Content/Trigger Warnings: Mentions of rape and sexual assault, mentions of drug use.
If the universe didn't hate me, I would have taken any of the other three shuttles leaving for Omega this week. It really is in keeping with the trend of my life lately that I pick the shuttle featuring a Turian guy and his Asari girlfriend who cannot keep their hands off each other.
I don't care that it's bitter as all hell, I hate their happiness.
Asari are shaped enough like humans that it all feels too familiar. I torture myself by watching his hands trace her curves, the same way I…
Don't go there.
I wonder if I'll ever stop thinking about her. Wondering doesn't help me stop at all. At the moment, it just makes me picture the way Shepard would make fun of me for my piss poor attitude about life right now. She'd never tolerate this kind of self-pity from me.
And that doesn't make it any easier to stop or any less painful.
The happy couple is making it all too painful, so I drag my gaze off of them. The shuttle is fairly barren - not many people care to go to Omega ever, and especially not from the Citadel. A Salarian across from me is far too wrapped up in something on a datapad to capture my interest for more than a second. The only other people riding with us are a Batarian with a human who looks young.
A Batarian and a human teenager.
Alarm bells go off in my head immediately, and I shift in my seat, choosing to be a lot more careful about watching them than I was with the grabby couple.
The girl is very thin; I may not know a lot about humans, but I'm fairly certain I shouldn't be able to see that much of her collarbones or pick out her ribs under the top she's wearing. I don't like the clothes she's wearing either. She seems really young to be in shorts that short or a shirt that revealing. The outfit strikes me as sexual, and it looks entirely out of place on someone who strikes me as a child.
The Batarian goes to hand her something, a datapad he pulls out of a bag, and she flinches at the barest touch. When her arm moves, I can see bruises of varying ages under pale skin. There's genuine fear on her face, and my heads-up display tells me that it's reflected in her heart rate, too.
I know in my gut that something is very, very wrong here. A quick glance at the couple and the Salarian tells me that no one else is paying enough attention to get their own red flags. The door to the cockpit is closed, so I doubt the pilot has even noticed, and I know enough about Omega to know that no one on that station will care enough to ask.
Something horrible is going to happen to this child, and I don't know who will stop it.
My mind goes to Shepard again. I don't know a lot about the time she spent in slavery at the hands of Batarians, but I saw some of the ways it affected her even as an adult. I saw a glimpse of what those nightmares were like for her.
A pain sharp enough to take my breath away surges in the center of my chest at the thought of comforting Shepard, how small she felt when she cuddled against me and let me protect her from the dreams. That citrusy-cinnamon scent will never wash over me in bed again. That may have been true even if she didn't…
My brain refuses to come up with the word.
I focus back on the Batarian and the girl. His hand is on her thigh now, far too high for me to even pretend it's legit. If I cause a disturbance, I'll end up back on the Citadel, and this asshole will face no persecution at all, not with all the red tape from C-Sec. But if he moves that hand or tries anything else, I'll tear his throat out right here.
Maybe the gore could get the fucking Asari to quit moaning.
The Batarian falls asleep well before the girl. She stays awake even longer than the Salarian and the Asari, who wants to cuddle while the Turian so obviously wanted more. I get some selfish joy out of his suffering and don't try to hide it in my smirk or my subtones; his glare only makes me happier. The Turian and the girl both finally fall asleep, leaving me alone.
I make a small effort at sleeping, but I can't even take it seriously. Sleep has been almost impossible since Shepard left the Citadel, left my apartment...left me. I had an excuse when Joker was sleeping in my bed to recover from his injuries, but now I'm just staring at the walls of this shuttle.
I try to distract myself with news on my Omni-Tool, and it blows up in my face; all the news is still about the death of the Hero of the Citadel and debates over whether or not Saren had indoctrinated her. It does nothing but piss me off, and I nearly throw the whole damn 'Tool.
The Batarian shifts in his seat and reveals the shoulder of his arm, covered in a symbol I recognize as belonging to the Blue Suns. Drugs and smuggling, that's all we ever heard from the Blue Suns back on the Citadel. But on Omega, where there are no laws and no C-Sec? There's no doubt in my mind this bastard Batarian is a smuggler, and that human child will be sold into slavery if I don't do something about it.
Over my cold dead body.
Any ideas about sleep fly right out of the window, and I get a plan to stop this asshole rolling. It starts on my Omni-Tool, using the wireless connection to hack into that Batarian's 'Tool. I can't resist the urge to hack the Turian's as well, just to drop a few vids of the sort of porn that will at least concern his girlfriend. Then I manage to focus.
You'd think a guy working for a supposedly well established inter-galactic gang would have better security on their files. The entire thing is disturbingly easy to access. Within a couple of hours, I have names and locations for this Batarian's entire first day back on Omega - including the set-up to sell this girl. The communications in his 'Tool never mentions the name of the buyer, but I suppose it doesn't matter. What would I do with that, turn him in somewhere? I don't need his name to kill him.
And I am absolutely going to kill him. The buyer, the Batarian, and anyone else involved.
Bullets will make me feel at least a little better. I haven't used my rifle since the battle with Saren on the Citadel, and it's long overdue.
