The next day was one of the first times Thomas had been woken up not by the sounds of gunfire outside his window, but by an alarm he had set for himself. He bounded out of bed and snatched up some clothes. I got my foot in the door! He thought. Finally, he would move up to the next strata of power in Omega's brutal hierarchy.
Thomas blew past the stairs down to the ground floor, moving with a determined air. "You seem happy, Thomas. Got some good news?" asked Amonsson as he brewed a fresh pot of coffee.
"Hah!" Thomas laughed. "Let's just say I'm on track for one helluva promotion at work."
He heard a scoff from his side. A militiaman gave Thomas a condescending look. "Tch, as if you call being a chauffeur for aliens work. You'd be better off in the watch, get to actually stay among fellow humans. Plus it's honest work"
"Nobody on this station is honest" Amonsson interjected. "If Thomas wants to do it, he can do it. Besides, how much does the watch pay?"
"No amount of money is worth whoring yourself out to aliens, s'all I'm saying," the militiaman shot back.
Amonsson gave a derisive snort. "Oh, I see. You just prefer whoring yourself out to Hammond?"
The militiaman sat up. "I prefer keeping the block safe, Hammond or no Hammond. We're civil, we understand how to build a community, and how to keep it safe. You wanna see how well of a job aliens do, look right out your window" he replied, jutting his thumb out in the direction of the war-torn neighborhood. "Batarians, need I say more?"
"Well…" Thomas began.
"You think we'd fare better against a band of angry krogan?" Amonsson snarled. "And is King Hammond preparing for the possibility of them not being content with just taking over batarian territory?"
"We are! In fact, we got a shipment of incendiary rounds! Those big ugly lizards try anything funny, we'll burn them alive!" the militiaman boasted, standing up and pointing at the cafe owner for emphasis.
"Hopefully once I'm done in there we won't have to worry about the krogan," Thomas declared.
"You're going there, Thomas?!" Amonsson asked with concern.
Thomas realized he might have just made a mistake. Even the militaman was looking at him now, his face a mix of befuddlement and wry disbelief. "Got a deathwish or something?" he grunted before sitting down.
"Just got to deliver something," Thomas replied, deciding he needed to backtrack. "It's not even that close to where the fighting is happening. I'm telling you, Amon, it'll be in and out!"
The cafe owner filled Thomas' cup. Judging by the smell Thomas knew it was the good stuff. "I hope you know what you're doing, Thomas," Amonsson said quietly, his dark eyes looking into Thomas'.
"I do, sir," Thomas replied, holding the cafe owner's gaze. "I promise, the next time you see me, I'll be on top. The boss even said it herself, I'm going places."
"Yeah, like a graveyard," the militaman grumbled under his breath, earning a burning glare from the massive bear of a man. Thomas let out a nervous heh before he felt Amonsson's large hands come down on his shoulders.
"Be careful. And good luck," the big man said with a smile and a pat on the back.
Thomas smiled back and patted his hand. "Hopefully I won't need it."
When Thomas reached the hideout in the Grinder later that morning, his jaw dropped. The shoddy warehouse looked like an arms depot. The sheer volume of equipment was stunning. Just how badly is this gang war going? Thomas thought, eyeing the bulky, cuboid shape of a turret poking out of a crate.
Vendrix was ecstatic, practically gliding across the warehouse's cold floor as he flitted from crate to crate like an eager child on his birthday. His mandibles flared out in sheer, unbridled excitement as he cracked open the lid of a pressurized crate and peered inside.
"Thomas!" the turian exclaimed, his slender profile belying the surprising amount of power that he could muster as grabbed the human's arm. He pulled the young man inside the warehouse, causing Thomas to nearly trip over a stray crate.
Thomas wrenched his arms out of his boss' grip. "Jesus Christ, you're in a mood," he told the turian.
"Oh how could I not be, my dear human? We stand on the precipice of advancement and reputation and success! And you are the instrument of it!" Before Thomas could reply, Vendrix added, "The matriarch contacted me last night, as I'm sure she did with you, and spoke to me of the grave importance of this delivery. This krogan upstart and his band of rabble have consistently bested the batarian mob in the neighborhood adjacent your own. However, any problem can be resolved with enough heavy ordinance, no?" The turian gestured with a flourish towards the crates. "Ahhhh. Simply exquisite! Perhaps you may get an opportunity to see the fruits of your labors - from a hopefully safe distance."
