(Update: Changed my name, despised it. Now it's similar to my gamertag because I'm so imaginative)

(Heartless Guy: "Why does people seems to always wanted to help the quarian, exactly? I honestly coundn't care less, just curious. While the council did an injustice, it was their own ancestors that done the fuck up. They are portrayed as some helpless innocent shits while they are pretty much to blame for their own misfortunes."

I'm in agreement there, they did indeed fuck up something fierce, but the Council's utter denial of help for three hundred years and the Quarians' biology that makes settling anywhere but Rannoch for an extended period of time nearly impossible. Not fully, but nearly.

I also think it's because the Quarians don't do much to antagonize others, they're effectively gypsies but they just try to make it day to day.

Why people help, I think, is because they don't want the Quarian race to be wiped out. A ship filter fucks up, that's thousands of deaths. For a population in the billions, or trillions, this isn't much. For a population of a few million, every death is serious.

Mostly, it's sympathy that makes most help. Otherwise it could also be respect, or it could be to spite the Council, or it could be because "Fuck it I'm here aren't I?" or any other reason.

There's also that the Quarians don't live for 300 years. They most likely live maybe 125 if they're lucky. The Quarians that did the fuck up are long gone, yet the Council bars them from any assistance.

There're alot of arguements for and against the Quarians, frankly.

Thanks for the review!)

While the Terran assistance was appreciated, the opinion by many was less than stellar. The Terran expansion, their denial of the Council's offer, their lack of information shared (despite the Council not sharing any either) and other reasons caused many to give the Terrans the cold shoulder. Human and Mechanoid alike, despite being there to assist, were shrugged off by many.

Others, those wounded, welcomed them cautiously until they began to work their magic (literally in many cases) in which case they were fully welcomed.

They couldn't turn down healing, not with the worry of Batarian rioters and terrorists always there, and thus when the healers all dressed in white and red came with their guards to the stuffed hospitals with their new medigel in tow.

The sticky glue substance applied to the Asari's wounded flesh was ice cold to the touch, causing her to hiss, before it began to warm considerabley, regulating the temperature. The Human mage, wearing an armored chest piece of white ceramic with a red cross emblazoned upon the front. The mage was light skinned, short haired, and seemed to be young. 20, if the Asari had to guess, but already hard at work in his field.

The mage weaved the strange power in his hands like a spinnerette with a thread, seeming to create warm threads of pure, healing power. The gold/white threads passed over other wounds, those less grievous and not deserving of the miracle material that is Medigel.

The Asari watched entranced as, almost painlessly, the threads danced into her flesh and out the other side, then were turned around with a flick of the mage's fingers this way and that. Like stitches, the magic weaved her flesh and muscle tissue together before with a motion not unlike the flourish of finishing off a pretty ribbon bow the Mage was finished. Her wound was gone, completly, although the dull pain left still remained and was quickly soothed with a warm caress of his index and middle finger, the glowing power radiating from the fingers warm like a caring touch.

The pain ebbed away, replaced by stamina returning quickly from the magical touch.

A quick glance checked the medigel, seeing her muscle tissue stitching together in a most fascinatingly quick manner. With the assistance of extra magic, the wound was healed more, though other patients called for his attention as his fellow healers were hard at work.

A quick smile, he spoke up finally "Just keep pressure off your leg and take it easy, you'll be fine by the end of the week," and he was gone. The skirt like extensions of his armor, bone white, were cut to not restrict his legs, though seemed to hold other utensils such as synthetic diamond scalpels, forceps, and other material in the front. The back of the skirt was bordered with a red trim interlaced with gold designs.

The Asari watched her leg stitch itself together before her very eyes with utter fascination etched deeply into her being.

By the end of the week?

The doctors figured a month, at best.

The C-Sec officers and the Terran guards, seeming to be a mishmash of different alliances within as a few of them wore the olive drab armor of the American alliance, the medium-blue of the European Union, and atleast three of them wore the grey, riveted plate of the Nordic National Alliance, watched eachother cautiously.

One side was making sure that none of their own got more hurt, the other made sure of similar, just with a more direct way of doing it as the Terrans openly palmed their weapons when they caught C-Sec eyes on them with a 'Don't do it' look across their faces (that weren't hidden, anyway) causing the atmosphere to thicken between them.