I choose not to think about what Shepard would say about my plan. Shepard isn't here. If she wanted an opinion, she probably shouldn't have died.
My thoughts stall right there. Even those words are enough to choke me. I can't focus on it. Knowing that I have a young girl to save helps distract me, but Shepard remains on my mind, and I'm playing with the dog tags before I realize I've made the decision to touch them.
I can't explain why touching them soothes me. Turians aren't much for symbolism when it comes to the dead. We have our spirits, but that's it. And I'm not generally a sentimental person. But these tags, these stupid pieces of metal from a military that can't even defend it's greatest hero in recent memory...they bring me a comfort I can't find anywhere else.
I don't even take them off in the shower anymore. They're the only thing keeping me grounded, and even with that, I'm barely hanging on.
They're the only thing that can help me get any rest, and I finally fall asleep hanging onto my final tie to Shepard.
It says everything about Omega that the Blue Suns slaver isn't the least bit suspicious or cautious in the morning, making no more effort to hide what he's doing than to warn the girl to keep quiet. "There's no help for you here anyway, human," he snarls at her while the shuttle docking jostles the child's emaciated body around.
No help here for her. It feels like a personal insult. That kid is not alone, not as long as I'm alive.
I have to play it cool, though. The rule on Omega is not to disturb the status quo, so if I create drama at the docks, no one will think twice about having me booted right off the station. If I start a fight in public too early, the Blue Suns will take it upon themselves to take me out, and they won't be nice enough to use exile.
I might wake up wishing I wasn't alive most days, but that seems a little different than looking for the sort of fight that's guaranteed to get me killed.
I go for careful and stick to trailing the Batarian and his terrified human cargo from a reasonable distance. My height gives me an advantage to keeping a distance; even from a dozen yards back, I can see the human girl flinching at every touch and look at each alien she passes in fear. It's obvious she's already been through some shit, and the urge to comfort her makes my hands itch.
It also means I'm going to have to be careful when I do get to her, when I get her away from the Blue Suns. She's too traumatized to consider aliens anything but a threat, and she can't be blamed for that. But I'll figure that out when I get there. I have to handle her captives and would-be slavers first.
Omega makes losing a trail easy and hiding even easier, the entire station built of dimly-lit alleyways and unpopulated spaces. Even the populated areas, like the sleazy marketplace we pass through that smells like day-old garbage left in the sun, are dark and dingy. Shadows abound, just begging for someone to creep around in them.
The contrast to the always bright Citadel where you're never out of view of cameras or cops is stark. I don't honestly know which I prefer at the moment while the nature of Omega gives me the perfect opportunity to follow my target.
The Batarian stops once at a food stand and makes a purchase. I assume at first that he just won't get anything for the human, but then he hands her a package I recognize. It's dextro-protein food, so the human may not be able to eat it safely. With an allergy, the food could make her deathly ill. And given her emaciated state, this child has either been starved or can't keep any of the food she's given down.
I'm not surprised she tears open the package and takes the risk; I can see her drooling from here. She shoves it all in so fast that I barely see her chew, and she's done well before the Batarian. When she inevitably throws it all back up in a corner less than thirty paces away, he berates her for it. Spirits only know what the hell he expected from her.
When he smacks her, I nearly lose it. I can feel my heart rate and temperature spike, my hands clench. I only realize I've started moving in on the abusive bastard when I nearly run over an Asari who tells me exactly how she feels about my careless style of walking. I'm forced to stand there and deal with her tirade to avoid attracting the Batarian's attention, and I have to dodge around her when they start moving on again.
Just when I thought Omega couldn't get worse, the Batarian leads me in a new direction and into what looks like a residential area. It's the slums at best, homeless aliens of all species begging for food or a few credits or a warm bed every few feet. The prostitutes would be impossible to ignore anyway, even if I didn't apparently have some kind of beacon attached to me for their attention.
I'm polite to the first few, but when I realize that doesn't help convince them I'm not interested, I stop talking to them at all. One of the only things I think Omega has over the Citadel is not policing the sex trade, but combining that with a total absence of law enforcement clearly has not done these sex workers any favors; I try my best to ignore the track marks, the bruises, the bite-shaped scars…
One crisis at a time, Vakarian.
As we continue to walk, I check the information compiled on my datapad to get an idea of where we are based on his plans. I'm going to need a place to stay, somewhere I can eat, maybe even a way to make money when this is over, so I keep track of where we're going. Clearly, the Blue Suns do their business at the opposite end of the station from the docks, and I'm not sure if that will end up benefiting me or not. At least there are fewer civilians around when the Batarian finally starts to act like we're getting close.
"You'd best not embarrass me, human," he snaps at her, his raspy baritone echoing down the hall so that I can keep my distance and still hear. It'd be nice to be able to see them...now that I'm not on the Citadel or working for any reputable organization, maybe a few less than legal tweaks on my visor would benefit me.
Of course, a ladder to the catwalks above us might serve the same purpose. Since that's the quickest, most obvious solution, I take the climb and take each step after cautiously to avoid an echo. Sniper training does wonders to help someone nearly three hundred pounds of muscle, metal, and plates move without noise.
"We're going to make this quick, but stand up straight. Shit, can you make your tits look any bigger?" I hear the Batarian snarl.
