Chapter 6: Going to the Nicest Places

Welcome to Omega.

The asari name for it translates as 'the heart of evil.' The salarian name means 'the place of secrets.' The turian name comes across as 'the world without law.' The krogan call it the 'land of opportunity.' Call it what you will, there's no denying what it is.

Hidden away in the Terminus Systems, it's the dark, twisted twin to the Citadel that nobody wants to talk about but everyone knows exists. In Omega, the night never ends. Every street is dirty, stained with blood or sweat or tears—if you're lucky. Gaudy neon signs casting a harsh light everywhere you go, their colours the same as the drugs you knew were bad for you, but can't afford to care. And the constant roar of traffic that never, ever stops.

Here the predators hang out with the prey, the strong cuddle with the weak, and no one really cares. People only come here for all sorts of reasons: if they're twisted, desperate, headstrong, stupid, or don't have anywhere else to go. To seek power, to run away, to grab that one last chance. If they can handle it, that is. If they can stand walking down the streets filled with sin and the alleys full of suffering.

Welcome to Omega. Watch your back. 'Cuz someone, somewhere, has a bullet with your name on it.

Omega's been around longer than anyone can remember. It used to be one giant asteroid that was mined for element zero. It still is, mind you, but various groups and species have tacked on add-on after add-on for the last several centuries. The result is a haphazard, industrial, yet undeniably stunning piece of work.

Unlike the Citadel, we didn't need to take an aircar from the dock to the customs area. Not because there weren't any aircars—there were plenty—but because there was no customs area.

Having said that, our arrival didn't go unnoticed. Miranda, Jacob, Kasumi and I—who I'd lumped together as 'my squad' at some point—had barely gone a dozen metres when we were accosted by an overly friendly salarian.

"Ah! Welcome to Omega!" he grinned. "You're new here, aren't you? I can always tell. Allow me to—"

He abruptly stopped when he noticed the batarian walking towards us. "Oh... Hello, Moklan! Heh. Um. I was, er, I was just—"

"Leave, Fargut," Moklan growled in a low, raspy voice. "Now."

"Of course, Moklan!" Fargut babbled, offering a limp salute. "Whatever she wants!"

He would have probably continued on and on, had Moklan not taken a threatening step towards him to scare him off. As he scurried away without another word, Moklan shook his head in an obvious sign of dismissal before turning his attention towards me.

"Blasted scavengers," he muttered. "Welcome to Omega... Shepard."

"You know who I am?"

"Of course," he sneered. "We had you tagged the moment you entered the Terminus Systems. You're not as subtle as you think."

Either this was all talk and bluster, or the criminal grapevine was living up—down?—to its reputation.

"Aria wants to know what brings a dead Spectre to Omega. I suggest you go to Afterlife now and present yourself."

If I didn't know what kind of place this was, Moklan's suggestion confirmed it. Here, more than anywhere else, I couldn't show any fear, any hesitation, any sign of weakness. If I did, I'd either get walked over, or I'd get worked over. Or I'd get shot.

"Cut the attitude," I scowled. "I'm not here to cause problems for Omega."

"Things explode around you, Shepard," Moklan scoffed. "You can't blame Aria for keeping an eye on you."

Hey! That wasn't my fault! Except for... and the... okay. Maybe this Aria has a point.

"Afterlife," Moklan repeated. "Now."

EDI came over the comm while Moklan walked away. "I'm receiving quarantine warnings about the slums where Dr. Mordin Solus runs his clinic. Anticipate resistance at the transport station."

"Anything else?" I asked.

"I have also accessed messages between mercenary groups regarding plans to deal with Archangel. There is a recruiting station in the Afterlife club that may have information on him."

Good. Only a couple minutes on Omega and I already had leads on two of the potential recruits: a hotshot salarian scientist/doctor who could make dealing with the Collectors a little bit easier and a merc commander renowned for his technical expertise, strategic brilliance, and persistent attacks on the scum of Omega.

As for the third recruit? The veteran mercenary and bounty hunter? Well I could see him at the end of the hallway, kneeing a batarian in the gut. The batarian dropped to his knees, his head rolling around on his neck. One of his four eyes must have focused on me, because he started begging "Please... you have to help me."

"No one said you could talk, jackass," the recruit snapped, kicking him again.

"You Zaeed Massani?" I asked.

The man turned around. Forty-something, balding, grey hair. Wore a yellow and black hardsuit with white markings—not Cerberus markings, though—and enough dents and scratches to show it had seen a lot of use. Funny gladiator-esque frill on his right shoulder. His right eye was hazier and lighter in colour than his left, though I didn't know whether that was due to a quirk in eye colour or some past injury. There was also a curved scar running down the right side of his face from his eyebrow to his upper lip, with a tattoo of some sort just below.

"Yeah, that's me," he said with a rough British accent. "You must be Commander Shepard. I hear we have a galaxy to save."

"I assume you've been briefed?"

"I've done my homework," Zaeed nodded. "Cerberus sent me everything I needed to know."

"Wish Cerberus did the same with me," I mused, looking down at the batarian. "They said we'd be picking up one man. Not two."

"Batarian delinquent," Zaeed shrugged. "Pissed off someone rich enough to hire me to go after him. And for my 'bring 'em in alive' rates, even."

"Please..." the batarian moaned. "I didn't do it..."

Zaeed abruptly swivelled and kicked him in the jaw. "I said shut it.

"Tried to lead me on a chase all over the Systems," Zaeed scowled down at him. For the first time, I noticed some markings—a tattoo on the right side of his neck and some strange pattern on his upper right arm. "He should have known better. These people always run to Omega."

"What's going to happen to him?" I asked.

"I'm going to turn him in for the bounty," Zaeed replied. "Don't much care what happens after that."

"What's your relationship with Cerberus, anyways?"

Zaeed took a step forward. "Easy. Cerberus is paying me a lot of money to help you on your mission. That's the long and short."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not many mercs would take a suicide mission for the pay."

"Most mercs don't get an offer like the one Cerberus sent me," Zaeed replied. "This mission doesn't sound like good business. But... your Illusive Man can move a lot of credits."

"He's not 'my' Illusive Man," I corrected him, looking him over. So far, he struck me as rough, violent, but ultimately professional. He might be a merc-for-hire, but he didn't seem like the type to jump ship or abandon his contract when the going got tough. Once you bought his services, he'd do the job. And the way he carried himself suggested he knew how to use the weapons strapped to his back.

"Good to have you, Zaeed," I finally said, shaking his hand. "We have a lot to do."

"That's what they tell me," Zaeed nodded. He pulled out his pistol and used it to motion his batarian captive to get up. "I assume the Illusive Man told you about our little arrangement?"

Not again. "No," I said flatly. "I guess he decided to leave that information out of the dossier."

"Good thing I asked," Zaeed snorted. "Picked up a mission a little while back, just before I signed on with Cerberus. Thought you might be interested."

"Oh?"

