Chapter 37
Kevin awoke to pitch blackness. This was good news, as the fact that he awoke at all meant that he had miraculously survived the crash. He quickly became aware that it felt like he was being pressed under debris, which would easily explain away the inability to see. The next thing he thought to do was try to move his limbs to see if anything was broken. As it turned out, everything was terribly sore but nothing felt broken, or at least he didn't get any of the agony associated with broken bones. He found the prospect of being buried alive considerably less terrifying when he had a constant supply of air and could move his limbs a bit. Even with this mindset, he was still faced with the challenge of getting out of this mess.
His legs were pinned to the point of only being able to wiggle in place. It felt as though the armor of his hardsuit legs were bearing a lot of weight – weight that would have otherwise broken his legs below the knee. He tried moving his arms, and found he had some airspace around his torso. The space was, aside from where his legs were, pretty spherical, if depressed. He deduced that his barrier had held after he blacked out just long enough to hold collapsing material at bay until it settled. When the barrier eventually failed, some material shifted, putting him in this tight position. He lifted his arms just high enough to be separated from all surfaces and let them go limp, paying close attention to how they fell. Like when buried in an avalanche, he currently had no real sense of direction. When his arms fell back, he realized that he had settled facing up as if lying on his back. He pushed up at the solid material right above him, but found it was extremely heavy. He could lower its mass with biotics, but he needed a bit more room to move his arms to execute it.
He drew in a long breath and braced hands against the ceiling. Utilizing any strength his battered body could summon up, he pushed up, hoping to gain the few inches he needed to unleash his biotic move. He strained hard, unwillingly letting out a loud grunt and feeling the veins in his head throbbing from the pressure. The metal surface shifted a few inches, and Kevin reeled his right arm back to thrust it forth again before the ceiling could fall and crush him. He coated the entire piece in a low-mass field, decreasing its weight significantly. With another strenuous lift, he pushed the material up higher and higher. When a beam of sunlight fell through and blinded him, he was relieved.
The piece of the hull, as Kevin was able see now, was hefted up enough for him to sit up. This caused the majority of his abdominal muscles to yell at him in protest and he wrapped his left arm around his waist in response. With one arm held high to prop up the hull, Kevin tried to stand despite the soreness racking his body. He managed to push the hull piece enough for it to tip over and fall away from him, and Kevin took a moment to steady himself and acquaint his system with the dull, but persistent pain it was enduring. He injected a bit of medi-gel to help soothe his damaged tissues, and the substance alleviated the pain enough for him to be able to walk.
Eyes open, Kevin looked around to see where he had landed. He couldn't see much right now, as he was still amongst the wreckage of his quarters, among other things. He sluggishly made his way over to where the secret door used to be, knocking over other metal obstacles so he could pass. He realized that he couldn't have been out for very long – there were some electrical components that were still on fire and spewing smoke. Stuffed in a crumpled corner, he found his pistol surprisingly intact, and he clipped it back on his hip where it belonged. A quick check on his back confirmed that his knife was still in its sheath, too. When he got to the opening that was once a door, he shoved one last metal piece that was resting against the other side of the wall so that he could see. A piece of charred, thick, torn fabric flapped in the breeze as it clung to the sharp extrusions of the wrecked door he was standing in. He pulled it down and tossed it behind him, eager to catch his bearings. As he gazed upon the not-so-distant mountain ranges nearby, he felt a sense of familiarity. Curious, he stepped out of the wreckage onto the dirt churned up by the crash. When he looked around, he felt his heart stop and the air in his lungs involuntarily escaped through his slack-jawed mouth.
He was back in the valley. Their valley.
Everything around him looked like the aftermath of a massive battle that ended in orbital bombardment. Pillars of smoke rose from many of the numerous nearby crash sites, each with long trails of dirt that told of their angled descent. Craters and long cuts in the once grassy field indicated just how much destruction had rained down upon the picturesque valley he used to know. He suddenly felt the sickening urgency of needing to find Arla. He needed to find the ground team and make sure they were okay. He looked around frantically, trying to find the big pitched tent they were hiding out in. In his desperation, he tripped over a piece of metal rubble, driving his visor into the dirt. When he sat up and cleaned his helmet off, he looked to what it was he tripped over. He swallowed a sizable lump when he recognized Ralik's lab, broken and mercilessly crushed. It hit him, just then, what that fabric he tore down earlier was – that was from the very tent he was searching for.
