. "I reprogrammed the cleaning bots to bump the hell out of his stuff so he can't tell if anything was moved slightly. That was a one-time mistake."
"Once is all we can afford. And you"- one talon thrust out at the human- "had better have some updates for me about his software."
Jez let out the breath she'd been holding in. "Oh yes, sir, I have full access now. Full access. I can see every sub-file, every directory… the whole program is laid bare. It's very ingenious, really- it doesn't use system forcing like all the other ones I've seen, it actually tricks the gambling machine into thinking- I'm babbling, sorry. Here." She tapped at her omni-tool and a loading bar speedily emptied. "I've forwarded the complete scans to your personal terminal."
"How many copies have you made?" the turian asked between mouthfuls of a repulsive-looking dextro pasta.
"Err, well, sir I haven't yet cracked the anti-tampering part of the-"
A fist slammed down on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes. "You had BETTER crack that file within the next forty hours." The commander jabbed a finger at the woman. "You came highly recommended. I would've hired a salarian, but you can't trust those slimy frogs." Calming a bit, he continued. "They say electronic gambling in Nos Astra alone is worth sixty billion credits a year. Sixty billion for one city! People will do a lot to protect that kind of money. If the casinos, if the Eclipse find out that the sole copy of a program that could financially ruin them is here… well, I want to be ready for when they arrive. Stupid tubby bastard, asking only four million! He has no idea what he really stole. Go back to your posts and keep working at it. Dismissed." The turian returned to his meal, leaving the two to their duties. Once they were a safe distance down the hall, Jez turned to Kel'Vahn, chewing her bottom lip.
"How long do you think it'll take before someone realizes that Nain is in our care?"
The batarian shrugged. "Techie, I ain't getting paid enough to think that hard. All I know is, when you see ships landing outside, start running."
"I understand your feelings, why you're acting this way." Seeing his puzzled/mildly-annoyed expression, the turian continued, "I read your dossier. You prefer to work alone. You don't like being part of someone else's team. Well, we understand and frankly, we feel the same way."
Wrex shifted and scratched at his chin "You prefer working alone? Then why are you a sergeant? Kinda implies working with other people." He glanced at the crested alien polishing the optics on his rifle. Korac was big, for his species, with dark black stripes running longitudinally across his face. Wrex thought they made him look like a sissy.
"Well, uh, what I meant is…" The turian stuttered, perturbed by the little mental hook Wrex had thrown. Probably, he was as good a marksman as he appeared, but he was a spluttering, apologetic mess in conversation. Ex-turian military, the krogan thought. No, ex-Citadel Security. Head's too full of public relations nonsense. No stomach for the hard kills. He'll die.
The bulky merc turned to the salarian across from him, completely shutting out whatever the turian's response was. "Sevvalt, was it? Lemme see your neat little gun again.'
"You know our names, krogan, we've been on this ship for two days now." The salarian's nasal voice had an extra edge to it from his displeasure. He leaned forward from his seat and held out the stubby rifle. Cocky little bastard, to be talking to me like that. Too cocky, too self assured. Puts too much faith in his little gun here. He'll die. "Don't mess it up," the salarian added, then returned to inputting entry routes on his omni-tool map. Wrex marveled at the lightweight little gun covered in metal piping. Nice little toy he's got here thought. Might take it.
"No eezo, huh? Still, seems like this thing packs a punch." Wrex spun the circular magazine in front of the gun's trigger, hearing it make a series of satisfying clicks. The salarian looked up and smiled a little bit, pleased to be able to talk about his tech.
"No eezo and no power source. Compressed gas and metal, basically undetectable by anyone not looking for it." Sevvalt blinked his large grey eyes and grinned. "I took it right through C-Sec screening once, on one of their double-down days. Nothing." He greedily took it back and set it at his feet as he checked over the spare gas canisters belted around his waist. "Nobody sees me coming.'
Wrex feigned boredom as he glanced around the shuttle's hold, trying to pinpoint the head of the snake. The whole operation started to smell as soon as he'd boarded the little craft. The client had wanted some tech recovered from an ex-employee being protected by Blue Suns, or some other boring inter-corporate drama like that. First, they'd wanted him to recover it and agreed to his full fee without contest, even after he'd padded it out a little. That quickly ballooned into him leading a team from the owner's personal loss-recovery department. Upon meeting up with the shuttle at the Spider Nebula fueling station, he learned that he was now just another team member under someone's command, and his fee had already been transferred to his account. Maybe small-time mercs worked like this, but in Wrex' league, nobody was paid until the job was done and nobody was put in second place when they could take first. They needed him for something, but he suspected that they weren't going to wait until the end of the mission to terminate his contract. Someone was going to try to punch his ticket if they survived, and it didn't' look like the pilot, the other salarian or the turian, which left…
"Eyes open you slugs!" The cockpit door hissed open and Captain Chara slouched through with all her usual contemptable, oily demeanour. Asari, two centuries old, ex-Eclipse Sister.The slinky way she moved, rolling her shoulders around obstacles and the wiggle in her hips always set off alarms in the krogan's mind. "Orbit's achieved and we're punching down in about three minutes! Check your purses, ladies, because we hit the ground running." She fell into the seat between Wrex and Korac and savagely bit off a hunk of the smoke-cured fish-thing in her hand, offering the rest to the salarian and, when he refused, the turian.
