"I'm telling you for the last time, you're not on the list."
Sarr growled out the words with an intimidating basso rumble. A week ago he had been fighting on the frontlines, now he was back to working as a bouncer for one of the seedier runoff bars that catered to those who couldn't manage to make it into Afterlife.
"C'mon, man. I can make it worth your time."
The human before him was scruffy and already smelled of alcohol, he had probably been kicked out of a bar or two already. He dug around in his pockets for something, Sarr only watched with a scowl on his face.
"Wha-what's your boss paying, I can do double-no-triple…" He looked up to flash a toothy grin, and the Krogan could see that more than a few teeth were missing, knocked out, to be precise.
The offer was tempting, crawling back to the Volus that owned the bar was bad enough, but having to sit through the lecture and being slapped with half-wages for the next two weeks was worse. You should be thankful you have a job at all, hell you should be thankful you're still alive. Sarr told himself, but those words seemed to ring hollow as he went back to dealing with the same blithering idiots and rowdy drunks and people with too much ego and not enough common sense.
He thought back to Narn. Narn. Was that why it went bad? Too much ego and not enough common sense? No, he had ambition, but on an even playing field he would've won. The Humans were running and we could've won. Nothing stopped us but that gunship, and those soldiers...who was that?
He had been too busy running with the rest of the Krogan, they broke once Narn died, he was their warlord, the binding glue of the entire band, after he died there wasn't much keeping the quarrelsome collection of ex-guns for hire and Vorcha together.
"H-how's this!" Sarr turned his attention back to the Human, now proffering a pile of credits cupped in both of his hands, his eyes full of optimism.
The Krogan simply loomed over the Human, beady reptilian eyes focused down into the man. "Not. On. The. Liiiiist. Now you can either walk or I can break your legs and you can crawl, but one way or the other you are getting out of the line and going somewhere else, got it?"
The Human shrunk back, his eyes wide as saucepans before he glowered at the Krogan bouncer "Your place is a shithole anyway." He grumbled to himself as he stuffed his credits back into his pockets and stomped off.
Sarr watched him go before turning back to the next person on line. She was an Asari, smiling cheerily at him as she stepped forward in a jacket thrown over a snugly fitting midnight-black undersuit, the same kind that would go under combat armor.
Recognition nagged at the back of Sarr's mind. The team had an Asari. No, it couldn't...
"Name." He grunted out, arms crossing over his chest.
The Asari only reached inside her jacket to pull out an analogue cellular device and offer it to him, he hesitated before taking the device in his hand. He squinted down at the small block of text present on the screen.
"I understand that you were the brains to Narn's brawn, someone with a head for strategy. I could use someone like that in my operations. In my employ your work would be just as stable as your bouncer job, and with much less risk than more freelance operations like with Narn, and that's without mentioning the pay benefits. Below is an access code to an encrypted channel you can contact me on, the code expires in 1 galactic standard day. You have until then to make your choice."
"Quinnus." The Asari said simply, and with that Sarr's eyes widened. He had heard the name in passing, some Turian arms dealer that he had realized was supplying the Batarians. He had gone to Narn with the information and was met with curt dismissal. "They can buy all the guns in Omega, we'll just steal those too."
There was more than enough reason to suspect that the Humans had been armed similarly, even the gunship and soldiers may have been on her payroll. Then it clicked. The Asari right in front of you was the one that took down Narn.
His head shot back up, his other hand lashing out to grab her. But she was already gone, and in her place was a terrified human, Sarr's fingers digging into the collar of her dress. She whimpered and stared up at him with a small, pleading expression. He unhanded her almost as quickly, stuffing the phone into his pocket.
"I'm sorry for that, you looked like someone I know. Anyways, name?"
When the elevator came to a lurching halt, Madeline Alvarado fell to her hands and knees.
"Son of a bitch!" She cursed, picking herself up, those with technical know-how had promised her that the elevators were back in working order, but when the elevator had stopped it had done so that the shaft was just short of the door, only half of it peeking out through it and into the room. "Those goddamn mechanics." She grumbled.
