Prologue
The galaxy is a dangerous place, but one place is more dangerous than the rest, the Omega space station and it's mistress Aria'T Loak embody the lawlessness in the galaxy, millions called Omega their home, but no one is safe, even Aria herself, intrigue and the struggle for power over the station, guaranteed instability and ample work for the dozen mercenary organizations on the station. The year was 2179, Omega was crawling with mercenaries and pirates, it was their hell and paradise, with countless clubs and bars filled with drugs and alcohol to meet the needs of every race. Thousands died every day, and the strong and rich dominated over the weak and poor, this was the natural way of survival, but for two mercenaries the station was a field of expression, a field of struggle between two ideologies, two different worlds that contradicted themselves, and for which confrontation was the only way to overcome differences and resolve year-long problems.
Chapter: 1
Pitne Dorn had arrived on Omega just two months ago, and had already established a thriving business, the volus had bought one of Omega's many bars in one of its worst neighborhoods.
Pitne had turned the old dirty bar into a true miracle for Omega standards, the old krogan from whom he had bought it, had owned the bar for almost two centuries, and they really did show.
Pitne had hit the right moment for the best deal, the old krogan, Nakmor Stror, had been tired of crushing heads at the bar every night and wanted to return to his mercenary calling from his young years before he got too old to afford it, he needed credits for new equipment, credits he couldn't get from the bar, credits Pitne had given him lightly.
After Pitne's successful and profitable deal, he only had to change the decor and transform it into one of Omega's hottest spots, starting with the name of the bar, 'A Krogan Welcome' somehow didn't sound very welcoming to him, so he changed it to ' An Assari Welcome' he also hired a dozen asari dancers to compliment the name. To make it look decent he needed almost twice the credits he had put in for the bar itself. Pitne also hired a pair of Krogan bouncers and a batarian bartender to compensate for the lack of the previous owner. Not long after, ''An Assari Welcome'' grew almost threefold. The patrons of the bar were mainly mercenaries, dealers and other 'moral' characters, they liked the old krogan , but the new asari company made them like Pitne even more.
One of the most frequent visitors to the bar was a freelancer named Hunter, no one knew his real name, but he had invented a proper alias for himself. Hunter had the look of a typical mercenary about him, a man about 6,1 high with surprisingly pale skin highlighting his Irish-Scandinavian origin, he had almost pure black short hair, a well-groomed short beard and an athletic structure, his armor was composed of various components from numerous known and unknown producers made to his taste, his weapons consisted of a M-6 Carnifex hand cannon and a M-15 Vindicator assault rifle, which was a very expensive getup for an ordinary mercenary, but Hunter was far from ordinary, his overall look and attitude created the impression of an unscrupulous egoistic renegade of unique self-confidence and charisma for whom the most important thing was himself and the money he made from his unethical craft. He had just turned thirty-three, but he was telling stories for an entire assari lifetime and one could wonder if they were all true. Pitne liked listening to Hunter's stories, form in his mouth they sounded fascinating as if you were there with him, so he allowed him to carry his weapons into the bar, and he often offered him free drinks as well. As Hunter often said:'Drinks loosen the tongue' Besides, it didn't bother Pitne that much, if that meant hearing another story.
-There was this turian who loved to meddle in the affairs of some battarian pirates and their perfectly 'legal' slave trade.
Hunter explained, the sound of his voice beaming with sarcasm, that meant he didn't mind slavery, which was partly true, if the slaves weren't human of course.
-The the battarian boss, what was his name? Shar'Anik or Chanik or something similar, he told me he had a job for me, and gave me the name of the target, Servinus Sraraca, a turian officer, probably sent undercover by the Turian Hierarchy to gather information about their base on Omega.
Hunter said sipping the batarian whiskey on the table.
-But why (inhalation) would The Turian Hierarchy send an agent undercover?
Pittne asked.
-I don't know why, the batarian didn't say, I thought they must have captured some people important to the turians, and they wanted them back, but it doesn't matter, the boss clarified that it must look like an accident, offered me twenty thousand credits, ten in advance, and as a self-respecting mercenary I didn't ask any questions'
Hunter said gulping the rest of the whiskey in his glass.
-Well (inhalation) what happened to the turian?'
Pitne asked.
Hunter looked at him expectantly.
-Ah, (inhalation) Ta'Mist!' The volus shouted.
-Coming!
Said an assari waitress.
Not long after, she appeared at their table, and Hunter checked her ''form'' closely from top to bottom.
-What will it be?
The waitress asked.
Sonya T'Mist was a scarcely dressed asari waitress with dark blue eyes, a blue tan and a charming smile.
Hunter didn't fall for aliens, but the asari, a race of dark blue sexy women, were the only exception.
- A Bina (inhalation) for me. (a strong volus drink containing ammonia)
The volus made his request.
-And for you?
T'Mist asked with a smile.
-A glass of ''An Assari Welcome''
Hunter said ambiguously, winking at the beautiful waitress in front of him.
-One moment
(inhalation) What happened next?
Pitne asked, interrupting Hunter's gaze at the naked assari thighs.
-Where did you find a piece like that?
Hunter asked with a lustful smile on his face.
-T'Mist? I only know that she comes from Ilium (inhalation) that's all, you were telling me about the turan officer. Continued Pitne.
-Ah yes, I do not know what a turian officer he is, given that a group of batarian scumbags had discovered his identity so easily, I suppose the turians are not meant for such an indirect mission.
Hunter laughed.
-So I started to follow his routine, it took about three days to make an action plan, it turned out that after work, our turian likes to visit a bar a bit different from yours.