Bile rises in my throat at the demand of a barely pubescent underweight girl.
"Eh, whatever. Not the first girl your age this fucking Turian has ordered; he knows what he's getting," the Batarian continues. I bristle again at that, at learning it's a Turian making the purchase of an underaged human slave. There's really only one purpose someone like this for a slave could hold, and I'm disgusted to learn its one of my own making the deal. And not for the first time.
That Turian is dead the moment I get him in my sights.
I follow the Batarian around a corner and discover, luckily from a distance, that I'm not the only one who thought to use the catwalks for access and a view. Another Batarian, also in Blue Suns armor, has his back to me and his eyes on the slave trade that should be happening any moment now, according to the time on my display and the Batarian's schedule.
If he's involved, he's complicit, and I decide his fate in an instant.
I shift quietly to my knees and remove my bag, leaving it hidden behind an electronics panel. My rifle is already on my shoulder, and I keep it there, not about to draw attention to myself with a shot if I don't have to. Instead, I creep toward the unaware Batarian lookout with nothing more than my bare hands.
As much as I've been trying to avoid it constantly since she left, Shepard's voice rings through my mind. One thought follows it: what would Shepard do? Even dead, the woman serves as my moral compass. Fortunately, right now, I know she'd do exactly what I'm planning to.
The Batarian never turns, never has any idea that I'm coming. He doesn't even get a chance to let out a muffled scream into my hand before his neck snaps, his spine giving such a satisfying pop that a chill runs down my spine. I lower him, carefully and slowly, to the ground instead of dropping the dead body. One down.
The slaver and the child have stopped not far from me and have been joined by another Batarian and a human, both Blue Suns. I half expect the human to say something about the state of the girl, a member of his own species. He can't be bothered, lighting a joint and lofting the sweet-swelling smoke up toward me.
"He's late," the new Batarian growls.
"Turians," the other responds as if that one word explains everything. It's nearly laughable since the rest of the galaxy know Turians as being overly strict and disciplined. My father would have a heart attack if he knew anyone anywhere thought Turians were late to anything. "You talk to Cathka?"
"Yeah," the human answers, exhaling a thick cloud before offering the joint to his teammates. They both look at the thing like he shit on it instead of just holding it in his mouth; the human might care more about the blatant xenophobia if it didn't mean he got all the pot. "Said he got the first half, so we're good to go for the sale. Supposed to collect the second half from the bird."
Ah, so the human is racist, too. The Blue Suns really know how to pick 'em.
I make a mental note of that name, Cathka. If he's collecting cash on behalf of an operation like this, he's probably pretty far up the food chain. Of course, that likely means Cathka won't be at this creepy little meeting. I don't have time to get frustrated about that before my visor alerts me to someone else approaching, and a Turian appears.
It should surprise no one that he's barefaced.
I pull my rifle into my hands and consider shooting the son of a bitch the moment I see his gaze flash down to the child he's about the purchase. The Turian looks at her the way most people look at dinner, and my stomach rolls, acid burning the back of my throat. I take a breath and focus, getting my head into the mission.
The Turian is armed because, of course, the Turian is armed, but it's just two handguns. The Batarian and the human are each carrying rifles, but the human is already stoned and won't be useful if he can get the thing off his back at all. The Batarian who brought the girl is unarmed. I shift to my left, just enough to line up the Batarians.
There's a moment where I want to confirm with my commander, to hear Shepard tell me we're a go. Or maybe I just want to hear her say anything at all. It won't happen either way. I'm on my own.
I should probably appreciate being my own commander, for once. I could care less. All I am is lonely and prepared to murder some sick sons of bitches. That, and pretty damn happy to have my rifle in my hands again. It's the only thing as comforting as the dog tags, and it's a hell of a lot more useful to me at the moment.
And even knowing that I have to check for the tags before I focus on the deal starting.
"How old?"
The Batarian growls at that. "You said thirteen or under, that's what you're getting. You're getting what you asked for; let's get this over with."
"Got the credits?" the other Batarian asks.
There's an exchange of credit chits that I allow to happen, making sure that they've gone far enough to make it official. The moment they cross that line of no return, as far as I'm concerned, I go into action.
The first bullet tears through the back of one Batarian's head, well over the human girl, and straight into the face of the other Batarian. Fireworks of orange blood explodes. I add red blood to it next, the human dead before either of the Batarians can even hit the ground. The Turian doesn't get so lucky; no way am I granting him a quick death.
I do give him a painful one, my third and final bullet tearing into his threat. The trajectory is perfect, close enough to his jugular to tear it while ensuring he'll have several minutes of agony before death.
And then my plan collapses in the form of a terrified human girl falling to her knees. I rush to the ladder and plant my boots on the railing so that I can slide straight down. This might have been the time to ask myself what Shepard would do since I should have realized yet another massive alien rushing the girl would not help.
I stop cold when she cowers on the floor and covers her head, her skimpy clothes spattered in quickly congealing Batarian blood. She's tiny anyway, even more while she's on the ground, so I crouch to get closer to her size. "Hey, it's OK. You're OK now."
She trembles from head to toe, and I swear I can see the bones in her little body rattling. I hate that she's surrounded by dead bodies, even if it was done to protect her. I put my rifle down by my feet, not willing to put it further away in case the Blue Suns send back-up, and let her see both of my hands.