After prying the doors open and then shimmying through the small slit left behind she had finally wormed her way into the penthouse that had formerly belonged to Hammond, her boss.
When she clambered up to her feet, her eyes widened a bit.
While technically she was in the 'penthouse suite', which crowned the fortress that made up the main center of operations for Hammond's Neighborhood Watch, the Boss had taken precautions to reinforce his living arrangements. She could see right away that this was no defenseless loft. The supporting columns were made from tougher materials than the weathered concrete and rebar used in the rest of the fortress' construction, the windows were cracked but had the telltale spiderweb pattern of bulletproof glass, weapons hung from racks, some ornate, some conventional, but all looked like they full capable fo killing.
After the battle with the Krogan, so many of the leadership had died. She had been watching from the windows with her sniper rifle, raining down shots, particularly into the heavily armored and naturally resilient Krogan, but through her scope she had seen Blondie's skull caved in, Isaac shredded in a hail of gunfire, and dozens of people that she had known been butchered by Krogan and Vorcha.
She was more shocked to discover the bodies from inside the fortress, those that had died from smoke inhalation or were crushed under rubble, a pair of militia had been perforated by assault rifle fire, and Kleinfeld, Hammond's own second-in-command, had been dragged out with his throat slit. She could have sworn his dead, glassy eyes were following her as he was dragged away.
The Turians did that. She thought, bile pooling in the back of her throat as she reflected on it. She hadn't known what they had done when she saw them being taken away by the soldiers in black, she was too giddy just to see them swoop in and slaughter the Krogan like her own people had been slaughtered, but thinking back now, she cursed herself over and over for not taking the shot, for not finally putting a bullet through each of their skulls.
Fall found herself scowling and shook the expression off her face as she began to root through Hammond's worldly possessions.
In the end she turned up all kinds of clothes, weapons, fine jewelry and narcotics (bundled up for sale, for all his faults Hammond didn't do drugs.) In his bedroom she came across a framed photo of a younger Hammond, smiling in his Alliance marine uniform with several others from his old crew. She found Kleinfeld's face too, unblemished and smiling wide. She hadn't talked to him much about his past, but she knew he had been discharged from the Alliance.
She furrowed her brow and set the picture down on its face, she didn't need them looking at her.
After a while Fall eased herself down in Hammond's chair. She felt like a child as she sat down, the armrests extended an inch farther than her forearms reached and she had to fiddle with the adjustments on the base to get up to eye level with the terminal. After that she had booted it up and logged in under his account with the security key that had been found on his body.
She cast a wandering eye over his files, duty rosters, the shifts assigned to the various members of the militia, personnel files on some of the higher ranking lieutenants, along with some data tables that looked like cargo manifests and pickup times. Finally, she found a file simply titled "Fall"
She hesitated for a moment before clicking on it. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she realized it was just her own personnel file. In addition to a photo of her there was her hair and eye color, weight and height, along with prior military experience. She recalled her upbringing in the Traverse, the Skyllian Blitz…
She shook her head and noticed again that the file was structured like a conventional Alliance military personnel record. Figures. She turned her attention down to the "Notes" section.
"Alvarado's a good sport, smart, quiet, follows orders, one hell of a shot. She's been handling her sweeps and patrols and the others like her well enough. Might consider for a leadership role in the near future. She's skittish, though. No head for risk, Kleinfeld's an idiot if he thinks I should let her in on the smuggling. Tussling with the Eclipse would be a horrible-"
The rapid beeping of an incoming call yanks her from her snooping. She stared at the blinking light dumbly before clicking it.
"You're not Hammond." A female voice said immediately, one underlined by the barely audible flanging of subvocals, Fall furrowed her brows.
"A turian?"
"Perceptive." The voice replies, followed by a pause. "You must be Madeline Alvarado, your friends call you Fall, is that correct?"
Fall shrunk back into her oversized chair, struck dumb for a second as she tried to understand how this stranger had known who she was.
