Some say necessity... mother of invention. Drive to progress. Advance. Survive.

Overcome obstacles as they appear.

Necessity also... revealer of character. How far, willing to go. Accomplish objective. Overcome obstacle.

Survive.

Fog swirled the darkness of the corridor like slithering ghosts changing their colors to match the neon signs striking them as they whispered past. Mordin tugged at the raised collar of the overcoat hanging on his shoulders, and squinted against the passing neon. Too bright. Over-compensation for too-dark-environment. Fake light.

Fake promise of better life.

A plain door sat at the end of the fog, a Blue Suns member clutching a rifle against his chest as their eyes locked. Young. New member. Nothing important lost to group if killed on guard duty.

"I think you're in the wrong place, pal." Young. Insecure. Eager to prove strength.

"Boss will want to hear what I have to say."

Narrowed eyes, tightened grip on rifle. Suspicion. "And why's that?"

"Deal was made. Here to fulfill my obligation." The weight inside the coat sat heavy.

Finally, acceptance. "Fine, but it's your ass, not mine."

More darkness inside. Not fog. Cigar smoke.

The Blue Suns lieutenant leaned back behind his desk. "The hell are you doin' here, Solus?" A puff of smoke from between his lips, and once more, ghosts swirled the darkness.

Mordin kept his eyes open and watching, flicking from guard to guard despite the stinging kiss of tobacco. "Here for promised medical supplies." He allowed his eyes to narrow slightly, but never fully close. "Supplies you failed to deliver according to agreement."

Another puff of smoke and a flash of teeth. "Our agreement failed to account for fluctuations in value as markets change." He jabbed a thumb toward a crate in the corner. "These supplies are worth quite a bit more now than when we made our agreement."

Mordin's eyes flicked to the crate.

"I think a new deal should be made that reflects the current value."

Eyes narrowed further. "Deal was made in good faith. Price was agreed upon and paid."

"And now you'll have to pay a little more."

Tightened grips on rifles. Feet fidgeted in place.

So be it.

Mordin returned his gaze to the lieutenant. "Had hoped... would be reasonable." He nodded slowly. "But will do what I must to get supplies for patients."

Another flash of teeth. "That's just what I wanted to hear."

Mordin nodded again as he snaked his hands under the flaps of the coat, and the cold metal of two pistol-grips bit into his fingers.

No. Omega was not a place of reason.

Smoke lit in orange as the lieutenant brought up his omnitool, already typing in account information, and as he smiled around the cigar in his mouth, two clicks resounded in Mordin's palms, every eye snapping to him.

Omega was a place of necessity.