"...good work today Human. I don't care WHAT they say about your race. You're all as good and honest workers as everyone else. Keep it up and you might just change some minds around here."

"Uh...okay."

And as the foreman bade me goodbye, I quickly stumbled out of the building, deciding to head straight for the road, setting off for my long trek back home. The shimmering violet lights the Serpent Nebula's gas clouds did little to illuminate the grimy streets I walked across, and the cold shoulders that I received from those passing me did little to help the gloomy setting. And as I shuffled the way I thought was back home, the mounting loneliness I had only tasted days before began to grow anew. Even after reaching my destination much, much later, I can't say that-

...That I didn't jump when the door in front of me suddenly slammed open, nor when Saren himself made an appearance behind it. Only a face of pure horror could be mustered in response, as his wretched visage thus turned toward me, eyes glowering intensely into my very being, and-

And then I realized it was just some guy. And okay, sure, that may have been a little misleading. 'How the hell could you mistake someone for Saren?!' you might exclaim. This guy doesn't even have a robotic arm you might add; where are all his miscellaneous tubes and hoses you ask; how did you mistake those irises for Saren's cold, dead, malevolent, cybernetic eyes?

But then again...there aren't too many pale, white-skinned, bare-faced Turians walking around this joint too alright? So, like, whatever.

Anyhoo, once we locked eyes and exchanged looks, he took my apparent fear at face value, and threw his own look of disgust my way as well. And his displeasure had been pretty well telegraphed. His fangs were bared, 'brows' were furrowed, and the guy was staring daggers at me like I was some kind of disgusting rodent all up in his pantry. The man's face had all the makings of a classic scowl really. And I made sure to return the favor as he started walking in my direction. Though my body reflexively tensed as he did.

To be honest, I was pretty used to this face by this point. Not HIS face per say, as I'm pretty sure this was the first time I actually ever saw this Turian around here, but the face that every alien and their mother in this district decided to throw my way once they laid eyes on me. I couldn't take a squat without one of them glaring in my general direction, nose upturned at the very sight. And I can't deny that it didn't hurt my feelings a little every time I saw them too. Being looked upon as an outsider, viewed with disgust, like I was something completely unnatural and unwanted in the world. It almost made me want to cry. My hand reflexively wiped the corner of my eye as the Turian passed me. I've been finding such tears quite recent to be frank.

That was sarcasm by the way. Cry? Ha, as if. I mean, what self-respecting man would ever do that? I am nothing if not modest. But if I wasn't, then I'd brag that I was the epitome of manliness; I pretty much ooze macho charisma out of ever pore; have so much that it was coming out the wazoo; my face was even beleaguered by the thick coat of charisma that defines a male such as thus; there is simply no obstacle I cannot currently conquer with my manly prowess. I am nothing if not a paragon of rugged masculinity. Like I'd ever do something as pathetic and weak as cry-

Oh right. Ahem. Back on topic. Anyhoo, if it wasn't too clear by this junction, Humans weren't too welcome down in these parts of the Wards. Before I could even walk a single block, I can assure you an alien child would have already pointed me out to their parents with an expression of both surprise and disgust. Nor could I even turn a corner without a random passerby just giving me the stink-eye, and occasionally spitting in my general direction along with it. Just after a single day, it was pret-ty easy for ANYONE to see why there weren't more of my kind down this way-

Oh great. I just said 'my kind' didn't I? Okay-

Let's just say the racism (or was it speciesism?) down here was surprisingly strong and leave it at that. Way more so than I had ever imagined to be honest, and apparently, it was already getting to me too. With a dejected sigh, I then ignored the aforementioned Saren cosplayer purposefully bump into me and continued on to open the recently shut door behind him myself. And after I lazily tugged the side entrance to the warehouse open, I began to slowly trudge into the place I currently called home:

24601 Kithoi – 19U – 57E – 1183 Tikkun Avenue.

Otherwise known as the street address of Narhu Combine Warehouse 045-B.

Which was supposedly also referred to as the Altakiril Abode, or what the place's name had roughly translated to when I had heard it. Apparently a place founded by some old Turian decades ago to help the less fortunate, god rest his soul. Built as a refuge for those unable to afford the rent of housing on the Citadel's mainstream market, or a place of simple shelter for those just a little down on their luck.

Pause.

Now, while its moniker might sound fancy, you must also remember that the 'Altakiril Abode' is based out of a shady warehouse lightyears away from the Presidium, and the peering eyes of high society and the law. And while the purpose of the place might seem just altruistic and dandy, I also soon learned that everyone in this dump was boarding here illegally. And in fact, most would come to realize that the place could be likened much more to some sort of alien hacienda, with the Turian founder basically having constructed the place just to get a free workforce indentured to him, who could then work at his lucrative middle-man shipping business for a cost of next to nothing. The very shipping business I was just given a job at, no questions asked, of course.

