It was a badly lit warehouse with overturned crates dispersed between broken sofas and scuffed tables making the bulk of the furniture. A few data pads were strewn around, carelessly tossed aside by their owners. There was a stench of sweat, and alcohol, and other alien odors that were indefinable but now so familiar to Megan's senses. She fidgeted uncomfortably and rubbed the scars on her wrist from many months of shackles that had rubbed the skin raw. The mercenaries trusted the girls enough not to try and run off anymore – or maybe they stopped caring. She sighed heavily, her swollen belly crushing her lungs – it was getting harder to breathe these last few weeks.
After their capture, the slavers had taken their latest haul to a processing facility not far from the boarder in the Terminus systems. The strong and able bodied had been moved on quickly, murmurs of high prices to be paid for these perfect laborers. Then the women were sorted, and they had come under much higher scrutiny. Those too old to be deemed attractive by the humans that had been assigned to inspect them (Megan deduced they were not part of the group who had captured them but were definitely working alongside them as willing business partners, something which made her feel sick even now to think of) had been argued over for a long time. Some of the slavers didn't want to go to the trouble of trying to shift this unwanted stock, but others were determined that human women made good personal slaves. In the end the argument was settled and they too had been moved on for sale. Then the young, supple women, the beautiful twenty somethings that were instantly taken away to work in bars and clubs and whorehouses – this just left the children, like Megan. It was decided the youngest would be dumped at an orphanage, after some gentle coaxing to get the leader not to airlock them. The men of the slaver group, hungrily pawing their soft flesh were set upon Megan and the other teenage girls. They were taken as pets of the slaver men, humans who had lost their humanity somewhere in this big, unfriendly galaxy. After the slavers were done dividing the spoils, the girls were taken to Omega, a space station carved out of an asteroid. It was the hellhole of the galaxy, ruled by dangerous mercenary gangs. But it had become their only home.
She sighed again, shifting her position on the meager mattress she'd been provided. They let her wash the sheet with a bucket of water sometimes, but bloodstains are hard to remove. She thought of the girls she'd come to think of as friends, the ones she'd lost, and those that sat nearby now. Only a handful of them remained, as their 'owners' had become bored and disposed of them, or they'd succumbed to disease. Megan's master was a muscular, sharp-faced man known as Slice. He knew how to keep good enough care of his pets to keep them alive, but showed little interest beside throwing her the odd scraps of food and the irregular rapings. He didn't like to keep a schedule – Megan had overheard him telling his friends – he liked to keep the bitches guessing. Even the rapes had mostly stopped now that her pregnancy was so obvious. Only one other girl had become pregnant during their captivity, but she had died before the child was born. Most of the other girls were too malnourished by now. She crawled over to the girl called Hannah in a pile of rugs next to her and touched her hand. The girl peered up at her curiously, but neither made a sound. The gang didn't like it when the girls talked. They curled up close to one another for comfort and warmth both pressing their hands to Megan's warm taught belly, and finding a small joy in the kicking form within. Closing their eyes, the girls intently listened to the shouts and laughter and sounds of sparring that filled this dingy warehouse in the guts of Omega, the end of everything.
Stabbing pains plagued her throughout the night, and she buried herself ever tighter to the rugs where she had curled up against Hannah. As the night wore on, nothing improved. It was more of a rolling, deep-pitted pain in her abdomen now, which spread across her back and her thighs like a fiery heat. Megan knew what was happening, but it terrified her to admit it, so she tried to go back to sleep. But Hannah knew what was happening too, feeling the movement of Megan's body under her hand. Eventually she had to admit that it wasn't going to go away, and Megan stirred from the rugs and hunkered down. She let out a moan at one point, the pain so intense it forced the air from her lungs, but one of the batarians threw a bottle in their direction and she remembered to keep her mouth clamped shut. It was terrifying, an agony more intense than anything she thought possible to feel, and the minutes seemed to drag into long sweat drenched hours. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Megan held a tiny squealing baby. She was instantly overwhelmed with love for this child she hadn't wanted, with a man she was abused by and she resented. Despite it all, she had something of her very own to hold on to in this desolate place.
Slice was horrified when he came to find Megan a few days later – his child was squirming in her thin arms.
