A salarian sat in a militaristic armour room, cleaning his weapons. Dressed in a smart, white uniform, he looked threatening despite his small size. His skin was oily green, with some traces of light yellow. He had yellow stripes running down his right arm, denoting a long-time service. The Omni-tool on his right arm beeped. He flinched – that meant that an important message arrived, most likely an order. As much as he was proud of his job, after the work with the Genophage, he wasn't so sure. Was he doing the right thing? Did the STG knew what was best for the galaxy? Nearing the end of his service time (in fact, he had packed most of belongings and sent them home), he really wasn't expecting another mission from command.

He placed the gun barrel back on the bench and opened the message.

From: Mordin Solus

To: Lt. Coron Zenzin

Encryption: Type 5 Proxy

Greetings Zenzin! Good to be able to send a message. Was hoping to do so earlier. Caught up in work. Apologises. Currently in Omega, studying an interesting strain of virus. New, unusual and extremely complex. Has the possibility of becoming widespread and deadly. Humans seems unaffected. Must look into this.

A Quarian met me this morning. In fact was a human in enviro-suit. Heat signatures and muscular tensions gave it away. Was asking for my assistance in genetic samples of various species. Also said was going on a mission. Need a scientist, look into a relic. Currently busy, can't help. Also not an expert on relics. Did provide gene samples.

Said will find another one to take my spot. You are a good choice. Can you help? Will provide his extranet address. You leaving STG in two weeks, yes? Do it.

Trust him? Not yet. Payment? Little. Duty? Apparently so. He seems to know quite a bit. Dangerous man, but also a leader. I approve.

Hope to see you sometime. Perhaps you come to Omega. See you later. Mordin.

Coron always wondered why Dr Solus was so jumpy. All Salarians were quick, but Dr Solus seemed to be hyped up even more. Even in writing, Dr Solus's way of speech seeped through.

He wasn't sure whether to treat this message as a mission. Dr Solus left the STG – honourable discharge. Technically, the doctor was a civilian, but he still had extensive connection with the Special Tasks Group, and a request like this usually meant that it had to be done.

That's an order. Coron concluded. For the best, I presume. What to do at home? Unthinkable. I think… would go crazy trying not to say anything. Working with a dangerous human? Dressed in enviro-suit? Interesting.

Coron looked the extranet address – LoneWolf247 – and started to write.

…

Nekros marvelled at the array of weaponry in front of him. They were all large, heavy and definitely lethal. They gave out an aura of danger. He remembered his own weapons locker. Even though he was the Heavy Weapons specialist of the team, his guns looked scrawny compared to these monsters. He especially admired the machine gun at the far corner of the room.

"Hopefully. You are looking at a modified human weapon. It was known as N7 Typhoon. It has been changed to fire larger rounds at a slower rate. Deadly in all situations." The Elcor shopkeeper said. Nekros, who had been holding in his breath, sighed. He was always annoyed when Elcors spoke – they were too slow. Way too slow.

"Is it legal?" Nekros asked.

"Proudly. Yes, but only if you set it to fire at a medium speed." The Elcor said. "It is 20 000 credits."

"Twenty thousand…! You've got to be joking!" Nekros shouted. "Are you crazy?"

"Angrily. No, I do not believe I am crazy. Please leave if don't have the money." The Elcor threatened.

"Damn it. Alright, I'll leave."

Having left the shop, he wasn't sure were to go. He recorded what he saw in a report and sent it to the Turian Hierarchy. They wanted a very detailed information on the weapons that the people of the Terminus systems had access to. He summed up in one sentence: "You better give us something better."

Nekros smirked – his superiors would be annoyed when they read his report.

If you send me on a mission like this and expect me to not be pissed off, then you don't deserve to be my superior. I bet that they want to discharge me again. Too bad – I'm the best fighter that you've got. Heck, nobody's beaten my physique training time yet!

Nekros suddenly felt depressed. He was a capable soldier, a powerful tool which an able leader could use with great effect. Yet not a single person he met, regardless of their rank, was capable of doing so. In the end, it was his decisions that saved lives and finished the mission.

If I can just find a leader…

He never thought that the Quarian would be that leader.

