Salvation: Episode I – The Taking of the Carmenta Illustria
Disclaimer: This fan-fiction is part of an episodic series taking place after Salvation: A Half-Life/Mass Effect Universe Fan Fiction, which will lead directly to its sequel, Salvation II: Project Prometheus. These episodes and sequel take place OUTSIDE of the Mass Effect 3 continuity. Characters property of their respective companies, Half-Life created by Valve and Mass Effect created by Bioware.
Chapter 11: Captain Shon
Commander Andrew Kim, the head of the Carmenta Illustria's treacherous security force, studied the datapad in his hands with a grimace, as the lifeless body of Captain Arthur Ryback was heaved out of the room by a pair of guards. As he was carted off, the gaping gash in the side of his head, which left him mildly unrecognizable, oozed with blood, leaving behind a spattered, crimson trail, which led to a thick, viscous pool on the floor.
A number of other armed security officers, in matching uniforms, had entered the bridge, and relieved the Blood Pack armored Teshya and Davix of their duty; keeping the captive bridge crew under control. All of whom still stood, facing the back wall, with their hands now secured behind their backs with sturdy handcuffs.
Kargas, the unmistakable leader of the Blood Pack trio, stood detached and stoically silent at a terminal nestled in a corner against the left wall of the bridge, contemplatively watching the Promenade Deck surveillance feed. More precisely, he stood studying the five figures sitting in chains, at the fore of the widening sea of lifeforms. And he seemed to release a low, throaty growl, with every breath, as he did so.
"Is this the full casualty list...?" Kim queried, as he studied the datapad in his hand, while conversing with a salarian officer.
"Yes, sir..." The salarian answered, in a disciplined tone. "Fifteen total... Well, uh... fifteen not including the Captain..." He informed, as he looked down at the glossy, red puddle a few feet away.
"Mmm-hmm..." Kim muttered, as he continued to look over the information on the datapad.
"What should we do with the bodies, sir...?"
"The bodies...?" Kim questioned, as he looked back up at the salarian with a furrowed brow, over what seemed such a trivial question. "What do you think you should do with the bodies, Toril...? Throw 'em out the airlock."
"The airlock, sir...?" The salarian reiterated questioningly, as if unsure he had heard correctly – the suggestion causing his head to reel back, and his eyes to open wide in alarm. "All of them? Just like that...?"
"Yes, all of them...!" Kim ordered, with a frustrated groan, and a roll of his eyes. "What's the problem?"
"Well, n-nothing sir... I just..." Toril bowed his head a bit, showing clear signs of intestinal attrition, both on his expression, and in his voice. "Well, to be honest... some of them were friends of mine..."
"Oh gosh, I'm sorry..." Kim replied, in a condescendingly sarcastic tone of voice, exhibiting a fraudulent look of sympathy, as he laid a hand down over the salarian's right shoulder. "But... if you feel that badly about it, you're more than welcome to say a few words on their behalf, while you're dumping them out into space..."
Toril's gaze widened in shock, before he simply gulped, and nodded his head obediently.
"...All of you knew exactly what we were getting into." The fog eyed Commander continued, in a straight, no-nonsense tone of voice, as he pulled his hand off the salarian's shoulder, and waved it in front of him. "And each of you agreed that the payoff would be well worth the risks... Nothing's changed, so don't go losing your nerve now. 'Cause you're either in this for the duration, or your out the airlock with your 'friends'... Got it?"
"Uh... Ahem, yes sir, Commander..." Toril reluctantly acknowledged, with a forceful, apprehensive clearing of his throat. "Got it."
"Good." The appeased Security Commander declared, before looking down, with disgust, at the large puddle of blood, mottled with fleshy masses of various size, pooled near his feet. "And get someone up here to clean up this mess..."
"Of course, sir. I'll get someone right on it." The salarian replied, as his superior handed back the datapad. "And what would you like us to do with them?" He asked, as he turned and pointed towards the members of the bridge crew, lined up in cuffs against the back wall.
"Them, I want you to secure in the storage room down the hall." The nefarious Commander instructed. "And put a few of our guys on the door. I wanna have them close by in case we need another bargaining chip."
"Yes, sir. Understood."
As the salarian nodded, and prepared to carry out his maligned Commander's dictated orders, a stocky little figure stood near the back of the bridge, beside the entryway, keeping close watch over all that transpired. Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a small, white object resting in the shadows, under one of the bridge consoles, on the floor. With his curiosity enticed, Tarrik walked over towards the console, striding with a great sense of accomplishment, as the remaining members of the bridge crew were escorted out of the room, single file, in accordance with Kim's instructions.
