Chapter 7: Omega

July 16th, 2176 CE

Petra Nebula / Vetus System / Elysium

Second Lieutenant Shepard groaned and rolled over in bed. The silky feel of sheets on her legs, honest to goodness sheets, was still a rare pleasure to be luxuriated in. Cardboard and concrete were not all that far in her past. At last, however, the blaring alarm on the nightstand could no longer be ignored. With a sigh she sat up, suppressing the urge to give it a shove with her biotics. Street life didn't have much going for it, but you could at least sleep in.

She hated getting up early.

Once she joined the Alliance, she had to resort to leaving her alarm on the other side of the room. That had worked well, right up to the point she'd figured out she could use her biotics right there from bed. She'd had to earn a few demerits before her sense of discipline caught up.

Today wasn't nearly so bad, however, as the alarm read 0900 instead of the depressingly familiar 0630. She was starting to get used to Elysium's 28-hour days, but it wasn't something that could be adjusted to quickly. Which explained why she kept her bleary eyes closed as she crawled out of bed, over to the single Alliance-blue duffel bag that held all her possessions, and stumbled towards the shower. She shed clothing as she went, her loose t-shirt and long men's athletic shorts quickly followed by her underclothing. Another habit picked up from the street—she was very uncomfortable in less than full clothing. It made you vulnerable.

The shower water was blessedly warm, and she gradually turned it up, hotter and hotter. There was another benefit of being on shore leave – she could shower as long as she wanted. Being clean just felt so good. Once her fingers started to wrinkle she gave in and stepped out of the shower to towel off. She looked into the mirror as she dried herself, still surprised by the image that met her gaze.

She'd changed a lot in the four years since she'd enlisted. Her black hair had grown out from the close-cropped mess it had been with the Angeles to push the borders of regulation length, coming down to her shoulders. Acquaintances had expressed admiration at how fine and smooth it was, though to her that just meant it escaped a ponytail more frequently. Whatever other qualities or defects her hair might possess were quite beyond her.

The rest of her had changed almost as much. She'd gained muscle thanks to the intensive training regimen of the Marines. She wasn't as bulky as the holos of professional athletes she'd seen, as she'd gone in more for endurance and toning than heavy lifting, but she was certainly not weak, and her body showed it.

She emerged from the restroom and returned to her duffel bag. That she had almost no personal possessions was something of a running joke, at least until the newest batch of squadmates found out why. Those few possessions she had she kept obsessively within arm's reach. That was the only way to hold onto something.

She pulled out a fresh pair of undergarments and an Alliance uniform and pulled them on while giving the bag a glare. It sat half-empty, thanks to the security measures of Elysium. It was one of humanity's oldest colonies, and large enough to have attracted a significant alien presence, which made the Alliance nervous. Hence, her weapons and armor were back at base at the spaceport. They had even taken her butterfly knife, more a souvenir than a practical weapon.

And that made her nervous, yet she had braved her uncertainties in order to at last get a real hotel room. Being stationed aboard ships made space come at a premium. She was used to it, of course, and was a lot better at it than most others considering her past, but every once in a while it was nice to have some space all to yourself.

She had just stepped to the little refrigerator to look for something for breakfast when the room shook. It was followed almost immediately by an enormous sound, so deep you felt it more than heard it. There was no mistaking it, however: heavy munitions. And close. All was silent for a moment, a single instant, before all hell broke loose.

March 16, 2185 CE

Sigurd's Cradle / Skepsis System / Allure, Freedom's Progress Colony

Shepard startled awake, tangled in her sheets, grasping for the pistol beneath her pillow. She had it in her hand before she realized where she was. Or when she was.

Right, the cabin of the Normandy, the new Normandy. With human supremacist terrorists. Willingly, more or less. On second thought, was this much better?

She shook the thought off and staggered her way into the bathroom, eyes just as bleary as they had been that day back on Elysium. Her bones ached and her skin seemed stretched too tight over her body. She took a shower for what seemed like the second time in as many minutes, then got dressed in the black and white Cerberus uniform that had been provided for her. She hadn't wanted to push her luck and buy a whole wardrobe on the Illusive Man's tab. It would make it feel like she owed him.

Now the crew would think she'd gone over to the dark side, and making a big deal about breaking that assumption would make her seem unwilling to work with them, like she was judging them. Which she was, but they couldn't know that if they were going to work together effectively. Score another one for the Illusive Man. It seemed like she hadn't even approached the score board.

