Lightning Blades

Disclaimer: I don't own any Mass Effect copyrights. N.B. I noticed in the first chapter that Fanfic doesn't like superscript (or subscript for that matter). When I explained the strength of electromagnetic attraction it was supposed to say A x 10 to the power of 39, not A x 1039. I have now corrected that. And before you say anything, when it gets to it I promise it won't be OP bullshit.

I was nowhere near as physically fit as I thought I was. After two solid months of working for Jeerfan and buying as little food as possible while still contributing to the shelter so I can save up, I have toned up considerably.

My endurance has gone through the roof too, and I can keep up with Garosh much easier now. I want to curse Jeerfan for being right, but being this fit will almost definitely help one day in the future.

I have also been helping Kilat and Alrova with their finances so that they can make their payments to Lojiin, a Batarian thug that they work for, and still save money for a place to live or more luxuries for Jinta.

Because of the help I've been giving the Drell, Garosh told Jeerfan that I was good with numbers, resulting in Jeerfan giving me a pay rise for splitting my time between moving crates and helping him with his accounting.

The extra money has gone towards getting myself a few things; namely a shield and a gun. I didn't know, but almost no one this low down on the wards walks around without at least those two things, according to Garosh.

I didn't even look at what make and model they were, I just made sure they worked.

My next step is to start looking for someone that can build my music creation program for me. There are music creation programs downloadable from the extranet, but they are so limited and unfriendly I didn't even bother trying to use them lest my enthusiasm be curbed.

I am currently in that café I first walked into. Despite the fact that I know the computers are free to use now, I still make sure to buy a coffee and/or a sweet roll or two whenever I plan to use the computer for more than five minutes. It's gotten to the point where the woman working behind the counter, Luiti as I learned, keeps a table free for me in the evenings.

I scroll down a list of companies that design software, but with the kinds of prices that they are advertising, I think that they're more geared towards companies and the like.

I change my search so that I'm looking for personal software designers, and hit upon a couple who look like they could be my team.

A Salarian and a Quarian (naturally; I feel like the universe hasn't enforced clichés enough yet) duo with reasonable prices and a well-designed page layout. That alone is enough to give them a call at least.

I check the time. I woke up early this morning so that I had a bit of time to use the computers, but I need to leave now if I'm going to escape getting an earful from Garosh (anyone would think he ran the place and not Jeerfan considering how much more laid back the Turian is).

With that in mind, I jog down a level and manage to get to the warehouse just as Garosh is about to close the door, not even breathing hard as I slip inside just as the door clicks shut. Garosh gives me an annoyed glare, but I just give him my best jaunty smile and wave, causing him to huff in annoyance.

Jeerfan gives us a wave from the office as we head towards the loading area; a new shipment came in last night and Jeerfan needs it sorted and ready to move out ASAP.

The food comes in bound stacks that we need to crate up and weigh, and then move the crates into the shipping area. This is normally the other Krogan's job, but Jeerfan needs all hands on deck with this one, so we're helping him for the day.

The other Krogan, whose name I don't even know, is constantly scowling at us and watching us as we weigh the merchandise. I glare back at him, as does Garosh, but nobody moves to do anything about it.

I finish a crate and carry it to the floor scales designed for the purpose. Every crate I've weighed so far has weighed 22.5kg, give or take half a kilo.

This one weighs 27.5kg, which means one of two things; the scales are broken, or this isn't Turian food.

And from the glare the other Krogan is giving me, I think I know which one it is.

Before I can do or say anything about it, I'm blinded by light and feel my ears ringing. Something touches my arm.

Darkness.

I glare at the other Krogan, whose name turned out to be Huck, as he's led away by C-Sec officers into the back of a floating van, while my arm is held in a sling; luckily only a few muscles in my shoulder have been pulled, I'm taking the damn thing off the moment I'm not within sight of the Doctor.

It turns out that Ciaran Kelham is the father of Elias Kelham, and owned several warehouses throughout the Citadel which he used to smuggle drugs into said Citadel. C-Sec hit every warehouse simultaneously and arrested Ciaran at the same time. They had chucked a flashbang into the warehouse.

