Kenn'Lorm nar Kolmm'ass, Commercial District, Omega

"...Stupid con'alds, piece of varren crap…" Kenn growled to himself as his old, and more than a little worn micro welder sputtered, making him lose the bead of the weld he was trying to make.

Sighing, Kenn sat back on the stool he had built out of scraps, and tried not to cry. He was a grown male. He didn't cry at stupid crap like this.

If only he had listened to the elders when he was sent out for his Pilgrimage. But no, he knew what he was doing. He wouldn't be tricked. He was going to go out and make the galaxy better, make everybody see his people as more than beggars and thieves. And he would come back with an amazing Gift! Just like Tali'Zorah.

Okay...so maybe he was crying a little…..

John

With a sigh, John turned to look at Miranda. "Look, I am aware of our time restraints," he tried to keep the exasperation out of his voice. Goddess knows he tried… "We also need information on the locations. It's not like there is a giant sigh with the station layout. Maybe with a glowing sign that says 'you are here'."

Miranda stood staring at him for a moment before letting loose a long suffering sigh. "Fine," she You have a point."

With a laugh Jacob nodded. "Yeah, now to find someone reliable. Zaeed?"

"Don't look at me," the merc shook his head. "The contacts I got here are mostly other mercs. And with what's going on with Archangel and all, they seem to be a bit...indisposed."

John listened to the group as he scanned the market place. It was messy with dirt and refuse in every corner. Each shop seemed more shady than the last. Until he saw one with some potential….

Kenn

"C'mon...little bosh'tet…." Kenn whispered, but not too loudly. He didn't want to startle the welder. It might shut off again.

"Excuse me?" a male voice spoke out, close to Kenn making him jump slightly. And, of course, killing the welder.

Standing there for a moment, Kenn frowned down at his tools. Some fool had been yelling in the market. Too close to Kenn's shop. Almost like he was at the counter.

"You okay?" the voice came again.

Blinking, Kenn looked over to see people. In his shop!

"Uh, yes, yes," Kenn stuttered. "Welcome to my shop. I have scrap and parts. Cheap as I can make them. Harrot is cheaper, however. I am under contract to inform you of that. And I cannot undersell him."

The human in the cut up black armor frowned slightly. "That seems to be a crappy contract, you got there," he said. "You out here on your Pilgrimage?"

Again, surprised, this was the day for it, apparently, Kenn looked the small group of humans over. "How...do you know about the Pilgrimage?"

The human that Kenn pegged as the leader grinned. "A couple years ago I help a quarian finish her Pilgrimage. Saw you out here and figured you probably were doing yours," the man said, glancing around Kenn's little store. "Not exactly the best place to set up shop."

With a grimace, Kenn sighed, and laid down his tools. "Wasn't the plan," he admitted. "I was supposed to just transfer ships here and continue on to Citadel space. But I got cheated and left here. Harrot made me sign a non competition contract, and now I can barely keep food paste in my helmet, let alone get the thousand credits I need to get off this hell hole of a space station."

The human shook his head and sighed. "How did he get you to sign the contract?"

Kenn closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his visor. "He has very large arms. And I like my limbs attached."

"Oh," the man nodded as he opened the terminal on Kenn's desk. "Yeah, elcor have a hell of a grip. Can't fault you for that… Ah Hah!"

Jumping slightly, Kenn stepped back. "What?" he questioned, both confused and worried.

"A Nashon Stellar Dynamics FBA coupling!" the man cheered. "I had a feeling a salvage place like this would have a discontinued product like that!"

"Ah...yes," Kenn frowned. "The one I have came out of an old trawler. Wasn't even installed, just found it sitting in it's box."

"Perfect!" The man grinned as he opened his omnitool. "Here's payment...and a little extra to deliver it to my ship."

"Sure, I don't have much else to- Ancestors!" Kenn's mind boggled at the sum that was transferred to his account. "Umm...I think you may have added an extra zero there." The amount was easily twice what the couplers were worth, and really, the last thing Kenn needed at this point was for somebody to accuse him of theft.

"Nope," the man said, shutting down his omnitool. "I don't particularly like how your people are treated and have a good friend in the Fleet. Consider this an investment."

Swallowing a couple of times, Kenn pushed back the urge to cry, this time in relief. "Umm, sure...thanks...Commander."