Tarrik swiveled the seat at the station aside, and peered in to see Captain Ryback's pristine white naval cap, lying face up on the floor – obviously having rolled under the console after Commander Kim knocked it off the Captain's head, when he forcibly pressed his gun against Ryback's temple. Tarrik reached in, picked it up, and began dusting it off, as he examined it in his stubby, little, pincer-like hands. The cap's glossy, black brim was embroidered with twin gilded olive branches. A golden band separated the brim from the soft cloth of the cap. And the front was adorned with a lustrous, golden star stamped upon an ebony backing, and was framed by the words "LYCUNA STAR CRUISES", embossed in gold.
"Hmhmhmhm..." Tarrik let out a low, muffled chuckle, mostly drowned out by the heavy sound of his respirator. "Captain Shon..." He whispered to himself, as he held the cap up in front of him, admiring it as if it were a trophy. Just then, his focus changed. He looked up, past the cap in his hands, and noticed the considerably distraught Leahr'Haan, sitting at the front-most station on the bridge, with his faceplate buried deep into his palms.
"Oh ancestors, what have I done...?" Leahr pleaded to himself, in a hushed, trembling voice. "How could I have ever let myself become part of this...?"
"Well now..." Tarrik's shrill, grating voice suddenly called out, with an enthusiastic glee. "Why so melancholy, my boy...? You should be excited! We now have complete control of the ship, and everyone on it!" He exclaimed, as he placed one hand against Leahr'Haan's back, and waved the Captain's hat around in front of him, with the other, as if trying to paint an invisible picture for the despondent quarian. "Just think... It won't be long before we're lining our pockets with more credits than we could ever count...! Just as I promised."
Tarrik nodded his eager little head, at the scintillating thought, as he daydreamed of vast wealth, and unbridled power. Just then he titled his head, and shrugged a little, as he continued. "Granted that the uh... 'transition' was not as smooth as I had originally calculated. But so rarely do our undertakings turn out exactly as we initially plan. Wouldn't you agree?"
Leahr'Haan lifted his sulking face, out from behind his palms, and turned to look at the contemptuous little volus, with an infuriated glare that managed to pierce through his burgundy hued faceplate. "Excited, Tarrik...? That man just killed the ship's Captain in cold blood-" He declared, pointing a finger around his shoulder, at the oblivious human Commander, still dictating orders behind them. "-and you want me to be... EXCITED?! No...!" He renounced, slamming an angry fist down on the console before him, as he bowed his head and shook it adamantly. "No more...! I want nothing more to do with this, Tarrik...!"
The stout figure looked on, as Leahr'Haan had a sudden, but all too expected, attack of conscience. And he simply released a sigh, masked by the sound of his respirator, as he put his hands on his hips, and shook his head with disappointment.
"Please..." The quarian continued, pleading now in a shaky voice, like a broken man. "Please, just let me off..." He beseeched as he turned his hanging head towards the volus. "I don't wanna be part of this anymore... I've done bad things, Tarrik. But I'm no murderer... Just let me take one of the emergency pods... You can keep your credits, and you'll never hear from me again, I swear...!"
"Oh, Leahr..." Tarrik replied, sounding genuinely sympathetic, as he placed one hand over his heart. "You break my heart, son... Really you do..." He stepped forward to softly pat the quarian on the back. "And I do find your idealistic sense of moral compass refreshing. But I'm afraid you're asking the impossible... You see them...?" He asked, as he pointed a thumb over his shoulder, towards the the multiple rogue security officers, and mercenaries fortified in Blood Pack armor.
"Whether you like it or not, you're a witness now..." He explained, with a tinge of scornful cynicism in his voice, causing Leahr's head to slope down even further, in defeat. "And they're not gonna let a witness who can identify everyone involved, just up and leave... Well, not alive anyway..." He said with a scoff. "Or in one piece, for that matter... See, I'm on your side, Leahr. I'm your friend... And frankly, I'm the only reason you're still alive... So relax...!" He insisted, in a carefree tone of voice. "The worst is behind us... Besides, think of the payoff! Would you really rather spend the rest of your life rotting away in some prison...?"
"I don't care about any prison... I don't care about any payoff...! And I don't care what you do with me!" Leahr erupted, as he slammed both closed fists down onto the console. "I won't be a part of this madness any longer...!"