The reason I had been knocked out is because Huck had decided to use me as a weapon, and grabbed my arm and thrown me at the officers that had poured into the building while he attempted to escape. This apparently resulted in my head butting a Turian in the face – his incredibly hard, metallic, exo-skeleton covered face.

Lucky for me C-Sec had managed to pinpoint all of Kelham's operations and knew that me, Garosh and Jeerfan were innocent and knew nothing about the operation. We were also lucky that our company, Dex Ship, bought the warehouse so that we wouldn't be out of a job. A couple of the other warehouses weren't so lucky and had to be temporarily shut down while they were out of circulation.

"I can't believe that crafty bastard managed to slip this under my nose for the last six months," Jeerfan says as he walks up next to me, shaking his head sadly.

"Don't beat yourself up, he fooled me too. He's lucky C-Sec got him first or I would have killed him," Garosh says nonchalantly. A nearby C-Sec officer, an Asari that looks even younger than me, looks him up and down considering he just threatened to kill someone.

Now, in my time here, there is something that I've learned; you do not fuck with a Krogan. I'm a bit of an exception, since I can take it, plus my appearance separates me from other humans more than I'd expected (odd looks in shops, people staring, moving to the other side of the path to avoid me), but no one else does.

If a Krogan does something illegal, let the 'big guns' take care of it; i.e. the C-Sec trained to deal with it that have big guns. If a Krogan says something like 'move or I'll kill you,' you just move and don't invite the trouble.

So, imagine my surprise when this little slip of an Asari walks up to Garosh, visibly shaking, and says, "excuse me sir, but please refrain making violent comments like that."

I know it's bad, but I genuinely almost burst out laughing; she is either the bravest or stupidest girl I have ever met. Garosh looks at me with amusement for half a second before refocusing on the girl.

"And what if I don't?" He asks her dangerously, pushing off from the crate he was leaning against and stepping closer to her, showing how much bigger and stronger he is. The Asari starts shaking a little more.

"T-then I'm g-oing to have t-t-to g-give you a w-warning," she says, stuttering but, impressively, not moving back or cowering. Garosh stares her dead in the eye for a moment.

And then another moment.

And another.

…

"Come on Garosh, she's had enough," I say as I can see the Asari is on the verge of crying from fear, though she still hasn't moved back even an inch. Garosh leaves it another second and then grins at the girl and claps her on the shoulder, nearly sending her to her knees.

"Heh, I like you girl, what's your name?" He asks as he leans back against the crate, causing the girl to visibly relax and let out the breath she had been holding.

"It's, um, Astoria sir," she says in confusion. I can't help but shake my head and look at Jeerfan.

"She can't be more than what? 17? I wonder what she's doing with C-Sec?" I say to him. She obviously hears me though, and turns around and looks at me angrily the way only a teenager can (ok, I'm only 23, but it still counts.)

"Hey! I'm 18 thank you very much," she huffs. I chuckle at her, causing her to glare at me, which makes Jeerfan and Garosh chuckle too, and she backs away as she glares at all three of us simultaneously.

A moment later she turns and starts talking to a Salarian that might be her superior, but she glances back every now and then to glare at us some more.

"Well, I don't think we're going to get much else done today, you two can head back to the shelter if you like, I'll make sure we get paid leave for it."

"Alright, thanks Jeerfan, we'll see you tomorrow," I say as Garosh and I head back. He gives us a wave and heads back to the office to lock up.

We get about halfway there when Garosh stops and turns to me. "Drinks?"

I look at my omnitool. "It is literally one in the afternoon."

"So?"

"… let's go."

Don't get into a drinking game with a Krogan, it results in waking up next to a vomit filled toilet wondering where your left sock went – not the shoe, just the sock – while the Krogan that hustled you laughs like a bullhorn in your ear.

"I hate you."

"I love you too."

"I am going to beat you to within an inch of your life for inflicting this pain on me."

"Which one of me? I'm sure you can see at least three right now."

He's right.

"… I hate you."