And so, within hours of arriving, I came to realize that Narhu Combine Warehouse 045-B, AKA the Altakiril Abode, was in reality an infamous shantytown in Kithoi Ward's Manash district, and one often overlooked by the authorities simply due its sheer number of inhabitants. And contrary to what Old Man Quarian had told me when I had first arrived, I found that very few actually referred to it as 'the Abode'. It was much more commonly referred to by its other name...

'The Shitadel'.

Because it stank. Like poo. A lot of poo. Alien poo.

Frankly it was awful. Learning my lesson from days before, I was already breathing through my sleeve as I entered the warehouse and began making my way down the building's giant aisles. While the smell was quite atrocious...the sights inside were quite captivating. On either side of me, one could see dozens of those colonial homes present on Horizon or Freedom's Progress, all heaped on top of one another haphazardly, like stacks of pancakes, towering far, far up into the rafters of the storehouse above.

Many of them were covered in rust, having lost their sleek finish what must have been decades ago, with others decked in copious amounts of graffiti, mostly consisting of creative pictograms and ethnic slurs. A large majority of these homes could be described as just downtrodden in general. I mean, even their entrances were just covered by grimy dirt-stained cloths or drapes, the only means these people had to provide a little privacy for whomever was currently living inside. And I can personally attest that their inhabitants were equally as dirty, a large majority of them I've deemed to be destitute immigrants, disingenuous hobos, or just simple criminals on the lam.

But despite all this, I had to admit, the magnitude and disparity between the inside of this warehouse and the view outside was captivating. How far had the future come after so many years, only to have such great displays of poverty. Astonishing really. An interesting insight and elaborate commentary that goes to show that even in an interstellar community that's existed for eons, the strong will still take advantage of the weak, and the what I am even saying, who cares about any of that haha. The real sin was that this place didn't have any plumbing or real waterworks, and the reason for the stench. Any how, after passing about ten rows of these friendly figures sitting in front of their compartment apartments, I arrived at the one which had been graciously assigned to me specifically.

Staring up with a mandatory gulp, quickly followed by another sigh, I then, VERY carefully, scaled the rickety ladder leading up to my place.

Ladder you might ask?

Why yes, but of course, ladders were imperative to access these wonderful sky high compartments stacked far above, and were in no shape or form extremely dangerous to use. Sarcasm. No joke, apparently someone fell and died the very day I arrived, which wasn't horrifying to hear at all. Unfortunately for me, and everyone else in this dump, these ladders of dubious reliability precariously perched on the apartment ledges were the only means to scale the rusty sides of these 'homes', and if your designated apartment space was three stories high like mine was, then you better hope that you didn't forget that in the early morning, and rush out the door blindly like a jackass after waking up late for work. Like that other guy I mentioned who became a splatter did.

Muscles tensed, I gave a final heave, and quickly hopped off the ladder with the grace of a gazelle, landing right before the entrance to my new pad. And pushing aside the damp cloth acting as my door, I entered the room. This was followed by a beeline straight for the dirty mattress I was graciously loaned from downstairs, collapsing atop it as soon as I was in arm's reach. Really the only reason I would ever come here besides the privacy. The room itself hadn't really been cleaned since its last inhabitant OD'ed in it, so it still had the occasional pile of used syringes scattered about, as well as a good number of dried, dark-brown stains of dubious origins. Despite the slightly used atmosphere however...it was home right now. Or as close as I could get to one.

"Knock knock."

And you wouldn't believe the shit I've have to put up with since it had become so. Even shantytowns apparently have their own systemic hierarchies and structures of power, and I was quickly forced to memorize them after I was saved from a bad run-in with some ill-gotten Vorcha. To break it down for you, the warehouse could basically be divided into four parts-

"Knock Knock!"

...So you can first start with the furthest back left-most division of the warehouse colloquially referred to as the 'Kiril Quarter', which is basically where a bunch of old, racist Turians live with their impoverished families, all apparently third-generation warehousians who's great-grandpappies moved in when the place was first built. Real stuck-up dickwads from what I've seen, and basically what you could consider to be the aristocratic and 'nice' part of town. I made sure to keep my distance from there. Didn't need the ostracizing or pandering speciesism thank you very much. And after them, I guess the next most significant division would be the closest most-left corridor of the place called the SH-AT section, on account of all the-

"I SAID, 'KNOCK KNOCK'!"

"oh my fuckin'-WHAT!?"

"Uh, excuse me? I can do without the freakin' attitude thank you very much."

"Jesus chri- Whaddya want!?"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure you weren't raised by Batarians, so that's not how this works. I'm going to need an apology first."

"I-...For what?!"

"Uh, for your rude behavior. Obviously? That tone was in no way, shape, or form appropriate to address a young lady with. Apologize."

"...no."

"Aw c'mon Al, a single 'sorry' would go a long way. Please? You really did hurt my feelings just now."

As you can see, a man can't even find enough time to deliver proper exposition around these parts before being interrupted.

And I have literally no idea how she got Al from Marauder Shield. It may be short for Alliance, but as you've probably seen thus far, I don't think anyone would give that much credit to what she might call a thought process.