Tarrik bowed his head, and released a long, drawn-out sigh, as he shook it. "You truly disappoint me, Leahr..." He began again, in a low, disapproving tone. "And here I thought you were going to be the quarian that brought that one truly magnificent gift back to your people's homeworld... Tsk... tsk... tsk..." He uttered, with a series of dental clicks, just as Leahr's head popped up, suddenly enticed. "Guess I was wrong..."
Tarrik turned, giving his back to the quarian, and slowly began to waddle away, as Leahr swiveled his seat around, with great urgency.
"Wa-wait...!" The quarian pleaded, extending a hand out towards Tarrik, and causing him to stop in his tracks, as he listened. "Back to my people's homeworld...? What are y...? You mean back to the flotilla..."
"Oh..." Tarrik uttered, as if greatly surprised by the remark, as he slowly turned back around. "No... You hadn't heard...?"
"Heard what...?"
"Well, this is awkward..." The volus continued, behind the hissing sound of his respirator, as he crossed one arm, and draped his opposite hand across the area just below his mouth piece. "You see... One of the results of the war against the Reapers, and the ensuing victory... was evidently peace between the quarians and the geth..."
"Bosh'tet!" Leahr exclaimed, as he waved a disbelieving hand before him. "You lie!"
"Look it up for yourself, if you don't believe me..." Tarrik advised, as he innocently turned his hands up, and shrugged his shoulders. "Last I heard, the geth were even helping the quarians rebuild, and resettle Rannoch."
As suggested, Leahr immediately swiveled around in his seat, and went to work, punching a blistering series of keystrokes into his own, portable computer.
"Keywords... News... Rannoch... Quarians... Geth... Peace..." He whispered to himself, as he input the search criteria. After typing the final word, and initializing the search, he suddenly held his breath, as his eyes opened wide in amazement, and disbelief, at the list of headlines that appeared before him.
THE TREATY OF THE VIEL: THE FIRST STRIDE TOWARDS PEACE BETWEEN ORGANICS AND SYNTHETICS
GETH WELCOME CREATORS BACK TO RANNOCH WITH OPEN ARMS.
WE NEVER WANTED WAR WITH THE CREATORS, SAYS GETH.
TODAY OUR CHILDREN SEE THE WORLD OF OUR ANCESTORS, SAYS QUARIAN. TOMORROW THEIR CHILDREN WILL BREATH ITS AIR WITHOUT MASKS.
A FLEET OF MIGRANTS NO LONGER!
Leahr'Haan released the gasping breath, he'd forgotten he was holding in, as a chill washed over his entire body. His heart swelled in his chest, and his eyes glazed over with tears, behind his mask. "Can it be true...?!" He whispered to himself, as he beheld the information on the screen. "By the ancestors, can it be true?!"
"Heh, I mean it Leahr..." Tarrik interjected, with a snickering laugh. "You've really gotta learn to get out of the workshop more often. But uh... I guess none of that matters now..." He said, as he gave his back to the quarian once more, and shrugged nonchalantly. "Doesn't look like you'll be making it home after all... "
"Wait...!" Leahr pleaded, as he swung himself back around. "...I'll do it."
"You'll do WHAT?" Tarrik demanded in a cold, emotionless voice, as he turned his head, and glared up at Leahr.
"Anything..." Leahr'Haan proclaimed, submitting himself wholly to an almost Faustian pact. "Whatever you want... Keelah Se'lai, I have to see the homeworld someday..."
"I know you do, Leahr..." Tarrik replied, purporting to be genuinely sympathetic. "And you will... But! Now that I have your utter, and complete subordination, there are a few things I'd like you to do for me..."
"Whatever you say..." The quarian machinist acknowledged, suddenly feeling a sickness in the pit of his stomach, as he hung his head down, with his entire body slumped forward.
"First off, you may now activate your mechs in the Loading Bay." Tarrik ordered, with an accompanying hiss from his suit's respirator, causing Leahr to raise his head, and pay close attention. "Distribute them as evenly as you can, across the ship, and put them on roving patrol on all decks. Should they find any stragglers, I want the mechs to escort them to the Promenade Deck. And should they refuse..." He paused for a moment, before continuing on. "Subject them to immediate termination..."
"Well... You know, actually... I did install a number of NON-lethal counter-measures into their arsenals... If you want, I could simply..."
"No!" Tarrik adamantly refuted, quickly cutting the quarian off. "No more chances. After that little fiasco in the hostage area, they get one verbal warning, followed by immediate lethal recourse. Is that clear?"