Kevin stood up, hands gripping his helmet, on the verge of losing his mind. Was their luck really so awful? Of all of the possible place on this sizable pseudo-planet, the crash couldn't have landed on the tent! His mind constructed images of the trio's last moments, unaware of the fiery catastrophe as it obliterated the tent with them inside.
Kevin fell to his knees and started to punch the remnants of Ralik's equipment. "No! No! No! This. . . This isn't real. . . I can't. . . Arla. . . Arla? Arla!" He let out a scream mixed of frustration and despair. He was suddenly wondering if it was even a good thing that he survived. After he had tired himself out by beating the already destroyed electronics, he sat back in a daze. He fell still for a couple of minutes, numb. He heard a voice. Someone calling out. He was sure his mind was fabricating it, but it sounded a lot like Bela. There was no way she could have survived the crash. He manually shut off his helmet's audio repeaters to stop the noise, unaware of the disconnect in thought that proved. Interestingly, though, the voice stopped. Now aware that the voice wasn't in his head, he turned the audio back on and stood, attempting to locate where it was coming from. It sounded like it was coming from one of the adjacent crash sites, about seventy meters off to the side.
It was a far cry to think that someone might have survived, but he had to know. He ran off in the direction of the voice, ignoring his aching muscles. He looked around the crash, trying to find the voice that had seemingly given up. Kevin was already thinking himself a fool for searching, but when he rounded the last backside corner, he found Bela lying face up, bottom half her body concealed beneath wreckage. Even more surprising, her head turned to face him.
"Kevin? Kevin is that you? Oh thank Keelah someone else survived!" Bela said, thoroughly relieved.
Kevin immediately knelt by her side and surveyed the damage her body took. "Bela? I thought. . ."
"That you were the only one left? Me too." She coughed and gurgled as blood intermingled with the air she was breathing. Her mask was heavily cracked all over, but there didn't appear to be any punctures. Most of the armor she had was crumpled or gone and her clan colors were charred, dirty, or torn horrendously. She was an absolute mess.
"How are you doing?" Kevin asked.
"This piece of debris has me pinned. . . I can't feel my legs." She strained to speak, her strength already quite low. "I don't think I can pull myself out even if I wasn't pinned."
"Alright, I think I can get this off," Kevin said while bringing more dark energy together for use. He surrounded the object in a low-mass field, squatted down, and pulled up with all he had. He lifted it high enough to get a look at her legs, but what he saw forced him to suppress his instinctual recoil to keep Bela from seeing. Her legs were not there; The only thing in their place was a pool of quarian blood. This piece wasn't pinning her, it had severed her at the hips. Wherever her legs were now, he couldn't see them. He slowly set the piece back down where it was, as it was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out instantly. He estimated she had a few more hours of a slow, painful death at best.
"How does it look, Kevin?" She asked, surprisingly unaware of the trauma.
He cleared his throat, kneeling beside her once more. "You'll be okay," he said vaguely.
"Don't be a bosh'tet, Kevin, I'm not a child! Tell me how it is!"
Kevin paused to take in a deep breath. She deserved to know. "Bela, the reason you can't feel your legs is because you don't have any. Something severed you at the hip during the crash."
Bela let her head fall back against the ground. She grasped and pulled at the loose clumps of dirt and grass as she let out a loud, agonizing cry that caused Kevin to close his eyes and turn his head. There was something about her pain he just couldn't bear look at. Perhaps it was the stark reality that she knew it was her end. He had witnessed many reactions to the inevitability of death over the years of his mercenary career, but none were like this. None were personal friends. None were crushed by defeat, by the knowledge that they'd never get to do the things in life they wanted to. They were always just. . . Afraid. Afraid for their own pitiable existence, or their money. This was scores different, especially in the solitary fact that Kevin felt for her.