"You heard the name Vido Santiago?" I shook my head. "He's the head of the Blue Suns," Zaeed explained. "Runs the whole organization."

Blue Suns? Wasn't that one of the bigger merc outfits out there? (1)

"Seems he recently captured an Eldfell-Ashland refinery on Zorya and is using their workers for slave labour," he went on. "The company wants it dealt with."

"I think we can do that," I said.

"Good. Get it out of the way so we can concentrate on being big goddamn heroes."

While we were talking, the batarian prisoner had gotten to his feet. He chose that opportunity to bolt. Unfortunately for him, he only made it a few metres before Zaeed capped him in the knee.

"I better turn this thing in before it starts to stink," Zaeed sighed.

"Before you go," I jumped in, "here's our squad comm frequency. We have some more people to pick up before we leave this place, so you might as well meet up with us rather than wait on the Normandy."

Zaeed nodded once the frequency info was uploaded to his omni-tool. "Right. I'll be locked and loaded next time you're ready to get some killing done."

With my luck, I thought sourly, that would be all too soon.

Keeping in mind what that Moklan guy said about seeing this Aria lady ASAP, I promptly did the opposite. The most obvious difference between the Citadel and Omega were the walls and floors. Even in the Wards, they were clean. In comparison, Omega's walls and floors looked... dirty.

"Omega's something of a pisshole," Miranda agreed when I voiced my observation. "At least it keeps you on your toes."

"There is that," I conceded.

"I've had to come here on business before," she continued. "I always feel like I need a shower afterward—in addition to normal decontamination."

"Well, let's get this over with so we can get that shower ASAP," I decided. "Where are the nearest shops?"

I swear I saw Miranda's lip twitch before she lifted her arm. "Behind you," she pointed.

Of course.

After a lil wandering and moving down some stairs, I found this dingy store manned by a quarian.

"Hello there," he said dully. "Might I interest you in some salvaged tech? Every credit goes towards a ticket to get me off this forsaken rock."

I nodded. "Sounds good, um... what's your name?"

"Call me Kenn."

"All right, Kenn. I buy a lot of parts and equipment. Maybe we can make an arrangement," I suggested, recalling my earlier haggling on the Citadel.

"Well..." he hesitated. "You seem like a decent person. All right. Fine. But you can't breathe a word of this to Harrot."

"Of course," I agreed, not knowing who this Harrot guy was.

"Then we have a deal." Under his helmet, I bet Kenn was grinning. "Maybe I'll at least sell something to you."

That was remarkably easy. I moved over to the kiosk and started browsing. As I searched through the inventory, I casually asked "What brought a nice kid like you to Omega?"

"My Pilgrimage. What money I had got stole within a few days. So I decided to sell salvaged parts."

He sighed. "You can see how that turned out. Harrot's forcing me to sell high, and I can't even afford a ticket off this station."

"Why does Harrot control your prices?"

"Harrot made me swear not to undercut him, no matter what. He was here first, so it's his right. But no one will buy from me when he's so much cheaper."

"Which is why you can't save enough to get out of here," I realized. No wonder he was willing to cut me a deal, so long as it was kept quiet. A little of something was better than a whole lot of nothing.

"Yeah."

This verbal deal sounded like a load of bullshit, in my totally-unasked-for opinion. I looked around before leaning towards Kenn. "You know, I could go talk to Harrot for you. Get him to ease up, that sorta thing."

Kenn shrugged. "I won't stop you. If you can convince him to lay off, then maybe I can start saving some credits. You can find him one level up."

I nodded absently, seeing some of those couplings that Ken and Gabby asked me to look for. After buying them, I left to go find this Harrot guy.

On our way up, we passed a bunch of vorcha, who were convinced I knew some guy named Gavorn, and various humans and aliens passed out on the ground.

Jacob looked shocked. And disgusted. "I don't get it," he eventually burst out. "This place—how can these people be left to rot like this?"

"You don't understand, or you don't want to?" Miranda asked.

"Does it matter?" Jacob snorted.

"No," Miranda replied. "Omega has worked this way for a very long time. No one's changing it now."

"What do you think about Omega, Kasumi?" I asked.

"To be honest, I like seedier towns like this," she admitted. "Not because of the suffering—that's horrible—but the towns themselves... They're prettier."

"Prettier?"

"The people here—they value their light. They don't have god-awful neon everywhere, like Ilium or the Citadel. Just the light of people living, moving from place to place. Just enough to know people live here."

Not too much, not too little—just enough for the important stuff, in other words. I guess she had a point, even though there was still a lot of neon here.

After a while, I found Harrot, an elcor who was running an emporium of sorts.

"Tentatively excited," he droned in a monotonous voice. "Welcome, human. What can I get for you?"

"You can get me some information," I started. "Like your 'deal' with the quarian down below."

"Suspicious: if I had made such a deal, I would certainly not be inclined to discuss it. Accusatory: I don't understand how it is any concern of yours." (2)

You wanna play hardball, huh? "I don't feel inclined to discuss why I'm making it my concern. But since I'm a nice guy, I'll make a deal with you. You let him set his own prices, and I won't break your legs. Or take out your kneecaps with a few rounds."

I put my hand on my pistol to emphasize my point. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my squad do the same. "One-time offer, pal. Whaddaya say?"

"With barely contained terror: you drive a hard bargain, human," Harrot intoned.

"I learned from the best," I grinned, cracking my knuckles. "You think this is hard? I haven't even started."

"Resignation: very well. I will release the quarian from his promise. Conciliatory: to show there is no ill will, I offer you a discount on my own wares.

"Sure," I replied. "No hard feelings. Whaddya got, anyway?"

"Friendly: salvaged parts. All kinds, mostly legitimate. With pride: my prices are the lowest anywhere on the station. You won't find salvage cheaper than mine."

Well I looked through Harrot's stuff, and there were some items worth picking up. Most of it I couldn't afford, though I did grab a program that would buy me more time to hack through firewalls—always good for liberating credits—and a visor thing that would make headshots a hell of a lot easier. Problem with the latter was that I couldn't wear it under a helmet, so I'd have to run around battlefields without any head protection. Well, that's what shields are for, right? Besides, helmets always muss up my hair. (3)

I also dropped by this other store run by a batarian named Marsh. By that point, though, I had pretty much run out of money. Unless I wanted to buy some porn, I'd have to hope that I could hack a few datapads or safes for creds in the near future.

Delivering good news was free, though, so I dropped by to let Kenn know that he was off the hook. As you can probably imagine, he was reasonably pleased.

After another hour or so of wandering, I decided to go to Afterlife. Not that I'd immediately visit Aria, though. But I'd pretty much checked out everywhere else.

As I led the squad to the club, I activated my comm. "Shepard to Zaeed. You read me?"

"Loud and clear," he shouted over a pounding bass and lots of drunken voices.

"We're heading over to Afterlife."