"How did you know who he is?" Miranda demanded, her hand drifting toward her pistol.

"He's the man that helped Tali'zorah vas Neema stop Saren! Of course everybody from the Fleet knows who he is!" the quarian scoffed.

"The first human Spectre that helped Tali'Zorah," Zaeed chuckled dryly. "Hear that Shepard? Yer famous."

Grinning, Shepard nodded. "Works for me."

Jacob Taylor, Omega Quarantine District

"According to the map the quarian...Kenn," Jacob quickly corrected himself as he caught the look Shepard shot him. "The clinic should be around this block."

"Oh thank Christ," Zaeed grunted as he shifted the batarian's arm higher onto his shoulder, trying to take more of the weight that was dragging him down. "This bugger ain't exactly smelling too fresh, yeah?"

"Humans with a sense of *keh* *keh* honor….maybe your race has some hope…" the sick batarian's rough coughing had lessened after Shepard had given the man medigel, but it already seemed to be coming back.

"I still don't know why we-," Miri started before Shepard cut her off.

"Don't, Miranda," the icy edge to Shepard's tone cut deep. "Just don't."

Anger rolled over Miranda's face as she fought to hold back the tirade that was building in her.

Jacob was pretty sure he would be getting to hear all about it later. He had never seen anybody able to get under Miri's skin like Shepard. It would be far funnier if he wasn't the punching bag.

Mordin Solas, Omega Quarantine District

"Here, medigel, modified for your system," Mordin said quickly as he passed the gel packet to the sick turan female. "Should alleviate symptoms for a time. Allow easier breathing. Half the pack for you, other half for young."

"Th-thank you, doctor," the female nodded her thanks, as she took the pack with a shaking hand.

Turning away, Mordin sighed quietly to himself. Not going to make it. Can make symptoms more comfortable, but can't save enough of them. Children especially. Hardest to lose. Hate to see that lose of such innocent life. Omega was dangerous enough, without biological weapon.

As he moved back to his station, Mordin began reviewing the data he had accumulated. There was never anything new, and there were no mistakes. But he reviewed it anyway.

"Doctor," a human woman approached Mordin. She was his first nurse. He had met her when he had first arrived on the station, while she was in the process of being assaulted.

Barbara, as she turned out to be named, had taken it upon herself to be Mordin's nurse and assistant. She even went through the effort to dress in the human uniform, consisting of a white button shirt, white knee length skirt, white shoes, and wedge cap, embroidered with a red cross shape that humans used to signify medical services.

A bit sad that she insisted on being a nurse, really. The woman had a talent for medical services, even if she had been unable to read when they had met. Could be a better assistant than Daniel….

The entire chain of thought took place in the blink of a human eye. "Yes?" he asked, giving her a slightly approving smile.

"Doctor, a couple of patients arrived," Barbara said emotionlessly. "They have said that there is a squad of heavily armed humans working their way through the district. They have been eliminating the vorcha and Blue Suns they have encountered."

"I see," Mordin tapped a finger against his chin as he considered. Barbara usually spoke with a monotone voice. Mordin found it to be soothing. Other patients had complained about her cold demeanor. But that wasn't important at the moment. "If patients arriving, not targeting civilians. Targeting mercs and vorcha. Interesting. Not likely to be directly dangerous to clinic. Still. Keep mechs prepared for defense."

Barbara nodded slightly. "Yes, sir."

John

As Zaeed set the sick batarian down, more gently than was expected, really, John looked slowly around the small clinic.

The first thing he noticed was that it was full to near capacity, with sick aliens of all species he knew of. And a few he didn't know.

Secondly, and almost more importantly, was the salarian moving quickly about the clinic. He paused here to give medigel or make an injection here, then took readings for someone there. In fact, the salarian was almost never at rest if it wasn't at one of the many computer terminals or bundles of medical equipment.

"Are you injured?" a small woman stood in front of John. Her eyes seemed to be scanning his body for injuries as she tapped out something onto the datapad she held in her hands.

She was...interesting. She stood a bit over five feet tall, and had short dark brown hair, cut roughly across her forehead, as if it had been cut with a knife. Her eyes were the same brown as her hair, but held no life too them. It was like looking into a doll's eyes.

With a slightly shiver, John noted the white nurse's uniform the woman wore. It seemed to be a bit too big for her thin, fragile looking frame, but still, she wore it well. And she was looking at him.

