Salina Velasquez, known to everyone as Angel, sat at the far end of the bar in the lower levels of Purgatory, a popular dance club on the Citadel, desperately trying to ignore the horrible dancing going on around her. She had overheard one marine call it "forget-my-problems dancing," and she had to agree with that assessment. Looking down into her glass of some unknown bluish-purple asari alcohol, Angel couldn't help but smirk. Ever since the attack on the Citadel by Cerberus, everyone had finally gotten it into their thick skulls that the war was real. 'Bout time they all got with the program. Angel had been shopping on the Presidium, waiting for a message from her captain, when Cerberus had attacked the Citadel. She had spent most of the attack dashing between stores, making sure people were safe and protected. At one point, she had even thought she caught a glimpse of Commander Shepard. They had served in the same squad seven years before for a couple tours. Then again, that was before Shepard, the dorky but fun engineer, had become the famous Commander Shepard. Smiling to herself, Angel remembered one time when they had…
"Excuse me, miss?"
The intrusion wrenched Angel out of her thoughts. She turned around on her stool to find a young Alliance marine, still in his uniform, standing in front of her rather sheepishly.
"I don't mean to interrupt your staring contest with your drink, but would you care to dance?"
Picking up her drink and taking a sip, Angel took the time to check out the young marine. He wasn't bad-looking, maybe a bit shorter than she liked, but strong and athletic without being overly muscled. As she took the time to look the man up and down, she watched his pale skin flush with embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck. Apparently he wasn't used to being scrutinized in such a way.
Angel, on the other hand, was used to being noticed. At 1.8 meters tall, she didn't need to wear heels to stand out from a crowd. The tight shirts and jeans that she enjoyed wearing did an excellent job of showing off her long ropey muscle, made for speed and agility, as well as her natural curves. Her thick midnight-black hair hung in waves down to her shoulders. The hair, along with her amber eyes and permanently tanned skin, were thanks to her Central and South American heritage. Salina did her best to present a feminine, girly front to the world, the kind that would make people see the curves instead of the muscle. She was rather girly naturally, but playing it up made people underestimate her and let their guard down. If someone tried to cause problems when she was around, she would rather they assume she was some vapid party girl. It meant that they would come at her unprepared. That had happened before, in seedier parts of the Tayseri ward, when some turian thugs had tried to mug her. They had been in for a big surprise when what they had thought was some easy mark, had turned out to be an N3 trained Alliance vanguard who had promptly kicked their bony asses.
Knowing she needed to make up her mind about the marine, Angel considered two things: firstly, the man, while not exactly her type, was attractive and polite. Secondly, she could definitely kick his ass if she needed to. He'll do for now. Finishing off her glass then setting it back on the bar, Angel took the young marine's hand and led him onto the dance floor. Better show these guys how it's really done.
For the better part of an hour, the pair enjoyed each other's company while dancing. He offered to buy her more drinks, and on any other night she may have accepted his offer, but she needed to keep a clear head tonight. Besides, good dancing was almost as good as a night of heavy drinking, when it came to blowing off steam. Thankfully, a group of asari had joined the crowd on the dance floor and began moving gracefully and effortlessly to the music. This considerably upped the quality of dancing much to Angel's relief. Normally, Angel preferred males for her romantic and sexual partners, but she definitely had a weakness for asari. Then again, so did most sapient life forms. She especially loved the commandos and huntresses, which these particular asari didn't appear to be. That saddened her for just a moment, until a pair of them came to dance with her and her companion. The young marine looked to Angel to see whether or not she minded. Angel could tell that, while he also enjoyed the additional company, he would ask them to leave if that was what she wanted. The sentiment was sweet, but Angel was a strong believer that there was no such thing as too much sexiness in one place. So she simply smiled at the young marine to let him know that it was okay, then continued to dance.