After Bela had run out of breath, she fell silent, staring at the sky. This went on for a couple minutes or so before she said anything. "Now I'll definitely never get to link suits with anyone. . ."
Kevin forced a chuckle. "We could link right now. How about that?"
Bela tried to laugh, but quickly turned into a wet cough. She swallowed audibly and tried to speak again. "I think Arla might get jealous. . ." She groaned in agony from her wounds.
Kevin's facade quickly vanished. "I. . ." He paused and took another sharp breath in. "I don't think she. . ." He couldn't even finish.
She turned her head to look at him."Oh no. They didn't make it either, did they?" Her voice was quiet and forlorn. "Kevin. . . I'm so sorry. . ."
Kevin failed to respond. Those images of the entire tent getting obliterated by crashing chunks of the ship with Tyr, Ralik, and Arla still inside ate their way back into his mind. His response to Bela's pseudo-rhetorical question was well delayed, but he eventually shook his head in depressing silence.
She gurgled more blood and tensed from another wave of pain. "Then we're the last of the Xelvas'taersh. . . And now we have no way of getting back to the fleet. Does this mean we've. . . Failed?"
"No. We're not done yet." Kevin said, forcing himself to sound confident. "I think I know of a way to fix this, but I need. . . I need to concentrate." Kevin stood up and sighed. What he was about to ask Bela was borderline insensitive, and she might not even be able to, but he needed her to do it. "Bela, I know this is an absurdly tall order to ask of you right now, but. . ."
She shook her head wearily. "Kevin, look at me. Look at what's left. If there's anything you think I can do to help us, just ask."
"Alright. Can you. . . Sing me a song? Your voice is incredibly soothing, and I need it to help me focus." Truth as it was, his motives went unspoken.
Bela tilted her head, almost surprised. "I'll. . . I'll try my best. . ." she responded. She cleared her throat of as much blood, mucous, and anything else and began to sing a very somber tune in old khelish. Her voice was weak, as her strength was quickly waning, but she held an amazing tune despite her condition. Kevin started to pace, giving the idea that he was mentally working out some critical details. Her song, like times in the past, truly was soothing. He was straight up amazed that she could do this even now in her last hours, and he steadied his breath and heart against what he was about to do. He kept a loose eye on her visor as he paced, waiting for one moment he was sure was coming.
And then it came – she closed her eyes while she sang. The glowing dots disappeared behind the cracked visor while the song continued. Kevin moved to stand at the top of her head and he grabbed his pistol from his waist. He stared at the weapon as it unfolded, its mechanical whirrs unheard against the beautiful song filling the air. He drew in a breath and took aim at Bela's head, intending to grant her a quick and merciful death. He had been in this position before, but with terrified or unaware marks that needed executing. He laid his finger on the trigger and tugged – but it wasn't enough to shoot. The trigger finger quivered in place and Kevin was perplexed by his own inaction – again.
Why was it that he, once a stone cold killer, could not pull the trigger on a friend even if it was to grant them a mercy kill? He was death's advocate, a bringer of doom to those marked, and now for the second time on this trip, he couldn't bring himself to take the shot. His face contorted as a result of an amalgam of strange emotions, confusion being at the forefront. This kind of death, the death of personal connections, was foreign to him. He'd never really been close to much of anyone before this whole mess began, save for Tarsil and Xavier. Even Xavier's death was disconnected compared to, though. This was direct, in the now, and under the barrel of his gun. If he didn't do it, though, he'd regret it for forcing Bela to live out her last moments in agonizing pain and misery.
He grit his teeth. He'd become soft. Too soft. He pressed his finger against the trigger once more, this time with intent to fire.
His train of thought, however, was broken by the fact that Bela's sweet voice no longer filled the air. Had she caught sight of him with the gun at her head? That would just make things worse. "Bela, keep singing. I've almost got it," he lied in the calmest voice he could muster. She didn't reply and Kevin looked down to see if she was looking at him. Her eyes were still closed, but she just wasn't singing anymore. "Bela? Bela?"
