I used the lighter I'd stolen from the warehouse with the Omega symbol on the casing to heat up the metal pieces of my armor to make them pliable enough to mold around my leg. Fucking hell. I didn't realize how much this would hurt until I screwed the small spike that held my armor into place into the sensitive skin of my calf and right into the bone. I released a wail of pain through my tears as it felt like the pain that had just started to dull flared back to life, sending shockwaves up and down my spine.

Once I finished fixing my leg I had to breathe deeply to prevent myself from passing out. Eventually I gave in to the pain and closed my eyes, the memories of the past replaying in my mind as they tend to do right before you die.

"Try to see past what she is, on to what she /can/ be."

A young raven haired pirate by the name of Olivia Marcellus stood next to her Captain and brother, Marcus, with her arms coolly folded over her ample bosom and virtually glaring at the piece of hunk that was going to become their new ship and home for the next decade or so. Upon sneaking into the ship that they were about to steal from the batarians she looked around with more than just concern crossing her strong features. Within the five seconds of stepping onto the damn thing she'd already spotted ten things that she knew would be huge problems in the future. It wasn't until her black boot stepped into something unknown, smelly, and quite squishy did she turn to him.

"You can't be fucking serious, Marcus. What the fuck is this?" She gestured to her boot.

"Freedom's what it is, Livvy." Marcus cooed in that suave tone of his and did one of his grand gestures of extending his arms while turning on his heel. In his excitement he was completely oblivious to what Olivia was going on about. Olivia, in turn, just couldn't believe her ears and she shot him one of her glares, that one glare that could bore a hole through your skull if it had been tangible type of death glares Marcus said she must have learned from Ophelia. Olivia thought differently.

"No, Marcus. What the fuck is /this/?" Again, she gestured to what she could tell was probably varren shit that was now smeared on her precious, stolen, and quite expensive black boots.

"Just… step around it. It's probably just varren shit. It washes off." Marcus then continued on deeper into the shabby shuttle bay, looking around with that usual excitement when he found what he thought was treasure. "Think of it, Livvy. We'd have our own /ship/. We can find a mechanic, pilot, armory chief…" He continued to rattle off about theoretical ship openings as Olivia frowned in disgust, violently shaking her boot to try to get the shit off before continuing on behind him.

"Thankfully, we're gonna steal this muthafucker because it would be a shame if we actually had to pay for it. Do you know if it even /flies/? You know, there's also like fifty other ships we could steal that are close by." Olivia gestured back to the exit and heaved a heavy sigh, knowing that taking on the task Marcus had set out to do was going to end badly. Very badly. And probably with her being shot.

That charming smirk crossed his face as he turned around, resting his hand on the butt of one of his revolvers. "Not the point. I promised ya a ship for yer eighteenth, and this is /it/. We ain't gotta live under the helm o'Talea, o'anyone else /ever/ again. /And/, we can bring back the Marcellus name. It's fuckin' perfect."

It was then, before she could even protest the stupid idea of leaving Talea's side; that Olivia heard the pounding and determined footsteps of the agitated batarian behind her. It only took a split second for Marcus to the snatch his oblivious sister behind him and fire off the first shot, the bullet lodging into one of the eyes of the approaching batarian. After the batarian went down with a loud thud the small shuttle bay became flooded with angry, pissed off slavers. And with nothing but a single lonely crate to take cover behind, the Marcellus siblings collectively knew were pretty fucked.

"Remember that favorite game of mine? Who's the better killer?" Olivia asked as she dove for cover, taking Marcus with her by his collar.

Marcus reluctantly let Olivia yank him by the collar as he landed behind the crate. He leaned his back against the dingy metal as he looked over to Olivia, who was now quickly and frantically assembling her Equalizer.

"Yeah?"

"Let's play." Olivia cooed in that sinister tone that reminded Marcus why he loved his sister as much as he did and put up with /half/ the shit he put up with on a regular basis.

Marcus fired off the first few shots from their side, distracting the batarians in the back before Olivia took out one on the side with a perfect headshot. Olivia realized slavers had been advancing entirely way too quickly for a sniper and two revolvers so Olivia did what she did best. She aimed her rifle at the one and only light illuminating the shuttle bay and took it out.

Amidst Marcus's cries of protest she rolled out of cover unsheathing her dual daggers mid roll and started taking them out one by one. A slashed throat here. Eyeball stab there. Even so far as breaking one of the batarian's arms and using him to break the neck of another in a strategic and quite limber move she'd learned from being forced to learn ballet by her aunt and uncle.

Olivia was on fire, plowing through slavers with a catlike grace and Marcus only did what he could, dropping the ones who were about to get close to Olivia. The moment one of her daggers hit the ground and that very distinctive and pained wail sounded within the walls of the shuttle bay, Marcus knew what he had to do.

"No one hurts my sister and get away with it." Marcus growled.

It was Marcus's turn to dance across the floor with a dagger of his own. He twisted and twirled on the balls of his feet, dodging bullets like no other and mostly using his hands to dispose of the attackers. If Olivia had dexterity, Marcus had the speed. All Olivia could spot from her location on the floor was the faint glint of his dagger here and there from the dim lighting of guns being fired off and hear the loud thuds of armor-clad bodies hitting the floor around her.

After vanquishing the intruders to their private party (to which Olivia racked up the higher body count, of course) the siblings made a break for the helm, sealing the door behind them as Marcus slammed himself into the pilot's chair. Olivia hadn't left the fight unscathed as the shot in her right shoulder was preventing her from doing much of anything except whining.

"Marcus…" Olivia whined to Marcus in that annoying high pitched sound as she dramatically stumbled over to the co-pilot's seat, flopping down and letting her waist raven fringe cover her tear filled eyes.

"Spirits be damned, Olivia. Can you /not/ die on me right now? I'm kinda busy trying to save our asses and it would be a shame if ya died right now." Marcus tapped a few buttons before he started the engines, his eyes never leaving the controls.

To Olivia's surprise the damn thing actually started up and the shields activated almost immediately. The VI alerted them that the kinetic barriers were low, but to Olivia that was the least of their worries. One thrust of the power and whatever batarians had been left behind were probably toasted from the scorching exhaust of the engines.

Olivia breathed a sigh of relief as she held her hand over her profusely bleeding shoulder, wondering how it was that Marcus was always calm, always knew what to do, and knew how to shut up her whining. As she stared at him in admiration, she hoped one day she'd be just as good of a pirate as he'd been.

I woke from my memory with a start and my lips tugged in a small smile. That was the first moment I could remember actually being shot and I remember how horrible it felt to have a gaping, bleeding hole in my arm. Shit. Now that I really think about it that was just child's play compared to what I felt right now. Then, it was my arm in a sling for two weeks. Right now, every muscle in my body was sore beyond all belief and felt like my limbs were going to either spontaneously combust or just fall off my body.

I took a look around and realized it might have been hours, maybe even days that I'd been passed out. I knew by how my blood coagulated and dried to create scabs over most of my wounds and how the sol star of the planet looked like it was in the exact same place it was before I drifted off. The one that made me angrier than a krogan about the genophage was the one on my face. I knew I wouldn't be able to dodge /that/ scar, but thankfully Jared had a scar removal machine on the SR3 and Jared loved me to pieces.

I think. I hope?

With nothing but sheer determination (or stupidity, you decide) I forced my limbs to work as I stumbled across the desert towards where my shuttle should be with the hope I was right.

To Be Continued...