The first thing most people noticed about him was his size. On this particular occasion the most notable thing about him was his inability to sit still. The imposing Turian fidgeted outside the non-descript door after what seemed to be days of security checks and worthless psychological gamesmanship. He moved his hand to hide a whisper of a smile as he thought back upon the past few days. His twin brother's strategy was to feign ignorance and defer to older egos in the rooms. But he was not his brother.

As babies even their mother could not tell them apart; but as they grew taller, so their disparities grew wider. Sidonis, the eldest by 4 minutes, was quiet, introspective, and methodically patient, masterfully creating a false sense of safety for his victims. He never spoke more words than necessary and kept his appearance immaculate in order to "blend easily": no tattoos, no markings, no piercings, no relationships. The Spirits only knew if he had ever been with a woman. It worked well for Sidonis, Sicarious supposed. But not for him. He wanted everyone to know he was coming. The younger brother's impatience, brazenness, and impulsivity were only surpassed by his markings all over his body. 'After all', he thought, 'my reputation has been earned many times over'. Indeed their personalities could not be further apart.

Separately they were impressively skilled, but together they were unmatched assassins, if not the best in the Turian empire. For the most part, their government agreed, at least until they were no longer useful. Like any effective secret agent, they were courted by paid handsomely for their work. Until their costs outweighed their value and they were sold out to the Salarian government in exchange for a worthless mining colony in the outer rim. After that point they lived like pirates and were wanted in most regions of the universe for an assortment of crimes, most notably for trumped up crimes against their home government. Sidonis warned his brother that his exploits were too noticeable for the cunning STG not to find them. "Ridiculous," the youngest twin responded with a drunken wave of his talon. Two days later they were captured and thrown in to a cell to be forgotten.

Four years later, in their dark and damp cell, a small slip of paper slid underneath the door. It offered their release and subsequent job opening in exchange for the murder of the Salarian running the prison. The youngest believed that his constant elucidations proved fruitful, that news of their exploits finally germinated into another job offer. The eldest made no speculation whatsoever.

Whatever their differences, Sicarious believed they balanced each other perfectly, which kept them both alive in the Salarian prison. The Warden had impressive bodyguards, and was no novice in hand-to-hand combat, but years of confinement with other universal scum nursed a deep, cold, and a-typical patient hatred for anyone the younger twin deemed an enemy. Captivity seemed to encourage patience in the youngest brother, and he willingly followed Sidonis' careful plan without complaint. They set up a meticulous chain of events between the various prison gangs, and after Sicarious did what he did best, running his mouth, the prison exploded into a massive riot. In the chaos, the Warden found himself face to face with Sidonis, the last face he would ever see. Afterward, they avoided suspicion from their peers and guards, by joining in the riot, keeping careful to remain in the periphery. The hope of freedom was enough to restrain even Sicarious.

Three weeks later they were riding in a private transport, replete with an array of many goods and services young ex-convicts would relish. While Sicarious wasted no time gorging himself on the drugs, alcohol and sexual servants, Sidonis sipped whiskey and watched from his bunk. The only contribution he offered during the transport was that their hardest job was now before them. "Ridiculous," the younger of the twins responded with a wave of a talon, and returned his attention to the feast in front of him.

Sidonis' eyes narrowed as he sipped again, but now the whiskey became sawdust on his tongue. "No little brother, our future now belongs to someone else. I fear we now join the service of a very powerful being, to be fucked whenever it is commanded." He poured the drink on the floor and continued to watch his brother ruthlessly rape the long forgotten asari slave until he screamed to completion.

With his shoulders back and face expressionless, the oldest brother patiently waited, trying to count both the visible and hidden cameras scrutinizing every minute detail. He knew they were being watched even though no one seemed to be watching, A true professional, he trained himself to memorize details of rooms, of faces, accents, and smells. Professional or not, very few clues had been offered beyond what he already knew: their potential employer was intent on leaving a distinct impression of control.

The brothers heard the lock disengage before the door opened to reveal a merc clad in black from head to toe. "A human?" the youngest scoffed.

The man spat on the turian's shoe and said, "This human has a pistol aimed at the back of your head, and I have an uncontrollable twitch."