"Well your face really hurts my eyes."

"You're mean."

"I don't care."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Please?"

"God are you there?"

"What?"

"I gotta ask...why do you hate me God?"

"Is that a yes?"

"I mean, what have I ever done to you? Am I really that bad a person? Are my sins that great? I know I've done my fair share of bad things but...do I really deserve this?"

Of course, I knew by now that my answer to any of her questions didn't really matter. If she wanted to come in, she'd-

"I forgive you!" I subsequently heard her reply in place of the Lord, footsteps already well on their way inside as they ignored whatever response might follow.

You'd think it'd be hard to predict someone's actions after knowing them for all of a day or two, but Leena was a special case. Though it was hard to tell with my face currently buried in my stained mattress, there were few others around this place as churlish as her. Oh, 'Leena', the person who had just invited themselves in on the by and by, was a Turian that I learned never took no for an answer...no matter how many times I said it. And a major pain in the ass to boot. You'd think she-

"Wow, really liked what you've done with the place!"

"You're hilarious," I now mumbled, rising up from my bed.

"No, really! You did a good job tidying up! You even cleaned out Prazza!"

"Prazza?"

"Oh, right, I keep forgetting that you're new here. Prazza was the nickname Karus and some of the others gave that giant hairball that sat in the corner over there."

I lifted my head and stared in the direction of said hairball. And said hairball was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh JESUS! It's gone! What the hell?!"

"What?!" the Turian suddenly shrieked.

"Where the hell did it go?!"

"I-what?! What do you mean where did it go!?"

"I swear it was here last night!"

"Spirits-" she next gasped.

"What did you do with it?!"

"What?! I didn't do anything! I just walked in and you...no way. Ew! No way-"

Unfortunately, after seeing the expression of blatant horror and disgust on her face, I couldn't help but burst out laughing a second later. And after a brief bout of confusion, she soon caught on and shot a 'you're an asshole' my way.

I had thrown out that disgusting pile of crap as soon as I had set foot into this room. The whole place smelled worse than a wet dog that had rolled around in a pile of dead fish ridden with worms and then left outside in the sun to rot. And it soon became apparent that that very pile of fuzz was the culprit. I threw up twice just looking at it. So you can be sure as hell I got rid of that shit as soon as I stepped in. And though I wish I hadn't seen it, it had barely been a second before I subsequently saw a Vorcha scrounge by where I just had dropped it and devour it in a single gulp. That was the moment I knew that this place was truly forsaken in the eyes of God.

And after laying there bored on my dirty mattress, watching her pout for what seemed like eternity after our little shtick, I decided to finally bite the bullet and break the blissful silence.

"So...what's up?"

"I'm not talking to you."

"Ok then. Bye. Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

"Spirits, calm down you ass...I just came by because Nar Tasi wanted to see you."

"Really."

"Yeah, he does. Honest this time. Probably wanted to ask you how your first day of work was and stuff. Or something. I don't know. "

"Well...I guess I'll go pay him a visit then...thanks Neena," I decided to add as she already began to start for the door.

"It's Leena," the copper-skinned alien corrected me annoyed before stepping out, clearly displeased that I was still getting her name wrong. Purposefully. And to be quite honest, you can be damn sure that I always would. I was going to make sure I annoyed her as much as she annoyed- "Hey," she suddenly started again, pausing in the quote unquote doorway. "...you haven't spoken to Zael recently...have you? I've been worrying about him."

Lifting my head from the mattress, I simply replied, "That's probably what Nar Tasi wants to talk to me about...but I'll tell you next time I see him."

"...thanks."

And like that, she was gone.

If I hadn't already mentioned, Meena was my downstairs neighbor, and luckily, had a colonial box on the ground floor of the warehouse. God would I kill for one of those. And unlike the other residents of this shithole, Teena didn't seem to mind that I was Human. Was probably the very first person to introduce themselves in the neighborhood to be honest...and probably the closest thing I could currently call a friend here. So yeah, I wasn't entirely sure why I was always a dick to her. Really should work on that.

In any case, after she had left and a couple more minutes of loafing around, I decided to get myself back out of bed, let out a miserable groan, and headed out to see the person who had just sent her up to me. And it didn't take long to reach his place. He only lived about four rows down from where my current pad was, and with all the space junk set around it, it was kind of hard to miss.

Letting out one last dejected sigh, I peeled back the dusty curtain to his domicile, whereupon I found the old man sitting at a small table, playing what he had called Kepesh-Yakshi on an old, worn out holo-board by himself. Upon seeing me however, he quickly reset the game he had just began and motioned for me to join him. I couldn't say I was a prodigy or anything, but I apparently played better than most of the other bums in this joint. And as I sat down, beginning the game of what I likened to space chess, he started to rattle on about his day.

Enter Nar Tasi, AKA, Old Man Quarian.