…

Jackson sipped at his tea (he called eezo tea, even when he was alone, since that made eezo sound less exotic) while reading at Nekros' file. He should have read it yesterday, but the chair was so comfortable. Sooo comfortable… He woke up after twelve hours of sleep, embarrassed that he allowed himself to doze off like that. He realised that he had let is guards down.

Do I really trust the Soracs that much? You've only known them for two weeks! He thought, and was shocked when another voice inside him replied: They are a family you've never had, Jackson.

That was the second time that voice spoke in his entire life. The first time it did was when he was still with Catherine… or rather, when Catherine was still with him.

The meeting he had earlier with the Salarian; Mordin Solus went well, though it didn't go as smoothly as he had planned.

Firstly, that Salarian noticed his disguise.

He contemplated on killing him then and there, but the Mordin promised silence. The Doctor was also a valuable man, someone that the galaxy lacked. Jackson decided to spare his life.

Mordin gave him the gene samples of all intelligent species in the galaxy. Although Jackson highly doubted that they will work, it was good to at least have them as a backup. Who knew what the Prothean AI accepted as "sufficient material".

Dr Solus also gave told him that another Salarian may be able to help, and that he will get him to join Jackson's mission. He promised to join Jackson when he finished his work with this new virus, though Mordin suspected that it may take him a year to develop a cure. Jackson thanked him and left his laboratory.

…

Jackson shook his head with a small smile. Young, rebellious, capable yet thoughtful, Nekros was a Turian version of his teenage self… when Liam Jackson was a teenager. The only two things that was different was his age (Nekros was twenty-five) and the fact that his biotic powers wasn't as powerful as his.

Well… Nobody has my biotics, not even that famous criminal: Jack. Jackson thought. But then again, my powers aren't technically biotic…

This Turian's military report was despicable, having being charged twice with insubordination (though the trial's verdict on both situations was "Rationality and Duty seen within Situational Decision", a rare conclusion for any military in the galaxy). He was denied the position of leadership due to such actions. However, his comrades had praised his loyalty, forward thinking and his unchangeable moral standards. A perfect candidate for his mission.

I'm lucky to have met three such fine people. Perhaps its destiny, I don't know. Jackson wondered. He wasn't much of a spiritual person, though he thoroughly despised destiny. It's what killed Catherine. And now I'm here thanking it. Damn it!

Jackson thought as he threw a ball of blue at the door. He had been forming it absentmindedly, a habit he picked up during his time at HIGHCOM.

Kisa opened the door at that very instant, receiving the ball squarely in the face. It shattered into millions of pretty pieces, causing no damage but startling Kisa enough to knock her off balance.

"Whoa-!"

"Gotcha!" Jackson said, as he lifted her up with his biotics. The shattered fragments were also lifted, filling the room with colourful display of light. Suspended mid-air, Kisa felt as if she was in space, drifting peacefully into oblivion.

"Wow… it's beautiful…" Kisa whispered. "Is this what you do every day?"

"Ha ha ha! No, but perhaps I should." Jackson slowly drifted her back to the ground. The blue fragments faded out of sight. "Sorry for that, didn't hear you coming." He turned off the music that was playing from the sound system. It had been playing far louder than he thought…

"It's okay. That was wonderful." Kisa landed on her feet. "Right. Thea's found a batarian that might work for us."

"Hmmm? Really?" Jackson said. "What's his name?"

"Her, actually." Thea shouted across the apartment. Thea had been tearing through the apartment, trying to find something. So far, she had no luck. "She's a one tough bitch."

Female batarian? What? Jackson wondered. Never seen them before… Did they ever leave batarian space?

"I was kinda surprised, too. Her name is Rallel Ghanovan, a fighter pilot and an explosive specialist. Currently in Citadel under terrorism charges." Jackson was sure that Kisa could see right through him. "Apparently she's been framed because she had refused to detonate escape pods."

"A Batarian, who's a pilot, and who knows what's right from wrong. That's a rare specimen you found!" Jackson mused.

"It wasn't easy. Now you better recruit her!" Thea shouted again.

"How…? She's being charged in Citadel!" Jackson asked.

"That's your job, not mine! … Ah, found it!" Thea replied. She got out a long, deadly-looking rifle from the heap of clothing. Standing in the middle of the chaotic living room with a rifle as thick has her body, Thea looked like the goddess of war. "Don't ask." She said.