Oh, hello there. Welcome to Chapter 12. More battling. I might slow down a bit with updates, I only have a few more chapters written. Remember! Every time you comment, you can save up to 50% off your future comment purchase. Enjoy.
Oswald Ripper's earliest childhood memory was killing ants with a laser. It was a high powered diode that his mother used for arts and crafts, but it was the beginning of a long life of finding creative ways to kill the large variety of nuisances he would encounter in life.
The childhood exploit had also left him blind for nearly a year while his mother attempted to scrounge up enough money for ocular implants. He'd gotten the implants at a discount after his mother also volunteered to sign him up as a test subject for new experimental biotic amp technology. He'd been lucky enough to grow up in an apartment building a bit too close to an eezo refinery, wouldn't you know it. There was some murmuring that this was all part of a vast conspiracy. Section 8 housing next to eezo leaks would create plenty of test subjects for the government to toy with, and they'd all be poor and uneducated, which had several benefits. First off, no one important would care about the fate of the downtrodden if the experiments went wrong and second, they'd be willing to submit to tests for minimal pay to make ends meet.
The results of Ripper's prototype amp were disappointing and far below what the scientists had been hoping for. Oswald didn't seem to display any new biotic powers, even after the introduction of a variety of different drugs to encourage some kind of reaction.
Mrs. Ripper, meanwhile, had reached her breaking point. She's had quite enough of one experiment after another on her sweet, angelic boy. The remainder of her savings went towards booking passage off Earth, and she fled with him to a small colony on Terra Nova. It was a year before something clicked in Oswald's scarred brain, and his biotic powers finally activated. It wasn't long before he was using his newfound abilities to commit petty crimes at first, then minor felonies. And then after a brief stint in jail, it was Eclipse.
It was working for Eclipse that the young Ripper finally found the father figure he'd been searching for all his life. His name was Sokolowski and he was a battle worn old man on the far end of his fifties. Ripper followed the old man on damn near every mission, drinking in every story he had to share.
It was that last quiet night between missions that made the difference. They'd been following a Blood Pack drug runner for weeks, and they'd finally managed to take the ship and cargo. They were headed back to Omega with the pirated shipment when Sokolowski started getting ominous.
"I ain't gonna last much longer, Rip," he had said. "Damn surprised I made it this far. No one gets out of this business alive. The minute you see a chance to get out, you get out, you hear me? You're too smart for this shit." Ripper had solemnly promised to do so, and ten minutes within docking, Sokolowski was dead.
A trio of krogans had been waiting to exact revenge for the stolen drugs. One had charged at Sokolowski, and Ripper stupidly had tried to get in the way. He'd lost an arm for his effort, and was left for dead.
Eclipse's leaders had been less than upset over Sokolowski's death, distancing themselves from the skirmish to avoid a bigger war with Blood Pack. Ripper quietly slipped away from Eclipse, avoiding them for years until an old friend started drunkenly ranting about this new Archangel character on Omega.
Ripper had turned into pretty firm believer of fate and karma. Everything had a way of working out in the end. He lost his arm, but he learned quickly how to use his left hand and his biotics had more than made up for his disability. He sought to atone for his time as a mercenary, and for years he'd managed to stay under Eclipse's radar. Hearing about the vigilante Archangel had to be another sign.
Sort of like Melanis. The pair of them had founded an unlikely but very close mentor/protégé friendship. He lost Sokolowski to become the teacher to an eager young man seeking direction. Everything works out, the world comes full circle.
Concerning Melanis, Sidonis was back to being wrong and Garrus was back to being right. Sort of. While he never voiced it, he was beginning to agree that maybe, just maybe, bringing aboard that Melanis kid was a mistake. By the end of the rookie's first week, Garrus was pleasantly surprised to find that Melanis was making himself an invaluable member of the team.
For one thing, he was fast. His lean wiry frame and long legs helped him to cross a battlefield and find cover before anyone else had covered half that amount of ground. While his aim wasn't anything impressive, the speed in which he could unload a sniper rifle (or the shotgun that suited him perfectly), pop the thermal clip, and start again was a thing of beauty.
The second skill in Melanis' favor was his ability to follow directions. Selanis had voiced his concern that the kid would try to play hero out there and showboat in an attempt to prove himself. He couldn't have been more wrong. Melanis moved like an extension of his commander, carrying out exactly what was demanded of him without asking questions or adding his own flourishes.