Sidonis entered first without speaking, followed by his brother snarling at the human. To describe it as a room was a stretch. This was not a room. It was a massive circular chamber at least 150 yards in diameter. Placed around the rim of the chamber were numerous recessed lights aimed directly into the line of vision of guests, incapacitating their sight immediately and causing them to lower their gaze. Sidonis could not help but notice the illuminated floor. It was truly magnificent. Red swirls blazed across the beige carpeting, "like human blood flowing freely beneath our feet", he reasoned. The warning was clear.

"Sicarious and Sidonis Todlich. Welcome. It speaks highly of you that you have made it this far without dying," a shadowy figure spoke across the room.

"An asari." The thought of being employed by an asari disgusted and embarrassed Sicarious, a fact he hid poorly in his response, "Thank you for the compliment." He took the opportunity to scan all of the décor the room, stopping at a curious sight. "May I?" He nodded toward a large and clear stasis encasement that entombed a Turian Warlord's armor, and what was rumored to be a mythological weapon of old: The Reaper's Scythe of Xelon.

"You like that one. I'm impressed. Typically Turians are attracted to weapons that cause big explosions. But I forget to whom I speak, the infamous Assassins of Assago. I admit it has a nice ring to it," the asari's voice was light and melodic.

One by one, Sicarious moved to survey the many weapons of war and death presented in the room. Some were elegant, some were grotesque, varied in size and shape, but all were unmistakably lethal.

"You like trophies," Sicarious mused.

"No, young turian, I like power."

"Young?" The insult implying inexperience and "fool" was not lost. Sicarious returned to the Turian armor and ran his hand along the wide scythe blade of a long forgotten Turian warlord. It was as sharp as day it was forged. "I see," he glanced at the partially visible asari still seated behind her desk, "shall I call you 'Your Powerful Highness' then?"

No response followed.

After inspecting it for a few moments, he spoke again, "Some might say that such trinkets do a poor job covering up weakness. This reception hall is filled with many trinkets."

Finally a reply came from within the shadows, "True. But symbols speak differently to different people. Sometimes they are enough to communicate that power belongs to the owner. Imaginative people could also deduce that in order to accumulate these knick-knacks, one would have to pry them from their previous owners' bloody corpse."

Sicarious turned and walked over to her desk and accepted an unoffered invitation to sit in one of her very expensive chairs directly facing her desk. Still at this close range, the asari remained hidden. He decided that her tolerance of him was weakness. "Your Powerful Highness," he waved his arm around the room, "with all your many powerful weapons, why have you summoned us?"

One of the faceless body gaurds appeared from within the shadow and drew his sidearm with impressive stealth, but a slight wave of a now visible blue hand returned the merc to his position.

Sicarious was momentarily caught off guard, but quickly regained his composure. He laughed heartily and then dumped his large, muddy boots across the top of the desk in front of him. Dirt splattered on every item within reach, including the indigo blue hand resting on the desk. The fact that a wealthy asari was behind his prison release instead of the many warlords for whom the twins had worked infuriated Sicarious. He waved his arm around the room and yelled, "All of this pomp, the ornaments, and paid circus clowns, are they meant to scare me? Make me wonder if you can kill me? If you are in fact the one who called us here, then you know who we are and what we can do, even to you, 'Your Powerful Highness'."

Sidonis felt the static warning in the room electrify. A talent his brother didn't have, or chose to ignore.

"Say what you want about your power, asari, but I know exactly how you got your 'power.'" The Turian clicked his tongue across his beak like lips, "'Just like your your sister I left bleeding on your ship, you got what you got from fucking more powerful men than you." His talon moved underneath the waistband of his pants and he began to stroke his crotch. "So let's dispense with the pretense and get to the part where you earn my respect." His laughter echoed throughout the room.

Softly, but unmistakably, he finally noticed the crackle of biotics. His contempt for asari had loosened his tongue, perhaps a bit too far. He cursed under his breath as he felt his empty holster. Slowly he slid his right talon up his left arm, prepared to trigger the micro grenades underneath his skin. He paid handsomely for the projectiles to be implanted in order to make a quick escape. He would not be easily taken into captivity again.

