Remembrance day, it started out the same for Markus Redcliffe every year. A day filled with painful memories. He groaned as he rubbed the bottom of his right thigh, the connector plate for the cyber-ware always flared up in the morning. It was similar to the sensation most people get after sleeping on their arm, only a hundred times worse. Swinging his legs out from under the sheets, Markus gingerly got to his feet and headed for the bathroom. Today was a busy day for the veterans bar that he owned, plenty of marines from all different races would be piling in to remember their comrades together.
After a shower and shave, he got dressed. Old Alliance BDUs, the blue faded and worn were the attire for the day. Have to at least show my respects to the unit, he thought, memories surfacing of all the friends he'd lost up. Even after his discharge from the SAMC, he had continued to receive news of front line casualties. He sighed, "I should get Watts to get me a new set of BDUs, can't keep wearing these tired old things, can I, Amanda?" He stared into the mirror, looking at the tired, greying man reflected back at him. Markus shook his head, knowing deep down somewhere that Amanda wouldn't have given two shits about his dress sense.
He made his way downstairs to open up the bar. It was still early, but on the Citadel people were always around. The place didn't sleep, not fully anyway. And there were always Marines on shore leave, C-SEC officers that were off duty and mercs who were waiting for their next paycheck. The bar itself had two rules. One, leave your weapons in the locker, that included omni-tools and knives. And two, all prejudices stay outside. Markus didn't care if you were a krogan who had a hard-on for challenging turians, or a human who had it in for salarians. In his bar everyone was a marine, which made them all brothers and sisters in arms. And if there was any trouble, well Larry the YMIR mech would show you the error of the offenders ways.
Once everything was up and running, Markus opened up. The vid screen was on the sports channel, the music was a mixture of human, turian and asari genres ranging from rock to dance. The beer taps were running cold and the glasses were fresh and clean. Markus leaned against the back of the bar, waiting for his first customers.
xxxxx
A few hours had passed and the bar was busy, filled with service men and women remembering their comrades. The atmosphere was sombre, despite the music and general buzz of talking that filled the air. A turian group had just bought a round of drinks for everyone, in honor of those that fought against them in various conflicts, when Markus's leg cramped. The glass of beer he'd been pulling slipped from his hand and shattered on the ground. Markus fell to, his cybernetic leg collapsing under him.
"Red, you ok?" shouted Lorik, a turian regular who helped behind the bar when things got too much for Markus to handle. He held out a hand, offering to help the disabled man.
"I'm fine, Lorik," growled Markus, swatting his hand away. "I've still got one decent leg." He sucked in a deep breath and gritted his teeth, pushing his way up to stand on his own. The pain flashed across his face for all the bar to see. That plus embarrassment at the fact his own body couldn't keep him standing for one stupid day. The patrons quietly watched as Markus let out a long ragged breath. "Lorik, I'm … I'm sorry. I didn't mean to …."
Lorik waved the apology away like a bad smell, "It's alright, Red, no need to apologise. We all understand the pain." A few acknowledgements came from several tables, even a krogan grunted his approval. "Take a seat and tell us that story, you know, the one about Shepard".
Markus sighed, he was forced to tell that story every year. Everyone knew the story by heart, but for some reason they always got him to recite it. Something about the way his voice drew the audience in. He didn't believe it for a second, they used it as an excuse to distract him from the pain of losing his leg. They could tell it was at it's worst on this day, every year. And he would indulge them because, although the story involved how he lost his leg, it was a story that made them all forget about the pain for a little while and just revel in Shepard's heroics.
He walked out from behind the bar, pulling up a stool and taking a seat. He rubbed his thigh absently before speaking, "I was there when Shepard took down the reaper."