Leahr'Haan sighed, as he head sank once more, before speaking. "...Crystal."
"Good." Tarrik affirmed, as he suddenly took the Captain's naval cap, which he had still been clutching in his hand, and eagerly began affixing it to his rather bulbous head. "Then the next thing I need you to do is put me through across the entire ship..." He said, as he finished adjusting the cap, and left it sitting firmly upon his brow.
He tilted his head back a bit, as if wanting to see the cap resting where he laid it. He then attempted to poise himself with the noble guise of a stalwart Captain – standing up straight, with a broad stance, shoulders up, and head held high. At least as high as a volus of his stature could hold it.
"I think it's about time I address my loyal passengers..."
Inside a darkened closet, bathed in only the dim, jade light given off by the unlocked door's holographic panel, a grimy mop rests inside a dingy bucket... An unkempt, old VI vacuum cleaner lies in disrepair... And rows of cleaning agents and materials sit upon shelves lining the inner wall, as a muffled thud was suddenly heard... Just then, it resounded again, sounding louder this time, as something began to push against a black, metallic maintenance panel on the floor, trying to force it open. All of a sudden, with one final, forceful push, the panel swung open, and two stately dressed figures emerged from underneath...
"Whew...!" Shepard groaned, exhaling a hefty breath, as his head popped out of the maintenance hatch – his arm still holding the metallic panel up. Like a pair of Jack-in-the-Boxes squeezed into a tight spot, John and Tali both rose out of the dark hole in the floor together, about chest high. "It's hot down there...!"
"You never complained before..." Tali replied, in a playfully seductive tone, as she lightly brushed a bit of the dust off the right shoulder of his tuxedo jacket.
"Heh..." Shepard chuckled, before he replied. "Well, when I said this cruise would be an opportunity for us to spend a little quality time together... This isn't exactly what I had in mind..."
"...Sometimes I think we can't catch a break." He added, as Tali pulled herself out of the hatch, and sat on the outer edge, with her feet still dangling into the hole.
Her shimmering, lavender dress, and silky, ivory white gloves, now painted in the emerald light from the door's panel, were covered in tufts of gray dust, and splotches of black grease. In the same way, Shepard's raven black tuxedo was begrimed by blots of the ashy powder.
"Do you think they've cleared the decks yet...?" Tali asked, as she turned, and looked towards the door.
"It's likely..." The Commander acknowledged. "I don't hear any more commotion..."
"Keelah, of all the bosh'tet things that could happen...!" Tali exclaimed, in a sudden outburst of frustration, bowing her head, and shaking it, as she drew her hand across the forehead area of her faceplate. "And I was having the most wonderful time I've ever had..."
"Yeah..." Shepard supplemented, with a sigh, as he hung his head a bit, and shook it. "And just as I was..." Suddenly he stopped, as he tried to choke back his words, and think of something else to say. "...Was..."
"What...?" Tali asked, her curiosity beguiled, as she looked down at Shepard, still standing chest deep in the hole before her, with a sudden nervousness on his face.
"No, I mean... I was having the time of my life too... And then all this had to happen..."
"No..." Tali refuted, as her eyes narrowed on Shepard, trying to dissect his expression. "No, up on the observation deck... Before the impact... You were about to ask me something... Something important... What was it?"
"...Tali." John hesitantly began, with a disheartened look in his eyes, as he leaned back against the inside edge of the hatch, and awkwardly started rubbing the back of his neck. "Not here..." He stated, as he looked around the tiny room, saturated in green light. "This... This isn't how-"
"Testing...!" The echoing sound of a shrill voice, accompanied by a deafening, high-pitched buzz of microphone feedback, suddenly reverberated within the tiny room, throughout the whole deck, and across the entire ship, immediately cutting Shepard off, and causing both of them to look up towards the ceiling, and pay the utmost attention.
"...esting... Hel... Is th... ing on...?" The voice, peppered with loud crackles of static interference, garnered the full regard of the physicist, the operative, and the reporter, crawling through the ventilation system, forcing them to stop, and listen closely.
"...was working earlier...!" The voice admonished, as a large, theater-sized, holographic screen projected itself above the Promenade Deck, near the ceiling, exhibiting a snowy, distorted image, slowly coming into focus.
"Hello...? Testing... Test... Oh, wait! Wait! There, it's working...!" Tarrik declared, as his visage fully materialized upon the screen, with his voice now ringing forth with crystal clarity, and the hiss of a respirator.