"I'm Garrus," I tell the girl, keeping my voice low and soft. The tone I'd use to comfort Shepard during a nightmare, even though she can't hear my subtone. "What's your name?"
She blinks at me a few times before finally whispering, "Melody."
"Melody. OK, Melody, you're going to be OK now. They can't hurt you anymore. Will you come away from there with me?"
I watch her eyes flick down toward my hands; she shudders again but not as violently this time. I choose to believe that's a good sign.
"Melody." She looks at me, obeying the firm tone of my voice. "No one is going to hurt you again. I will protect you."
"You killed them?" she asks, looking down at my rifle quickly.
"I did, yeah."
I won't lie to her, but not sure how she'll react to that. She was taken from wherever she came by violence, she was probably exposed to violence before this, and now I was violent. Guilt fills my chest, and I try to stay calm even if she can't hear my subtones; Spirits forbid I should start growling by accident.
"They had to die," Melody breathes, her voice definitely a little firmer now. "They were...bad."
I nod. "Yeah, they were bad."
I'm well aware that this child is not Shepard, that every human child who has been enslaved by Batarians - and there are a lot in this galaxy - is not like Shepard or represented by Shepard. But in this moment on a trash station and in a filthy alley with a terrified bright-eyed girl…
I can't fail her, too.
"Melody." She watches me while I shift closer, and I move slowly, but she lets me kneel in front of her. I could touch her now if I wanted to, but I don't dare. "Melody, listen to me. They were bad. You are not. You did nothing wrong, Melody."
I barely get her name out before the child throws herself forward and her arms around my neck, clinging to me with surprising strength. My neck grows wet instantly, and her sobs echo around us, loud enough to attract attention if anyone on Omega gave a shit.
I shift back to sit down, putting my hands firmly in the middle of the girl's back and trying not to notice her spine and rib bones. The girl has a seemingly endless number of tears to cry, and I don't move, don't ask her to stop, don't try to talk to her. If I've learned anything about humans, it's that they carry an inordinate number of emotions, and sometimes, all of those emotions explode at once.
This was not how I saw my first day on Omega going. I came here looking to law low, looking for anonymity in a world that won't talk about Shepard. Nowhere in my dreams about this did I imagine murdering slavers, killing a few Blue Suns, and comforting a child. Or at least I hope that this is comforting in some way.
It only occurs to me then that I have absolutely no idea what to do with a human child who is likely pretty far from her family. Fuck. This would have been a really good thing to think about in advance.
A noise draws my attention, heavy metal boots on the catwalk above us. Multiple people.
I tighten one arm around Melody and whisper, "Shh," while sliding backward on the floor toward my discarded rifle. Melody whimpers but lets me guide her behind me when I maneuver our backs toward a corner. "Cover your ears for me, Melody, OK?" I whisper to her.
She obeys, clamping her hands over her ears and closing her eyes tight.
"Good girl. You're OK, Melody."
My heart is thundering a hell of a lot harder than it usually does when I'm preparing for a battle, knowing that this kid could get hurt or scared really making the tension skyrocket. Even still, I settle with a deep breath and take aim near the ladder, assuming whoever is approaching us will come down that way.
"Easy!" someone calls, a Turian judging by the dual tones. "We aren't Suns."
"And you took our kills, so," another Turian chimes in. Now whoever is coming has managed to confuse the hell out of me, so I wait, figuring I can kill them on the ground as easily as on the ladder.
A Turian comes down, followed by two others. They're all in armor but not uniforms and no insignia, gang or otherwise. The first turns to me, his hands up defensively. Neither of the others have their guns in their hands, though I know they're well-armed.
"You're alright, big guy, we're on the same side."
He nearly gets shot just for using that nickname.
"Who are you?"
"Sertis." He mentions to the Turian man on his left and says, "Villo," and then the woman on his right with a quick, "Caeria. But what matters is that we've been tracking that guy for a while." He points to the Batarian, who had been on the shuttle with the girl.
"We watched you take them out," Caeria chimes in, something I don't want to dwell on clear in her subtones. "Very impressive."
"OK. What are you still doing here? Clearly, your mission is done," I tell them, still wary. I'm not stupid; no one is to be trusted on Omega.
"Yeah? Well, what are your next steps?" Villo asks, cocking his head at me. "Got a plan for the kid?"
Melody moves closer to my back and puts her hand down on my shoulder, still shaky. I nod to her, hoping she understands that I'm not going to give her away to strangers.
"We do have a plan," Sertis says, slowly reaching behind him to produce a datapad. He shows me the screen - blank - before moving closer.
Something about these guys and the way they carry themselves feels official, so I'm not surprised when he pulls up a record and shows me copies of all of their C-Sec identifications. All of them have been expired for more than a year, but still. Ex-cops. That helps.
"I have contacts on the Citadel still who are ready to collect her - "
"Melody," I inform them.
Sertis nods, first at me and then at the girl. "Melody, OK. Melody, I have a friend on the Citadel who is going to help you. They can help you see a doctor, find your family if they can, get you somewhere safe. How does that sound?"