I sit in the café – which is called June's Café – nervously tapping a cup of proper English tea (Luiti let me behind the counter once so I could show her how I liked it, and she gets it right every time).

I had finally contacted the pair of programmers that I planned on scoping out a couple of days ago. I had spent a week after the Huck fiasco contacting small time programmers just in case I hit on someone closer to home and a bit cheaper, but there was a reason they were all so cheap – they were all shit.

Due to the traffic that the Citadel sees, you get all sorts constantly trying to set up shop at the hub of civilisation – naturally, most of these people are either trying to make a quick buck or have a vastly overinflated opinion of their skills.

Honestly, I could have done better than some of them, and I don't even know the language they were all writing in (even the humans, C+ and the like fell out of use years ago).

So I dropped the pair, Farrah'Zan vas Famas and Hudo Heng, the Quarian woman and Salarian male respectively, a message wondering if they were up for a job on the Citadel.

Turns out they were on their way to the Citadel anyway since they'd had a client that didn't want their product electronically but physically, so that was a stroke of luck for me.

Now, I said before that I had no experience with music creation, which is true, however I have played around with a couple of programs, so I do know what I want.

"Excuse me, we're looking for an Anastasia Volkov?" A voice that sounds a lot like mine going through a modulator asks Luiti. Yeah, I forgot to mention that all Quarians do genuinely have Russian accents. This is because they don't use their omnitools to translate but headgear built directly into their suits. Their programming is slightly different and allows more of their native language to come through, hence the accent, and since the speaker shares space with their respirators, the voice comes out sounding slightly modulated.

Also, with so few Quarians left, and the close quarters in which they live, most of their accents have melded into the one, with very little variation across the Liveships, hence why they all sound similar to Russian.

Luiti points towards me, and I raise a hand in greeting as they make their way over. I stand up as they reach my table and offer my hand – humans brought handshaking to the galactic community by the way, it took off since it's the most convenient standardised form of introduction that has no formality boundaries to date.

"Anastasia Volkov?" Asks Farrah'Zan, to which I nod. "Good, I am Farrah'Zan vas Famas and this is my associate Hudo Heng," she says gesturing to the Salarian.

"Nice to meet you," I say as I also shake Hudo's hand. He just nods, drawing a look of surprise from me since Salarians are usually hyper-verbal.

"Hudo had a run in with a Batarian six years ago, he survived but he'll never be able to speak again. Thankfully, he can use his omni-tool to speak if he wishes and he's a damn good programmer," Farrah informs me.

"Oh, well I'm glad you seem to be doing ok," I say to Hudo, who smiles and nods in thanks.

"So, we're not often on the Citadel and we should get back to our office as soon as possible, what do you want?" Farrah asks without preamble. I can appreciate wanting to get down to the brass tacks.

"In short, I want a music mixing and creation program," I explain, or, well, summarise.

"Those are, how do you humans say? A dime a dozen? Why come to us? What do the usual programs not allow you to do?"

I bring up a picture of their web page on my omnitool. "You have good prices, but more importantly you have a well designed page layout, which is somewhat rare from what I've seen. Why a custom program? Because the 'usual' ones aren't worth shit, you can't even change the shape of the sound wavelength with 99% of them."

"That… is true. What sort of layout and utilities would you want then?" I message some designs I had drawn up the night before, basically looking the same as FL Studio, and outlining all of the functions I can remember.

We spend around three hours going over my ideas and refining things that I had wanted but hadn't thought out very well. We stop when I realise that my third cup of tea has gone cold and my arse has gone numb.

"So, do you think there's enough there for you to get started at least?" I ask as we leave June's.

"Oh definitely, and I must admit it is an interesting project," Farrah replies as we shake hands again.

"So, how much do you think this will set me back?" I ask the big question. I've saved up quite a few credits, over ten thousand actually. Not having to pay for heating or water or extranet access (since basic extranet speeds are free) or home insurance etc. is quite handy.

But I'm still not sure that it'll be enough.

"Hmmm," Farrah says as she types a few things into her omnitool. "Well, overall I think the project will take maybe three months, and I will say it will cost between twenty five and thirty thousand credits overall, depending on if we need to make changes near the end after showing it to you. We'll take a deposit of two and a half thousand credits now, and you pay the rest on delivery, how does that sound?"