Hunter explained.
-What (inhalation) how so?
-Let's say that people there are with ''different'' tendencies..
Hunter implied.
-Seriously? I can't believe it (inhalation) I thought it was forbidden for the turian (inhalation) military, and you know the turians and their rules, (inhalation) for them, the law is the law.
The volus wanderd.
-I thought so as well, I had to find out, and there were no cameras there, so it would have been easy for me to arrange an ''accidental'' death in there.
Chapter: 2
Nakmor Stror exited from an ERC (Elanus Risk Control) store armed to the teeth, he had bought three different weapons, a ''Hurricane'' shotgun, an M-3 ''Predator'' pistol and his pride an M-100 Grenade launcher. His heavy armor was custom fitted and gave him an even larger and more threatening look. Stror was an old krogan, he was a proud war chief in his youth, a title he had earned by killing the previous owner, but this life was far behind him, he was tired of trying to unite different tribes on Tuchanka, in his eyes that was a distant dream that would never happen.
-Filthy pyjaks. He murmured, crossing the dirty and crowded streets of the lawless Omega.
He was nearly eight hundred years old, but that didn't hinder him, he was big even for a krogan, his face covered with the scars of countless battles he wore as distinctive signs of honor.
-Get out of my way! Stror shouted, while bumping into another krogan on his way, the other krogan gave him a mean look, but didn't protest.
His own clan Nakmor, betrayed him, he had barely escaped the ambush they had set for him, and from that day on, he refused to be clan leader, he despised Tuchanka's policies, and denounced his people, but he still held to heart what it meant to be krogan. He had bought a bar at the most lawless station in the Galaxy. For two hundred years, he tried to forget what happened on Tuchanka, but seeing how other krogan sold themselves as mercenaries or guarding someone who wanted to hire a krogan as a symbol of their status, that discussed him, they reminded him of himself when he left Tuchanka.
He couldn't take it anymore, he had sold the bar to some volus, to do what was demanded of him as a krogan, he wanted a glorious death in a struggle with an unknown enemy at the other end of the galaxy, but he didn't want to sell himself to some alien scum, only the "Blood Pack" was made up of krogans.
-Where can I sign up? Stror asked, reaching one of the facilities for recruiting of the Blood Pack
- You want to sign up old man!?
The krogan recruiter scoffed.
-Mind your tongue boy, I eat pijaks like you for breakfast!
Stror threatened.
-Let me guess, you want a ''Glorious'' death?
The other krogan mocked.
-What I want will be your fate, if you do not stop wasting my time!
-Nakmor Stror! I was beginning to wonder when you will grace us with your presence. Said another krogan who was just entering the recruiting post.
-Werlock Grom, glad to see you old friend!
Stror said cheerfully, offering his hand as a greeting to the other krogan.
Werlok Grom was the leader of Omega's Blood Pack, he was a middle-aged krogan, what distinguished him from Stror was the tattoo of the symbol of the Pack on his head plate and visibly less scars on his face, the two krogans had met ten years ago at Stror's bar and formed a good friendship over the years, as Stror had saved Grom's life in an attempt to "remove" him as the leader of the Pack by one of his henchmen in his bar. Stror had crushed the head of the other krogan to a pulpy mass, seeing how Grom was being betrayed, he saw himself in him at that moment.
The two krogans shook hands and hugged each other.
-I really thought you were gonna rot in that hole! The other krogan said, while dropping his friend's hand.
-And I thought they would have replaced you here by now.
Stror replied.
Gorm laughed.
-Why if not for you they would have, what brings you to the Blood Pack, I heard you sold the bar, did you get bogged down in debt or something?
-No, a real krogan doesn't borrow money; they take it after a successful hunt of salarians or turians! "
The two krogan laughed.
-Well, you're in the right place for that my friend. What are you still waiting around for Krax!?
Grom scolded the other krogan.
-Stop looking stupid and sign Stror up!
-Okay boss.. Krax muttered.
-You're my brother now, come with me and I will bring you up to date.
Grom said, gesturing with one hand which way they had to take.
The two krogans were moving in a line along the narrow corridors of the base, Grom was in front, explaining details of what it meant to be a member of The Blood Pack. Stror was hearing what his brother in arms was explaining but he didn't care, he had an inner conflict at that moment.
-As you can see, the majority of our members are vorcha, abominable creatures, but at least they provide meat for the bullets of our enemies...".
What Stror wanted was a fitting end to a meaningless life, but being a mercenary was beneath him.
-We have lots of varran as well, you know the difference between the varren and the vorcha? The vorcha can hold a gun and don't crap on the floor as often, ha!...
But it was his only chance to leave Omega and fight in glorious battles for which it would be sang for a thousand years.
-As a member of our ''modest'' organization, you will be paid five thousand credits for each successful mission you perform, along with everything you plunder, of course...
Credits didn't interest him; he was interested only in the recapture of his lost krogan honor, The Blood Pack was only a means to an end.
-When will I fight? Stror asked, interrupting Grom.
-Ha, the most important question! Grom laughed.
-As soon as you fit in the ranks of the Pack and we assign you a varren, of course.
-Ok then, let's do it.
-You have a nice armor set Stror, go to Chiric to repaint it and put the symbol of The Pack on it, then come find me. Gotrac! Grom called out.
-Listening, Chief.
Answered a vorcha across the hall.
-Get your scrawny ass over here and show Nakmor Stror where to repaint!
Grom ordered.
-After me Nakmor Stror, I show the way.
Said Gotrak, it the typical vorcha speech.