What she needed was a distraction, something to get her thoughts removed from the past. The last thing she wanted to do was parade around a whole crew of Cerberus people, which was what she probably ought to be doing, which meant she had to get somewhere off ship. Fortunately, tracking down this salarian promised to do just that. She took a moment to put her hair up in a short ponytail and headed down to CIC to see what good deeds Cerberus had in mind for her today.

The smart money was on murder.

…

"So where are we? And what is that?" Shepard, leaning against the wall in the briefing room, jutted her chin to the display which gave a live, close-in image of a hazy world with what looked disconcertingly like two massive eyes staring back at her.

Across the room, Jacob stood at attention and Miranda balanced on her ridiculous high-heeled boots she wore for casual wear, looking flawless as always.

Edi answered immediately. "This is the Skepsis system, the gateway system into Sigurd's Cradle. The display currently shows the planet Darwin. The Normandy is currently orbiting Darwin and discharging the drive core after FTL travel from the Jamea System."

"Why does it look like it's staring at me?"

"Darwin is subject to extreme daily thermal fluctuations, which develop hurricane-level vortices, two at each pole, which are large enough to be seen from orbit."

Shepard forced herself to look away from the perturbing scene and gave herself a shake, trying to finish waking up. "Right. Okay. Give me the rundown of the system." She studiously avoided acknowledging Miranda's eye-roll.

"Skepsis is a G-class star similar to Sol orbited by six celestial bodies and the Cradle-Omega Relay. Starting from the star, the first planet is Wallace, a small pegasid captured by Skepsis with temperatures of over 2,500 degrees Celsius. While not large enough to cause solar eclipses, it is clearly visible at dawn or dusk from Watson. Darwin is a lifeless planet with punishing atmosphere, boiling temperatures, and toxic chemical makeup. Watson is orbited by the large moon Franklin, creating spectacular tidal shifts, and is the sole inhabited body in the system. It is a garden world colonized by human interests. The planet trends colder than Earth, with a wide range of habitats. At least two more generations of xenozoologists will be needed to classify all the species of the planet."

Shepard frowned. "That sounds familiar. Some sort of political problems?"

"Correct, Commander. Watson was discovered in 2165 CE, at which point Earth nations still attempted to colonize worlds independent of the Systems Alliance. The Chinese People's Federation, the United North American States, and the European Union all claimed colonization rights to the planet. The Systems Alliance brokered the Reykjavik Compromise allowing limited colonization from each coalition in cities comprised of populations from each nation. There has been low-level infighting ever since. Shortly afterwards, the Systems Alliance enacted policy claiming sovereignty over all future human colonies."

"What a mess. Carry on."

Edi obliged. "Watson's moon Franklin retains a trace atmosphere. Despite a gravity of 0.1g, significant mass effect fields allow for the existence of two Alliance spaceports and naval bases supporting six fighter squadrons each, intended to deter pirates. They are supported by an unknown number of interplanetary ballistic missiles."

"Crick is covered in expansive frozen oceans known for geysers that can be seen from orbit. Though within the temperature and pressure range for human habitation, a thick atmosphere of carbon dioxide and monoxide make breathing masks or environmental suits mandatory. Pauling is a hydrogen-methane gas giant which support helium-3 refining platforms among its 66 moons and assorted rings. Keimowitz is little more than a layer of ice over a metallic core with a single moon, Noa, which likely separated from Keimowitz during a large impact with the planet. There is some robo-mining of iridium despite a gravity of 3.4g."

Shepard pushed off from the wall and leaned forward to look over the display. "So in short, a human colony and not much else of interest. I'm going to guess Omega will be a little more interesting."

"Yes, Commander." The display shifted to show another system. "The space station Omega is located within the Omega Nebula's gateway system of Sahrabarik. The nearest body to Sahrabarik is Urdak, a brown dwarf star approximately twelve billion years old which has long since used up the deuterium needed to fuel fusion, leading to its cooling and deeper coloration. Its remaining heat and gravity have made it unpopular for development, though rumors suggest that leaders of Omega's crime syndicates maintain private residences on various moons. The ring plane around Urdak is the site of frequent battles between criminal syndicates which are broadcast live by comm buoys set up by Omega's media outlets. These televised battles garner high viewer ratings and fuel gambling dens throughout the system."

Jacob shrugged. "Not much different from the corporate wars, if you ask me."