A team of heavily armed soldiers and a gunship had come to swoop in to kill the Krogan and retrieve a trio of Turian arms dealers Hammond had taken hostage, and now another Turian was calling her, it didn't take a genius to string the pieces together. She leaned in to respond to keep the silence from dragging on for too long.
"Yeah, I'm Fall. And you're that Quinnus bitch Hammond was yelling about, right?"
"The very same." She sounded satisfied but it was a patronizing type of satisfaction, as if she were a teacher and Fall had given a correct answer to a question. "Although I certainly hope you're just quoting your late employer, no need to get off on a bad first impression."
Fall swallowed. "Y-yeah, I am. I get how you knew Hammond, but how do you know about me?"
"I know many things, Ms. Alvarado. I especially know that your little Watch is suddenly very short on manpower. And were it not for my Intervention, all of your heads would be mounted on a wall, and I would be speaking now with a very nasty Krogan Warlord that wouldn't necessarily align with my interests."
"I guess it's so lucky you have me to speak with now." Fall responds, fighting the growing unease in her stomach as she tries to channel all the level headedness she can muster. I'm the boss now, I'm in charge.
"Exactly, and I see a way we could come to a mutually beneficial arrangement, assuming of course, you're more cooperative than your predecessor."
"What do you want?"
"Hammond was running a smuggling business on the side, taking advantage of your strategic location by the docks to 'relieve' some very dangerous groups of their merchandise to sell for his own benefit, he covered his tracks well; dead drops, confidential informants, hidden alcoves he used for storage. I'm sure there's some files on that terminal that go more into detail."
Fall remembered going through the files, manifests and pickup times, to be exact.
"I want you to pick up where he left off, and after saving your little slice of Omega. I believe I am entitled to twenty percent of the earnings."
Fall sputtered. "Are you kidding me! Twenty percent!? What the Hell do we even get out of this!"
"If you were paying attention, I brought up the little matter of your militia being decimated since you fought the Krogan, a rich little district like yours is bound to attract trouble now that there's a hole in your defenses."
A lump formed in Fall's throat as she closed her mouth and sat back, letting Quinnus speak.
"You've already seen the forces I command, I could offer you protection in the short term, allow you to build yourself back up to strength and lick your wounds. In a way, this is an investment in yourselves. I'll even hire Humans exclusively, so you don't have to suffer rubbing elbows with aliens."
Fall felt her stomach tie into knots. What choice was there? One third of the Neighborhood Watch was dead, another third were injured, and the remaining third were beginning to voice serious doubts in Fall's ability to lead. She was liked, but that wouldn't go very far if things began to look like they were going downhill. But signing a deal with a turian?
"Think about it, Ms. Alvarado. You have the chance to pick your people up and raise them back to greatness. With just a little help you can be a better leader than even Hammond was."
Fall chewed on her thumb, possibilities and fears and doubts mounting on her. All she had to do was say it, was say-
"Okay. Fine, twenty percent. I'll get the smuggling up and running, but you better deliver that protection."
"My word is my bond, Fall." She dug her fingers into the armrest of her chair. "Oh, and one more thing."
"What?"
"Hammond died because he failed to honor his deal. I hope you keep that in mind going forward."
With that, there was the click of disconnect, and as silence overtook the room Fall slumped back in her chair and stared at the Terminal, wondering what she had just agreed to.
Idhomak Pughnoh stood among the ruins of the traditional Pughnoh throne room. It had been three decades since his family had casted down the ruling Kahhab dynasty and seized their assets, weapons and treasures. From the lowly working class they had risen up to rule this district, and while it had been a topic of constant debate from within the family who had contributed the most. Most acknowledged that the lot of them would've been executed and their children cast down into the slave caste for generations had it not been for Lady Cralya Pughnoh, Idhomak's mother.
He looked down at the limp, broken body of his Mother now. The blood had crusted over her mouth where she had sputtered when Warlord Narn had crushed her windpipe, the front of her once rich, elegant dress discolored with a flaking red-gray exterior, torn and frayed through abuse. He couldn't take his eyes off her, her four eyes wide and glassy as marbles.