The very first person who had greeted me in this damned place, and had shown me everything I could ever hope to know about it. You could probably liken him to the 'village elder' of this section in the warehouse, and was the oldest resident (willing to go out of their way in any case) to help those that needed it. Directed new arrivals to empty apartments, constantly checked on people to see if they were doing well and had what they needed, a general fount of wisdom for everyone near (whether they wanted it or not). Just a generally swell person to be frank.

Probably would have done all this for me and more even if I hadn't brought the Quarian kid in with me. Which was exactly who I expected our conversation would turn to after his frigate blitzed through my blockade.

"...I've noticed you're a very cautious player."

"Uh, thanks I-"

"Too cautious I was going to say!" the old man suddenly scolded me. "After seeing this game, it's become evident that your play style is not to win, but instead, not to lose."

"...uh...okay. Though I'm not sure I get the differ-"

"They're as different as day and dusk! ...It's clear that you're scared of taking risks. You play cautiously Mister Marauder, making solely defensive-no...passive moves! All due to this perceived fear of losing. But I'll tell you this...to win, you must take risks Marauder! If one does not make their own opportunities, one is just delaying another's victory. You cannot hope that the other player will make a mistake for you. You must force them to."

And with that tirade, he gave his frigate orders to bomb my capital. His ship slipped in between my forked fighters, dropped its payload, and my planet exploded into a million tiny fragments over the board. And just like our three other matches, I had lost. Although this time I at least lasted a whole five turns.

"Good game," I muttered.

"It was respectable," he at least conceded.

"I think I know where I went wrong this time though-"

"Good!" the Quarian now rasped. "One of the greatest things a person can do when they experience loss is learn from it! A lesson that I have tried to impart upon young Zael time and time again...but he is young, and as the young tend to do, ignore what advice we in our old age have for them."

And as aforementioned, just like every other conversation we had, the topic had already turned to Zael.

Zael, AKA, little snot-nosed Quarian buttmunch. The one I had taken upon myself to carry off the streets and back to Doctor Michel's Clinic what had seemed like years ago. The very same little shit that had not just tried steal my chit three days ago. Showing up to this place with him in my arms was apparently pretty noteworthy to Old Man Quarian however, who for no reason at all held himself responsible for the kid. And by transitive property, I became pretty noteworthy to those who in turn respected Old Man Quarian. Which was why the representative of this division got me my own place, why a woman lent me one of her unused cots, and why I was even offered a job lifting crates at the local warehouse (the one actually used for wares two blocks down).

And as recompense for all this, I only needed to continue to remain in Old Man Quarian's good graces. And the surest way to do that was to carry out his requests- his one request really. One that continued to appear time after time again...the sole request that I'd keep an eye on the aforementioned kid for him. Because for some odd reason...he thought yours truly was the one most suited for the job.

Why? Only God knows. In Old Man Quarian's words, it's because 'A mausen is only lost when their shala is absent. And so, a mausen can only find its path when it is led by its shala sellah once again. Keelah se'lai.' And as much as I love Quarian proverbs, I didn't know what the hell he meant when he said this, nor why the 'Mausen's shala' had to be me.

Much (but not very) Later.

But it was because of this very reason that I was 'keeping an eye' on the kid again today, and why I was currently following him this very minute through the markets of Manash. Stalking more like, but, eh, tomato tomato. To be honest, the snot-nosed punk had been making it pretty easy for me. He never stopped once to look over his shoulder, and when he did stop, it was only to enter almost every other alleyway he came across. Hell, he was even walking at a pace that a snail wouldn't be envious of. Rookie stuff I'm telling ya.

I didn't have a clue what he was doing out here, surely not window shopping, and it didn't exactly seem like he was taking a relaxing stroll through town either. But as long as I had my eyes on him, it didn't really-

Oh, right. 'Marauder, I'm confused, why are you following him at all?' you might ask.

Well, I couldn't really tell you that either. It might be because every effort I've made to talk with the kid so far has ended up with him throwing a few expletives my way before dashing off shortly after. Or that if I stayed in my apartment all day, I'd be badgered with countless other jobs from my neighbors. Because apparently, once you're known as a helpful Samaritan, everyone thinks they can take advantage of you. And do.

So regardless of the exact reasoning, here I was. Taking a decidedly different approach in regard to Old Man Quarian's actual request. I mean, I would be keeping an eye on the kid like he asked...just without him realizing it.

And to be honest, I was kind of regretting it, as nothing exciting was really going on at all. Though I guess there are worse ways to spend your afternoon. I at least expected him to be doing something interesting though, something uncouth or vagabond that I could rip into him for. He was a little punk after all. But no, there he was, just walking (albeit weirdly) through the streets of the Wards. Watching him boringly dart around to be frank could be likened to reading an unpublished, unproofed, unchecked bloated sub-par novel written in Microsoft word, with seemingly no end in sight-

"AH! MY EYES!"

An 'oh shit' probably escaped my mouth as I snapped my neck away from the fruit stand I was just purveying, immediately turning to see where and what the commotion was coming from. The where happened to be from a shop just a block up, and the who was a mustached man raising his hand to a bloody brow, shouting raspily at the top of his lungs. The what was the fuck that my Quarian charge was doing when he seemed to subsequently dart away from the man into an alley after the commotion occurred.