"No thank you, Captain." Korac turned away and grimaced. "Wrong protein type. Besides, I can't stand the look of that stuff… still has the bones in it, blech."
Laughter rumbled in the krogan's throat. "And that's coming from someone who eats dextro foods," Wrex chuckled.
Chara slapped at her crotchplate rudely. "Bunch of slack-jawed faranxes around here!" she sneered. "This shit will make you a goddess-damned sexual thresher maw, like me."
Delightful, Wrex thought. With the way business was going, you'd need a really good reason to leave behind a command position in the Eclipse. The Sisters were big on loyalty and intolerant of members liquidating their own underlings for spurious reasons; perhaps she'd found that a little too hard to abide by. Maybe she turned on the wrong person, got kicked out of Eclipse and slithered into the corporate world. Chara spit out a hunk of gristle and bone; it arced over her knee and splatted on the krogan's boot. He scowled. Or, maybe they just got tired of her eating habits.
The cabin lights cut out suddenly, replaced with a flashing red beacon, prompting the rest of the merc team to reach up and pull down the safety restrains from above their seats. Wrex wouldn't fit into his, so he gripped the underside of his seat hard enough to dent the metal. "Basement floor, turian fashions, hot lead sales," Chara smirked, "and more reward credits than you can shake your tail at." The red blip became continuous illumination, a klaxon sounded, and the shuttle lurched downwards like they'd just flown over a black hole. The other three mercs were tossed up against their restraints like ragdolls. Only the krogan remained still, swaying back and forth at the end of his tensed arms.
Wrex grinned. This was nothing. They should try the tomka taxi service back home sometime.
Across the southern planitiae, in the shadow of Cythris Mons, a narrow cloud of dust snaked its way through the low mesas and arroyos of the parched planet. At the head of the dust cloud, the four-wheeled rover creating it bounced and lurched over rocks on the irregular trail unused in years. Tools and weapons crates rattled around in back, and the two occupants in the cabin fared little better. Both were batarians bedecked in Blue Suns combat gear, and one was at his wits end.
"Govram, slow down, you maniac!" he cried. "You're going to flip this blasted thing!"
"Am not," the other snorted. "You're such a big baby, Karthak. You said you'd let me drive this time."
Karthak swore as his head riccoched off one of the roll cage beams. "Careful, numb-eyes! I said you could drive if you were careful. Slow down already, we're almost there." The rover crested a low hill and skidded down the other side, brakes screeching, as both mercs surveyed the basin before them. Wisps of smoke drifted up from the centre of a black-scorched circle nearly twice as big as their vehicle. A few fist-sized bits of metal debris were the only clues left behind.
"Hah. Who said it was just a scanner error? I believe that was… you." Govram folded his arms across his chestplate and grinned at his fellow recruit. "Boy, I'll bet the boss is going to be so upset that he sent us out here for nothing, right?"
His partner sighed, opening the voice communicator on the rover's dash. "Seven to base. Patrol seven to base, over. Seismic event confirmed. It looks like there was an explosion, maybe an old satellite power cell. Going to scan it and report back." He received the standard canned reply and shut off the communicator, pulling his assault rifle from the storage rack behind the seat and clipping it onto his back. 'I'm going to go do a half-assed scan. You sit here and try not to wreck anything. And don't fiddle with my seat controls. I'll know.' The batarian hopped off the passenger side step and into the baked clay dust.
Whatever had exploded had struck the ground with less force than normal, for re-entering debris. There was no deep crater beneath the scorched surface as Karthak had seen before. The blast marks looked strangely intense too, and even though the largest piece was smaller than his fist, there seemed to be too much debris lying around for a simple power cell. Karhtak held up a chunk of metallic material to his omni-tool to scan it, only to be greeted with a flashing red error message on the display.
"Figures," he groused. "Blasted thing works perfectly all the time except riiiight when I need it. Hey Govram, get your ass over here! I need your omni-tool! Govram?"
The rover was empty.
Karthak was preparing the mother of all chewings-out as he jogged back to the rover but froze up as he saw the blood spray over the dash and pool on the seat. His partner was nowhere to be seen. He raised his assault rifle and scanned the horizon all around, squinting with all four eyes as he peered into the shimmering heat waves. There was no sign of Govram anywhere in the distance, nor anything else but scorching air. Something was wrong, though. The air right in front of him seemed to be extra-wavy with heat…
Right as his radio crackled to life, he felt a sharp impact in his gut. Looking down, he saw two silvery blades jutting out directly below his ribcage, coated in blood. His blood. Crackles of electricity danced over a shimmering snake- no, an arm- attached to the blades. He tried weakly to get enough air through his larynx to say something but the darkness crept in from all corners of his vision, and he dropped to his knees and passed into the void, his life's end lamented by a strange clicking dirge.
"Kkkl-kkkl-kkk-k-k-k."