I do some calculations in my head quickly, I can save around 10,000 credits a month, three more months' worth of income at my current rate of expenditure should just about cover it. "I can do that."

I pay her the deposit and we go our separate ways, them back to their ship, me back to the shelter.

Jeerfan's finally hired someone to take over Huck's job. It took a little while this time since the Turian screened every applicant thoroughly so we didn't get another drug mule working here.

The new worker isn't a Krogan either. Its times like this you can see the effects of the Genophage on the species. There just aren't that many of them. It's somewhat subtle, but when you look around, the Krogan generally just aren't there.

Sure, you might see a bodyguard, or a dock worker, or a bounty hunter, but nowhere else do you tend to see Krogan working. I have yet to see a Krogan cashier, or ambassador, or author, or electrician or anything else of that nature.

While the Krogan aren't all as brash and violent as the game portrays, the places you tend to see Krogan in the game are accurate; like I said, there just aren't enough of them to do much else than what their superior physical stature affords them.

Anyway, the new worker is an Asari named Taryn. Honestly? She's buff. I mean she makes me look like a damn twig, and sometimes it looks like her muscles have muscles.

She also smokes Human cigarettes, a lot, and has been smoking them since Humans joined the galactic community, so she sounds more like Matriarch Aethyta than any other Asari I've met (maybe Aethyta smokes too?).

Still, she's alright, a bit distant, less talkative than Garosh, though she opens up around Jeerfan; it's hard not to talk to the Turian, he's a motor mouth if ever I saw one. She, quite interestingly, uses her biotics in tandem with her obvious strength to move stuff around.

According to Jeerfan her biotics are well below average in strength for an Asari, but she has well above average biotic endurance. Either way she gets the job done and she's not a criminal.

Jeerfan hired her just in time too, the place was nearly in the red before we got the help.

I grimace at the price tag attached to a piece of clothing at an antique store. I've been washing my current clothes daily, but it's a drain and I need more than my current outfit and the overalls I wear for work.

The antique store is fifteen levels up, which is the closest I've ever been to the Presidium. It looks just like it does in the game, only more real, obviously. It's an odd sensation, seeing where Sovereign nearly brings about the end of spacefaring life in the galaxy.

I look around the antique store, but what I'm looking at is the only old style human clothing available. The modern style of clothing is uncomfortable, and not generally made in my size, I'd have to special order a few things which is just aggravating.

So I looked up somewhere that sold Human clothing from over a century ago, and this is the only place on my arm of the Citadel that showed up. Which makes sense, I mean when's the last time you saw someone wearing an outfit from the Victorian era in 2016?

Hopefully when I'm making some more money I can get a tailor to make stuff I'm more familiar with.

I pick out some jeans, seeing as denim is long lasting and pretty much all that's available, there's not much in the way of female tops, so I pick out some male ones and make a mental note to try and either shrink them in the wash or polish off some non-existent sewing skills.

Still, they'll do for now.

I've been living at the shelter for a couple of months now, so I've got a bed next to a small chest of drawers. Most of the beds in the place are for the people who are only around for a few days. There's a large turnover of people since almost all of those that show up have someone to fall back on and only need somewhere to sleep for a few days.

I'm now part of the clientele that actually lives there. Hurray.

Hence why I'm now able to actually get some clothes; I have somewhere to put them.

I pile the clothes on the counter. I think the Volus behind said counter is looking at me suspiciously, but you can never really tell with them. They have to wear those stupid looking environmental suits meaning you can't see their faces, not that seeing their faces would help seeing as they're all crafty little buggers as it is. It's really no wonder they tend to outstrip the other races when it comes to understanding finances.

Speaking of money, I wonder if those £20 notes I've got will be worth anything? No harm in asking.

"That comes to *click-breath* one thousand two hundred and eight *click-breath* credits Earth-Clan," the male Volus says. Slowly. Interspersed with clicks, pauses and breaths. I hate talking to Volus, honestly, it's so damn slow.