"Uh...no," John said lamely. "No injuries, no illnesses in my team."

"Very well," the woman said. Barbara, John finally noticed her nametag. "Your assistance is appreciated," Barbara said, in an unappreciative tone. "If you would clear yourselves from the clinic, I have rounds to make…"

"It's alright, Barbara," the salarian said, as he approached the group. "As I heard. Humans. Well armed. Zaeed Massani. Known mercenary. Definitely not Blue Suns affiliated."

"I should think not," Zaeed scoffed as he crossed his arms.

"Gear, too high end to be thugs. Armor seen use, combat veterans. Might want to replace soon. N7 armor flaw when damaged to a certain degree, shatters. Shards can damage wearer if survives weapon impact."

"Uh…" John frowned looking down at his chest plate. How did he not know that?

"Human female. Biotic. No other reason to not wear armor. Still, unwise. Clearly genetic modifications made in utero. Too 'perfect'." Mordin made quotes with his fingers.

"Aria wouldn't commit resources. Alliance proper not active in Terminus. One conclusion. Must be Cerberus," Mordin nodded with finality as he turned away from John's team, and began running another test. "Next logical question would be why, but answer obvious. Came for me…"

The sound of a weapon unfolding brought John's gaze back to the Barbara, where she currently stood, a heavy pistol, almost comically too large for her, pointed directly at a rent in his armor.

It was the gleam of anger in the woman's eyes that caught John's attention. The first emotion he had seen in her.

"No, no," Mordin said waving over his shoulder. "No interest in harming me. Would not have helped patients arrive. Would have already attacked. Must need my skills. Medical or biological issue. Rumors about human colonies going dark. Need my help. Need yours first."

As Barbara's gun refolded the emotions she had displayed seemed to disappear along with it. "Doctor Solus has a cure," Barbara said, her voice seemed listless and flat. Almost uncaring. "It needs to be distributed via the station's environmental control system. That will allow it to cover the entire station and cut off any other pockets as it clears the district."

"Here," Mordin said, passing over a pair of green vials. "Vorcha are in control of the systems you will need to access. They are immune to the plague, so it is likely they are behind it."

With a nod, Mordin started to turn away before pausing and turning back. "Not as in created the plague," he clarified. "Vorcha lack the intelligence needed for such a feat. Virus came from outside source. Shows signs of development. Not human technology. Clearly designed to make humans a scapegoat, while weakening station. The proximity to the Omega-4 relay, most likely not a coincidence. Suspect Collector involvement.

Under the rapid fire from the doctor and changes and additions from the nurse John stood for a moment staring dumbly at the vials before looking at his team.

Zaeed was looking around the clinic with disinterest, while Jacob and Miranda stood scowling at each other.

Well...

Miranda was scowling. Jacob just looked confused.

"Yeah," John said with a quick shake of his head. "The Collectors have been abducting human colonies all over the Terminus. I'm trying to gather a team to stop them."

"Hmm," Mordin nodded as he rubbed at his chin. "Makes sense. I am former STG. Still hear things. Saving galaxy, stopping unstoppable foes. Standard work for Spectres. I will gather my gear by the time you return."

"That's it?" Miranda slapped a hand over her eyes. "What the ever living…" Then with a sigh, the Cerberus Operative shrugged. "Fine."

Glancing over, Jacob raised an eyebrow. "Fine?"

"Yeah, fine," Miranda breathed out deeply as she ran a hand down the stomach of her jumpsuit, as if she was smoothing out wrinkles. "I don't care."

"Find Daniel," Barbara cut in. It seemed it was easy to forget her presence, with how quiet she was. "He is Doctor Solus's assistant. He grew too brave and went to administer the cure himself. He is probably hiding somewhere, if he has not been kidnapped by now. Meanwhile, I shall assist the Doctor in packing."

And with that, the team collectively shrugged and headed out to do their work.

Zaeed

Firing a three round burst, the mercenary ducked back behind the cover he had been leaning out of. Luckily, the material that housed so much of Omega's circulation systems was rather tough.

"Hey! Shepard!" Zaeed yelled, getting the Commander's attention. "If you hit the tanks on the backs of those damn pyros, they'll go up big. Take out a bunch of the assholes nearby!"