Sadly, less than a minute later, Angel's omni-tool buzzed with an incoming message. She immediately stopped dancing and opened the message. Like she thought, it was from Captain Renault. The message included only two words: "It's time." She closed the message and turned to the marine. "Sorry hon, time for me to go." She nodded to the two asari, then hurried out of the club without another word. Grinning to herself, she couldn't help but think she was behaving a bit like Cinderella, simply dashing off when her omni-tool chimed. But I'll be damned if I leave one of my shoes behind.
Amusingly enough, the meeting location with Captain Renault was another club. This time, though, it was the Dark Star Lounge in Zakera Ward. While it wasn't one of Angel's preferred haunts on the Citadel, it did have ryncol, and there was a good noodle place within stumbling distance. There was nothing Angel loved more when she was drunk than a good bowl of noodles. Focus, Angel, focus. This is not the time to think about noodles.
As Angel entered the Dark Star Lounge, she realized just how different it was from Purgatory. It was smaller, with fewer people, and while the music still had a driving beat, it wasn't nearly as bone-shaking. Quickly scanning the room, which was easy due to the thin crowd, Angel spotted the captain sitting at the table closest to the dance floor. Captain Leonard Renault was a gruff bear of a man who looked like he should be living in a forest somewhere, instead of being a decorated leader in the Alliance military. With pale skin and a head of close-cut salt and pepper hair, he was a giant at a touch over two meters tall, and she didn't even want to guess the weight of the overly muscled man. At forty years old, fourteen years older than Angel, he had risen quickly through the ranks, using a combination of brutally efficient tactics and amazing leadership skills. Captain Renault had been the one to teach Angel the particular combat style she now used, which was devastating at close quarters. He had also been the one to recommend her for admission to the ICT N7 training program. When the reaper invasion had put a - hopefully temporary - halt on everyone's training, the captain had requested to have Angel under his command again. He had sent her on a variety of missions: everything from solo clear-all-the-enemies-out-of-this-hell-hole missions, to having her provide assistance to other species and help them shore up defenses. Working for Renault, she had spent the past month either by herself or in tiny units, a far cry from the large platoon she had belonged to before N7 training had started. A week before, one day before the Cerberus attack on the Citadel, the captain had messaged her to say that he may have an exciting new assignment that was right up her alley, and to meet him at Dark Star Lounge when he told her that it was time.
Finally striding up to the side of the table, Angel snapped off a quick salute. "Captain."
At that, Renault rolled his eyes. "Why do you insist on saluting me every time, Angel? I have told you many times that you do not have to pull that bullshit with me, not after all we have been through." His voice carried a noticeable, but not unpleasant, French accent. Not the upscale Parisian accent, but a provincial one from the Champagne region, where his family had kept a vineyard for centuries. He gestured for her to take the seat across from him.
"You can keep telling me that, sir, but you're still my captain and I'm still your lieutenant, even in a place like this."
Once again, Captain Renault rolled his eyes. Reaching forward, he picked up the glass of wine in front of him and took a drink. As he swallowed, the color drained from his face. "Merde!" He reached for the other glass on the table, containing water, and drained the glass. When he was done, he upended the empty glass on the table, and shoved the wine away. "That was disgusting! My family makes much better!"
Angel tried desperately not to laugh. "I don't know why you keep ordering wine, sir. You always make the same faces and say the same things." It was true. Every place the captain went, he tried a wine, if they had any at all, that he had never sampled before. The result was always the same: he would curse, down the glass of water, and then state that his family made better wine at home. She had never once seen him happy with wine he had ordered. Because of this problem, his family made sure to send him two cases each of wine and champagne at the beginning of every year, to tide him over. It was always gone by July.
"But it is true! My family makes much better wine in their own home than the garbage in this glass!"
"Sir, that's because your family is from one of the best wine regions in the galaxy and has been growing grapes and making their own personal wine for centuries."
"Bah!" He waved a dismissive hand. "That is no excuse for such a poor vintage."
Normally, Angel would have gone on talking to her captain for hours. They shared a similar sense of humor and had become good friends over the years of serving together. In fact, their rapport had become more like that of an older brother and younger sister than that of a soldier and her commanding officer. They would always spend at least twenty minutes on his wine tirade before switching to any other topic, but tonight was different. The Captain had sent his message and pulled her out of what otherwise may have been a very pleasurable evening with the marine, or possibly one of the asari from the dance floor. "Sir, you know I normally would enjoy our lengthy talks in a crowded bar, but you sent a message stating simply that it's time?"