"How much could I get for these?" I slap the notes down on the counter. He makes an interested hum.

"For the *click-breath* both of them? *click-breath* Two hundred credits."

"You fucking what? That's less than these things were worth when they were still legal tender. I'll take five hundred. Each." If my maths is right (which it is) 100 credits is equal to about £11 from 2016, so he was literally offering to pay me £11 for a £20 note.

Yeah, that's not going to happen.

"That is just *click-breath* too much. *click-breath* I can go up to *click-breath* two hundred and fifty each."

"That's a complete rip off, I'll go down to four hundred and fifty each."

"I'm afraid I can't *click-breath* go higher than *click-breath* three hundred."

"Tell you what, despite the fact that I'm still being ripped off, I'll take seven hundred and fifty for the both of them." That's about £40 per note. I honestly have no idea how much these things are actually worth, and I'm probably being majorly scammed, but it's money off, and I'm saving up so I can actually get that program from Farrah'Zan and Hudo.

"We have a *click-breath* deal Earth-Clan. Your purchase *click-breath* now comes to *click-breath* four hundred and fifty eight credits."

I gladly pay the reduced amount and get the hell out of there; not only did he try and swindle me, but Volus are so annoying to talk to!

I can't help but smile as I take the long walk back to the shelter.

It's funny that my appearance is getting more impressive reactions this close to the Presidium; the wards get richer the closer you are. I mean, I know I'm pretty damn attractive, and I like my piercings and my tattoo and how I dress, it's just not the done thing anymore.

You'll be hard pressed to find anyone with a similar look to mine (the only person I can think of is Jack, and isn't that a worrying thought?) and that's because my 'rebel' look isn't the rebel look anymore.

Rebels and delinquents in this time dress like Asari or Drell and style themselves on aliens; there's still a lot of anti-alien sentiment among Humans, which is understandable considering First Contact, but it means that my persona, my style, doesn't really represent anything anymore.

Hence why it's quite jarring for others to see. A lot got left behind when Humans expanded to the stars, so instead of a blast from the past I just seem odd to people.

But it's mostly funny. I've even had a few Turians ask if I'm a new species. I was offended at first, but found it funny after a few drinks; though Jeerfan teases me about it every now and then.

Arsehole.

As I walk into the shelter and put my new clothes away, I can't help but feel like this is a step in the right direction.

Time for the next one.

I'm lying on my bed in the shelter, listening to everyone else breathing deeply as they sleep or talking quietly so as not to disturb anyone.

It's been nearly two months since I made that deal with Farrah'Zan, we've spoken every now and then to make sure we're both still on the same page. I can't wait to get my plans up and running.

Because the monotony is giving me time to think. Ever since I showed up here, it's been a struggle to get myself into a position where I'm not going to starve to death, and to actually get a plan together because I know what the fuck is coming.

I didn't have time to think about everything I left behind.

My father died when I was thirteen. Jake Volkov was born in a small river village on the other side of the Ural Mountains called Lugovskoy. He moved to England when he was 23 to earn more money, which the UK was the best destination for seeing as he was a boat builder.

He met my mother there, Maria Volkov née Carter, and they married two years later. They moved back to Russia for a little while, and then back to England when I was eight; they wanted to raise my brother, Marcus, in England.

I had always been clever, so when my parents lavished more attention on my brother I lashed out, and that continued into my teenage years.

We made up properly when my father died; it had been sudden, a heart attack while he was driving. He came off the road and hit a lamp post at 40 mph, fracturing his skull and bruising his spinal column. If he hadn't crashed he might have lived, but that coupled with the stress of the heart attack killed him in three days.

After he was gone, my mother lost something. She was still a great mum, but I ended up with some stupid friends and doing stupid things, drugs and drink mostly, my tattoo (though I like it was still stupid and impulsive). She just didn't have the will to reign me in.

Despite all that we looked after my brother, and I went to university and got my degree and stopped the drugs and the drink. It was hard, I had to go to AA meetings and had counselling and that. That's probably the only reason I'm not completely fucked up right now.