"Alright, enough with the angry glares," Ordered a woman with blond hair and blue eyes, a scar marring her face as she stared down the menagerie of Terran soldiers whom instantly stood at attention and pulled their eyes from the alien guards whom pulled their gaze from the similarly alien soldiers and to the alien commander who wore navy blue armor bordered with gold.

Her armor, like all Terran metal/armor work, was either decorated with rivets or the round bulges in symmetric areas of the armor actually did a service. Which, the C-Sec officers couldn't be sure. Her armor was a broad chestpiece that, unlike most chest pieces found outside Terran space, was neither hammered into shape nor moulded in. Instead, it was the same uniform shape as the soldiers she commanded.

Something the Turians, atleast, had to admire.

Her armor bore a collar, extending up to the back of her neck and tapering down slightly in the front. At the highest point, the collar extended just slightly under her lower lip.

The pauldrons of her armor, like almost all Terran armor, were angular and squareish and bent down at sharp angles in layered material. Unlike armors created in Council space, Terran armors were not very formfitting and indeed were somewhat 'one size fits all' with adjustable straps of leather fitted with thick steel or iron buckles and links.

The flat part of her pauldrons, closest to the collar of her armor, bore what appeared to be the image of a kraken, with wild and evil eyes in its cephalopodic form, burning into the eyes of those whom saw it as it wrapped its many tentacles around an anchor. The upper form of the (hopefully) mythical giant seemed to fade into the stars.

The gauntlets of her armor seemed to be hiding a weapon within them. If the C-sec had to guess, a shotgun.

Each.

Terrans.

A closer look at the legs, arms, and even waist showed that the Human had (supportive hips, so thought some of the Turians) an exoskeleton attached. Hidden from view, under the hair that barely made it to her chin length, was a neuroreader. While her helmet was currently hooked onto her left hip, once attached she'd have full use of her armor's systems.

The human kept the gaze of her soldiers for a moment before turning the calculating look on the aliens "Who among you is senior?"

A Salarian, much to her surprise, stepped forward. His skin color was light green on the underside with darker on the back, large eyes scrutinized the woman a thousand miles a second, as Salarians do, before he saluted.

"Lieutenant Rozan Verban, ma'am. Fine to meet you," the Human had to be honest that she was surprised that it was a Salarian of all people that came forward, but she wasn't in the mood to question it.

"You too, Lieutenant. Captain Hannah Shepard, USS Omaha. I've been sent to oversee my people's assistance here."

"So you're the one with the Battleship parked outside," Razon said amazingly casual "I should've figured, from your armor."

"I try. Have my people given yours any trouble?"

"Aside from smouldering glares that bely a romantic interest? None, Ma'am." Hannah laughed at that.

"Good. Could we?" Hannah motioned for him to follow, to speak privately, to which Razon nodded "Yes, Ma'am. Lead the way." He turned to his men and pointed at the floor "Hold the line. Watch the door, make sure it doesn't walk away."

"Yes, sir."

"Similar for you all. Any Batarian comes here, warn them away. They try to force their way in, you know what to do."

"Yes, Ma'am!" Replied the Terrans, in differing languages.

Razon and Hannah walked away, the view to the wards of the massive station was amazing to say the least even with the fires of riots glowing within.

"You wished to speak, ma'am?" Razon asked, speaking quickly as Hannah learned all Salarians do.

"Mostly I wanted to ask how everything's going, Lieutenant," Hannah replies as she watches over the distant riot scenes with the ghost of a frown "May seem a dumb question, but still."

"It is if you don't mind my saying so ma'am," Razon replies casually as he blinks a couple times "The rioters are Batarians. What that means to you I don't know, but it means alot for us. Batarians have always been arrogant, those allowed to come off of Khar'shan, anyway. Always strutted about, looking as though they're picking out produce at a shop. To be honest, they most likely were," Hannah rose a brow at Rozan for that comment receiving an incline of the horned head.

"Batarians are incorrigible slavers, Ma'am," Hannah's shoulders immediately tensed "They've always been. They frequently raid frontier council worlds, although they use proxy mercenaries and pirates for 'plausible deniability' so they can't be directly blamed, though the culprits are obvious."

