The next thing Kypran saw were his own hands on a stained metal floor. He was sitting up, but had no memory of getting here.
Something in his throat felt wrong. Poison. He shuddered and coughed. Gagged.
A voice – krogan, but not Wrex – made him look up. He could see it standing on an overhang one floor above him. Its armor was striped red. As were the walls and the vorcha flanking it.
"Arise, Kypranius. You're about to face the Blood Pack's judgment!"
Memories flashed over Kypran and he wondered distantly if this is what solipsism felt like. He could still picture Illium – the gory colors of Blood Pack troopers in stark contrast to the muted blues and purples on the docks. His assault rifle had shredded vorcha faces into slime, had peppered the armor of the krogan battlemasters until there were no hearts left to beat in their chests.
And then a crack – the one that had rendered him helpless without implants. He remembered the pale, snarling face of the krogan that had pinned him. How it had bellowed fury at him…until he'd worked off one glove and slashed open its throat with his bare talons.
All this time, the krogan above him was yelling orders and obscenities. Kypran had registered none of it – only the angry colors that still made his eyes dilate, saturated in the horrors of past trauma.
He coughed again, looking back down. Had that varren been waiting there before?
"Fight!" The krogan hollered.
The varren was charging at him. Kypran couldn't stand.
The impact almost knocked him flat as gnashing jaws sought his face but were blocked by his arms. Kypran doubled over to right himself and protect his front. His entire left sleeve flooded blue, wet from several punctures down his arm.
The varren lunged again. He blocked it, felt another row of punctures tear his skin, and doubled over once more to keep himself alive. It snapped and snapped at him, drawing blood at every contact. He was jarred but kept his vitals covered. His breaths came loud. He shut his eyes. Fangs raked down his back.
"Fight!"
The varren seized his leg, then thrashed and rolled. Somewhere behind layers of shock and panic, Kypran was relieved to feel only a portion of the pain. He grasped for purchase on the floor with one hand, then jabbed the varren's eye with his other. It finally released him.
Or had it? Kypran wasn't sure if he was imagining things, if he would be able to feel difference. The room was fuzzy – was the krogan turning off the lights?
Kypran slumped backward and felt nothing.
Wrex woke up to his own dry coughing. Something stung in the back of his throat like the toxic ash of Tuchanka, only stranger. Worse. He tossed his head and breathed in deep to hack out the last of it.
With relief, he noticed that he was no longer trapped in the escape pod. Instead he was in some other room – probably a ship, but without windows he couldn't be certain. The last thing he remembered was seeing the red Blood Pack logo on the ship that had rescued them…and he could see it painted on the rusted metal door to his right.
Wrex looked to every corner, even under the bench he'd been lying on. There was no sign of Kip. Wrex marched to the door and pushed it open. In the hall outside, a krogan in red armor approached him.
"Greetings, Urdnot Wrex," he said. "We must apologize for not welcoming your properly. The other passenger in your escape pod had to be subdued, before we could retrieve you."
Wrex's eyes narrowed into slits. He made note of the rifle in the other krogan's hands, tolerating it only since it was pointed down. "Who are you?" He growled.
"Apologies, Urdnot. I am Weyrloc Tersh. I serve the Blood Pack as an elite warrior."
"Weyrloc," Wrex noted. He recalled the clan on Tuchanka; though it had survived the same grueling trials as Wrex's own, it was not known for glory. Over generations, many clan members had branched out at interesting prospects, only to fail. A high rank in the Blood Pack must have become the newest of these "prospects," Wrex considered.
"So you are in charge here?" He asked.
"That honor is not mine," Tersh answered. Wrex wanted to laugh. "Trinderok Starg is the captain of this vessel. He is the one who arranged to collect your escape pod."
"So it was arranged," Wrex said. He stepped forward, craning his head so that his shadow passed over Tersh. Wrex was not pleased, and he let that displeasure show in the snarled set of his jaw. "Your Captain Starg has a lot of explaining to do."
"I will lead you to him," Tersh offered, and the two of them began down the hallway. "The Blood Pack is completely willing to answer any questions you have. But it is best that the answers be given by our leader."
"Either your leader will confess," Wrex growled, "That he schemed with the batarian slavers – the ones that cheated me – or he's lying."
A thousand years of life had not been entirely wasted on Wrex. Certain wisdom could not be unlearned after countless experiences. Though relief had overcome him at the sight of a ship out of darkness, Wrex had known, in the back of his mind, that such a coincidence would be impossible. The Blood Pack had to have been told that he and Kip were waiting out there – and one of them must have been worth their time to retrieve.
"Starg will put things right," Tersh assured. "If we wronged you, we will find a way to compensate you for all of your trouble." They reached a large set of doors. Tersh pulled them open, and added,
"The Blood Pack is always generous to krogan."