He felt a hand rest on his shoulder.
"Her eyes are intact, Idho. There's nothing those mongrels could've done to her." The voice belonged to Prathan Pughnoh. His men were busy clearing out the room of debris and corpses. The few Vorcha and Krogan that had squatted in the ruins were shot dead, their bodies paraded through the square below as the Batarians rushed in to reclaim their homes.
"I know, Uncle." Idhomak said quietly, his eyes still focused on his Mother. For Batarians, the soul passed from the body through the eyes, after that, the treatment of the corpse was irrelevant, unimportant. "She still deserved better, anything other than this…"
"If I know your Mother, she went spitting in the face of Death." Prathan boasted, forcing a smile. Slowly, he turned Idhomak away from the corpse at the bottom of the steps to point his head up towards the throne, cleared of the ugly trophies and gang tags that the Krogan had defaced it with. "And she would want you to not waste time mourning her, that's time to be spent raising our name up to what it once was. You have a throne waiting for you to sit, and a people waiting to be led."
Idhomak, Prathan and roughly one third of the Pughnoh family had sought the safety of a safehouse outside the district to wait out the conflict. He had been crammed next to the second cousins and twice removed sisters, the bastards and young children. He had protested to no end, and it took Cralya slapping him across the face to get him to go. He had hated her then, but now he only felt a crushing guilt. He shouldn't have complained, their last words shouldn't have been an argument.
Now, with his older brother Addak dying early in the Krogan's assault. Idhomak was Cralya's eldest surviving son and heir to the throne, his uncle dedicating himself to being his advisor for a time. Barely a man, Idhomak felt that he had been pushed into a freezing lake, struggling to keep his head above water.
"Wow, the Krogan really did a number to this place."
The Asari that had introduced herself as Cayne stood with a hip cocked and her elbow resting on her hand as she cupped her chin, letting out a long, slow whistle as she panned over the destruction that surrounded her.
Even in combat armor she seems more at home on a pole in Afterlife than on a battlefield. Idhomak thought bitterly. As far as he was aware, she was some Asari trespasser, but with the mention of a name, Quinnus, his uncle had begrudgingly allowed her into the throne room. When he brought it up to his uncle he had only said.
"Your Mother made some business arrangements for the sake of the family, and never let it be said that the Pughnoh's don't honor their deals." From the way he had said it the issue hadn't been up for discussion.
His uncle had taken a spot just short of the staircase that led up to the throne, leaving Idhomak to ascend it alone, with each step he drew himself up a little taller, a little stronger, his men moving to the door to watch the Asari, their hands only inches away from their weapons.
When he sat down, he could feel the padding mold to fit his body, he crossed a leg over his knee and rested his elbow on the armrest, pulling on a mask of disdain for the Asari over his youthful face.
"You stand before Lord Idhomak Pughnoh, Patriarch of the Pughnoh family and Master of this District, don't waste my time."
The Asari simply takes a few steps up, cocking a brow at the young man and breaking into an overexaggerated bow. "Pardon this lowly wench, milord. But I have the most urgent of messages from Lady Quinnus herself." She says, her smirk plain to see.
A cylindrical disc tumbled down the length of her arm, resting on the floor as she stood back up to her full height, inspecting her nails as the disc unfolds and ignites with a holographic projection of a Turian woman. The sapphire projection looked over the Throne room, it's guards, and Cayne before finally settling on Idhomak.
"You know who I am, Lord Pughnoh?" She says simply, her eyes sharp and analytical, running from Idhomak's shoes to his lower pair of eyes, then the upper. She tilted her head to the left ever so slightly, a symbol of approval among Batarians, the gesture surprised Idhomak. He didn't think aliens would ever bother to learn about his people's customs. The show of respect had to be reciprocated.
"I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
"I'm Mrs. Quinnus, a business partner and acquaintance of your Mother. She was an admirable woman, Idhomak. She would be proud to see you now."
"Enough of this flattery!" Prathan interjected as he glared at the hologram, four eyes drilling into Quinnus' two. "Quit mincing your words and get to what you need to say."