I think he laughed. Someone did, anyways. "I'm already there," he yelled. He must have moved, judging by the way the music dropped a couple decibels. "Meet you inside. Go through the front door."

We'd made it to the front door by that point, judging by the big neon sign that named the establishment and the long line-up. The bouncer, another elcor, recognized us and let us in. We went through a long corridor with pictures of flames flickering on the vid-panels covering the walls, dealt with a pack of wannabe thugs and entered the club.

Interesting place, Afterlife. Harsh, bright lighting everywhere; really loud music with a body-shaking bass thumping away. It consisted of three levels. The bottom level had a circular bar in the middle with asari dancers writhing and gyrating away. The second level had a large circular opening in the middle for more asari to thrust away and holographic images on the wall. Patrons sat in booths around the outer edge. Three guesses what the patrons were looking at. Near the back, I could see a private lounge, where I guessed Aria hung out. And the third level? From my angle, it looked like it boasted a balcony from which you could look down on the club and pics of flaming torches. The last one struck me as strangely appropriate, given the name of the establishment.

Didn't take us long to find Zaeed. He was standing a metre away from the door, his eyes darting around.

"You expecting trouble?" I asked.

"I knew a bar out on the front, a lot like this," Zaeed replied absently. No idea which front this was, though. "Me and some friends got stupid one night."

"Uh oh," I commented.

"Damn right," Zaeed snorted. "Long story short: tempers flared, followed by pistols. We all got out except my old buddy Narko. Places like this are slaughterhouses dressed as nightclubs, I shit you not."

"We were told to 'report' to Aria," I said.

Zaeed recognized the name. "Aria T'Loak. She's the asari who runs Omega, as much as anyone runs a shithole like this. Up there," he nodded at the lounge, confirming my earlier suspicions.

"Well then," I grinned. "Let's go somewhere else first."

It didn't take long for us to navigate the rest of Afterlife. Mainly because none of us drank, danced or drooled over the asari strippers. We only stopped once when someone called my name.

"Commander Shepard," a grey-haired woman gasped. "Is that you? I—I'd heard you were dead!"

I recognized her. H-something... Drake? No, that wasn't it. Blake! There we go. Now what was her first name?

"I'm Helena Blake," she said before I could make a fool of myself. "We met a few years ago. I don't expect you'd remember."

Now it all came back. "I do, as a matter of fact. You were part of a crime syndicate at the time, and I got rid of the warlords who were running the show after you pointed me in the right direction. After that, I convinced you that you'd never get the syndicate away from its red sand dealing and slave trafficking roots."

"After which I retired," Helena concluded. "I'll never forget it, though I'm impressed you remembered."

"What brings you to Omega?"

"What brings anyone to Omega?" she shrugged. "Opportunity? Success? Failure? All of the above? I find this place suits me. I can bring it a certain... air of civility, I suppose."

She certainly had civility down pat. I always remembered Helena for the cultured and intelligent tones that coloured the intonation of her speech. Not that she was putting on airs. More like it was just a part of her, like the air she breathed.

"Bring civility to Omega?" I asked sceptically. "A place full of mercs and thieves and murderers? You're trying to make crime a civilized business or something?"

"Oh no, Commander," she hastened to correct me. "I meant it when I said I retired. I know better than to go back on my word with you. You convinced me to turn my life around. I'm a social worker now, believe it or not."

"That seems like a hopeless job in a place like Omega," I snorted.

"Quite the opposite, actually," Helena disagreed. "This place needs it more than most. Doing the good work in a place like this requires that one understand how things truly work. Which makes me uniquely qualified."

As strange as it sounded, I believed her. Her body language, the earnest look in her face, her eyes... they all seemed to indicate she was telling the truth. Maybe it was just my gut speaking, but she seemed to be on the up-and-up. "That's... more noble than I expected," I said finally.

"Noble? No," Helena shook her head. "It's just that someone came along a few years ago and made me see the error of my ways. You convinced me that I could use my contacts and skills for things other than smuggling and exploitation. I thank you for that."

"Well, I'm glad to hear you're keeping out of trouble."

"Thank you," she smiled. "This is all to your credit, Commander."

Finally, I got bored enough to go see Aria. I figured I'd established that I wasn't gonna jump at her beck and call by now. So up the stairs I went to the private lounge. An asari was standing at the top, with various goons surrounding her. Guards, obviously. I could have waited until she deigned to notice me, but that might have been interpreted as a sign of weakness. To show I wasn't some pushover, I ignored the closest thugs and climbed the last couple stairs.

"That's close enough," she called out without turning around as soon as I reached the top. On cue, the guards pulled out their weapons and aimed them at us. The rest of my squad followed suit, but it was clear we were outnumbered. I didn't move an inch towards my guns, though. Partly as part of my tough-guy routine, partly because I was curious to see what would happen next.

Aria tilted her head, and one of the guards—a batarian who was trying to look menacing—holstered his pistol and activated his omni-tool. "Stand still," he barked. A miniature holographic representation of me appeared over his omni-tool, slowly rotating in place.

"If you're looking for weapons, you're not doing a very good job," I observed, pointing to my pistol.

"Can't be too careful with dead Spectres," Aria said over her shoulder. "That could be anyone wearing your face."

"I was told you're the person to talk to if I have questions," I tried.

"He's clean," the batarian reported. He moved to the side and Aria turned around, staring at me coldly. I took the opportunity to take a look myself. She had markings across her forehead and down each cheek, though they looked more like tattoos than the facial freckles asari often sported. White leather half-jacket over some kind of black halter top. Tight black pants tucked into black boots—or maybe vice versa. Hard to tell with the lighting.

"Depends on the questions," Aria said in answer to my earlier question.

"You run Omega?"

She laughed and turned around. Silhouetted against the neon lights of Afterlife, she thrust her arms out dramatically. "I am Omega."

Was that her middle name, and was I supposed to be impressed?

She turned back and looked at me, as if to gauge my reaction. "But you need more," she continued, packing back and forth. "Everyone needs more something, and they all come to me. I'm the boss, CEO, queen if you're... feeling dramatic."

Aria rolled her eyes at that last title, as if acknowledging that her little act earlier was a bit of dramatization for easily-impressed schmucks and that she knew I knew it.

"All hail the queen," I cracked.

"Call me what you will," Aria shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule."

She sat down on a wrap-around couch and glared at me before uttering the one rule:

"Don't. Fuck. With Aria."

"I like it," I quipped. "Easy to remember."

"If you forget, someone will remind you," she said, nodding to the batarian who scanned us earlier.

"And then I toss your sorry ass out the nearest airlock," he sneered.

Aria gestured for me to sit down. I did so, picking a spot that would be perpendicular to Aria, but still allow me to see most of the people—and my squad—in the lounge.

"So, what can I do for you?" Aria asked.

I raised an eyebrow. "That's it? One scan and we're straight to business? People are usually more concerned about who I am."