Edi continued. "A substantial asteroid belt lies further out in the system, most notably containing an asteroid hollowed out by mining efforts and converted into a space station called Omega which has housed criminal elements for thousands of years. Omega has no official government, making accurate information difficult to locate. Recent estimates place the local population at 7.8 million with significant variance. Unofficially, Omega is led by the strongest crime lord, the most prominent of which for the previous three hundred years is the asari Aria T'Loak."

Shepard stared at the hollowed-out husk of an asteroid, tiny in the display. So much death and suffering on that rock. Of course, that was exactly where she was headed.

"Imorkan is a standard methane-ammonia gas giant, and the main source of helium-3 for ships traveling to and from Omega. The helium-3 refining platforms are operated by criminal cartels and are widely known for their layover stations offering fuel, ammunition, intoxicants, and sexual companionship. Next, and from available records unique to the Sahrabarik system, is a primary Mass Relay located within the system instead of at the periphery. The Omega-4 Relay is unmapped and little is known about it. The last planet is Bindur, located far enough away from Sahrabarik that its atmosphere has frozen. At the edge of the system are numerous Mass Relays, including the primary Omega-Sigurd and Omega-Eagle nebulas and numerous secondary Mass Relays."

"Well, there it is. Miranda, what do you have on Mordin?"

Miranda stepped closer to the display and triggered her omnitool. The Sahrabarik system faded away and was replaced by a tall, wiry salarian. The humanoid alien species, skeletally thin by human standards, was short lived, to say the least. Few lived beyond forty, though they made up for it with hyperactive energy and little need for sleep. They would never pass for human though, not with the two gently curved horns protruding from the tops of their heads, their oversized eyes, and slits for nostrils. And Mordin stood out from the crowd with scars across his face and one of his two cranial horns missing.

"This is Mordin Solus. As you know, salarians have some of the most advanced research and development in the galaxy. Mordin is a highly respected scientist who served in the salarian Special Tasks Group and is rumored to have worked on the genophage project. It is rare for publicly-acknowledged former STG agents to leave their home planet of Sur'Kesh after retiring due to the risk of retaliation. If he hasn't seen the collector swarms himself, he may have access to STG sources which have. With some luck, he may be able to develop a countermeasure."

Shepard looked up at the rotating image curiously. "Any idea what he's doing on Omega?"

Miranda snorted delicately, which Shepard wouldn't have bet was possible. "He's running a charity clinic, if you can believe it."

"Okay, not what I would have guessed. Is there anyone else on the dossiers around here?"

"Two, in fact. Both mercenaries. A turian named Archangel and a human named Zaeed Massani," reeled off Miranda."

"And these mercenaries are going to help outfit the Normandy how, exactly?" Shepard asked skeptically.

"Zaeed has a reputation for pulling off impossible missions. He's hired muscle, nothing more. The turian has taken great pains to hide his or her identity and has access to latest-generation armor and weapons, suggesting high-level connections on Palaven or elsewhere in the turian Hierarchy that would be embarrassed if his or her identity were revealed. We suspect the turians were behind the disappearance of major parts of Sovereign's wreckage from the Citadel, and Archangel may be an avenue to pursue it, particularly Sovereign's primary weapon. And given the chaos Archangel has caused the mercenaries on Omega, he or she is a master tactician and infiltrator."

"Huh. Well, one thing at a time. Let's head down there and get this over with."

March 17, 2185 CE

Omega Nebula / Sahrabarik System / Omega, distant orbit

Shepard finally gave up on trying to distract herself with the news and shut down her omnitool. A krogan stomping a human in the Galactic Combat Sports League, humans winning the Hitara Prize for Biology for a miniscule advance in prothean research, a bunch of asari miners protesting layoffs, and box office hits like the, and she was quoting here, "guess-what's coming-to-dinner asari romantic comedy 'She's a Keeper,'" and asari celebrations of the Janiris religious holiday… it was all nonsense and noise.

She sighed and got back to work by looking up at the display in the conference room showing a slowly rotating image of Omega. It wasn't much to look at, that was certain. Omega, the beating heart of the lawless Terminus Systems, the center of everything dirty, crooked, and desirable within six relay jumps. Anything could be had there. It sounded almost romantic, like something out of story, but the closer you looked the uglier it got, which was a little concerning as they were barely within sensor range. It was a giant hunk of rock, a nameless asteroid with a core of Element Zero even the protheans couldn't crack, until it was broken open by an impact with another asteroid.