"What the fuck is this?" he raged, slamming his fist against the metal container Megan, Hannah and the baby were sheltering in. The girls cowered, and Megan shielded her baby's head with her arm, fiercely protective. She felt an animal rage bubbling up within her.
"This is your son, Slice. Say hello to your baby," she snapped back at him, stroking the infant's fine wispy blonde hair.
"The fuck am I; you're just another used up bitch now aren't you? I don't need you anymore, get the fuck out of there!" he shouted, grabbing her arm and yanking her away. She let go of the baby, letting Hannah snatch him up. The last thing she wanted was for Slice to harm her child. He struck her across the face, sneering at her,
"What do we do with used up rags?" he chuckled, striking her again. He threw her down and beat her some more. She yelped and cried, her body still sore and aching from giving birth only a few days ago. Suddenly a gunshot cracked through the air making Slice pause and the crowd that was gathering wavered, unsure of whether to stay or feign ignorance. The enormous shadow of a Krogan passed over her.
"What's going on here?" the krogan's voice rumbled, a sound that Megan was no longer terrified by; she was only in awe of these massive beasts. She recognized him as Rox Thresher, the leader of the mercenary group that kept them captive. His scarred face and massive, tough facial crest lead her to guess he was quite old, and the other mercenaries cowered away from him in respect, admiration but mostly fear.
"This little bitch is worthless to me. She's a waste of space with a suckling brat," Slice snapped, daring to square up to his leader. Rox narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth in an animal expression. To Megan, Krogan were more like dinosaurs than real, sapient people. But the fact he was standing here talking in front of her reminded her otherwise.
"We do not strike our women," Rox snarled, getting up close to Slice, their faces almost touching. The human male looked so tiny and pathetic next to the krogan, but Slice was a stubborn cunt and refused to back down.
"Yeah, says who?" he laughed, straightening up to his full height and puffing out his chest. It was strange how humans tried to make themselves larger in anger, but krogan simply coiled into themselves, like snakes about to strike. Only they weren't snakes, they were near a ton of pure muscle waiting to barrel into whatever opposed them, banishing arguments with brute strength.
"I say!" the krogan roared, slamming his fist on his hard plated chest. His expansive voice filled the room like a force of nature.
"Women are not to be struck, do I make myself clear?" he growled quieter now, his glare burning into Slice.
"Oh boohoo, Mr. women's rights. You're a fucking sap for a krogan." Before anyone could blink, Thresher had slammed into Slice, his broad head crest smashing into the human's seemingly pathetic frame. The crunch of bones told the onlookers that the man's ribs had snapped.
"You disgust me, human," Thresher growled low, and then turned on Hannah.
"Show me the child," he instructed, peering curiously at the small pink thing squirming in the human girl's arms. The krogan had never seen a baby human, hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he saw a krogan baby. Megan stood up cautiously and limped towards the other girl, taking her baby from her and clutching him tight. The small child squealed, pleased to be against it's mother again. The krogan's expression softened, if you ever could say a krogan looked soft.
"It's not his fault. I will never understand human obsessions with keeping you women as pets. A krogan woman is no more powerful than a male, but she talks and she thinks. They are our greatest adversaries, you understand?" he smiled then, possibly the oddest thing Megan had ever seen in her short life.
"I'm very old you know. We krogan live a long time… I have not sired a child for over a century. I will protect this infant, if you will allow it. Not that there is much else for you," he ended the speech with a slight snarl, knowing full well that there was nowhere else to go for the young human girls. The other gang members had dispersed now, having dragged away Slice's lifeless, broken body.
"I may be a krogan, but I'm no savage," he said quietly, the words more of a rumble in his chest than words from his lips. Megan nodded dumbly, mouthing her thanks Rox Thresher.
That night Megan cried as Hannah held her, helped her take care of her child. She still hadn't named him - she didn't really feel like she ever would have to. All she could do was cry now – despite the fact she hated Slice for raping and abusing her for two years now, he was the only reason she was still alive, and had given her this beautiful baby to call her own. He was dead now, and her purpose in this place was lost. Her child had lost his father too and she wept for her own father, who she knew she would never see again.