"Good evening, my lovely, affluent passengers...!" He greeted, as the handcuffed combatants, and amassing sea of frightened hostages all turned to gaze up at the ominous presence of the giant volus on the screen, wearing a pristine white naval cap upon his arrogant, unworthy brow. "This is your new Captain speaking...!"
"...Judging by the sound of that breathing-" Gordon whispered back towards Miranda, as he rested on his side, listening. "I'd say that was either a volus... Or a stubby Darth Vader..."
"...What's a dark vader?"
"Shhh..." Miranda uttered, quieting the intrigued reporter, as the voice began again.
"As you've no doubt guessed, I am the one responsible for making the subtle alterations to your travel itinerary..." Tarrik announced, addressing his audience with an ostentatious sense of arrogance, and grandeur.
"Now, I think we all got off on the wrong foot, before... And I do apologize for that bit of ugliness a little earlier..." He tenderly stated, placing a fraudulently sympathetic hand over his heart, as the hostages looked on at his visage on the screen. "Even though I personally abhor violence, it is a regrettable truth that extreme measures must sometimes be taken..."
"But all that aside, I wonder if perhaps we can start over... My name is Tarrik Shon. And as I said, I will be your acting Captain for the remainder of this trip..."
"Well...!" He exclaimed cheerfully, as he clasped his grubby hands together, and rubbed them zealously. "Now that we're all friends, there are a few... provisos that I must now acquaint you with... So pay close attention-!" He declared, holding an enthusiastic finger up, as if he were about to deliver a public service announcement. "-Because the following could save your lives...!"
"First of all, I ask that you excuse your new travel accommodations..." He continued, as the passengers looked around, from their spots seated on the hard floor, at the militia of guards covering the exits, and patrolling the area, with their weapons brandished. "We do need to keep an eye on you, after all... "
"Second... and this one is for all of you stragglers out there, that may hiding away in the ship's many nooks, and crannies, and niches, and cubbyholes..."
A crooked grin came over Shepard's face as he listened, leaning back against the interior of the hatch, with his elbows resting on the utility closet floor, on which Tali was sitting, beside him.
"Should any of you get the brilliant idea of making an escape via the life-pods... I would strongly reconsider, as I'm sure you will find this rather impossible... All communications have been terminated, and all life pods and emergency hatches have been locked down... There is no way off this ship..."
"With that said, I think we can drop the formalities, and get down to business..." Tarrik asserted – his voice suddenly fading into a cold, emotionless tone.
"We are in control, ladies and gentlemen... Understand that now... And as long as you behave yourselves... Do exactly as you're told... And as long as we can avoid any further... 'incidents'... like the one we had earlier... Then you have my word that no harm will come to any of you... All of this will just become another memorable experience you can regale your grandchildren with, one day... But...! Should you fail to comply... Or become unruly and disorderly... Well, I just can't guarantee your safety..."
"Now in a few moments, several of the armed men and women around you are going to come by with duffel bags. We would like you to please open your hearts, and drop anything of value you may have on you, into those bags..."
The mere mention of this drew a smile on the faces of most of the armed malefactors, as they began cockily nodding their heads.
"We'll take gold, jewelry, credit chits, priceless heirlooms... Really any precious gems, or metals you may have on your person..." He informed, speaking with the cynical quirkiness of someone completely in love with the sound of their own voice. "If you're not sure something you have is valuable enough for us to want... Drop it in anyway, because it probably is..."
"He sounds like a pompous ass...!" Shepard asserted, with a look of disgust reflected in his eyes, as he and Tali continued to listen. "Even by volus standards..."
"Now as we near our destination, someone will come around, and ask for the passcodes to those big, big, bank accounts we know you have...!" He declared on the screen, with a child-like enthusiasm, as he clenched his hands into fists in front of him, as if grabbing hold of some great, invisible trophy.
"After we've got your valuables, and the credits from your accounts... And as soon as we dock with our destination... You'll all be free to go...! Just like that... After all, what's a few material possessions, weighed against the rest of your lives, am I right?"
"So... To recap. We are in control... There is no way off this ship... Behave... And give us your money..." Tarrik explained, finishing, as he started turning away from the camera, before abruptly stopping and turning back. "Oh, and... one final thing..."
"I do hope this experience won't sour your opinion of the Lycuna Cruise Company, itself..." He stated, pleadingly clasping his hands together together, in front of his chest. "After all, they have been operating for over five-hundred years... Plus, I hear they've got top-notch security, hehehehe..." He declared, as he broke out into a snide, devilish snicker, and waved good-bye to the camera. "So long for now..."