A rush of prospectors later and there were millions of people and not much easily accessible eezo left. As the population grew, the builders were forced to build vertically, or down if you went with station gravity, stacking apartments, services, and environmental controls on top of layers of processing facilities. The tail of superstructure was ringed by enormous mass effect field generators to redirect incoming debris, which completed the image of a massive jellyfish. Then someone had the idea of lining the ring of generators with lurid red neon lights. And that about summed up Omega; cold utilitarianism with a dash of leering hedonism layered on top. And don't look too close, or you'll see through the thin makeup.

The Normandy zoomed inwards and there was nothing so crass as an inspection when they docked. They hadn't even been hailed by traffic control, assuming there was one. Joker simply shrugged, chose a docking station, and pulled in.

Shepard marched to the airlock and turned to look out over Jacob and Miranda, the ground crew, and the small contingent of former Alliance marines that made up ship security. "I want two armed guards on the airlocks at all times. No exceptions. Nobody comes on the ship at any time, for any reason, without my approval. If they come close, warn them off. If they don't listen, shoot first and ask questions later." Shepard eyed the Cerberus crew uncertainly. Anyone who joined with Cerberus was questionable in her mind, but at least the way they handled their Avenger assault rifles inspired some confidence.

"Let's go."

Shepard led Miranda and Jacob through the airlock and out into the station proper. The first thing she noticed about Omega was how dirty it was. Trash, leaking coolant, even bloodstains in a rainbow of colors were smeared into the floor, and occasionally onto the walls. Viewscreens lined the sides of the entry corridor displaying the cold rock of asteroid from which the tunnel was mined. Steam sprayed from leaking seals on exposed pipes above. It was a miracle the place held together at all.

The second thing she noticed was how dirty the people were. For example, the salarian scampering over to the trio. The smell announced his presence well before he was close enough to speak. "Welcome to Omega. You're new here, aren't ya? I can always tell. Allow me to—"

He was interrupted by the arrival of a batarian in black combat armor that had seen a lot of use. Even closer to humans than salarians, the batarians were marked by elongated craniums which housed two pairs of eyes, one slightly above the other, and a brown-red skin tone. And that was the problem, really. They competed with humans for the same planetary real estate, and fortunately for humanity, the batarians had lost. These days most of them were completely isolated in their own space, cut off from the Council, and the ones that did emerge didn't exactly endear themselves to the rest of the galaxy with their tendency to work as mercenaries or slavers… or terrorists. They'd launched the Skyllian Blitz in retaliation against the humans on Elysium. Oh yes, Shepard knew all about batarians.

The salarian seemed to wilt where he stood. "Oh, hello Moklet. I was just—"

"Leave, Farget. Now."

The salarian immediately started backing off. "Of course, Moklet. Whatever she wants!" A moment later and he was out of sight.

"Blasted scavengers," grimaced the batarian. "Welcome to Omega, Shepard."

That caught her by surprise. Wasn't she declared dead? "You know who I am?"

He laughed. "Of course. We had you tagged as soon as you entered the Terminus Systems. You're not as subtle as you think. Aria wants to know what brings a dead Spectre to Omega. I suggest you go to Afterlife, now, and present yourself."

Well, that much was familiar at least. The local leader wanted to size up the newcomers and see if they'd make trouble. She'd been part of the demanding group many times with the Angeles, trying to figure out if the intruders were lying or not. Best to get to the point.

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

"Things explode around you Shepard. You can't blame Aria for keeping an eye on you. Afterlife. Now." He turned and marched off, glaring at anyone who dared look at him.

Not that she'd expected him to change his mind. If this Aria was powerful enough to have control of most of Omega, no doubt she would be scarier to her employees, or hangers on, or whatever you wanted to call them, than an unknown outsider. Best to get this over with.

"Alright, let's go talk to this Aria and see what she wants. Try not to antagonize anyone and leave the talking to me."

"We're with you, Shepard." Jacob, the team player. Miranda looked a little more concerned. Not comfortable following someone else's lead? Probably.

Shepard tried not to touch anything as they wound their way towards the center of the station. Fortunately, their weapons and armor kept even the more adventuresome thieves at bay. Apparently the local mercs didn't take too kindly to them.