Sertis extends the datapad to me while he talks to Melody, and I accept it, reviewing the shuttle ticket back to the Citadel that they've already purchased for her and communications between Sertis and his contact on the station - a cop. He also has records of the Batarian and the Turian, their travels, and agreements to sell this child. They did a lot of work...I really did steal their kills.
Melody steps around me while talking to Sertis about the Citadel. She's heard stories about the center of our galaxy from her family who were on a planet that I've never heard of. Melody isn't sure where her family is now, but Sertis promises that his friend will help her find out. I can tell she believes him, and I do, too.
"Melody." She turns to look at me, her eyes brighter now. It eases the rest of my anxiety. "Are you OK going with them?"
She looks between me and the ex-Cops, standing as close to me as she can without leaning on me. Her hand rests on my shoulder still, and it's shaking just a little less now.
"Will I have to ride alone? On the shuttle?" she asks.
Caeria steps forward and crouches down. "No, I'm going to go with you. I'll be with you on the ride, and to meet our friend, and even to see the doctor if you want. OK?"
Melody looks at me, clearly searching for approval or my guarantee. I offer her a smile that I hope she can recognize as a smile and nod. "You're OK now. Alright?"
She smiles and squeezes my shoulder. I stand and hand the datapad back to Sertis while Melody accepts Caeria's hand. The child gives me one more look and a smile that makes my heart skip before they walk away.
Definitely not the way I saw my first day on Omega going, but it sure as shit feels worth it.
"You're good, man. Guessing you figured out on the shuttle over that something was going on?" Villo asks, lighting a cigarette. I nearly miss the end of his question, with my attention focused on the smoke. It's a habit I quit almost five years ago now when my whole C-Sec squad quit, but I'll be damned if I don't want one now.
Villo catches me staring and raises his brow plates before extending another. I accept it and the light quickly, reveling in the burn of smoke in my chest after a deep inhale. It's the first moment something other than searing pain has filled me there since she died.
"Uh, yeah. I caught them on the shuttle, trailed them...dealt with it."
"You sure did. Listen, this is kind of our thing - trailing and dealing with these gangsters and scumbags."
I look Sertis over, wondering if he's going to threaten me. "Yeah, I get it, stole your kills. Trust me, it wasn't my intent."
"No, big guy, I'm not telling you off," Sertis laughs. "I'm offering you a spot with us, on our squad. We get paid for this shit, and you're obviously already trained in it."
"No." I can tell the answer surprises them, but I don't wait for him to deal with that. "Thanks for the cigarette."
I walk around them, heading for the ladder so that I can collect my bag.
"Hey, man, don't you even want your share of credits for stealing our kills?" Villo calls after me.
I roll my eyes, glad that two members of my species can't call me out on a very human move. "Keep it. Consider it my apology for the steal."
"Well...what's your name?"
I roll my eyes at that too and don't bother replying or stopping again.
I'm not here to find anyone to work with. I'm not here to deal with scumbags and gangsters. I just want to start over.
That's not true. I want Shepard back. At the very least, I want to go home, let my mom and my sister coddle me for a few days. But I'm a foolish, pathetic Turian who fell in love with a human Spectre who sacrificed herself for a mission. I could never go home like this and have to face my father, my people, our military.
All I have is Omega.
Omega is a fucking hellhole.
There is no police force, no government, no people who actually give a shit about their station, other people, or the quality of their own lives. I don't need luxury to be happy - I picked Zakera Ward on the Citadel because it was more urban and less high class - but this place is disgusting.
I hate Omega. And that makes signing a one-year lease on an absolute shit apartment on Omega the perfect move for me. It hurts just as much as everything else, and I'm practicing a lot of wallowing these days. Wallowing, drinking, and cigarette smoking.
There's a redhead Commander wherever humans go when they're dead who is very disappointed in me. But she is dead. And that's just too fucking me for me to deal with.
I only piss myself off further by being entirely unable to ignore all the crime on my shit new home station. I try my best to pretend I don't see the drug deals, the assaults, the sex and sex slaves, the fucking rape. It's impossible; I don't have it in me. No matter how badly I want to say fuck it and stay too drunk to notice, no matter how much I want to piss on Shepard's empty damn grave to spite her for leaving me...I hear her in my head.
Shepard's voice is haunting me; more than once I've woken up convinced she'd be in my room, it all feels so real. And all the woman who ripped my heart out can say when she visits is that she's proud of me. I hear her say that she loves my sense of justice. I'm forced to listen to Shepard after she abandoned me and sacrificed her life for a galaxy that doesn't deserve her tell me that she trusts me to do the right thing.
And Shepard always did the right damn thing.
Even now that she's gone, I'm compelled to do what Shepard would have expected of me. And that means being the only damn person who bothers to enforce morality or laws or ethics on Omega.
For petty shit, I get it. Most citizens on Citadel didn't care about minor crap or even small crimes like muggings. Sure, on Palaven, no one gets away with shit - but what do you expect from a planet covered in billions of Turians? The vast majority of people anywhere in the galaxy don't see beyond themselves and their own needs. Fine.
But on Omega? There's a serial rapist running around the station. Twelve people have been raped in the last month, two in the week since I got here. People are panicked but they can't manage to do anything that actually makes a difference. The only group of people even bothering to come up with plans that actually work to protect themselves are the sex workers, and I start there for help.