"Your death was downplayed, but hardly what I call a secret," she replied casually, her face and voice looking like my untimely demise was just a boring tidbit that she happened to hear at some point or other. "I had to make sure it was really you. You could have been anyone. Anything. Whatever you need will come out on its own. I'm curious, but Omega doesn't really care about you."

Translation: she did care, but didn't want to make it look like she did, lest she accidentally prompt her enemies—current and otherwise—to start poking around. Information is power, after all.

"I guess you must know what's what on Omega," I said, continuing our small talk. "Since you're curious and all."

"Everything that's worth knowing. I don't usually give it out freely. Information is power."

Like I said.

"Mundane things, you can find yourself. Take a walk in a back alley, or buy one of the mercs a drink." She leaned towards me. "Better yet, talk to the entertainers. They give great tours. Just don't waste my time."

She flopped back, a slight scowl back on her face. I was starting to sense that she would only tolerate me so long before her impatience overcame her curiosity. Too bad—I wasn't done yet. "Hey, it's my time I'm wasting too. Speaking of time: you've been here for a while. Tell me how you got set up here."

Aria immediately got to her feet. "That's as privileged as information gets," she replied coldly. She never looked at me, but I could tell she was just a little peeved.

"Something I said?" I asked innocently.

"I have many friends and enemies I keep at varying distances. I don't count you among either. We'll see how useful you prove."

Aria sat back down and glared at me. "Short answer: mind your own damn business."

Interesting. So far, she'd been playing the boss/CEO/queen act—alternating between tough, haughty and bored as the situation warranted. It was only when I asked for personal details that her facade cracked. And judging by the vehemence of her reaction, that was quite the touchy spot.

"I'm looking for Mordin Solus," I finally gave in. "Do you know where I can find him?"

"The salarian doctor? Last I heard, he was trying to help plague victims in the quarantine zone." A wicked grin spread over her face. "I always liked Mordin," she admitted. "He's as likely to heal you as he is to shoot you."

"What can you tell me about him?"

"Used to be part of the salarian Special Tasks Group. He's brilliant and dangerous. Just don't get him talking—he never shuts up."

Huh. Scientific genius, doctor and covert ops specialist. Interesting.

"If you really need to find him, just take a shuttle to the quarantine zone. No guarantee the guards will let you in, of course."

"Of course," I nodded, getting to my feet. "Thanks for the information."

"Yes," Aria replied, her bored look back in place. "Just try not to bring the plague back with you."

"That was too easy," Jacob said suspiciously as we left Afterlife. "No way Aria would just hand out information like that so freely."

"She didn't exactly give us detailed intel," I pointed out. "Just a nudge in the right direction. Her 'payment' probably will come from watching what we do next."

"There's always the possibility that she'll demand something in the future, but you're probably right," Miranda agreed. "Aria didn't get to where she is by relying solely on immediate monetary payment."

We dropped by the Normandy first. Seemed smart to take a leak back there rather than on a station where someone might stab you in the back while you're doing your business. Besides, I wanted to modify my armour. I switched out my helmet for the visor I'd picked up earlier, and replaced the Kestrel arm sheath mod with some doo-hickey with compartments to store extra thermal clips.

Then we went back to Omega and started hunting for a way to the quarantine zone. I know: I take my guys to the nicest places.

It turned out that access to the shuttles going to and from the quarantine zone lay near the shops that I visited earlier. The argument between a female human civvie and a turian guard made it pretty easy to find it.

"I told you to get lost, lady!" the guard yelled. "The plague has the whole zone quarantined! Nobody gets in!"

"I'm human, you ass!" she seethed. "Humans can't get the plague!"

Oh good. For once something was going in my favour.

"Now let me get my stuff out before looters get it!"

The guard wasn't budging, though. "This thing affects every other race out there! We're not taking chances. Nobody gets in until the plague has run its course."

"So you're saying the slums are completely sealed off?" I asked.

"Finally," the guard sighed in relief, "a human that can hear. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."

"You can't keep me out," the woman said. Looked like both of them were starting to calm down a little. "I'm going to lose all my stuff!"

"I'm doing you a favour, human," the guard insisted. "Anybody in the quarantine zone will be dead from the plague or the gangs in a few weeks."

"Well that doesn't give me much time," I mused. The guard looked at me in confusion. "There's a salarian named Mordin Solus in the slums," I explained. "I've got to get in there to find him."

"The doctor? Crazy bastard opened a clinic in the district a few months ago. The Blue Suns weren't too happy when he moved in. I hear Mordin's trying to deal with the plague. I wish him luck, but the area's still locked down. Our orders are to wait until either the plague or the Blue Suns kill everyone, then go in and clean up."

Blue Suns were here too, huh? "What can you tell me about the Blue Suns?"

"One of the mercenary gangs here on Omega. They had a cohort that ran this district—at least, they used to. That particular group consisted mostly of turians, and I heard the plague hit them pretty hard. Now the whole district's up for grabs. Word on the street is that the vorcha are making a move. The plague can't hurt them—they're immune to disease. (4) Just one more reason why you don't want to go in there.

"Tell me more about this plague," I prompted.

"Starts out as a cough, then you start coughing blood and... well, then I shoot you."

Great.

"It affects multiple species. Turians, salarians, krogan—you name it. Only humans are immune. And vorcha, if you count them. An airborne disease that takes down multiple races? We can't let that spread—hence the quarantine."

"Isn't it unusual for this disease to cross species like that?" I asked. "I mean, turians can't even eat the same food as salarians or krogan, or vice versa."

"Right," the guard nodded. "Most people figure that it has to be synthetic. Somebody engineered it, and it either got loose or they're testing it here. And seeing as how humans are immune to the plague and doing a fair bit of looting, a lot of people think humans made it."

"Any idea where I can find Mordin's clinic?"

"Not a clue," the guard shook his head. "What do you care? The place is quarantined, remember?"

"Listen, you're stuck here until this quarantine is over," I told him. "That could take weeks. What you really need is to get this problem solved right now. That's what I do—solve problems. Let me in, and I'll get this district straightened out."

The guard looked at me for a moment, then shrugged. "You think you can fix this, why not? The quarantine is more to keep infected people in, anyway. I'll radio ahead, tell them you're coming in."

"Wait, you're stopping me but not them?" the woman burst out. "You son of a bitch!"

"You don't have a grenade launcher, lady," the guard scoffed. "Get lost."

I might have offered to help her out, but the woman stormed off before I could say anything. So I turned to the squad instead. My all-human squad.

Miranda also noticed how the squad composition suited the unique challenge of this mission. "I suppose it's fortunate that humans are immune to the plague."

Yeah. Lucky us.

Fortunately, there were enough shuttles to take the five of us down into the bowels of Omega and its quarantine zone. Otherwise, we would have had to leave someone behind. On the way down, I decided to keep everyone together as one squad. Five people was a reasonable size. Besides, I had no idea how Zaeed or Kasumi would fare in combat.