It wasn't hard to find the club. The center of the asteroid was a gigantic cavity stretching far above and below them. At its center stood a massive support pillar, the heart of which was repurposed into a night club. Bright red letters spelled out Afterlife, while live flames on either side of the entrance sent weird reflections off the tower of rippling neon pink that stretched upwards into the dark. Not much for subtlety, these people. On the other hand, if you lived in this filth, maybe overwhelming, beat-you-over-the-head hedonism was what you wanted.

The irony of entering Afterlife shortly after dying was not lost on Shepard.

She cut straight to the front of the line, carefully watched by a line of guards with assault rifles. They were old, beat-up weapons that had seen better days, but would be in good working order. The head bouncer, eyes focused on the datapad in front of him, gave her a cursory glance before waving her inside. "Aria's expecting you."

The doors closed behind her as the crowd's whine of protest brought the guards' weapons up.

The inside of the place was both better and worse. The floor of the small entry tunnel was lit up with yet more red lights, and the only other source of illumination were flames projected along the walls, but it was also a little cleaner. Well, if this was supposed to be the afterlife, it wasn't hard to guess which direction you were headed. And as the doors opened to reveal the club proper, it was clear just how excited the patrons were to get there.

The towering pink lights outside were proving to be a theme, as the roughly circular club centered around a column of glowing pink that warped and undulated in random patterns. More live flames flickered high up around the room, backed by yellow flood lights which spread shadows of the flames' weird contortions across the floor and walls. A bar ringed the pillar in its entirety, and the walls were lined by booths, both public and private. The music hit like a physical blow, so loud the bass pulsed inside you.

Asari were everywhere.

The first species to develop inter-galactic spaceflight since the long-extinct protheans, the asari were remarkably close in appearance to human females, except for their generally blue skin-tone and wavy folds of sculpted skin running backwards off the head like hair. With an average lifespan of a thousand years and a natural proclivity for biotics in every individual from their eezo-saturated homeworld, they were the single most powerful economy and species in Council space, and probably the most well-respected as well. Which made it all the more disconcerting to have a whole group of them gyrating provocatively up and down stripper poles, their clothes (or lack thereof) leaving little to the imagination.

Shepard wound her way through the mass of people, all in various stages of intoxication. Though it looked like a party, the guards carefully spread around the floor armed with shotguns, weaving through the flickering overhead lights, gave a distinctly different impression.

Aria turned out to be an asari on an elevated platform on the far side of the club, overlooking the entrance and the rest of the floor. The guards were much more closely grouped here, and a whole squad waited for them at the foot of Aria's platform.

Aria stood with her back to them on the small platform lined with an expensive-looking couch. "That's close enough."

Aria's personal bodyguards drew pistols on them. Jacob and Miranda, not as familiar with the politics of gangs, decided that would be a good time to draw weapons. The rest of the guard contingent followed suit.

"Stand down," Shepard hissed. Getting killed again for no real purpose right at the start of this crazy mission was not exactly the way she planned to go out. Mercifully, they obeyed, even Miranda, and the guards visibly relaxed. The bodyguard pulled out an omni-tool and started scanning Shepard up and down. She was careful not to let him touch her. Strangely, he ignored her weapons.

Well, that's different. Normally they confiscated weapons, but apparently Aria was confident enough in herself and her guards to ignore them. Gutsy. But ease into it, give them something they expect, let them know they're in control.

"If you're looking for weapons, you're not doing a very good job of it." She patted her M-3 Predator meaningfully.

The guard bristled. "Stand still!"

Aria spoke, her strong, controlled voice reasonable. "Can't be too careful with a dead Spectre. That could be anyone wearing your face."

"I was told you're the person to talk to if I had questions."

The guard finished, apparently satisfied. "They're clean. A hell of a lot of cybernetics, but the genetics match."

Aria took that as her cue to turn around. "Depends on the questions." She turned to face them, moving with the confident grace of her kind. She was beautiful in the tall, ethereal way of the asari, accompanied by the utter self-possession of centuries of experience. Piercing eyes were framed by understated facial markings stretching over where a human's eyebrows would be and down her jawline. A single purple stripe stretched down from her bottom lip to her chin, complementing her skin pigmentation so deep blue it looked purple. She wore a loose white jacket with inner pink collar that had an odd emblem painted on the back over a close-fitted commando suit with panels cut out to show a provocative amount of skin around her thighs and hips. Below that she wore black leather pants tucked into knee-high black combat boots.

The jacket emblem looked suspiciously like the ancient Greek symbol for Omega. So, she has a sense of humor, does she? Now, to remind her she's in charge and that we don't want to mess with her.