Someone has to do something. There is a monster running loose on this station, and I won't live here with this threat. And since I don't have anywhere else to live, the rapist needs to be put down.
Not surprisingly, the sex workers on Omega have exactly one thing on their mind when they spot me. It's far more times than I want to be touched in a thirty-second stretch by the time I reach the area of Omega that they call the Overpass. If the rest of Omega is dark and dank, this area is a literal hole. I'm nauseous the moment I arrive and nearly overcome with an urge to gouge my own eyes out when an Asari takes my rejection as an opportunity to offer me a prepubescent child.
I was a cop for years. I'm aware that sex workers, while never unionized or officially working together, are a team. A community. They work together and protect one another. And though I haven't been a cop for a while either, these people can smell it on me. None of them is going to tell me a damn thing, whether or not I'm trying to help.
"The woman who was raped three days ago worked with you," I remind an Asari who introduced herself to me as Sapphire. Her name is definitely not Sapphire. "She is still in the clinic, and that creature will be back for you."
"Honey." She pops her gum loudly. "Calling her a woman instead of a whore isn't gonna make me feel like you give a shit. What's your angle?"
A Batarian guy behind her who is actually wearing less clothing than her snorts derisively.
"I don't want a rapist running around my home station," I snap at her, trying my best not to reach for my rifle and get rid of that Batarian's smile for good.
"And what do you expect to be able to do about it?" Sapphire asks, leaning forward to make sure she presents her breasts. I have no doubt that works for her in just about every situation; this woman could probably convince even Sparatus to pull the stick out of his ass. It's really a shame she's wasting them on me.
"He's a cop," the Batarian informs her.
"There are no cops on Omega," Sapphire retorts, never taking her eyes off of me. They're mostly on my crotch, sure, but still.
"I'm an ex-cop," I correct them. "And I am on Omega, where none of us needs some scumbag forcing himself on strangers."
The Batarian gives another scoff and shoves his hand into his shorts, adjusting his cock as blatantly and casually as I would check my Omni-Tool for the time. "And what is so special about you, cuttlebone?"
My fingers instantly twitch, an instinct to sink my talons into his throat. The racism is more than enough of an excuse to lay the son of a bitch out...and, of course, that's when Shepard's voice pops into my mind. We cannot control what other people do, only our response to them.
"Few weeks ago, you'd already be dead. Now, I'm trying to save your ass," I growl at him.
"You can't even hit this asshole, and you expect us to believe you can handle the rapist?" Sapphire drawls. "I think we'll take our chances here, honey."
"Oh, come on, Saph. I'd let this solid wall of handsome try to handle anything he wanted." The choice of words is a stab in the gut, far too familiar and blindingly painful. Even worse is the overwhelmingly need to turn, to find her, even when I know it can't be her.
Instead, when I whirl and find a human, it's definitely not Shepard...although that look on his face resembles her. The guy who managed to quote her is tall but way too thin to be anything even resembling healthy with short blonde hair, espresso brown eyes, and random tattoos all over. A lot of them are visible since he's only wearing a pair of black, loose-fitting pants, and beat-up boots. That, and a whole bunch of scars and track marks.
He has a smirk on his face, but there's something broken in his eyes. And fuck there's something about him that gets me hot.
I wanted to get out of the Overpass the moment I got here, but I want to get away from this guy worse than anything.
"Fuck it. I knew I shouldn't have bothered." I start walking backward, determined to get away but not stupid enough to turn my back to any crowd. "You deal with the rapist yourselves. Best of luck."
With some distance, I spin on my heel and head back to my shit apartment and my new shit life. I don't know why I feel so disappointed. It's not like I really wanted to have to solve a crime on a station like this, where nothing will happen to the criminal anyway...unless I choke the life out of him with my bare hands. So why does it bother me that I effectively got stonewalled on this?
I don't need to help anyone. I've done enough on Omega already. My life isn't about helping anymore; all my motivation to do that is dead - either literally or figuratively. Wallowing. Drinking. Cigarettes. That's what I do now.
I light one now and make a turn that I don't need to take when I become certain someone is tailing me. I have to hope its the rapist; I would get so much joy out of destroying that asshole and then sending his dismembered dick to the Overpass, special delivery to Sapphire.
It's probably not the rapist, considering that whoever is tracking me absolutely sucks at it. It seems really unlikely that this shuffle-footed prick could stalk and nab anyone successfully. Plus, based on the light way that the heavy pair of boots their weighing is landing, I can't imagine this person is anywhere big enough to take down someone of my size, but I've learned not to underestimate a foe.
Fortunately, the poor tracking skills keep up, and they stay far enough back that I can duck behind a dumpster in an alley. I almost have time to light another cigarette before they finally pass me, but I would have dropped it in shock when the skinny human prostitute walks by in a rush, clearly trying to catch me. Definitely not who I expected.
"Never had a hooker try so hard before," I tell him, pushing off the wall and stepping forward to stand in the middle of the alley behind him now.
He whips around, obviously startled. He's wearing a tank top too small for him now, bright purple and cut off so that most of his waist is revealed. The guy looks even skinnier with more clothing on; he needs a couple solid meals.