Marcus was fifteen before I ended up here; he was studying for his GCSEs, he wasn't quite as clever as I was, but he was into a lot of sports and had some good friends.

I hope they're doing alright without me. I don't know how my getting here has worked, maybe I fell through some random dimensional portal that didn't kill me, or maybe I died, who knows.

Either way, I'm never going to see them again. And that hurts.

It's a delayed reaction, I've been putting it off for long enough. I start crying, fat tears rolling down my cheeks. The counsellors always managed to get me crying, whether I was angry or sad or happy; it's amazing how much better you can feel after a good cry.

I don't expect Garosh, of all people, to plop himself down next to me and wrap a large scaly arm around my shoulder. He doesn't say anything, just holds me as I cry myself out.

At first it's surprising, but the fact is Krogan aren't all violence loving emotionless monsters. They have emotions, they have their ups and downs as any sentient being does, and Garosh is over three hundred years old; you can't live that long and not learn how to recognise and deal with shit.

I wonder what he thinks I'm crying about. The fact is from his perspective, I'm just this child that wandered into the shelter one day, had no compulsions about getting into a scrap with a Krogan, jumped at the first job offered to me, and has now been living at said shelter for over two months without any form of contact from anyone.

No family, friends, acquaintances, fellow employees, nobody has come asking after me.

He holds me until the tears stop and I fall asleep.

I've made good friends with Kilat and Alrova since I started helping them with their finances. The both of them are survivors, and they would do anything for Jinta.

A quietly despondent sigh comes from the small figure standing next to me while Kilat and Alrova argue a landlord down on his pricing for the apartment we're currently standing in.

Thanks to my help they've managed to put aside enough money to start renting a small two bedroom flat; the shelter is fine for most people but it's nowhere to raise a kid, and they know that.

I pat Jinta on the head, somewhat sharing his feelings. I know that the Drells getting an actual home to live in is a good thing, but looking around small apartments and letting Kilat and Alrova do all the haggling is boring as fuck.

It didn't start off like that, but after the first estate agent tried to swindle them and I called him a few choice words and threatened to do a few anatomically impossible things to him, well, I've been stuck on timeout with Jinta.

"Ok then." I look up to see the two parents walking over. Alrova sweeps Jinta up into her arms with a smile.

"This is the one then?" I ask. They nod, and Jinta and I both release sighs of relief at the same time.

"Oh come on, it wasn't that bad was it?" Kilat asks with a toothy grin.

I should reiterate, it was Alrova that banned me from negotiations – Kilat thought it was hilarious and got a smack to the back of the head for egging me on.

"Nope." He looks at me oddly. "It was worse." He rolls his eyes. "So, what's the damage?"

"We managed to get the landlord to agree to three thousand credits a month, which is by the far the best deal I think we're going find, so we went for it," Alrova informs me.

That's around £330 a month, which really isn't bad for a place that has water, electricity and heating included in the bill. It is bloody small, but in the end it's a place to live that isn't a damn homeless shelter.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with the shelter, but it's essentially the same as living in a hostel, which no one really wants to do. It's actually quite stressful not having a private place that you can call home.

The problem for me is that I'm literally saving every damn credit so I can pay for this damn program. If I wasn't then I could afford a place like this, maybe something a bit better, however I think even when I stop paying for it I won't get a place to live.

The thing is, if I set up somewhere, it's going to be hard to get out and set up somewhere else. I need to earn the money and get the space and equipment I need to protect myself sooner rather than later, and moving out of the shelter the moment that I can will… inconvenience that goal.

Only a few more weeks to go before the program is finished and I can get started on my master plan.

Having spent all day walking around looking for the right apartment, and then going with the family again to get a few essential utilities and bits of furniture, I'm incredibly grateful when the Drells let me crash on their new couch rather than walk back to the shelter.

It's not far, but I'm knackered – somehow helping them all day is more tiring than my job, which requires spending all day moving heavy crates around and dealing with Jeerfan. I close my eyes and get comfortable.

It feels like only moments have passed since I fell asleep, and I wonder what woke me up. I'm somewhat of a light sleeper, but it's odd for me to wake up and not know immediately what woke me up.