"You run Omega?"

The question seemed to amuse the pirate. She turned and looked out over the floor, the music pounding, the people on the edge of control. "I am Omega." She cast Shepard a sidelong glance over her shoulder. "But you need more. Everyone needs more something, and they all come to me. I'm the boss, CEO, queen if you're feeling dramatic. It doesn't matter. Omega has no titled ruler and only one rule." She paused, slowly easing herself down onto her couch to add to the drama.

"Don't. Fuck. With Aria."

And now that the speech was out of the way, they could finally get down to business. One more assurance of good intentions, and that should do it.

"I like it. Easy to remember."

"If you forget, someone will remind you."

The guard dog picked it up from there. "And then I throw your sorry ass out the nearest airlock."

Shepard avoided the temptation to roll her eyes. Message delivered, come on. If they were going to attack her, they would have done it already, and if they weren't going to answer questions, they would have kicked her out already. Aria liked her drama, that was for sure. She suppressed a laugh at the sudden thought of Aria trying to manipulate the Illusive Man as she was trying to manipulate Shepard. Aria may be five hundred years old, or whatever she was, but she would be tossed about like a plaything. Now, down to business.

At Aria's nod, Shepard took a seat on the couches ringing the platform and tried not to get distracted by the undulating asari at eye level this high up.

Aria, too, seemed to agree the message was delivered. In a much more amiable tone, she asked what she could do for Shepard. Shepard was still curious, however.

"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'd call a secret. 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."

As much as it surely sounded like an insult to Miranda and Jacob, it was reassuring to Shepard. Not cared about was exactly the place she wanted to be in someone else's gang war. But, as ever, duty called.

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

"The salarian doctor?" she asked with evident surprise. "Last I heard he was trying to help plague victims in the quarantine zone. I always liked Mordin. He's as likely to heal you as he is to shoot you." That her translator turned around the colloquialism spoke to how intentionally Aria put the surprise emphasis on the healing, not the shooting.

"How do I get to him?"

"If you really need to find him, take a shuttle to the quarantine zone. No guarantee they'll let you in, of course."

Right, because she's actually not in control of her own organization. To show that much lack of control would be a weakness, so it was obviously supposed to be a threat instead. Or maybe a warning, an I-won't-protect-you kind of thing.

Alright then. She checked the Illusive Man's dossiers on her omnitool. "I'm also trying to track down Zaeed Messani."

Aria shrugged. "A mercenary, though a good one. He shouldn't be hard to find."

"Alright. Last one I'm looking for is Archangel."

"You and half of Omega." That one wasn't so much of a surprise to her. "You want him dead too?"

That caught Shepard's attention. "Who wants him dead? And why?"

"He thinks he's fighting on the side of good. There is no good side to Omega. Everything he does pisses someone off. It's catching up to him."

And didn't that make the "I am Omega" comment a bit more interesting. "Just the kind of guy I'm looking for," replied Shepard sarcastically.

"Really. Well, aren't you interesting." Aria returned Shepard's sarcasm drop for drop before turning serious once more. "You're going to make some enemies teaming up with Archangel. That's assuming you can get to him. He's in a bit of trouble right now."

The way she was making Shepard draw it out of her was starting to get annoying, but this was Aria's turf, so she played along. "Okay, what kind of trouble?"

Fortunately for Shepard's temper, Aria relented. "The local merc groups joined forces to take him down. They've got him cornered, but it sounds like they're having trouble finishing him off. They've started hiring anyone with a gun to help them."

Jacob cut in from a few steps below. "Sounds like that might be our ticket in."

Shepard gave him her best do-not-speak glare.

"They're using a private room for recruiting just over there," chimed in Aria helpfully. "I'm sure they'll sign you up."

Well, that was one way to find Archangel. But would the mercenary join them when they marched in, guns waving, or just try to shoot them like everyone else? Only knowing who he was could tell her that. Time to find out. "What can you tell me about Archangel?"

Aria shrugged. "Not as much as I'd like. He's a turian that showed up here several months ago and started causing all sorts of problems. If you make your own laws, which everyone here does, he makes life difficult. He's reckless and idealistic." It was hard to tell which she found more repulsive. "But he seems to know enough to steer clear of me."

Helpfully vague. And for the opposition. "Which merc groups are after Archangel?"