And then an 'ah shit' probably escaped my lips as I darted into the alley besides me next, already connecting the dots in my head. If there were dots to connect that is. I mean it was pretty evident what just happened.

As a great man once said, 'once a thief, always a thief.'

Descartes really knew his shit huh. Wait. Or maybe it was Socrates. He is the father of anecdotal quotes. You know what, actually wasn't it someone else with a –tes at the end of their name? Who else could have...Patrick Bates maybe? Wait, no, that doesn't sound right. And wait a second. I'm confusing Patrick Bateman with Norman Bates aren't I? Norman Bateman was in Psycho and the other was...also in a movie called Psycho? That totally can't be right. And which one said what? Huh? I don't even remember what the plot of Psycho is anymore. And Patrick Bateman was pretty batshit insane in it. I can't imagine him saying anything as profound as that. And I mean, that's a pretty timeless proverb right there.

Okay, but I can assuredly say Norman Bates was definitely the main character in the movie Psycho, so he must totally be the titular psycho instead, so I can't imagine HIM saying anything profound either...could they both be in the same movie? Am I mistaken? Was one of them in a sub-par adaptation? And why am I going on about fictional psychopaths? Is that you subconscious? Are trying to tell me something here? That I might just have something in common with these guys? Well...you know what? You can shut the hell up. I'm as sane as...and I could have sworn I was just talking about Nietzsche or something before this. How did I go from famous philosopher to psychopaths? He's definitely no psycho. Oh, well...I guess that's debatable. Oh what the- how the hell did I even get on this topic? Oh my god, damn you brain, damn you-

My trusty legs navigated where I needed to go as my mind unfortunately wandered, and as it turned out, they thankfully didn't even need guidance. Good ol' trusty legs. Having a foot up on the kid probably made it a lot easier to catch up to him too as he came into my sight. Or so I had been thinking as my legs suddenly refused to let go of their newly found independence, and continued onwards, decidedly ignoring the signals of my brain to stop, and unsurprisingly, collided with the miscreant helmet first, not nanoseconds later.

With my current speed and size on him, I trucked right over him, and though it already smarted, I made sure to worsen the concussion I received by smacking my head hard against the ground immediately after, which was accompanied by a loud, synchronized thud. A "GAGH-" left both our mouths as we quickly crumpled to the floor of the empty back alleyway, clutching our respective noggins in pain. And I found the whole affair to be worthy of some second-rate sitcom to be frank. But life is just like that sometimes. It's always full of little clichéd-

"What-what the hell are YOU doing here?!" Zael suddenly spat across from me, already attempting to get back up on his feet.

"Ah...just, uh...give me a second," I could only manage to sputter in response, rubbing my head before remembering why I was on the floor. "...Just give back what you stole from that guy jackass."

I immediately received what I discerned to be something along the lines of "racist bosh'tet" and his subsequent return to escaping the crime scene. Although, with my bulging, if not rippling, muscles, I seemed to have hit him quite hard when we collided. He only managed to stumble a couple steps before falling back to the floor on his knees.

"...and why the hell did you try to blind that guy? I understand the theft, because you're a little shit, but...how the hell did he deserve a claw to the face? What kind of asshole are you? Rob a man, and try to maim him while you're at it?"

In response, all I got was a terse, "He had a gun."

"Probably had it out because you were stealing his crap," I retorted, now getting back up to my feet.

"Guns are illegal on the Citadel idiot!" the Quarian shot back, now mimicking my movements.

"And?" I decided to childishly spit out next, deigning to ignore that I myself had been breaking Citadel law for the entire duration of my stay thus far.

"So! He's a criminal! He's one of them! What I took wasn't even his! I took back what didn't belong to him!"

"...what. That's straight up retarded. So, what, you think you're some kind of Robin Hood now?"

"What?" he next spouted annoyed, now preparing to bolt again.

"Oh right. Sorry. Robin Hood was a Human folklore hero who had the whole 'steal from the rich, give to the poor' kinda deal going on-"

"No, you HUMANS are the ones who steal every day! It's not stealing if I take back something that doesn't belong to you in the first place!"

What? Who the hell does this kid think he is? Balak? Well guess what you little racist, or speciest, you're two eyes and an asteroid short of him.

"Okay. He's a successful shop owner, owns a thriving business, but just because he's Human, you decide that he's criminal filth and that it's alright to take what he earned with hard work? That it's theft because others are losing work and money to him, just because his shop's doing better?" I stared him down like the ignorant cur he was before continuing to lay down the smackdown. "Well guess what pal. You're just the fucking teapot calling the kettle black. You racist, speciest, little shit. Maybe if-"

"You're the ones who're thieves!" he suddenly roared back, or as much as his prepubescent voice would let him. "Your kind takes from others just because you can, and because no one's willing to stand up to you! Well I'm not going to be one of them! I'm no coward! I'll take back everything you Humans stole! And then everyone'll see what your kind does when someone appears who can actually fight back! When you're all alone, you're cowards! Just like today! He tried to threaten me with a gun because he was too cowardly to fight me himself! And yet he still had the gall to have the Salarra's heirloom lay out in the open for all to see!"