We need nothing from one another.
"I'm flattered, but not interested. Get back to work."
He huffs out a breath and leans forward, planting his hands on his knees like chasing me exhausted him. "I'm not trying to jump your bones," he pants. Brown eyes flash up and look me over. "I mean, I would totally blow you for half price, don't get me wrong. But that's not why I followed you. Shit, do you have any idea how fast you walk?"
"Is there a point to this?" Having a human talk about blowing me hits almost as close to him as hearing this guy accidentally quote Shepard. I already hear her in my dreams and in my own mind. I don't need this torture, too.
This week has been bad enough as it is.
"Yes! Yes, there is a point, geez. Are you always this serious?"
"OK, we're done." I ran out of patience weeks ago, and the control on my temper is getting low. Before I can do something I'll regret to someone who doesn't deserve it, I turn and start walking back the way I came.
"Wait!" The human appears at my side, half-jogging to keep up with me. "Seriously, are you in a race I don't know about?"
"I don't walk fast, it's just that human legs are so short, you have to take an unnecessary amount of steps to get anywhere. Who designed you useless aliens?"
That gets a laugh out of him. Unexpected. "Whatever, big guy." I wince at that one and try to hide it, digging in my pocket for a cigarette immediately. "Listen, I heard what you were saying to Saph and Bran. Those guys are assholes, but you're right; someone needs to stop that creep. I wanna help."
I stop faster than I mean to, fast enough that the human almost misses it and has to backtrack a couple of steps to stand in front of me again. I study him while taking a slow drag and wish for about the millionth time in the last year that humans had subtones so I could be certain whether or not he's lying. He looks genuine enough. And if it's a trap, I'll kill him.
"Those two made it pretty clear that each of you is only out for yourselves. What should make me believe you give a shit?"
"Yeah, I was born on Omega, okay? My mom, too. It's like you said, I gotta live here. I work here, and the rapist douche has already taken two others from the Overpass." He shrugs, the bones in his shoulders sticking out so much it hurts to look at. "I don't wanna be next."
Humans don't have subtones, but at that moment, I catch the one thing that serves as a lie detector when it's too loud to hear their heartbeats. Fear. This guy is afraid of the rapist, and it's the first thing that's made me trust or like him.
I reach into my pocket again and hold out the pack of cigarettes, offering him a chance to take one. He doesn't miss the chance. "When's the last time you ate?"
He lights the cigarette but narrows his eyes at me, righteous indignation replacing fear. Humans are so predictable. "Don't go getting all charity on me, man. I just wanna - "
"Shut up. I'm starving. Are you coming?"
I don't wait for his answer before heading toward the only restaurant I know of that sells food a human can eat. I can't get help from the guy if he starves. And Shepard wouldn't want him to starve; she'd probably adopt him, stray pup that he is.
That's almost enough to make me laugh.
Devon, as he introduces himself, does end up having a lot of useful information. I went to the sex workers because they have a personal stake in stopping the rapist, but they have the added benefit of knowing everything about this station. Devon seems especially aware of the back streets and channels around Omega. I might wonder why if not for the track marks; he doesn't travel the station for his job or his clients but for his drug habits. And damn does he eat like a starving addict.
I buy him enough meals to feed several grown Turians and let him talk. Devon is happy to share it all; I get the feeling it's not often that someone listens when he speaks.
The rapist has raped a lot more people than just the most recent prostitute; that's just the only one that got attention and only then because she was raped and murdered after three regular people. Even then, Devon is pretty sure that if one of them wasn't a well-connected and well-known drug dealer - one that a number of people on this station rely on - no one would have noticed.
"This is not our first serial rapist, definitely not our first serial killer," he tells me around a mouthful of food. I wonder if he's biotic, considering the appetite. "Most of the time, no one notices. And if the guy has any brains, he'll focus on us. No one cares if whores die."
"Including some of you," I remind him.
"Very true," he allows with a shrug, somehow managing to fit even more food in his mouth. "The thing is, money rules our industry just like any other. Less competition means more business left for you."
"Why don't you think that way?"
Devon narrows brown eyes flecked with green and gold at me. There's no way he's more than mid-twenties. I don't want to think about how he ended up here, working in this industry on this shithole station.
"Don't get it in your head that I'm special, okay? I just don't wanna fucking die, and I definitely don't wanna be raped," he snaps at me.
"Fine, you're not special. I have no problem with that. But you are helpful. So keep talking. What do you know about the rapist?"
Devon doesn't want to be singled out. I get it. Attention is dangerous in a place like this; he doesn't want to end up with a reputation as someone who helps an ex-cop. I don't want him to end up in a sewer. But we both need to put an end to this asshole.
"It's worse than you know," Devon says, almost like a warning. "Kyla was missing for a week before her body turned up. She had bruises, cuts, and burns that hadn't been there before but were healing."
My stomach churns, and I take a gulp of my coffee to settle it. "You think he kept her for a week?"
"Yeah. And the others too from what I heard."
"You saw the body?" I confirm, certain that no one took the body of a hooker in for an examination on Omega. She was probably burned. I need another sip of coffee to keep from losing my breakfast.