"The Council just allowed it to happen?" Hannah asks, tone as serious as the grave "Why didn't they do anything about it? The Destiny Ascension is massive enough," the Asari dreadnaught indeed was a titanic ship, though of strange design.

" So called 'plausible deniability' ma'am, the Council can't do anything about it if they have no solid evidence. Despite everyone knowing who did it." Hannah shook her head slowly causing her blonde hair to bob slightly.

Razon watched Hannah from the corner of one of his huge eyes, taking in her reaction.

"You disapprove," It wasn't a question.

"You don't?" Hannah asked as she turned her gaze to Razon fully, brows furrowed.

"Never said I didn't," Razon answered simply.

"Slavery was abolished worldwide a long time ago. My own people did so a few hundred years ago, now. We've learned, through a long time of teaching and simple moral knowledge, that slavery is wretched. Wrong. Not to be tolerated. That the Council does, and don't give me that plausible deniability bullshit, makes them just as guilty as the Batarians in my eyes."

Razon nodded slowly, Hannah couldn't read him as his face was neutral, but his eyes blinked slowly as he took a deep breath.

"You Terrans are a strange people, you know," Rozan began "You gassed the Turians, a war crime by all accounts," he noticed Hannah's mouth twitch into a frown, just slightly "Then you heal them and offer them a place to live on the very colony they invaded. Then you all but give the proverbial middle finger to the Council and the Batarians and tell them where to stick it, and now you're here to heal people. You're confusing."

"That's how we work. We'll kill you, then heal the rest and retain our independence. Ain't that something?" Hannah said sarcastically getting a smirk from Rozan, the first facial expression in a bit that she'd gotten from him.

"Indeed."

"What're your people going to do about the Batarians?" This got an exasperated sigh from Rozan as he opened his omni-tool and flicked through the holographic interface quickly. Hannah had to hide her disdain for the tool, for the sake of the situation.

"The Batarians are hidden deep in the various nooks and crannies of the Wards. This station is a labyrinth of hidey holes for criminals and we're constantly trying to root them out where possible. We tried non-lethal tactics, which failed when the Batarians went lethal themselves, and killed many of our officers." Hannah's head inclined slightly, eyes closed, as she offered a silent prayer.

"I'm sorry for your people's deaths, Lieutenant."

"Don't be, you didn't directly cause their deaths. The Batarians have always seen themselves entitled to space, yet the Council restricted us from doing anything to stop their slaving rings and frequent law breaking aside from some arrests that were cut off soon after."

Lieutenant Razon leaned in close to Hannah, whom leaned in slightly as well, and had to resist raising her brow when Razon whispered "Do not hold back on the Batarians. They deserve every inch of it."

Hannah nodded slightly "I'll keep that in mind, Lieutenant. I have Marines ready to go, should you need them. The Nordic Alliance even brought along a few Stormtroopers, if you need them," The Stormtroopers in question just one of many fearsome Sturmtruppen units, aggressive blitzkrieg units dedicated to finding, breaking, and routing their targets with smoke grenades, shotguns and batons.

Razon rose his brow at this, thinking as he hmmed to himself and held his hand on his chin "I may have need of them, in places we can't spare officers. If this Nordic Alliance wouldn't mind assisting."

"They offered! They're good at what they do, so why not offer?" Hannah left out the part of wanting to better relations between the Alliance and the Council on purpose.

"I'll think about it and pass it to the Executor, Thank you Captain," Rozan saluted.

"My pleasure, Rozan," Hannah saluted back and shook his hand.

Rozan and Hannah went back to their people, the wounded inside healing already with the application of medigel and magic. The Terran and C-Sec officers seemed to lessen their stand-offishness toward eachother as well, showing eachother weapons and such or comparing armors until they stood at attention when their commanding officers returned.

Deep inside the Citadel, the Batarians burned with hatred as they planned. Where they couldn't find weapons, they'd make them by taking parts from hovercars, pieces of pipe and kitchen utensil, creating makeshift armor where official armor couldn't be found or stolen or bought from black market merchants hidden in the underbelly of the station.

On the Omaha, men and women of multiple alliances prepared for the time they may be called to service on the alien station. Wether it be to support the C-Sec, or should the Council take exception to their presence..against them.

The Terrans prayed the Council had a brain shared between the three of them.