"...what?"

"You're all-"

Footsteps suddenly echoed down our alleyway, the sounds of which had us both freeze where we were-

"Freeze where you are!"

...like I was saying, we both turned our necks in unison toward the new voice bellowing from behind, where two stark black and blue uniformed Turians were coming into view.

"Oh shit," I heard him mutter too as we recognized as our guests.

"..."

The face-off was intense. We slowly edged back as they slowly edged closer. One wrong move and things would go to heck in a hand basket if-

"CHEESE IT!"

I was already back on my feet and booking it as I shouted the words, making sure to grab the delinquent by his arm as I said it too. Though he immediately made to shrug me off, I could tell he decided in the end that it was in his best interest to follow my lead nonetheless as I headed for the adjacent alleyway.

"STOP! IN THE NAME OF THE LAW!"

My feet pounded against the pavement hard, sweat already dripping down my brow as we hung left down the next alleyway. The district around us was rife with passageways, and I could imagine one getting easily lost in them for days on end. But luckily for I, as soon as we had kicked the second turn, the kid had passed me, and I began following his lead instead. He seemed to know the labyrinth like the back of his hand, entering corridors and dark spaces I didn't even notice until we were rocketing down them.

And I could tell you right then that I wouldn't be cut out for his lifestyle. Too much running. It wasn't until several minutes later when he skidded to a stop that we finally paused, and I could actually breathe for the first time. And that first breath felt like fire was invading my lungs. Running's pretty awful I tell you hwat.

"Why...are you following me?" the kid suddenly rasped beside me, apparently as worn-out as myself, boosting my ego just a bit.

"I ain't going to jail for your ass," I replied in between the panting and the heaving and the wheezing.

"Then don't! Just leave," he gasped again, body bent over the ground.

"They saw me with you. It doesn't matter if I want to leave or not. I can't. And I ain't taking the fall for this if they catch me."

A lack of response to that simply led us to both standing quietly, recovering our breaths in the corridor, thinking silently of what to do next.

"...Hey."

"What."

"Zael...what...what were you talking about before? Right before the fuzz showed up?"

"What the hell's the fuzz."

"The cops. I meant the cops. C-Sec."

"...I don't know what you're talking about."

"Who were you talking about when you said-"

The echo of an object being kicked aside behind us caused our heads to immediately snap in the direction of the sound.

And the next turn of events all happened in less than a blink of an eye.

The party crashers behind us had their guns drawn, faces darkened by the shadows cast across them, already beginning to encroach on us rapidly from the other end of the alley way. I had to admit, at that moment, I had half a mind to turn Zael over to the officers. Make him learn there are consequences to your actions.

But on the other hand, I was really only here in the first place for one reason. And that was because I had promised Old Man Quarian that I'd watch over the kid while he was out and about. To keep him out of harm's way. And I couldn't exactly let-

I felt my blood run cold as my eyes ran over the officers quickly approaching once more. And as my eyes met theirs, a shrill ringing began to set off in my ear. My stomach contorted, my muscles tensed out of shock, veins ran cold, the whole shebang. Because I now registered that the black and blue cops had their weapons drawn. Fingers already on the trigger.

He was guilty of petty theft at worst.

But the look in the eyes of these two humans were only filled with pure vitriol. Disgust. They wore faces of blatant malice. Gazes that reminded me of one generally hateful person in particular. It was what I saw in the face of Commander Shepard all too often when I was back aboard the Normandy. The look she wore when someone had crossed her.

And every instinct told me to-

"GRK."

My face was slammed against the grimy deck before I knew what happened.

And I quickly realized I wouldn't have made it in time. I wouldn't have been quick enough to do it myself as the Quarian fell atop me. As gunfire exploded in the alleway, bullets quickly whizzing over our prone bodies, I pathetically gaped for air in response. Though the pain coursing through my cheek demanded that I pay attention to it, it was naught a second later that we had already both sprung up, sprinting down the adjacent corridor in unison. The guns cracked again as we left, firing off rounds in quick pursuit.

My mind split for a moment as I felt two graze me, but I ignored the pain of them as well. My leg kept mimicking the other as if it wasn't just hit, and I made no attempt to stop the bleeding coming from my neck as we quickly hung right.

The only thing I was truly aware of over the gun shots and the pain were the officers cursing behind us, their footsteps now echoing behind, starting their hunt.

And like the animals we were, we bolted down the dark back streets of the Ward together, breaths ragged, primal looks of fear assuredly blatant on our faces as we refused to look back. Or fear blatant on mine at least. The Quarian's mask was too dark to see any of his features. Chiding my gaze for even wandering to his face in the first place, I quickly braked to avoid hitting the wall and followed Zael down another alleyway on our right.