"Sure you couldn't have laid it on a little thicker there, Tarrik...?" The fog-eyed Security Commander remarked sarcastically, as the audacious volus summoned the hovering, holographic camera drone back into his omni-tool, on the ship's bridge.
"Commander Kim..." Tarrik presumptuously retorted, with a high and mighty tone of voice. "With your oratory skills, I'm sure you couldn't go thirty seconds before simply giving up, and shooting someone else to get your point across..."
"Hey, it worked, didn't it...?" Kim replied, taking on a snide, crooked grin.
"Yes, quite..."
The one-eyed Commander shrugged carelessly, and turned away from Tarrik as he paced around the bridge. As he pulled a small, silvery case out of his pant pocket, and split it open to remove a single cigarette, he suddenly took note of the detached, imperturbable Blood-Pack leader, perpetually gazing up at the surveillance monitor in the corner, with a dissecting eye. Kargas stood with his arms crossed, and a focused stare, as something was clearly enveloping his thoughts.
"Too much HV can rot your brain, you know...?" Kim declared jokingly, as he stepped up beside the krogan, lightly tapping his cigarette on his metallic case, to tamp down the tobacco in the paper tube. Kargas however, seemed completely content without placating the head of security with a response. Instead he simply continued to pore over the screen in stoic silence.
"Why don't you relax...?" Kim suggested in a bit of a muddled voice, as he placed the cigarette between his lips, and raised a flaming silver lighter to it, momentarily splashing a mask of vibrant orange onto his face. "Take a load off... We've got some food on the way. Some booze..."
"The ship's ours, Karg..." He continued, pulling the cigarette from his lips with an exhalation of smoke. "Those assholes aren't gonna do a god damn thing."
"...You humans amuse me." The krogan responded, with indifference, as he continued to observe the frightened assembly in the Promenade Deck. "Always so quick to assume a situation is going completely in your favor..."
"Uh... Unless I'm mistaken... I believe it is...!"
"Haven't you, even for one moment, stopped to wonder who these people are...?" Kargas demanded admonishingly, as he finally turned his rigid stare onto Kim. "Or how they managed to completely decimate fifteen of your men, without so much as breaking a sweat...?!"
"Hey, my guys aren't soldiers, Kargas!" Kim retorted, with an escalated tone. "And they aren't trained mercenaries either... To most of 'em this was just another job, until I came along and opened their eyes... They're not soldiers of fortune, they're security guards... But they're loyal, and they follow orders! I've painstakingly hand picked them myself, to make sure of that...!"
"That's not what I'm talking about, Commander!" Kargas shot back, as the officer took another drag of his cigarette. "What I mean is look at them! Why is there a krogan here...? Our kind don't particularly have a taste for... frilly, dainty cruises as a fun past-time..." He proclaimed, sneering with disgust. "We prefer the taste of a good kill, and a hard fight..."
"Well, you may not believe this, Karg-" The Commander started again, with a condescending tinge in his voice – releasing a puff of smoke with every breath, as he pulled the lit cigarette from his lips once more. "-but we get krogan all the time... People that THINK they're important tend to bring 'em along as bodyguards."
"And what of the geth...?!" He demanded, as he turned back towards the screen, and focused on the slightly static mired visage of the captive Legion. "Do you get geth all the time too...?"
"No, but with that stupid new treaty between them and the quarians, I wouldn't be surprised if by this time next month, half of Lycuna's customers were geth...! At least until they turn on us again..." Commander Kim remarked with a roll of his eyes, and a smack of his lips. "...Which you fucking know they will."
"Mmmrrr..." Kargas released a deep, throaty growl, under his breath, like a dragon preparing to breath fire. "I don't like it." He adamantly asserted. "There is something... familiar about them, that just doesn't sit right with me... It is... unnerving..."
"I'm telling you it's nothing..." Kim reassured, as he replaced the cigarette between his lips, and turned to walk away. "...You really should learn to relax."
As the uniformed Head of Security strolled away, leaving a thin trail of smoke in his wake, Kargas' deep, predatory eyes remained unwavering from the screen before him. Every so often they'd flicker for a glance towards one of the other security feeds, from the mostly empty areas across the vast ship. But it was never for more than a second or two, before he drove his pupils right back to the team of five constrained figures, sitting placidly at the front of a sea of hostages.
"I'll relax when they're dead..."