Even though I wasn't dividing the squad into fire-teams, I decided to designate Miranda as my assistant squad leader. Despite that whole can-I-trust-her-or-not/friends-close-enemies-closer thing, the fact remained that I needed someone to take over if I got knocked out or preoccupied with fending off impending doom, and she seemed like a better choice than Jacob.

When we arrived, I started out with some good ol' fashioned scrounging. Managed to pick up some eezo and medi-gel that no one was using. There were a few guards in the area. Thankfully they recognized us from their counterpart's radio message, otherwise I'd have had to loot under fire.

It didn't take long before we reached the last door sealing the quarantine zone from the rest of Omega. "Good luck in there," the guard said, barely keeping the tremble out of his voice. "The Blue Suns and vorcha are shooting anything that moves."

We went inside, the door hissing shut behind us. I tried not to freak out. A flight of stairs led down into a large room. About halfway down, I saw something at the end of the room and motioned for the squad to halt. Miranda and Kasumi stumbled a bit, not used to Alliance hand signals, but they took their cue from Jacob and Zaeed.

Pulling out my sniper rifle, I crouched on the stairs. I glimpsed some movement before someone assumed firing position next to me. Zaeed, I guessed from the hardsuit colour.

"Two targets," Zaeed whispered, confirming my guess. "Blue Suns. Probably with shields. Got a disruptor mod on you?"

"Yeah," I confirmed, activating the mod. "You?"

"Yeah. I'll take the right guy."

"On three," I confirmed. "Three... two... one..."

Judging from the way both mercs collapsed, Zaeed and I had fired in unison. We quickly moved down to clear the room.

"I've seen a lot of bad before," Kasumi said tensely. "This is worse. Way worse."

"Guess they just left their dead to rot in the streets," Jacob spat.

"No, they're burning corpses," Miranda corrected. "They must be trying to keep the plague from spreading."

"Plague control at its most basic," Zaeed agreed.

I looted the area with a bit more haste than normal. Never was a fan of burning flesh. I managed to hack a bank terminal for some creds and got a few power cells for my grenade launcher. Also heard the last audio recordings of this turian who'd gotten locked in his room with his friend by the Blue Suns. That was... kinda creepy.

We were about to move on when one of the bodies moved. It was a batarian. He coughed for a few seconds before lifting his head.

His face soured. "Human," he grumbled in between coughs. "Should've guessed. Bad enough you infect us with this plague. Now you lack the decency to even wait until I die before you come to steal my possessions."

"What makes you think humans created this plague?" I asked. Yeah, that guard that granted us clearance to get in gave his theory, but I wanted to hear what this guy thought.

"The proof is there for all to see," the batarian sneered, waving his hand about. For the first time, I noted he had a pistol on him. He coughed before continuing "Your species is the only one that does not succumb to the virus. Yours, and the wretched vorcha."

He coughed again. "Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked, leaning down.

"Get away from me, human!" he cried, waving his gun around. That brought about another cough or two. "Your kind has done too much already! Your plague did this to me," he wheezed. "Your feigned pity is the final insult."

"I'm looking for Professor Mordin Solus," I said.

The batarian spat, though thankfully not at me. "Humans looking for the human sympathizer. *cough* I hope the vorcha burn Mordin and his clinic to the ground."

His words disappeared in a sudden fit of intense coughing. Undeterred, he tried to curse me as he hacked and coughed away. "I hope you... I hope... Damn it.

"Damn you," he mumbled, his head starting to drop. "Can't..."

"Hey, stay with me," I snapped, mostly to get his attention rather than because I was pissed at him. I bent over and gave him a dose of medi-gel before he conked out completely. "This won't cure the plague, but it might help a bit."

More than a bit, as it turned out. The batarian found enough strength to get to his feet. And the coughing and wheezing stopped. He took a deep breath, and I could hear that the rattling in his chest had abated for the most part.

"You... you helped me," he said at last in a stunned voice. "Why?"

"It's what I do," I replied. "I don't know if I can find a cure for this plague, but I'm going to try. You don't have to help if you don't want to, but you don't have anything to lose by doing so."

The batarian slowly nodded. "Your words sound... sincere. Maybe it's the fever, but as you said—what have I to lose?"

"Why are you so convinced humans are behind this outbreak?" I started.

"Because the plague is too potent to be a naturally occurring virus. Airborne transmission across numerous species? Near-perfect mortality rate? It had to be created in a lab. And since humans are the only species not affected, there is only one logical conclusion."

"Okay, maybe I should have been more specific," I said. "Why conclude that humans were responsible and not the vorcha? Aren't they immune to the plague? What if they spread the virus so they could take over the district?"

The batarian shook his head. "True, vorcha are immune to disease, so a human-created plague wouldn't affect them. But if the vorcha created the plague, why wouldn't it affect humans?"

Okay, he had a point there.

"Besides, the vorcha aren't smart enough to make a virus like this. They're scavengers." (5)

There was a slight possibility that the vorcha were simply being underestimated. However...

"Sorry, human," the batarian said, noting the look that must have spread over my face. "You may not want to believe it, but all the evidence points to your species."

I shook my concerns aside. "I heard that there's a bit of a power struggle between the Blue Suns that control this district and the vorcha right now. What can you tell me about that?"

"The Blue Suns used to control this district, but as their numbers fell to the plague, the vorcha moved in. It's only a matter of time until the plague overwhelms them. If the vorcha don't get them first."

"I need to find Mordin Solus. Do you know where his clinic is?" I asked.

"Over on the far side of the district," the batarian replied. "He's taking in refugees. Offering to help those infected with the plague."

"Why didn't you go to him?" Miranda asked.

"I was afraid," he replied. "He's dangerous. But perhaps he can help."

"What makes Mordin worse than dying from the plague?" I frowned.

"The Blue Suns tried to press him for protection money," he replied. "He killed them. Stunned them with some kind of toxin, then gunned them down. He's not just a doctor. Doctors don't execute people and display the bodies as a warning."

I wasn't sure whether to admire this guy's style or be concerned that he was the type of guy that TIMmy would recommend.

"When I find Mordin, I'll tell him about you," I offered. "If he has a cure, I'll make sure someone gets it to you."

The batarian coughed. Looked like the medi-gel's effects were starting to wear off already. "Thank you," he managed. "My time is running short, but at least you have given me a flicker of hope to brighten the darkness of my final hours. I don't want to die. Whatever Mordin is, I will risk his treatment, if he can reach me."

Before leaving, I helped the batarian back to a sitting position. It would take less effort to sit, and he needed to ration every ounce of strength he had left.

Seeing a nearby door, I bypassed the lock and popped in for a look. Down the stairs I went, and into a dimly lit residence, with a dead batarian, a safe and some audio logs. Again, I listened to the logs while I helped myself to a bunch of credits. Morbid curiosity, I guess. Plus, it's the least I could do after looting his room.