Pointless observations aside, I didn't desire to meet my end here. Definitely not here. Not now.

So my feet pounded against the ground along with his, now hurting just from how hard they were pushing off the cracked foundation. But they kept going, as did the Quarian beside me, as we simply continued to just run. We weaved within the maze of the Ward's back streets for what seemed like years, scurrying like rats, feebly attempting escape, the footsteps behind us hounding our every move. Something I grudgingly realized was probably habitual for this kid. My eyes snapped back into focus as another gun shot rang out behind us. I'm pretty sure something nicked me in concert with it.

Then something clattered behind us as we leaped over a decrepit crate.

And though Zael looked over his shoulder, concerned about what it was, he still continued to run. As did I.

But even being confronted with the end can only make someone move for so long. It wasn't long until we came to a stop some time later. And as we came to a halt, I unwittingly stopped to realize that we were now only a block away from the Abode. There the warehouse was, sitting across the street from our alley way.

The glorious bastard had been leading us back the entire time, as opposed to fleeing blindly into the night. But my gratitude only lasted a moment before reality set in.

Fatigue was finally catching up with us, and now that we had stopped, our bodies now had time to scream as loudly as they could for air, legs that were once unstoppable pistons now turning to jelly. And as we curled up from exhaustion, dying, a C-Sec agent slowly walked into view from across the street.

With what little strength I had left, I immediately grabbed and forcibly wedged him and myself underneath the pile of trashed crates beside us. And though we had surely thrown off the pair hunting us what must have been several dozen street passes ago, we both remained deathly silent together, unbearably still underneath the garbage, fearful of even making a breath.

Unfortunately, I heard their footsteps grow nearer.

I wondered if they had seen me-

I wondered if we had even shaken the others after all, and if they hadn't just called our whereabouts in-

I wondered what would happen as I began to reach into my clothing for my gun.

And the time to ponder all this made me even more fearful. I had been in a handful of situations, if not dozens, assuredly more perilous than this in my time here-

The footsteps were now approaching the entrance of the alleyway.

I mean fuck. I've fought Geth. Pirates. Rogue Alliance Cells, Murderous Escaped Science Projects, Corrupt Security Forces, more Geth-

They now seemed to stop at the edge of the dumpster, the last object harboring their view of the crates we were laying beneath.

And as I clenched my hand around the grip of my gun- someone called out to them, from the street. And the footsteps of the officer in the alleyway immediately seemed to backpedal, quickly growing distant as they started back in the direction of the new voice.

The palpable fear I felt run through my body was surprising to even myself. Frightening really. I mean why was I even scared?

But, to spare myself the fear of the unknown, I ended up attributing this fear to the mere fact that sinister things seemed to be afoot in the district around me. The racism (or was it speciesism?), the homicidal cops, the words of Zael from earlier...

And in an ironic twist, attempting to assuage my fear of the unknown caused me to realized that I feared this situation simply because it was the unknown. I had no idea what was going on around me. A realization that I acknowledge has recurred over and over and over like a hellish Groundhog Day since the moment I got here.

I literally have no idea what's going on around me.

And I would highlight that it was at this specific moment that everything changed. When my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to finally seek out that stupid why. Look for answers. The truth.

Things would have ended up quite differently had I just decided to drop everything and leave the damn place. Count down the days until the Battle of Citadel finally reared its ugly head. Just sit back, doing nothing, instead of pretending to be a hero-

Ah, maybe nothing would be that different in all honesty but...do I regret my choice in the end?

I couldn't say. You can't really know if you regret something for sure until the very end. Until you know that very most utter final outcome of the decision. But regardless, that general lack of knowing was a feeling that I've become quite familiar with as of late. And regardless of my feelings on the matter, we decided to continue laying still. And minutes passed. And then hours. And then lights dimmed, and the sounds of the streets eventually died down, indicating they were now devoid of people and vendors. And 'Night' had finally set in over the district.

And it was at that very moment the alley way become pitch dark that we both knew we'd make that final dash toward the warehouse.

We took a deep breath.

And then charged out from the back alley we'd been hiding in.

Within seconds, Zael and I were already moving into the warehouse, weaving its wide corridors, ignoring the several dozen eyes that cast themselves upon us as we rushed through. We were only stopped when Leena's face finally met mine several turns in, upon which, she quickly took Zael's hand in her own, coercing him with little effort to come home with her. And as they went, looking over her shoulder, the Turian motioned back to me in the direction of Old Man Quarian.

If there was one good thing about this neomodern ghetto, it was that news traveled fast. Not many Quarians were delinquent enough to thieve from storefronts out in broad daylight, and several officers (as we saw ourselves) had been seen skulking about Zael's usual haunts by the various locals. Upon hearing about this from a nosy Nancy, Old Man Quarian wasted no time in putting two and two together, having several warehousians apparently split up to look for us as well, lead the officers off our trail when they could, so we'd have the opportunity to make it back.

It was this incident that cemented the fact that the Old Man really did pull a lot of weight around this place.