The apartment is pitch black, so I strain my ears, trying to detect anything out of the ordinary.

I hear a soft footfall that immediately puts me on alert, and it takes me a moment to figure out why; despite how quiet it was, the foot belongs to someone a lot heavier than either Kilat or Alrova.

Another footstep informs me that the person to which they belong has just come out of Jinta's new room. The path between the bedrooms and the door out of the apartment passes by the back of the couch.

Moving so slowly it feels like I'm not moving at all, I pull back the cover and quietly pull my legs up underneath me, ready to spring off of the couch and into the invader at a moment's notice.

Whoever it is hasn't heard me, and apparently hasn't seen me in the dark. Seconds pass.

The moment I hear one of the steps land just in front of me, I pounce. My shoulder collides with the person's arm. The person grunts, a low rumbling thing that immediately tells me that this is a male Batarian.

He drops something heavy. As we fall together, the Batarian unable to remain upright with my full weight propelled at him, it occurs to me that perhaps Lojiin is wondering where Kilat and Alrova got the money to afford an apartment.

His head collides with the wall with a surprisingly loud bang, and we hit the floor with his knee in my stomach, causing all of my breath to rush out and leave me winded.

A moment later Jinta shouts in surprise as he wakes upon hitting the ground.

Within moments, which both me and the Batarian spend groaning on the floor, Kilat and Alrova have woken up, shot out of bed and turned the lights on.

I get a good look at the prospective kidnapper; he's a slightly darker colour than most Batarians, looking more like than dirt than anything. He's also missing an eye, a thick rope of scar tissue crossing his top left one. A trail of red leads from the side of his head to a small puddle on the floor.

Luckily my breath recovers before his head does, and before he can get up and hurt someone I stand and kick him in the head hard enough to knock him out for at least a few hours.

"So…" I gasp out, still trying to get my breath back fully, "who the fuck is that?"

Alrova picks Jinta up and hugs him, and then two of them sit on the couch that I vacated.

"Let's tie him up first," Kilat suggests. We drag the Batarian into the kitchen, and Kilat pulls out some duct tape and ties his hands and feet together. "This," he says while motioning to the prisoner laying on the floor, "is one of Lojiin's men, goes by Herat. One of the nastier members of his crew, he's the one that fucked me up a couple of months ago," Kilat says with barely suppressed hate.

Kilat gives Herat a swift, vicious kick in the stomach, though the unconscious Batarian doesn't react.

"So what are we going to do with him?" I ask Kilat. Well, there are several things we could do with him, but our options are somewhat limited. Plus, this nasty sounding motherfucker was attempting to kidnap Jinta, so no matter what I'm not going to pull any punches.

But damn it this is exactly the kind of situation I wanted to avoid. The fact is, I knew that somewhere down the line something would go to shit. This galaxy is really fucking dangerous, hence why pretty much everyone carries a gun unless they're rich enough to hire bodyguards when they go anywhere other than the Presidium.

So I knew that one day I would become involved in something dangerous. However, I was hoping that day would be quite some time down the line, you know, after I managed to try and implement my ideas and actually get some professional training.

But no! Lojiin and his gang have royally fucked up that plan. No matter what happens now, the fact is I attacked one of his men on a job that he'd been sent on. Meaning that this Lojiin likely wants to get even with me for messing up his plan.

Arseholes are arseholes, no matter what species they are.

So either way I can expect a reaction from this guy, both against me and against Kilat and his family. Obviously, they're going to have to be protected.

Kilat has been silent while I've been thinking. He hasn't responded to my question. "How big is Lojiin's crew? And do you know what he's liable to do once he finds out that we've got his man?"

Kilat thinks for a moment. "They're not big, maybe a dozen of them, but they are dangerous. The only reason Lojiin isn't a bigger target on C-Sec's radar is because he's content to settle with 'small time' crime, extorting poor families, roughing up people with debts to loan sharks, mugging those stupid enough to wander into his territory."

If a dozen Batarians can carve out a bit of territory for themselves on the Citadel of all places, then they're definitely not your run of the mill grunts.