Shepard threw him, a frown. "How the hell am i supposed to hit the tanks from here?"

With a blink, Zaeed lowered his rifle slightly. "I thought you are supposed to be the big fuck all marksman?"

"Me?" Shepard looked perplexed. "I'm not terrible, but Garrus was the sharpshooter."

"Well, goddamn it," Zaeed groaned. "Can't trust the media at all anymore."

"Could you ever?" Shepard shot back, grinning.

"I suppose not," Zaeed couldn't help but grin back. The young bastard was good at that. It was kinda annoying. Reminded him a bit too much of his mother, really.

"Kill you!" a vorcha snarled as it popped around the cover, an old battered rifle in its hands.

"Oh, thank christ," Zaeed grunted. "Thanks for the distraction."

"Hssss…," the vorcha began.

Then Zaeed struck out, three fingers finding purchase in the three nostrils that sat above a vorcha's forehead.

Then, with a swift upward yank, the vorcha was pulled off of the ground as tears burst from its eyes.

"Talls gives! Talls gives!" the vorcha, Talls, clawed feebly at Zaeed's armor forearm.

"I bet," Zaeed grinned as he dropped the vorcha to the ground before finishing it off with a burst to it's pointy eared head.

Jacob

"Miri!" Jacob cried as he grabbed a vorcha with his biotics and jerked it across the floor. "Behind you!"

"Watch yourself, Jacob," Miranda replied coolly as she struck a biotically enhanced elbow into the vorcha that had been trying to move behind her.

At the impact, the vorcha was slammed back into a metal pillar with so much force that it looked like it had been squashed by a giant flyswatter.

"Uh...right," Jacob chuckled. "Sorry, been a bit since we were in the field."

As he spoke, Jacob shot the vorcha he had downed early, his shotgun ending it's life.

"On Freedom's Progress Shepard did most of the work," Jacob smirked, quite aware of how much the Commander grated on Miranda. And hey, since she was going to give it to him later, he might as well get some shots in.

John

He knew they were doomed. They had no way out any longer, and it was just time until the whole squad died horrible violent deaths.

Miranda was laughing. The Apocalypse was clearly upon them. The Reapers must have already savaged the galaxy.

With a soft chuckle of his own, John shook his head.

The team was good. Even if only Miranda and Jacob had any real time working together, the four of them smoothly took out their targets.

Granted, they were fighting a mob of uncontrolled vorcha. The species was known for the brilliant tactic of 'Get Them!' It made for a pretty decent introductory to combat mission.

Slowly, John stood and looked around. It appeared that Miranda's fireworks display had been the last of the annoying little bastards.

"Commander," Edi's calm voice came in over his armor's comm receiver. "On the far wall in front of you is the main control for the ventilation system. Deploying the anti-viral there will spread it through the entire station."

"Great," John nodded as he stepped forward, before stopping.

"Something isn't right…." John murmured as the world became blurry. "Something is wrong with my eyes…."

"Commander?" Miranda's concerned voice came from his right. "Are you alright?"

"Not sure," John replied, honestly. "I'm seeing...some kind of overlay?"

Pausing for a moment, John nodded. "Yeah...looks almost like a blurry, I don't know what…."

"Should we call an evac?" Zaeed said. Oddly, he sounded more concerned than Miranda did.

"No, it's fine," John squared his shoulders as he looked at the concerned members of his team. "It's gone. I just needed a moment," he lied. "Let's finish up here, we can go get the doctor, then we break out Archangel."

"Shepard…" Miranda started, but John held up a hand.

"I'll get Chakwas to give me a once over when we are done here, alright?" John said.

Staring for a moment, Miranda then rolled her eyes. "Fine," she snorted.

Very unlady-like, John mentally chuckled.

Quarian Lexicon

Con'alds: Curse word used in the same manner as humans use 'Bastard', but worse. Direct translation is 'product of a mating between siblings'

AN: I notice an issue with ME2, it is written so well, that it becomes a little difficult to seperate out unimportant with important bits. I cut a bunch from this mission, for example, but piecing together Archangel requires a good chunk of its stuff from game. Also, as per some requests, I am toning down some of the POV switches. I do see what you guys meant by that. I was kinda forcing it because I felt like I was ignoring characters, but the cast is big enough I can space it out and end up with more fluff chapters down the road. :)