Kid would have made a great soldier. His showboating was saved until after the job was done.
"Did you see that? Did you fucking see that?"
"Caught it on video." Ripper crouched over the smoking remains of the salarian Eclipse, his helmet and chest plate shattered from Melanis' close range shotgun blast.
Grinning, Melanis leaned into the middle aged human, "Play it, lemme see."
Ripper chuckled, shaking his head. He flicked his wrist in a specific direction, his omni-tool illuminating. An image appeared over the glowing device of a panicking salarian firing wildly at the advancing turian. Melanis danced from side to side, zig sagging, bullets whizzing past him, before he shoved his shotgun against the Eclipse merc's chest and fired.
"Damn!" Melanis hooted in delight. "I dodged like five shots, did you see that?"
"I counted two." Ripper straightened, scanning the area. It was a warehouse just off the Eclipse owned loading bay, now empty of mercenary guards. Eclipse's hold on Omega wasn't nearly as strong as the Blue Suns or Blood Pack. Their territory was smaller, operations quieter. That made it harder to hide their shipping bays, but they'd turned Omega into a major port for their drug running. Red sand, hallex, Minagen X3, it could all be found here, waiting to be shipped to planets and colonies that would pay top dollar for illicit substances.
Melanis scowled, "It wasn't two, play it again."
"Later," Ripper murmured. He flicked his wrist again, the omni-tool display disappearing. He had Vortash help him tweak it to make it mostly hands free. Cheaper than buying a new cybernetic arm. "We've still got a lot of work to do."
If anyone had asked him, Melanis would have said that Ripper was not what he expected. The name brought up images of some huge battle scarred human with a buzz cut, cigar, and tough as nails attitude. The real Ripper was skinny with shaggy blond hair and beard. He also had a surprising spiritual and superstitious side, always quick to point out what events were prophetic, what random things they happened across had a deeper meaning.
Melanis nodded to Ripper with a slight sigh, rising up on his toes to scan the large storage room. He tapped the comm inside his ear. "This floor is clear."
"Copy that," rang Archangel's voice. "Bringing in the truck. Vortash is heading your way, take him upstairs, see if you find anything interesting. "
Melanis nodded, "Copy," turning to look towards the side door. The mission was one they'd run before. Attack a drug shipment, take it, and space it. If there was time, hack and steal their files to know their next move. The door opened, and Vortash ducked inside, looking about quickly.
"You want to hang back while we sweep the second floor?" Ripper asked with a cocked brow, "Should be empty."
The batarian shot him a dark look. "I do not want to hang back, I'm fine," he growled. He'd been laid up almost two weeks, but was getting increasingly irritated. The scar along the side of his neck had not completely healed, still an angry raised scowl along his skin. Vortash had his pistol in hand, scanning the boxes, nose wrinkling. "This is red sand?"
"From the intel we gathered, yeah," Ripper answered, turning to take the stairs two at a time.
"In these large crates?" Vortash trailed behind, counting the crates. "They've been trying to sneak through smaller amounts since we've been hitting them."
"Archangel will crack them open when the truck gets here. Come on."
The second floor of the warehouse had more of the large crates and seemed deserted. The delivery had been lightly guarded. Vortash slowed to a stop before one of the crates, rapping his knuckles on the outside. "Something isn't right."
Melanis began walking up and down the lines of stacked crates, looking for any Eclipse mercs that might be hiding. "Archangel?"
"I heard him," came Archangel's voice. "I'm still watching outside, no re-enforcements are showing up. Nobody is out here, it's a damn ghost town." He frowned, lifting his head from his scope. "Weaver, hurry your ass up. Where is that truck?"
Vortash stepped back, frowning, his four eyes moving from crate to crate. "We should leave."
Melanis turned to look back at the increasingly nervous batarian. "Wh-" There was a sudden bang, and Melanis spun backwards before falling to the ground.
Ripper and Vortash turned in time to see a salarian on the opposite end of the room, standing behind a crate, holding up a pistol. He ducked back out of view, fingers running quickly over his omni-tool.
"Dammit, Melanis is hit!" Ripper shouted, bounding towards the salarian at full speed.
"I'm fine," Melanis was already getting back to his feet, grimacing, his kinetic shield glittering as it came back online. "Just one more guy."
The next thing the trio heard was whirring from the crates, and a soft pleasant voice coming from each, "Booting up. Now online."
Vortash's eyes widened as he took a step back, "Oh, fuck."