"Blue Suns, Eclipse, Blood Pack. They're Omega's major players. Unless they're at war you'll never see them together. But one thing they hate more than each other is Archangel."

Why was it always back to those three? But now for the most important question. Though Aria probably would have figured it out either way, Jacob had spelled out what they were after for Aria. The asari could easily get them all killed simply by tipping off the mercs as soon as they stepped foot into the recruiting station.

"Do you hate Archangel?"

Aria obviously understood the import of the question. She looked away before answering, not giving anything away. "When she spoke her voice was flat, deliberately neutral. "I don't have time for hate. But I distrust them all equally. I'm happy just to let them all kill each other… for now."

And wasn't that a clever little double meaning. She would lay back, let them do what they wanted to do. "I appreciate the help."

Aria twitched a boot toe in dismissal. "See if you still feel that way when the mercs realize you're there to help him."

"Sounds like I don't have a lot of time to waste."

"You've got all the time in the world. Archangel... not so much."

…

They gathered outside the merc recruiting station which was no more than a dingy private booth.

"Alright, change of plans. As you heard, Archangel doesn't have much time, so we're going to have to go for him first. If nothing else, the mercs know where he is, which is more than we have now. So we'll talk to them and play it by ear."

Miranda and Jacob nodded in assent, and Shepard took the lead and marched inside.

Inside the recruiting station sat yet another batarian, this one with a combat hardsuit sprayed with the markings of the Blue Suns; a blue base with white circle around the neck, and a white sphere at the chest ringed with a thin white oval. He was just finishing up negotiating with a middle-aged merc, who by the look of it had just purchased his own brand new, factory-fresh armor and pistol. Not a good sign.

"You'll get paid when the job's done, just like everyone else. Who's next?" The freelancer stepped past them, glaring defensively as if to prove his toughness. Worse sign. Even if he wasn't on this mission, he wouldn't last long. The old Shepard would have done something about it, but she didn't have the energy for it. She let it go and stepped past him to speak with the recruiter.

"Weeeelll, aren't you sweet. You're in the wrong place, honey. Stripper quarters are that way." She gave him a blank stare, though Miranda bristled behind her.

"Wow, not even a smile. So, you're here to fight then."

This whole thing was so half-cocked the mercs might accidentally send them to the other side of the galaxy if she wasn't careful. "If this is the place to go after Archangel."

He nodded, suddenly grim. "This is the place." His voice fell into the monotonous tone of someone who had said the same thing many, many times. "Standard fee is five hundred credits each, you get paid when the job is done. If you die, your friends don't collect your share. You'll need your own weapons and armor..." He gave them each a cursory glance. "Looks like you've got that covered. And no, this does not make you a member of the Blue Suns, Eclipse, or Blood Pack. You're a freelancer. Period. Any questions?"

"Where do I go next?"

He explained it to them and gave them a rough outline of the plan. Archangel was holed up in a two-story house and had collapsed all other entrances aside from a narrow bridge. A small team of Blue Suns had made it across the bridge with the distraction of a whole squad of (now deceased) freelancers and were planning on blowing the last door, but needed another distraction to prevent Archangel from sweeping them up. It sounded like they had a healthy respect for Archangel's capabilities, and not very much for the freelancer's lives.

Jacob was still fuming about it when they turned to leave. "Sounds like a suicide mi..."

Shepard held up her hand to quiet him as another would-be freelancer strolled in. This one was young, a human probably still in his teens.

"Is this the place to sign up?"

Shepard groaned internally. Another kid in over his head, just like back on Elysium. Don't make me kill you. "You look a little young to be freelancing as a merc."

Of course, being a teenager, he would immediately take it as questioning his manhood. "I'm old enough! I grew up on Omega, I know how to use a gun." He did his best to stalk impressively over to them.

Jacob, finally seeing something he could do, cut in. "So does Archangel."

"I can handle myself! Besides, I just spent fifty credits on this pistol, and I want to use it." He took out the weapon in question, a beat-up old M-4 model notorious for jamming and started waving it around haphazardly. Honestly, the kid was asking for it.

She stepped right up in his face. "Get your money back." He stood still, stunned the way most people are when confronted with the unexpected, which made it all the easier to strip the weapon out of his loose grip as she stepped away. "Hey, wha—"

She bashed her hand against the side of the barrel, jamming the overly delicate firing mechanism before handing it back. "You'll thank me later."

They left the kid standing there staring after her, the useless weapon in one outstretched hand. Men.