Parallax
By Celtican
Seven: Getting the Job Done
I love hitmen. No matter what you do to them, you don't feel bad. - Marv, Sin City
[Wrex]
Fist's face exploded into blood-and-brain confetti, and when the echoes of his Rosenkov shotgun faded into ringing in his good ear, Wrex knew he'd done two things. One, he'd completed his contract for the Shadow Broker and was several thousand credits richer. Two, he'd pissed off the tiny human female with the scarred face. In krogan terms, a pretty damned good day.
"What the fuck was that?" Shepard, barely coming up to his chest plates, shouted up at him. She looked about ready to punch a god, let alone a weathered piece of varren meat like him. He glowered down, all eight feet of him loose, complacent. He was ready for a fight, of course. So were the human who reeked of biotic residue and the C-Sec turian with the pole up his ass who stood behind him. Amusingly enough, she was calling him out, something she hadn't demonstrated she had the quad for. Judging by her display of letting civilians who'd picked up guns to defend their boss (as stupid as that idea was), he knew she was soft, but smart. Probably smart enough to forget where her checkbook was when this little shenanigan was over.
Wrex decided diplomacy was in order, if only because he recognized that she was a) a capable warrior, and b) wasn't used to dealing with mercs.
"I told you," he said patiently, careful not to sound like he was treating her like a pup, "Fist was my hit. I work – well, worked for up until a few seconds ago – for the Shadow Broker. You knew I was a mercenary, so getting the job done is my number one priority, right under 'not getting killed' and 'cashing my paycheck.'"
Shepard glowered up at him. The thresher maw scar (even if he hadn't heard of Akuze, there was no mistaking that acid burn pattern) on her face was redder than his armor with rage. For a second, he wondered if he shouldn't have waited til after she and her little cadre had left for the quarian before repainting the office with Fist's brains. It might have been better than angering someone who'd been marked by a totem of his people (not that many krogan gave a shit about totems anymore) in such a visible way. He waited with the patience of several centuries' experience to see what this angry pink pyjack would do.
What happened surprised the hell out of him. Instead of shouting more (typical human response) or just shooting him (typical response for every other race out there), she made like she was turning away, then whipped around and headbutted him. No telegraphed motion of the neck or shoulders, no eye contact and no helmet. Just a very simple, very krogan, headbutt that said I hired you not to fuck up, and this is how you repay me?
Stars in his vision and at least one layer of crushed cartilage in his nose told him that he'd chosen the right human to hire himself out to. He wasn't even mad. As his vision and nasal passages cleared, he heard her say, "Next time, you will listen to my instructions and follow them to the letter, unless the mission parameters change. Is that clear?" She had a shallow cut on her forehead, but she was still conscious and didn't look dazed. For their part, the turian and human looked like the tendons in their jaws had been cut.
He kept his face in a disapproving scowl, but Wrex was cackling internally. This slip of a thing, barely a twentieth of his lifespan old, knew how to talk to a krogan. "Yeah, I get you. Don't you have something more important to do than slap an old man around?"
Shepard blinked. "Fuck me sideways," she muttered, then headed for the door. She cut an impressive figure striding across the wreck of Chora's Den, plugging a few reinforcements with wonderfully timed shots from her pistol before the other two had a chance to reload.
As a battlemaster, Wrex knew combat talent when he saw it; now, she was a newly-blooded khanek sword, still reeking of the forge. With his unspoken guidance, she might become a weapon warriors would sing about.
That was later, however. Fist had sent the girl to a meet and greet with one of the nastier non-batarian slavers in the Terminus system, and Wrex was now being paid to be the cavalry. More interesting than getting shitfaced on Omega for another month anyway, the krogan mused as they entered a darkened alley near the markets.
Shepard called for a halt with a raised fist. They'd gotten the jump on the girl and the slavers, and Shepard wasted no time deploying the turian to a sniper's nest on the right of the corridor, taking up a similar place to the left. She sent the other human around to the opposite entrance, a sound hammer/anvil tactic that Wrex thought he'd be better suited for, but he let the kids set their board up how they liked it. He hunkered down behind some boxes on point. Playing 'krogan-in-the-box' usually made for some hilarious post-op stories, and he thought he ought to put on a good show for the new management.
After the argument between the slaver and the quarian finally came to blows, Wrex was pleasantly surprised for the second time that day. Instead of just running for cover, the quarian dove for it, tossing a handful of grenades behind her. She landed with a muttered oof beside Wrex, her back to him as she pulled out a wicked little shotgun of her own. She jumped when a shower of bullets came from Shepard and the turian, not expecting the fire support to clean up the enemy she'd made. She jumped again when she realized she was sharing cover with a krogan.
"Hi there," he said cheerfully as he popped up and blasted an advancing turian with a face full of mass-accelerated slugs.
"Uh...h-hi?" the quarian replied, alternating her volleys with his. She wasn't nearly as proficient with the weapon as he was, but she showed promise. At this rate, I'll be – what was it that Massani guy said when I ran with the Suns? Oh yeah – a goddamn 'crazy cat lady' if I keep picking up all these strays. Wrex chuckled a little, both at the remembered conversation and the wide-eyed confusion staring back from behind the quarian's visor.
"Urdnot Wrex. Make sure you fill out the survey to improve future rescue experiences, yeah?"
"What?"
"Never mind."
Once the smoke cleared, Shepard's crew regrouped, introducing themselves to the quarian, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya. Wrex found this part boring, and sauntered behind them as they made their way through the markets and to the one of the interminably long elevator rides to the Presidium, mentally making a list of things he ought to pick up before they left rather than contribute to their seemingly dire conversation about Spectres and geth and whatever else threatened the galaxy this time around.
Wrex, for his part, wanted a bigger shotgun.