Once we finished, we entered some place called Kokomo Plaza. I'm sure it would have been a nice place, for Omega, if there weren't a bunch of targets detected by my sensors. Motioning for the squad to stay back, I activated my cloak and used the brief window of opportunity it provided to get a sense of the area.

"Well?" Miranda asked when I retreated.

"Courtyard up ahead. Bit of cover here and there," I reported. "At least three or four Blue Suns set up behind a barricade at the far end of the courtyard, probably more. Outside the courtyard, on the left, there's a corridor that goes all the way to the other end. Thing is, you still have to run across the courtyard—in front of the barricade—if you want to loop around and get the jump on anyone. There's also a set of stairs on the left going up. I think it leads to a balcony somewhere."

"OK," Jacob said. "What's the plan, Commander?"

"I'll head up to the balcony and see if I can't whittle their numbers down. Wait for my signal, then send two people to go into the courtyard and the other two to move into the corridor. Hit the mercs on two fronts from the ground."

"I'll go into the courtyard," Jacob volunteered.

Okay, so to balance things off... "Fine. Kasumi, go with Jacob."

"Oh goody. Right into the fire zone!" Kasumi said brightly.

"Miranda, Zaeed, help Jacob and Kasumi out from the corridor. While you're at it, I'd take it as a kindness if you didn't let anyone sneak up the stairs."

"Understood," Miranda nodded. "How will we know when to move in?"

"When you hear the Blue Suns wondering why one of their guys is missing a head," I shrugged.

With that, I pulled up my sniper rifle and snuck up to the second level. I moved over to the balcony, which ran parallel to the corridor, and activated my cloak. Then I popped up, aimed my sniper rifle in the general direction of one of the Blue Suns and peeked through the scope. I corrected my aim, breathed out and fired.

I paused long enough to see a spray of blood burst from the trooper's head and his body crumple to the ground before ducking back behind the balcony. While I couldn't see anything, I could hear the Blue Suns exclaim in surprise, then start yelling and firing as my squad moved to their positions.

"Humans!" someone yelled. "Don't let them spread the plague!"

By that point, my cloak had recharged. I got to my feet, lifted my sniper rifle...

...and felt a few bullets hit my shields. Belatedly, I realized that I forgot to activate my cloak. I did so, noting that the cloak activation put my shield regeneration cycle on standby. I'd have to make sure I got behind some cover before the cloak wore off.

"Lost contact!" one of the Blue Suns cursed. He probably shouldn't have said anything. I had a lot of targets to choose from, and one loud-mouth was as good a choice as any.

You'd think this was easy. I mean, I had the tactical advantage of height, a cloak, and a sniper rifle. Easy, right? Wrong. See, while the mercs couldn't see me, they were experienced enough to trace the trajectory back and extrapolate the general direction of the kill-shot. They also were smart enough to move around, recognizing that it's a hell of a lot harder to snipe a target when it's moving. That was why I had the other members of my squad move in. Let them have some fun killing mercs—I'm not greedy after all.

The fact that it would pull some attention away from me was a bonus. Honest.

From my vantage point, it was easy for me to see where everyone was and designate targets with my HUD. Of course, I didn't do that all the time. I did have a sniper rifle in my hot little hands, and it was just so much fun to see mercs who think they're safe and prove them wrong. There's a certain satisfaction in seeing the stunned look on their face just before they drop.

I should probably get out more, huh?

Anyways, most of the mercs were taken out pretty quickly. The only tough one was their leader—a legionnaire, according to Blue Suns hierarchy. His shields and hardsuit were a bit tougher than his subordinates, so it took a while to take him down. I directed the five-on-one fight until a stiff breeze could knock him over. Then I left him to the squad's tender mercies. I'd spotted some circuit boards and an old med-kit when I came up, and I wanted to swipe it for extra credits.

After that, I headed back down and joined the squad, who was searching for spare thermal clips to replenish the ones they used in combat. As I gathered enough clips to replenish the ones I used up sniping mercs, I noticed a locked door over on the side. Moseying over, I bypassed it and headed in, with my squad close behind. We went down some stairs into a relatively nice open-floor concept apartment, one with a man and woman hiding.

"Oh thank god," the woman said, sagging in relief. "You're human."

"Yep," I nodded. I headed over to them, surreptitiously swiping a med-kit on the way.

"When we saw that door open, we thought those turians had found us," the man said. "Ever since this plague started, the Blue Suns have been out to get us. They're killing as many people as the disease."

"They should be looking at the vorcha, not us!" the woman burst out. "Ever since the plague hit, they've been taking over Blue Suns territory."

"What can you tell me about this plague?" I asked. "When did it start?"

"The first cases cropped up about... two weeks ago?" the man said, turning to the woman for confirmation. She nodded and he continued. "Nobody paid much attention until it started to spread. Usually takes a week to kill you. But it spreads fast. Three days after the first outbreak, there were over fifty known cases."

"That's when everyone noticed humans weren't getting sick," the woman added. "Then the quarantine came down, and everything went to hell."

"Any idea how the victims contracted it?" I know other people already answered that question, but I could afford some time to get confirmation, and I didn't want my questions to affect their answers.

"No idea," the man replied. "Probably airborne. Even after the Blue Suns started sealing victims up in their own apartments, the plague kept spreading. Now they just gun victims down and burn the bodies in the streets. Doesn't seem to be helping, though. People keep dying by the dozen."

"What's it like having the Blue Suns have the run of this place?"

"They kept things nice and stable, for the most part," the man shrugged.

"As long as you paid your monthly protection fees, everything was cool," the woman said. "Rates were pretty reasonable. For Omega, at least."

So the Blue Suns weren't above a little extortion, huh? Mind you, in a place like this, that kind of security might be a good thing.

The man sighed. "Then this damn plague hit. Everyone started dying. The vorcha started moving in. The Blue Suns lost control, and the whole district turned into a warzone."

"You said the vorcha moved in just after the plague hit," I emphasized.

"Right after the district was quarantined," the woman confirmed.

"Not sure where they came from," the man shook his head. "Never saw many vorcha around before. Sure seemed like they were ready for this."

"Vorcha?" Zaeed snorted. "They're opportunistic buggers, I'll give them that. But planning for this in advance? Doesn't fit their MO."

"Exactly," the woman nodded. "No one else thinks the vorcha are smart enough to create a virus like this. The Blue Suns need someone else to blame. Like us."

"So have the vorcha taken over most of the district?" I asked. "All we've seen are Blue Suns so far."

"They're trying to," the man replied. "The Blue Suns don't go down easy. The plague softened 'em up, but they still have enough firepower to hold some of their turf. The turians are getting pushed back, though. The deeper you go into the district, the more vorcha you'll see... unless they see you first."

"We're looking for Mordin Solus," I moved on. "We heard he's got a clinic somewhere in the far side of the district?"

"Oh yeah. Him," the man said, almost sarcastically. "Yeah, that's where his clinic is."

The woman perked up when she heard Mordin's name. "I heard about him. Sounds like it's a safe place to be right now. Especially if you're human."