"Dude. Who do you think found her?" I would roll my eyes at the name if he wasn't for the dark look in Devon's eyes. It's the only thing that's made him stop eating for even a second, the memory of finding her body. Whether or not Kyla was a friend, Devon isn't going to reveal. But you don't forget finding a familiar corpse.
Devon shakes it off and shovels more food in. "By the way, unless you want me to keep calling you dude, you're gonna have to tell me your name. I mean, I'm definitely into the whole mysterious hero vibe you have going on but - "
"Definitely not a hero," I interject, determined to cut that one off at the knees. It gets Devon's hopes up needlessly if he thinks of me that way. And it's entirely untrue. If I were a hero, she'd be alive.
No amount of coffee can quell the nausea that brings up, so I focus on deep breaths instead.
"Besides, what makes you think you'll be around long enough to keep calling me anything?"
Devon laughs. "Please. You need me. You've already proven you have no idea how to get information out of a prostitute. Don't you know they need the cash or the dick first?" he drawls, raising his eyebrows at me.
"No one is getting any dick, before or after." I narrow my eyes at him, trying my best to drive the point home. Devon just smirks and shrugs, very much a 'we'll see' sort of move. I roll my eyes and decide not to focus on it. What matters is that he's right.
I need help. I have to work out this guy's patterns, his motive, and style if I'm going to take him down. And I can't get any of that on my own. But that doesn't mean I'm signing on for a partner, a friendship, a fuck buddy, or any other role Devon might see himself in. I came to Omega specifically to be alone, to be anonymous. I have a mission now, in taking down this rapist, but it changes nothing else.
I invite Devon back to my motel room only because he eventually stops eating, and we can't sit in the restaurant all day. I still need information, and he's still giving it away. Unfortunately, none of what I'm hearing is any good.
"I told you, dude, none of it makes any sense." He's been calling me that more and more often, a pretty weak attempt at getting my name.
"You're wrong, dude," I inform him, handing over a datapad for him to examine. Devon stops scratching his arm for all of three seconds to look; he's jonesing for a fix and is going to need one very soon if he's going to continue being useful. Or coherent. "He snags a new victim four days after the last body was dumped."
"But Kyla's body was dumped three days ago."
"Yeah, I know. He's going to grab a new one tomorrow."
Devon just makes a soft humming noise, but I watch him, at war with myself. He could be a lot more useful than I think he imagined, but I could be asking him to risk a lot more than I want to sacrifice.
What would Shepard do?
I push the thought away, anger sparking in my gut. I don't know why my subconscious wants to focus on that, on her, just to torture me. Shepard isn't here, and I don't know what she'd do because Shepard would never be on Omega in the first place.
There's only one clear way forward, and if I'm going to take this bastard rapist down, I have to make hard choices. I can't be weak if I'm going to do this.
"How do you reach your dealer?"
Devon blinks at the question but doesn't both to deny it. "Text."
"You can meet him out front of the hotel, but don't give him my room number. Understood?" Devon nods and practically leaps to his feet, already typing. "Hang on. How do you pay him?"
I get a deadpan look for that before Devon demands, "How the fuck do you think I pay him?"
Well, finally found out how to strike a nerve with Devon. He's not ashamed of his profession, of how he makes a living. Devon doesn't talk about sex work or the things he's done any differently than I would talk about C-Sec. But he is ashamed at selling himself in exchange for the drugs he's hooked on.
I don't respond, instead just using my 'Tool to transfer credits to his. It takes three seconds, and then Devon is frowning at me.
"First of all, how did you get my 'Tool info? I didn't send it to you. And also, why did you do that? You need a hit, too?"
"Definitely not," I snap back, insulted at the suggestion. "I need you focused, which means I don't need you in withdrawal."
Devon narrows his eyes briefly, but then a smile grows across his face. "Oh, I get it. You can be all pure and distant, and you won't buy sex, but you'll buy me drugs in exchange for it."
He actually looks insulted when I bark out a laugh, and I hold up a hand in apology while trying to catch my breath. "No one has ever called me pure before, that's a good one. But no, not at all. I'll tell you how you can pay me back for the drugs after you're feeling right again. And you have the option to say no."
"Ha! Pretty sure no one has ever said that to me before," he quips. Something inside me shatters at the words, at the thought of this kid not having the choice to say no. My heart wants to wonder if Shepard ever felt that way, that the choice had been taken from her while she was enslaved, but my brain refuses to let it; I don't want to see the aftermath of those thoughts.
I shake my head and focus as Devon's 'Tool dings, a sign that his dealer has arrived. "What's your poison? Sand?" He nods. "Fine. You can shoot in here; it's safer. But don't get it in your head that I approve of it."
"Don't get it in yours that I give a fuck what you approve of." And with that, he disappears from the room to collect his supply.
Respect blossoms in my chest for Devon. I have to use him, but I'm going to do my best to protect him. No one else will get hurt on my watch.
*****Author's Note*****
Comments feed the author's soul! I know the world has gone a little crazy so I hope it helps a bit to know that I'm drafting the ME2 portion of Elle and Garrus's story and it's A LOT fluffier than I imagined. I promised you a romance, didn't I? Garrus is in a dark place right now, but I promise there's light ahead for him, and for all of us.
Stay safe, stay healthy, stay inside. Sending love!