But it's not like I knew this at the time. The very first thing that he did of course was thank me for bringing the kid back home safe upon entering. Then I found myself on a bed, Quarian already treating me for the first injuries he could see, not humoring any unintelligible objections that may have escaped my lips.

And after he had finished with me, the Old Quarian who called himself Nar Tasi began to speak. Really speak. Practically spilled his soul out to me to be frank. I felt kind of bad for falling in and out of it as he told a story, about him and Zael. But I had a long day. And the stuff he had me drink was making things a little hazy. In the beginning, he merely lambasted the youth for his impulsive behavior, as he usually did, forsaking Zael's miscreant ways for the next hour or so. He may have mentioned knowing his father back when he was alive during the tirade, I wasn't sure. How he would have never approved of his actions. How he would have raised the boy to rise above it all, followed by a lot of hope spots, if only's, and wishful thinking and the rest of that garbage. Then he took a dark turn sometime around there. Something about organized crime causing his death. A new crime syndicate of power in the district marginalizing the rest. Those who didn't meet their ideals bullied and treated like Vorcha. That last bit seemed a little insensitive to said Vorcha living down the street but I guess old people of all races are just like that. I also faintly recall him bringing up that I came during a time where I would only meet prosecution. That he was glad I had stayed despite this.

I never asked why he told me all this. Or maybe I had asked and I just didn't remember.

But I was just tired at this point. Oh so tired.

Quite tired. Too tired to keep my eyes open as he continued to talk.

In the end, my will gave up, and I decided to finally rest my eyes, still managing to catch a few words here and there.

And as I laid back, my eyes shut close. I was simply too tired to do anything else.

Codex Entry:

Feros Colony

Feros is a semi-habitable world in the Attican Beta cluster discovered by the Exogeni Corporation in 2139 CE. Two-thirds of its habitable surface is covered with the ruins of crumbling Prothean megalopolis, left behind after their extinction. Thusly so, Feros was considered a poor prospect for colonization due to this, as little open ground remains for agriculture. The only sizable fresh water sources are the poles, which are tapped by the decaying Prothean aqueduct system. The dead cities, while in good condition considering their antiquity, are of uncertain stability. Ground level is congested by a dozen meters of fallen debris, and the air is fouled by dust.

Though the discovery of a planet formerly inhabited by Protheans created much hoopla among those back at Earth, initial excitement of the find eventually died down, with little to show for the Alliance's extraneous efforts in probing the remains of the Prothean ruins over the next several decades. After heated negotiations and in an attempt to recover lost capital, control of the system was shortly returned back to the private investors that had discovered it. Later, in the aftermath of the Relay 314 incident, the Systems Alliance informed the Citadel Council of this planet as a gesture of good faith for their invitation to the Galactic stage. Despite Exogeni's protest, the Council was authorized to send several sanctioned Prothean survey and archaeological teams to purvey the planet and discover what Human hands may have missed. Meeting the same results of the Systems Alliance decades earlier, interest in the planet died down once again.

Many intrepid adventurers looking to make themselves known on the galactic scale have also purveyed its ruins, hoping to come across the next big Prothean find. However, a majority of these expeditions have yielded little more than dust, corporate sanctions by Exogeni for unauthorized looting, and the occasional pointed insight into Prothean architecture. Due to the hundreds of fruitless excursions since its discovery, the planet has become something of an interstellar joke. A recent colloquialism has even appeared in response to this phenomenon when someone wishes to find something most perceive to be unobtainable: 'If that's what you're looking for, odds are it's probably on Feros. See you in the next cycle.'

Despite all this, in 2178, the human ExoGeni Corporation announced its intention to place a permanent colony on Feros, to more thoroughly explore the ruins, to the puzzlement of many. Ignoring the projected losses by several hundred different financiers, pioneer settlement was placed on the upper levels of the remaining intact skyscrapers, using the surviving Prothean aqueducts and rooftop hydroponics gardens to support the population. The success of the Human corporation's colony is marginal, currently residing at a measly population of 300, and some have rumored that Exogeni has stumbled on to the next big find. One it's decidedly keeping to itself. Efforts to properly investigate the colony and make Exogeni's reports on Feros public have been largely ignored by the Systems Alliance.

Author's Notes:

Oh joy, it's the Second Anniversary of the Neverending Story! As a celebration of this monumental landmark in this journey, and as a way to reward all of you who've faithfully decided to stick it with us through thick and thin, I've decided to release another chapter! Lucky you reader!

And it seems it didn't take long before our silly Shield had already gotten himself tangled up in the next big plot of interstellar intrigue! Who are these organized criminals Old Man Quarian hinted at? Why did C-Sec coppers just try to riddle our gang? And are Zael and Shield's increasing displays of belligerent sexual tension actually beginning to develop into some sort of vitriolic friendship before our very eyes?! Hell, I ship it!

And there's only one way to find out!

I'll see you all in a year!

In the Next Chapter: Что новенького Скуби Ду?

Tune in next time on Mass Effective: A Hero Made!