"I'm simply paying my respects."
"Uncle, please." Idhomak called, sitting up a bit straighter as he leaned over to look at his Uncle. They share a tense moment before Prathan crosses his arms over his chest and turns back to silently glower at the Turian.
"Thank you, but my Uncle is right. Let's get to the heart of the matter. What was this agreement you and my Mother had?"
The turian steepled her fingers. "I specialize in the acquisition and sale of weapons. Your Mother recently became one of my larger clients. She agreed that in exchange for arms and armaments to defend yourselves from the Krogan, I would be entitled to a fraction of the profits you collect from your salvaging and drug-trafficking operations. We agreed on thirteen percent."
Prathan scowled. "If you recall correctly, your weapons didn't help much when the Krogan invaded, you gave us grenade launchers and turrets but they still rolled over us, Lady Pughnoh is dead! So what makes you think we have any obligation to honor your deal!?"
"A weapon is only as effective as the one that holds it. Don't fault my hardware for your own failings." Quinnus replied coolly, tilting her head to the right at Prathan, a symbol of derision.
"You have a lot of nerve-" Idhomak's uncle began.
"And I also have a lot of weapons, weapons I will turn on you just as quickly as I turned them on the Krogan." Quinnus barked, her voice cutting across the throne room like a knife.
Idhomak furrowed his brows, he couldn't let this woman just barge in and insult his uncle, the sweet words she had thrown at his feet only hid her true intent. Or worse, she thought he was just a child, and that the true negotiations in all their ugly glory were with his Uncle. He rose from his throne and reached inside himself.
"Enough!" He boomed with a strength he didn't know he had. Both Quinnus and Prathan turned to face him. "I will not suffer these insults. You come with flattery and then threats. Yet you can't muster the strength to say either to my face. You'll either broker terms in person or there will be no arrangement of any kind being made!"
Quinnus looks at him for a while, her face hard and stoic, and then, a smile tugs at the corners of her mouth, and her mandibles tilt in amusement. "Very well."
The hologram fizzled into nothingness, and Cayne crouches down to pick the cylinder up off the ground, placing it into an unseen pocket in her combat suit.
Prathan turned up to Idhomak and smiled up at his nephew. "You handled that well, your Mother would be proud."
Idhomak beamed at his uncle before clearing his throat. "Did she really make a deal with her?" His uncle only lets out a sigh.
"It was done in desperation, Quinnus smelled our weakness and seized on us. Weapons for a cut of the business, it seemed reasonable enough." Behind Prathan, Idhomak saw the door to the throne room open.
"You wanted me? Well here I am."
Standing in the doorway was Mrs. Quinnus in the flesh, flanked by a quartet of heavily armored soldiers clad in midnight-black body armor, Cayne looked over and smiled. "Hey, Boss."
Idhomak's eyes widened as he looked over the Turian herself. Her dress was an elegant, yet simple blend of dress and body armor, he saw kevlar padding and ceramic strips of armor layered over rich black and white whorls of silks and leather, complementing her own plate and marking colors.
She strode forth, a cane crafted from dark wood and topped off with a silver pommel which cracked against the marble flooring. The guards around her fanned out, pointedly focusing on the Batarian guards, who had noticeably tensed up at the sight of them.
Piercing blue eyes locked on Idhomak's four, switching from top set to the bottom and then back again. Top to bottom. Top to bottom.
"Let's get to business, shall we?"
It had been a week since Vendrix and the twins had escaped from that Fort, and since then he had felt worse and worse.
His injuries were slowly but surely mending themselves, it had come to be a painful process and even with Oberon's prescribed painkillers he couldn't elude the aching feeling he felt all across his body.
The first few days he had stayed inside for medical reasons, he had been on his feet for longer than he had any good sense to be given his injuries, his ribs were bruised once again from his fighting within the fortress, and between the exhaustion and smoke inhalation it was a miracle he wasn't likely to have any lasting damage.