The man stared at her in disbelief. "You really think that?" his voice dripped with disbelief. "A doctor with military-grade mechs? Helping people for free? On Omega? Grow up."

"Sounds like you don't think much of the doctor and his clinic," I observed.

I detected a slight tremble in the man's voice as he replied. "The vorcha tried to muscle in—he gunned them down, just like that. Pop, pop, pop. Didn't even use his mechs."

"Then the Blue Suns heard he was sheltering humans and they went to burn down the clinic," the woman said. "He killed them too. Then he went inside and got back to work. He's cold. Must be special forces or something."

I was starting to get the hint that Mordin was a Big Deal. Dunno why. Call it a hunch.

"You can't stay trapped in this apartment forever," I pointed out. "If you get to Mordin's, you might at least survive until the quarantine ends."

"Are you nuts?" the woman exclaimed. "We'll never make it. The streets are crawling with Blue Suns and vorcha. We don't even have pistols."

"Besides, I'm not risking my life on a rumour that some salarian might offer me sanctuary," the man muttered.

"I know you're scared," I said, putting a hand on the man's shoulder, "but your only hope is to go to Mordin's clinic. We're going to be taking fire from the Blue Suns and the vorcha, so we can't take you with us. But we'll do what we can to leave a safe path for you to follow. It's risky, but I think it's your only chance."

The man and woman looked at each other. The woman shrugged, and the man sighed. "Okay... you're right," he agreed. "We'll never make it if we stay here. We have to try. We'll wait for a while and give you time to clear the way. Then we'll head for Mordin's clinic. If we're lucky, we'll meet you there."

With that, we said our goodbyes and left. While the refugees were distracted with everyone else wishing them good luck, I snuck over to the wall safe and helped myself to its contents. I hoped no one would rat me out. I didn't want to sit down with Kelly and have her ask questions about the psychological roots behind my rampant kleptomania.

We went back through the courtyard to a door that the Blue Suns we fought earlier were guarding. One of the Blue Suns had an odd-looking assault rifle, so I stopped to take a closer look. Seemed like he'd modified his weapon to deal more damage. I scanned his rifle so we could replicate his mod on the Normandy if—when—we got back.

As soon as we passed through the door, we could hear gunfire. Sounded like it was coming from the room up ahead. There was a set of stairs immediately to our left, so I led my squad up the stairs. They led to a small balcony that sat over the room. From our vantage point, we could see a trio of turians in Blue Suns uniforms fighting at least a dozen vorcha and a handful of varren. Miraculously, the Blue Suns still had their shields intact.

"Let's help the Blue Suns out," I decided. They probably wouldn't last long, but I wasn't about to say no to free help. "Concentrate on the varren first, then go for the vorcha."

Easier said than done, as it turned out. First we had to penetrate the armour that protected the varren and vorcha. Then we had to deal with their healing abilities—damn buggers regenerated real fast unless you killed them outright, set them on fire or twisted their bodies with biotics. For example, I set one guy on fire, taking out his armour and a good chunk of his health. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough leftover plasma to seriously injure him, and he healed himself before my very eyes.

"Huh. That went well," I noted.

Before I could do anything else, one of the Blue Suns leaned out of cover and took the vorcha down with a sustained burst from his assault rifle. For his trouble, he was rewarded by a varren leaping for his throat. He managed to let out a cry, which quickly turned into a messy gurgle. Zaeed did something with his assault rifle, aimed and fired off a high-powered concussive round to finish the varren off.

Speaking of varren, I noticed one heading for another set of stairs. One that led straight up to the balcony that was providing us refuge. I hurried over to head the big fish-dog off, firing a plasma round from my omni-tool as I went. It arced over, landed on the varren and burst into flame. Still didn't kill it, though. As it bounded up the stairs, I cursed and pulled out my pistol. Took a full clip, mainly because the damn thing kept moving, but I managed to put it down.

Then I moved back to my position at the balcony. There weren't any more varren that I could see, and we'd finished off most of the vorcha. There were still reinforcements, though, streaming in ones and twos from the far side of the room. One of them, toting a big pack, aimed at another Blue Suns merc. A stream of flame roared out, engulfing the turian. The poor guy staggered back, all crispy and toasted, before collapsing to the ground.

Typical. You go to all this trouble to keep them alive so they can draw some fire for you, and what do they do? Go off and die on you. How inconsiderate.

"Looks like it's all up to us now, guys," I shouted, firing my sniper rifle. To my satisfaction, vorcha regeneration was no match for a well-placed sniper round.

"Look out!" Miranda shouted.

A big shape was skulking towards us, hugging the walls. As it moved out of the shadows, I took a good look.

It was a krogan. A mean one.

Aw, crap.

"Miranda, Jacob and I have the krogan," I ordered. "Everyone else, focus on the vorcha."

The krogan soaked up a lot of damage. Wouldn't do my rep any favours to admit it, but we were lucky that there was still one more Blue Suns merc on the ground. The poor guy distracted the krogan, who promptly decided it would be more fun to fire some shotgun rounds at him and watch him bleed out. Maybe the krogan was going for a gut shot. If so, he missed. Judging by the glee he took in watching the turian clasp a certain part of his anatomy before crumpling to the ground, though, I think the krogan intentionally aimed a little lower.

While the krogan was distracted, we took the opportunity to fill the guy full of lead. Between my plasma blasts and several frantic rounds of weapons fire, we managed to damage his armour. At least, enough for Jacob's biotics to get a hold of the big lug and lift him off the ground. The krogan spun around merrily for a brief second or two, before Miranda's biotics detonated the mass effect field keeping him aloft, sending him crashing to the ground.

"Got another krogan," Kasumi yelled. "Big one, too."

For once, there were no other targets in the room. Oh there were still a few stragglers hanging around somewhere, according to my HUD, but they hadn't shown up yet. So all five of us were free to mow the krogan down.

Then I heard a roar. Peering over the balcony, I saw that the first krogan—the one we went to so much trouble to deal with—hadn't died after all. It was still alive and healing itself with every second.

Aw, crap.

I sent some plasma down to burn the sucker. To my dismay, it just wasn't enough to kill it. The krogan started up the stairs, sending a hail of bullets my way. I ducked back, but not before he took out my shields.

"Krogan coming up," I reported.

"Well we've still got vorcha coming in," Zaeed replied. "Take that, you bastards," he roared, taking one of them out.

I looked around to see who was closest to the stairs. "Kasumi, Miranda—get ready to head off one seriously pissed krogan," I warned.

Naturally the krogan reached the top of the stairs at that very moment, rather than waiting until my shields regenerated. Kasumi, Miranda and I opened fire. Well, Miranda and I opened fire. Kasumi reached over to her omni-tool and tapped something. "Now you see me," she said brightly.

And then she vanished.

I wasn't the only one who noticed. The krogan paused, looking around in confusion.