"Ah, yes, thank you, Angel. You know me too well. You have received a very special and unique work offer."
"Sir, most of the work you assign me is 'special' and 'unique.' That's why you asked for me back after the N7 training was suspended."
"Hush! Now, I gave you those assignments for a reason. You were being tested."
Leaning forward, Angel glared at her captain. She didn't like being kept in the dark about matters like this. "Tested, sir?"
The captain reached over casually and smacked Angel on the back of the head. "Calm down, Angel. You know that I would not keep something like this from you unless it was very important. When I heard about this opportunity, I knew it was perfect for you. I did not want to have you get over-excited and fuck up this chance like you almost did your N training."
"Okay, first of all, ouch." Angel rubbed the back of her head. It didn't actually hurt, but she would still give him shit for it. "Secondly, driving that damn Mako is harder than it looks. And third, if they didn't want me to use all those missiles, they shouldn't have given me so many."
Renault pinched the bridge of his nose. This, too, was an old conversation. "The point of that exercise was restraint and subtlety, which you failed with flying colors. I did not want that to happen again so I did not tell you. Anyway, between my recommendation and that of Commander Shepard, you have been offered a place in a special task force."
"Offered a place where? And wait, did you say Shepard recommended me for something? But how? Why? I haven't seen her in years."
"During the coup on the Citadel, she saw you fighting and trying to save those who you could. She remembered you from your time serving together and, like me, also thought that this opportunity would be perfect for you. So, she put in a recommendation."
"Ha! I was right! I did see her!" Angel slapped her knee. She knew that she hadn't been making it up, but frankly, with the utter chaos that had been going on during the coup, she couldn't be sure. "But sir, will you just tell me what the damn job is?"
A smug grin passed over the captain's face. "You have been asked to join the N7 Special Ops."
"N7 Special Ops? I've never heard of that, sir. Plus, I've only passed N2 training."
"You do not have to be N7 to join. They got that name because it was originally N7 marines who led the squads. The squads are made up of exemplary soldiers and mercenaries who have done so well carrying out missions and securing holdings in enemy territory that they have been given the nickname N7 Special Ops. They are sent into unsecured locations in order to clear out an enemy, rescue civilians, and complete objectives, whatever needs to be done before the shuttle swings back around for extraction. Its members consist of all different species with a variety of talents, working together against our common enemies. This is what I have been testing you and training you for." The captain leaned forward and looked his lieutenant right in the eyes. "You have been offered a position on one of the squads, but the choice is yours. Angel…Salina…This is the kind of work you were made for. Do you accept?"
Angel sat there, stunned. Her captain was right, this was everything she wanted. She loved working with small squads in dangerous areas: tearing enemies apart, doing what she had to, and getting out again. It was a mission like that where her first squad leader, Lieutenant Rivera, had given her her nickname. Since then, she had always gone by Angel. She lowered her head to stare at the table while she considered the captain's offer, doing her best to drown out the now-unwanted dance music. She wanted to say yes so badly, but could she really turn her back on the Alliance like this? Sure, she had been mostly off on her own away from the Alliance for over a month, and sure, it was her captain and Shepard who had recommended her for this, but could she really step aside from the Alliance for who knew how long, to join an unknown squad? She did like the thought of working with aliens, though, especially perhaps some asari commandos…
As she was drifting into long thought tangents again, still waffling on her decision, a large, firm hand gently reached under her chin and lifted it. Captain Renault steadily held Angel's gaze, a mischievous grin on his face. He seemed to pick up when Angel's attention had shifted fully back onto him, because that was when he said the most beautiful sentence Angel had heard in her entire life. "You will get to play with missile launchers," he promised, his tone playful and light.
A smile spread across Angel's face then, now confident in her decision. "You know just what to say to a girl. I'm in."