During the entire exchange, Sidonis never moved, at least not until the mercs unceremoniously grabbed his arms and broke his left leg to bring him down to the floor. He offered no fight as they began dragging him from the room by his arms and on his face.

"Leave him!" the command echoed off the chamber walls. In a fraction of a second all attention was on one nervous laughing turian and one peculiarly quiet asari. Once Sidonis' head was lifted from the ground to witness the inevitable confrontation, the deafening silence was broken by screams for relief from the pressure of what felt like a transport ship landing on the younger turian's chest. The only thing keeping it from collapsing altogether was his biotics, which he could only now see paled in comparison to that of his captor. Precious oxygen was coming at a painful price. Each breath gave more and more ground to the invisible arm of the asari pushing down on his lungs. Just before he lost consciousness, metal flashed in the corner of his eye. He glanced down to see the inside curve of the turian scythe resting against his throat.

"You admire this weapon. So did its previous owner. So did I. A fact that proved to cause a bit of a disagreement between the two of us. Eventually the disagreement ended when I ripped his jawbone from his face and forced it up into his ridiculously small brain."

Sicarious felt the sting of the scythe enter the side of his neck and finally found the wisdom to stay silent.

"Tsk, tsk. You want so much for me to respect you." The light blue hand collected a small amount of turian blood as she ran it up his neck. "You are right. I do know who you are and what you have accomplished. I also know that your family is disgraced by you, your government has disowned you, and the only one who might miss you, should your body be shot out into space without a head, is your brother. I also know about the small explosive devices in your arms and that they do not work if your head is missing from your body. Yes, Sicarious, trust that I do not make many mistakes, that I know everything about everyone I encounter, and trust most of all THAT I DO NOT GIVE A DAMN ABOUT YOU, OR WHAT YOU THINK YOU KNOW, OR ABOUT GIVING YOU THE LEAST AMOUNT OF RESPECT!" The asari's anger roiled, igniting her cerulean eyes.

She now stood directly face to face with the trembling younger twin, and noticed an outlandish tattoo inscribed on his forehead. "'A god determines when a mortal lives or dies'. I like it. I think I will keep it. I know just the place for it."

'I have never seen him look afraid,' Sidonis thought as his brother's head stopped spinning in front of his face, the younger turian's body lay limp at the asari's feet. 'He spent his whole life trying to convince everyone he was not afraid. But the asari and Death were not fooled.'

The murderer of his brother looked straight at him. "Get him up," she hissed.

The mercs picked the turian back up with the same amount of care in which they rammed him into the floor.

"Will you grieve your brother?" she whispered.

Sidonis shifted his weight onto the uninjured leg and raised his gaze. His quickly swelling eyes met the a sari's. The image of his brother fucking the asari until she passed out flashed through his mind. "He talked too much," he answered. The taste of blood permeated his mouth.

"Ah yes, the quiet brother. I cannot decide if your demeanor pleases me or bores me. Your brother was an idiot. Do you share his same opinions?" The scythe turned toward him, still hanging.

"No," came his quiet response.

"Just in case you do…" Once again the scythe moved. This time sliding across Sidonis' face, opening a five-inch gash across his forehead. It turned, and easily the tip pierced through his right thigh. "…You need to know I do not accept disrespect. You also need to know that as soon as I found you in that poor excuse of a prison, you belonged to me. You now have a choice. You can either work for me, or die where you stand. If you decide to work for me, your new life will begin today. Do you accept my offer?"

The scythe remained in his leg while she walked back to stand in front of her desk. After a moment she sighed, "I have decided your silence bores me. Speak!"

The scythe twisted in his leg and Sidonis gasped. He sucked his breath into his teeth and looked in the direction of the asari. "Yes."

"One last thing, if you even think of betraying me, I will hide you in the deepest of slave dens, where you will wish I would have killed you this day." She waved her hand toward the door, indicating the meeting had ended and sat back in her chair and returned to the shadows.

The mercs obeyed without question and began to once again drag him away. He steeled himself, and to her surprise, raised his voice, "What do I call you?"

"I have a job for you. If you complete this job to my satisfaction, I will pay you handsomely and we can continue our arrangement. And then, and only then, you can call me Aria."