But in the days following, where he had rested and was well enough to do low intensity activities like walk around, he found himself refusing, pointedly avoiding going outside. He would be exhausted all the time but sleep wouldn't come more often than not. When it did, it was for brief spells before he'd wake in a cold sweat.
Eventually, the twins had come to check in on him.
When the door opened, Anyo looked visibly shocked and Antus' eyes had widened.
"Vendrix?"
"Yes." He replied in a flat tone, the normal thespian flair gone from it. His eyes were sunken and unfocused and he looked withered and gaunt. "It's good to see you both." He forces a smile as he looks over the both of them, steadying himself against the doorframe with a thin arm.
"Yeah, it's good to see you too." Antus begins, looking down at his Boss' leg, free of the cast but noticeably shifted so his good leg was still supporting him for the most part. "They say it's good to put a little weight on a leg if it's been in the cast, to keep it from atrophying." He adds, trying to go on as if everything was normal.
Anyo was less inclined to that notion. "Spirits, Vendrix! You look like Hell!" Antus gave his twin a look but he continued, undaunted. "Have you been eating?" He asks, his voice softening a touch.
"I haven't been hungry." Vendrix offers meekly.
"Yeah right-" Anyo begins again before Antus places a hand on his chest. "Can we come in?"
"Yes."
This hadn't been the first time he had the Twins over, Vendrix had known Antus and Anyo since before he became the leader of their little band. The small apartment he lived in was well kept, as tasteful as he could manage in Omega's squalor. The apartment they entered now didn't look so much lived in as much as it looked bombed out, the quaint atmosphere and carefully arranged furniture was replaced with a dirty, sad looking living room and bare kitchen.
Vendrix gritted his teeth as he led them inside, he didn't look back at them but he was sure they were taking it all in. The guilt and self-pity churned inside him as he sat down on the couch. "I'm sorry for the mess."
"It's fine." Antus says, quick to excuse Vendrix with a wave of the hand, Anyo sits on the cushion opposite from Vendrix as Antus stands, his arms crossed.
"So...how have you been."
"Fine."
There was a pause, Antus began again.
"Good to know that this is all over, right?"
"Is it?" Vendrix replies, looking at his feet.
Antus opens his mouth to start again, then decides against it. "You're better at these things than I am. Talk to him, I'll see if I can make us all something to eat." He says to his Twin, walking off to the Kitchen.
As he begins to root through the refrigerator, Anyo scooches up besides the sullen turian and reclines back in the cushion. "We never properly thanked you for saving our lives, Vendrix." Anyo begins, slowly reaching to touch his forearm.
"What did you expect, that I'd just leave you there in that Cell, you're both part of the crew, you're my friends."
"Still, it deserves thanks." Anyo reiterated, a slight smile tugging at his mandibles. "It was a shitty situation, and with the Krogan distracting the humans you could've maybe found your own way out, not waste time with us, not put yourself at more risk. When Kleinfe-" He cuts off abruptly, not sure if he should mention what happened in the Cellblock, Antus opening up the Human lieutenant's neck in one long, clean cut, the blood gushing from his throat and painting his armor red...
Vendrix shakes his head. "Go on."
"Ah. When Kleinfeld had knocked you down, things could've gone really really bad. It was just a good thing that he hadn't noticed you managed to open our cell before he hit you. If you feel bad about that, don't."
"It's not that, Anyo. It's just everything that happened around that. When all I could do was lie down and wait to heal, it gave me time to look back at what we had all done. Too much time. Everything just kept playing back in my head, from the moment we crashed in that first deal with the Batarians, losing half of the team, running blindly through alleys, half-mad with fear and adrenaline. Oberon, Hammond, Kleinfeld, the Human that nearly strangled me to death. I had gotten to see you both which was a relief that lasted all of fifteen minutes before our lives were in danger again."
He took a long breath, his body shuddering a bit as he exhaled.
"And in there, they said that we would've been let go if I told them about the Krogan, I did so and then they tried to kill me. Do you understand me, Anyo? I would've been dead if the Krogan hadn't bombed the building, that's what gave me an opportunity." He was looking at Anyo now, his eyes boring into his. Anyo only listened quietly, nodding along the way.