The skycar's trunk and backseat were packed with as much as they could store. Vendrix rode shotgun while the musclebound Ushnak and smaller Clyde both sat cramped in the back. The meeting was supposed to be discreet and done quickly but all wore body armor nonetheless, even Thomas. His suit was at least least light and flexible enough to feel more like a heavy coat. He drove the skycar into a neighborhood that previously he had only seen from the safe distance of his apartment window. The streets were empty of people, not that there was anything for them to do amid the burnt-out husks of storefronts and apartment buildings.
Vendrix let out a long, low whistle. "A sorry state of affairs this place has been left in," he commented.
"Fucking krogan," Ushnak snarled under his breath.
"Don't worry, the brute and his entourage will receive their comeuppance yet," Vendrix replied, "We're coming upon our rendezvous point."
Thomas landed the skycar in an alley near an abandoned construction site. The final, assertive whump of the car setting down prompted the crew to spring into action. A bit further down the alley they could see the sleek black shapes of the batarian mob's skycars. Out front was one with gold-trimming. A female batarian exited it, followed by a pack of male bodyguards. Her dress was a melange of vibrant oranges and yellows and draped across her shoulders was the skin of some furred animal, all of which set her starkly apart from her black-dressed hoods.
Vendrix and Clyde approached once the delivery was unloaded. Ushnak hung back to guard the weapons, while Thomas remained at the driver's seat, the engine running but in neutral. Vendrix gave the female batarian a theatrical bow.
"Lady Pughnoh. I believe I speak on the behalf of the Quinnus Matriarch when I say we jump at the chance to aid you in the extirpation of the savages infesting your territory," Vendrix began, flashing a smile at her top pair of eyes.
The batarian crimeboss rolled all four of her eyes as she strode forward. "Do you wish to get on your knees and kiss my feet, as well? Every second you waste time indulging in your sycophancy my people are dying, bird," she growled. "Show me the weapons I was promised."
The turian straightened up. "Of course, we shall delay no longer," he replied in a flat tone and gesturing for her to view the merchandise.
Clyde led her and a few guards to each box, rattling off their contents off as he went. Pughnoh inspected each one, the faintest hint of a smile appearing as she examined a rifle then put it back in the crate. When she had viewed each crate, she nodded at one of the thugs, who then strode back to their skycars.
All eyes watched the deal except Thomas'. He looked up towards the sky, swearing that he saw the silhouette of a familiar skycar streak past.
The batarian thug returned carrying a metal briefcase. He popped the latches to reveal a solid blue credit chit. "Your payment is all on this," Pughnoh curtly announced. Vendrix nodded and gently plucked it from the case. He handed it to Clyde, who ran it through a card reader. Vendrix's face lit up when the credit amount flashed across the screen. "Oh, paid in full. How agreeable," he purred. "I wish you luck in the battles to come, my lady,' he declared, tilting his head in a gesture of admiration. The batarian merely scowled in response.
Pughnoh turned to her entourage, who were now looking up to the sky at a steadily growing dot. "That's not one of ours!" a thug shouted.
The dot swiftly grew in size, transforming into a large red and black skycar whose windows were reinforced with metal plating. A turret gun mounted on the skycar's roof roared, spraying fire haphazardly across the alley. Two of Pughnoh's bodyguards were immediately cut down, their screams of agony drowned out by the continuing rattle of gunfire. The vehicle few past, then began turning in a wide arc.
"IT'S COMING BACK AROUND!" Clyde screamed as the rest of the crew scattered. Pughnoh ordered her remaining men to grab the guns and get back in their cars. Before the batarians could reach them, a pair of smaller cars zoomed down at blisteringly fast speeds and skidded to a stop only meters away from the mobsters. Their doors opened and each disgorged a trio of vorcha. The intruders sprayed fire on the remaining batarians.
Thomas revved up the skycar's engines as Vendrix and Clyde make a mad dash for the vehicle. Ushnak crouched behind a dumpster and fired on the vorcha. As Vendrix rushed forward, another vorcha darted out of a sidestreet and pounced atop the turian, causing the briefcase to fall out of his hands. The vorcha reached for the item, ignoring Vendrix just long enough for the turian to draw a knife and plunge it deep into the intruder's neck.
The batarians' skycars groaned to life, the vehicles rising one after the other into the air as bullets from the armored car raked across them. The batarians' vehicles scattered but not before one of them was hit again by fire and dropped like a rock. It slammed into the ground at the far end of the alley, causing the element zero in its drive core to become unstable. The vehicle exploded with a deafening bang. The resulting fireball spread throughout the alley. From inside the skycar, Thomas saw that Clyde and Vendrix, the latter still madly hacking at the vorcha's neck with his blade, happened to be just outside the blast radius. Ushnak wasn't as fortunate. He screamed for only a second before his now-blackened body fell to the ground.