And Lojiin is smart, not lazy. The crimes that get on C-Sec's radar are the big ones, serial murder, drug trafficking, terrorism and the like. So what he and his gang do is bad enough to keep people scared, but not enough to catch C-Sec's attention without it being explicitly brought to them…

Hmmm.

"And what's he liable to do once he knows what's happened?"

Kilat shudders a little. "At best? We'll all spends a few months in the hospital. Including Jinta. At worst? He may not do it often, but Lojiin does know how to kill discretely."

"It seems to me that the best thing to do here would be to tell C-Sec what's going on and get some sort of protective custody." Unexpectedly, Kilat flinches a little at that and looks away from me.

"That, may not be such a good idea," he says hesitantly. "You see, we're not exactly on the Citadel… legally," he says, not daring to face me.

And what can I say? I'm angry that I never knew that I was friends with criminals, but now isn't the time to lose my head… as much as I want to. And who knows, maybe he has a good reason for being here illegally.

Plus, I'm not really one to talk, but at the same time it's not like I'm here by choice exactly.

"Okay, so why are you here illegally?"

He deliberates for a moment, and I can tell that there's a story behind this and he's wondering whether to tell me or not.

"I used to be a government engineer on Kahje," he begins, slowly. "I worked on the planetary defence system. At first life seemed good, but as I went further up the ranks I began to notice things. To the rest of the galaxy the relationship between the surviving Drell and the Hanar is symbiotic, but that isn't true."

"The fact is the Drell are slaves for the Hanar, they just don't realise it. It's somewhat known that Kahje still trades with the Hegemony, but they have a closer relationship than people realise. The Hanar aren't brutal about their slavery like the Batarians, instead they've cultivated the Drell they rescued to make them thankful for working for the Hanar."

I feel sick as he describes what's going on; I can't believe I didn't notice this before! I can't believe I never even thought about it when playing the game, I just took it as fact that the Hanar and the Drell had a good relationship.

The Hanar are polite to a fault and not physically gifted, who would think that these weak creatures could be slavers? The thing is, as I'm only now starting to realise, they don't enslave the body, they enslave the mind.

"I managed to convince Alrova of the same. Together we tried to break free, but we were discovered. We had to get off-world before we were imprisoned, executed or 'rehabilitated.' There's a resistance on Kahje, they managed to help us without tipping their hand; normally they'd have invited us into the resistance, but we were already known by the Hanar government. Ever since then we've been on the run, trying not to let them know where we are."

"So… no C-Sec?" I chuckle weakly. It makes sense. There are plenty of planets out there, and the Drell population is low enough that the entire population could move to a planet that's not dangerous to them. Why would they stay somewhere where the atmosphere constantly damages their lungs?

The answer; they have no choice, and they don't even realise it.

"No C-Sec," he agrees.

Damn this is all kinds of fucked up. I could just leave, find another area of the Citadel, get a different job, leave Kilat, Alrova and Jinta to their fates.

Except I can't. It was utterly terrifying waking up on the Citadel of all places, with no family, no friends, and no idea what I was going to do. I'm not going to go back to being alone in this universe, and I'm sure as hell not going to abandon my friends, as much as it seems like the smarter option at the moment.

"Right. Okay then. We need a plan, and we need help. We can dump scar face here into the alley behind the building, I'm sure Lojiin will come looking for him eventually. That buys us time. We need to get to the shelter, I'll ask Garosh and Jeerfan for help; Garosh has a few centuries under his belt and he's survived this long, and Jeerfan is a Turian; all Turians have military experience. Beyond that, we need to find somewhere that we can defend; I have no doubt Lojiin and his crew are gonna be packing heat, so I'm not going to try and talk this out."

I feel sick. I don't want to be involved in a damn firefight, but that's what it looks like this is shaping into, so I'm going to do the best I damn well can to come out of this alive, and bring all of my friends with me.

Plus, he tried to take a child, presumably as a hostage, and that pisses me off a bit. Well, a lot. So if this is going to turn deadly, I'm going to personally make sure I'm not the dead one.