Then Kasumi flickered into view behind him and jabbed her arm into his back. A flare or something surged from her omni-tool into his body. He shuddered for a moment, then dropped to the floor.

I quickly moved back to the balcony and fired a shot from my sniper rifle. The poor vorcha hiding behind a barrel spun around before collapsing like a puppet whose strings were cut. Then I turned to Kasumi.

"So," I said casually. "You got a cloaking device, too. When were you going to mention it?"

"Oh, I wasn't," she shrugged. "Girl's gotta keep her secrets, you know. But I figured you'd see it in action sooner or later."

By that point, we'd taken out all the enemies, and it didn't look like anyone else was going to join the party. With a collective sigh of relief, we got up and headed downstairs. I moved over to check the turian who'd had his family jewels blasted off. Unfortunately, it looked like he'd succumbed to his injuries.

"It's seems that we've crossed over into vorcha territory," Miranda said.

Jacob frowned. "The Blue Suns have given up a lot of turf. That doesn't bode well for them."

Zaeed crouched by one of the vorcha and examined it. "Blood Pack," he pronounced after a minute.

"Huh?"

That's me—always with the witty remark.

"Merc group. Krogan mostly, though they love press-ganging vorcha wherever they can find them for extra manpower. Or cannon fodder. Whichever comes first."

At this point, I noticed that my weapons were still equipped with an active disruptor mod. Since no one was trying to put some extra holes in my body, I methodically switched each of my weapons over to my warp ammo mod. The mass effect field it would generate around each bullet would be more useful against regenerating mercs.

"Hey, Shep," Kasumi said, grabbing my attention. "There's a door over here."

"And here," Jacob called out. "Looks like this one heads towards the clinic."

We met up by the door Kasumi found and went in. The first room didn't have much besides a lot of empty crates and barrels, though I did manage to scrounge some eezo. The second room was another apartment. Bit sparse, but it had enough to meet its tenant's needs.

Or they would have, if he wasn't dead. He was a turian, lying down on the floor. Couldn't tell if it was from the plague or from the two humans who were ransacking the place.

"Hey, hey, hey!" one of them protested. "Back off... we got here first!"

Ignoring him, I walked over to them, my squad close behind.

"Hey, what did I say?" the first one said. "We found this stuff. It's ours!"

"Aw, forget it," his partner said. He was crouching on the floor, next to the turian. "Nothing but junk in here. This place is worse than the last one."

"What are you doing in this apartment?" I asked. "Did you kill that turian?"

"What, the guy on the floor?" the first looter asked.

"No, the other turian," I deadpanned.

"Nah, the plague must've taken care of him. He was like that when we found him." The first guy exchanged a sly grin with his partner before adding "We're just here to take a full accounting of all his worldly possessions."

"Right," I said sarcastically. "Not like he's gonna miss anything."

"Exactly," the first looter grinned. "We're just showing a little... entrepreneurial spirit. The plague doesn't affect us humans, so we might as well cash in."

"Besides, if we don't take this stuff, the vorcha or Blue Suns will," the other guy chimed in. "Better us than them, right?"

"I think you should stop looting," I said mildly.

"Or what?" the first guy laughed. "You gonna shoot us?"

"I'm just saying that the plague won't last forever," I shrugged. "When the Blue Suns come back, they won't like you looting in their territory."

The looters shuffled uneasily. The first guy, obviously the spokesman for this duo finally spoke up. "Yeah, well... maybe they won't find out. It's not like there's any witnesses alive to tell them."

"Taking a big chance on that," I warned. "There are Blue Suns outside the quarantine zone, you know. They're bound to send fresh troops to take back their turf once the plague dies down. And they probably have records. Who was paying 'protection fees' to them, what sort of collateral they had. That sort of thing. They come in and see something's missing, they'll start hunting. You sure some dead turian's trinkets and a handful of creds are worth that risk?"

"We just wanted to make a bit of quick cash," the first guy said uneasily. "But when you put it like that... it doesn't sound like such a good idea. Hardly found anything valuable, anyway. Yeah, you're probably right—it's not worth it."

"You know a salarian named Mordin Solus?" I asked. "He's supposed to have a clinic right around here."

"Yeah. It's right around the corner. Take plenty of ammo if you go that way—it's crawling with Blue Suns and vorcha."

"That guy is crazy," the second looter griped. "He'll patch up a gunshot wound for free, then kick your ass and throw you out when you try to grab a few painkillers."

"Be honest, man," the first looter replied. "You kind of had that coming." He turned back to me. "All I know is, if you go to his clinic, don't cause any trouble."

They didn't have anything else to say about the Blue Suns, the vorcha or the plague. Nothing we didn't already know, that is. "We need to get going," I said at last.

"Yeah, sure," the first looter said. "We'll just stay here for a while. Get some rest."

I gave him a look.

"Don't worry—you made your point," his partner added. "We ain't gonna steal nothing."

Ignoring the urge to correct his grammar, I left the apartment and headed for Mordin's clinic. "Don't say it," I said as we walked down the corridor.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Kasumi replied innocently.

"I know what you're thinking."

"Right," Miranda said.

"I know it's a bit hypocritical to lecture those guys about looting."

"Uh huh." That was Jacob.

"Especially when I do that all the time."

"I just thought you didn't like competition," Zaeed suggested.

"Gee, thanks. That makes me feel so much better."

"No charge, Shepard." (6)

(1): A discrete, ruthless and well-organized mercenary outfit founded in 2160, the Blue Suns have forces that conduct operations throughout the galaxy. I personally ran into them on several occasions, including the investigation that first introduced me to Saren Arterius—twenty years before the events in this series of logs.

(2): Elcor communication is extremely subtle, relying primarily on scent, extremely slight body movements and subvocalized infrasound frequencies. To prevent misunderstandings amongst other species, elcor add emotive prefixes to all their dialogue.

(3): Shepard conveniently fails to mention that he, like most Alliance marines, cut their hair to regulation-length, which is short enough to avoid hair mussing.

(4): Vorcha contain clusters of non-differentiated cells that confer limited regenerative abilities and the capacity to adapt to whatever environmental conditions—ranging from cuts and burns to poisonous atmospheres and high gravity—they encounter. Incidentally, this ability to adapt as individuals has the side-effect of eliminating the need for the vorcha to evolve as a species.

(5): The prolific reproductive rate of vorcha, coupled with their short lifespan of twenty years and an aggression rivalled only by the krogan, led to constant war on their homeworld and the stripping of its resources over successive generations. As a result, vorcha society remains extremely primitive, even today. They have only been able to spread throughout the galaxy by stowing away on ships that happened to land on their homeworld or getting recruited by the Blood Pack, a mercenary group of krogan that sought to augment their forces by literally beating vorcha 'recruits' into soldiers. As a result, they are widely regarded as pests, savages, vermin or borderline sentients.

(6): After reading and editing countless logs, I was starting to wonder if any of Shepard's associates were going to call him out on his... habit.