The tendrils of smoke curled up through the vents, their natural course disrupted by the hedonistic pounding of the music. Not unlike the visitors to Omega; poor smoky sods from distant colonies slowly lured in by the world of vice, surprising even themselves with how quickly their morals could be compromised for a spare credit or two.
One could claim that it was her responsibility, her sin, for fueling such a place. That she was the heart, the source, of all this so-called corruption. Such naysayers were all so naïve, humans, turians, or salarians whose very existence barely equaled a tenth of hers. They didn't have the luxury of observation that her race did, that she had.
You don't run a place for almost half a millennium and without understanding its inner workings.
She arrived on Omega four hundred years ago as a stripper. Of course she'd killed those who had known- in both senses of the word. No one needed to know that their queen used to be a whore, or recognize the irony that she got where she was by breaking her one rule. It was the first stage in her conquest and by far the least important. They should focus on just how well she stopped anyone who was in her way. She made sure they did.
No, it wasn't she, Aria, who provided the fuel for corruption. She merely provided them a place of moral gray. What would one do in a place without restrictions or inhibitions? The answer was Omega, no matter how unappealing it seemed. People may shudder away from such realities, especially with the unsettling truths regarding the state of their souls. Aria embraced them. That's how she'd won.
Something catches her eye, a human man and woman, unusually unaffected, sitting in the corner of Afterlife. Young, new, ignorant: she could practically taste the foreign fumes slithering off their skin. What do they want? What they always wanted, of course.
Success.
The man takes something out of his pocket. It's one of those temporary mercenary contracts the gangs resorted to in order to take down Archangel, the reward immense purely for advertising reasons. No one would voluntarily sign up for certain death, but few look beyond the bold print of their reward. They are no exception. The woman calls for another round of drinks for their good fortune and future, oblivious to their unfortunate fate.
She could do something about it. Tell them right off that very rarely does one find happiness here on Omega. But she doesn't. They'll have to find that out themselves.