How could it have gone so wrong so fast? Thomas wondered. He looked over at Vendrix, who had succeeded in decapitating the vorcha, a feral exuberance glinting in the turian's eyes before he sheathed the knife and grabbed the case from Clyde. Both bolted for Thomas' skycar, but a sudden hail of gunfire bouncing off the vehicle prompted the human to turn and dash away.
"COME BACK! COME BACK!" Thomas screamed as Clyde sprinted towards an open gate leading deeper into the construction site. Clyde vanished inside a half-built concrete and rebar monolith.
"He's going on his own! Focus on saving US!" Vendrix screeched. Thomas cursed and reversed the skycar back with such force that it nearly flipped over, then accelerated upward. The skycar rose until the scene of the massacre faded into a shrunken, orange dot.
The red and black armored skycar pursued them, tracer rounds from it's turret raking through the air around Thomas's skycar. The human stamped on the throttle and sank into his seat as the vehicle's acceleration overwhelmed its inertial dampeners.
The world blurred around him as the skycar shot forward. In the rearview monitor Thomas saw that the armored car was keeping pace. He began careening around buildings, coming perilously close to smashing or at least clipping a few in an attempt to lose the pursuer. It always seemed to be just on their tail.
"We need to get back to the warehouse!" Vendrix shouted in one of the brief moments he could catch his breath.
"Have you seen what they did to the batarians?!" Thomas exclaimed. "You think we could fight them off even if we did manage to get back in one piece?" He took the turian's non-response as agreement and banked hard to the left, dodging another stream of tracer fire from the pursuing vehicle. He stomped again on the accelerator and shot towards the familiar sight of his home block, only a few kilometers away. He would never forgive himself if he got anyone there hurt, but he had an idea of how to get himself out of this mess alive.
The thin silver worm of the monorail and the massive gorge it bridged came into view just as Thomas could hear the engines of the armored skycar closing the distance between them. He knew the exact dimensions of the train that took him to the warehouse. He also knew the specs of his prized ride. He muttered a quick prayer, then cut the engines. Letting the skycar soar like a bird through the air, the sleek red, metal angel dove towards the gap between the monorail line and it's structural supports tethering it to the tunnel that led into the levels below the station. Vendrix screamed, his talons digging into the headrest. Thomas aimed for the gap and gritted his teeth.
For half a heartbeat he thought he was dead. That his horrible, desperate plan had failed like it should have. But no, the skycar had slipped through the gap flawlessly. They were now plummeting, nose-first, down into the darker, grimer maintenance and industrial levels of Omega. It took another heartbeat for him to process the situation and ignite the engines again just in time to see the jagged husk of the other skycar fall into the chasm that extended for miles. He let out an adrenaline-soaked laugh of exuberance.
"D-did that really just happen? Oh Thomas, you prodigal son, I have half a mind to…" Vendrix began.
"We're not out of it yet. We just need to-"
He didn't have the time to finish his thought before he caught the faintest blur of a black and red armored skycar and his world went dark.
When Thomas regained consciousness, he found himself upside down, the acrid smell of smoke in his nostrils and the coppery tang of blood on his tongue. He sluggishly undid his seatbelt, landing with a crunch on the shattered glass of the car window below. As he groaned and pushed himself over to his side he looked at the door. It was crumpled up like a piece of paper but open, pried to one side with just enough space for someone to wiggle through. It was then he also noticed Vendrix wasn't in the car with him, nor was the briefcase. There was just enough blue blood across the seat to tell him what had happened.
Slowly, he pulled himself through the door and over the shards of glass scattered about. He was surprised at how little it hurt. He saw bleeding wounds on his forearms and knees but they were like something that existed in a faraway land, like the vids of racers smashing into each other, flipping about as if toy cars being flung from the massive hand of an invisible child. He instead thought of-
Mrs. Quinnus...
His split lip trickled blood down his chin as he mouthed every syllable of her name delicately, tenderly. Her name. The sweetest word he had ever said. That word meant he could be one of the big-timers. She said he was important. No, 'very important.' She would save him, she would-.
As he laid on the cold pavement, bleeding. Thomas could only see the boots of a krogan stomp up towards him.
Mrs. Quinnus said I was important, I am impor-
But the thought would remain unfinished, interrupted by the wet crunch of bone as the krogan stomped down on the human's head and crushed his skull under his boot.