"I'm not afraid to kill people, Anyo. But trying to get to you both...I stepped over the bodies of people who were still alive, buried under rubble. I gunned down a pair of humans that were just trying to get away, simply because they were between me and the elevator." His voice cracked and he curled over and rested his face in his hands. Anyo simply placed a hand on his back.
"I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to be this person anymore."
Anyo couldn't find the words, all he could do was rub Vendrix's back tenderly as he looked up to Antus behind the kitchen counter, his hands resting flat on the counter and his head slowly shaking side to side. Behind him, the stove beeped and he turned to face what he was making.
Anyo tentatively scooched closer. "Vendrix. You did everything you did because you had no choice, from the moment you crashed you were trying to do what you thought was right. Being forced into shitty situations doesn't make you a shitty person. Antus and I owe you our lives, and as for the people not with us, you can blame the Krogan, you can blame Hammond and his band of sycophants, you can even blame Quinnus for giving us the Job to begin with, but don't blame yourself." As he spoke, Anyo's arms wrapped around Vendrix's middle, bringing him in for a hug. "You did everything you could."
Vendrix turned and let his brow rest on Anyo's shoulder, his wet eyes staining the fabric of the shirt he wore.
Antus merely wore the same neutral expression he always wore when he didn't know what to do in a situation. Bringing over three bowls of piping hot something.
"You got nothing in your fridge, Ven. So I just threw together a stew with some meat stock and a bit of the Nepa in your freezer." He says, laying out the bowls in front of them before finally sitting down himself. He reaches over to grab the TV remote resting on the table and flicks it on. Settling on a nature documentary depicting the biotic-gifted fauna of Thessia.
As Anyo and Vendrix come away they settle into the couch. A smile, small but genuine, marks Vendrix's face as he lifts his bowl up. "Thank you both, truly." He says to the twins. They smile in kind.
When the documentary had ended and they ate their supper, Vendrix and the twins had parted ways. He had felt silly wanting to ask for another hug from Anyo, but had been spared the embarrassment when the twin had done so of his own volition. Eventually they wished him well and left, and for the first time that week Vendrix had felt something approaching his old self. He thought back to something Antus had said earlier: 'You got nothing in your fridge.'
The next day Vendrix found himself humming as he took the elevator up to his floor, grocery bags lining his left arm as he slowly walked up to his door. The store was only a block from his apartment, but still it taxed his tender, healing leg well enough. It was a relief to lay the bags on his kitchen counter as he gingerly sat back down on the couch. Besides him, his omni-tool rang.
It was a simple, relaxed action to reach over and grab the device, but then he saw the contact and his blood froze in his veins. 'Mrs. Quinnus' pulsed on the screen, ringing insistently. Vendrix had found that his mouth had gone suddenly dry. Slowly, he accepted the call and raised the tool to his ear.
"Vendrix?"
"Yes." He answered.
"I'm happy to hear that you're still alive, what happened with Hammond was unexpected. I never wanted to put you or anyone else in a situation like that."
"We're ok, ma'am." He felt lightheaded as he spoke, his thoughts drifting away to the clinic doctor, twisted and broken, he recalled what the maimed man had said: We do what we have to in order to survive.
"And I'm thankful for it. You handled yourselves better than I could have expected. And after all, this all began as a chance to prove that you were ready for more responsibility in the business. Suffice to say, you and your crew passed with flying colors."
"That's good." His voice sounded small, distant. He felt like someone else was saying those words. We do what we have to…
"Of course, after what you went through I imagine you'll need a bit of time to recuperate. When you're ready to get to work, get in touch. You know how to contact me." And as quick as that, the call was disconnected.
Vendrix slouched back in his chair, unable to hear anything over the thrumming of blood in his head, he looked down to his communicator in a hand that he now realized was shaking. He drew in a breath, then exhaled. He suddenly felt a rush of calmness take over him. His thumb brushing over the option to delete the contact. His own words to the Twins the other day rang in his ears. "I don't want to be this person anymore."
But do I have any other choice?