No response.
Kevin's entire face started to twitch as he came to realize that she was gone. She used her very last breath to sing him a beautiful song, and he couldn't even bring himself to have mercy on her. The gun in his hand started to shake and his arm fell to his side, nearly dropping the pistol. He knelt beside her once more and laid his open hand over her visor, an act usually used to close the eyes of the deceased. "Keelah se'lai, Bela'Merni vas Del'Kellius. Rest in peace. You've earned as much." His head slumped and he remained there for several minutes.
He was now truly alone. Left to live out the rest of his time on a God-forsaken false planet with nothing but the rolling storms and smoldering wreck to keep him company. He stood from Bela's lifeless body and turned around. The once beautiful valley was now torn to bits. Craters and long swaths of churned up dirt complimented by pillars of smoke and burning wreckage was the image he was left with. He felt cold. A breeze picked up, adding subtle, ambient white noise to the otherwise silent atmosphere. Below him, the ground vibrated and hummed for a short moment before the effect faded. He could only guess it was the rotating rings typical of any mass relay, just below the surface.
So much death and destruction. He thought himself a fool for thinking that they could battle a reaper and get away unscathed. The Alliance Fleet learned this lesson the hard way as well. He brought his pistol up and lightly smacked its broad side against the side of his helmet, fighting urges to just end things. He was not a suicidal man by any means, but he'd experienced enough in the last few hours to bring thoughts that would break a lot of men. He then considered Bela's question. Had they failed? Was the first Xelvas'taersh in three hundred years a failure in its mission? Not as long as I draw breath, Kevin thought. As long as I'm alive, we've achieved victory over the blasted machines. I am the Xelvas'taersh now, and I need to do what I can to complete this mission.
In his head, it was Siri's voice. Confident. Wise. Stalwart. Even in death she still inspired him during his moments of dark confusion. He had to measure up for the sake of his squadmates, who sacrificed everything to make the galaxy just a little bit safer. He couldn't honor them if he was dead, especially not if he just gave up and ended himself. No. He would fight until death took him by force. First things first though – he had to take care of the bodies. He bent down and picked up Bela's corpse, the severed bottom half still dripping blood. He brought the body out to an area beyond the reach of the destruction and laid it down on a shallow green hill. Without a pause, he returned to the widespread wreckage to find the others.
After several hours, however, he was only able to find one other body. It was Tosh's, and it was gruesome. The body was bent and twisted in disturbing ways, parts of the limbs were missing, and the entire helmet had caved in to the point of rendering the head within a soupy mess. Nevertheless, Kevin took it to the same place he had brought Bela's body and he set it down. Knowing Tosh would no longer need it, Kevin removed the late quarian's intact right pauldron and affixed it to his own shoulder to replace the one he lost. It was one way he would remember them.
He sat down at the heads of the lifeless remnants of his squadmates and he overlooked the entirety of the scene from the outside. He found it unfathomable how calm it was compared to several hours back. The valley was a grim sight, but it was relatively serene. The leftover explosions had long since ceased and most of the fires had gone out, leaving only thin clouds of smoke. The repeated arrival and departure of vibration and hum from the massive rings below the surface were the only sounds left, save for the light wisps of breeze flowing through the leafy carpet.
Left with time to think, Kevin's mind automatically went to memories of Arla. Losing his ship was hard, but he could get over it. Losing his squadmates was depressing and might haunt him for a while, but still, he'd get beyond them. Losing Arla, however, was downright soul-crushing. If there was any one thing that this entire catastrophe had brought about that would drive him over the edge, it was this. It took him years to get over Nor's death, and he didn't know Nor on nearly the same level as he did Arla. He and Nor were just getting into the swing of things, but he and Arla were lovers. Counterparts. The closest of friends. His mind was becoming dominated by the sole idea that he was never going to see her again. Never feel her embrace, hear her pine for him, or gaze upon her striking beauty. As cliché as the notion was, Kevin really felt like he was missing a part of himself. Love was a powerful emotion, and it was ripping him up mercilessly.
Sitting silently on the grassy hill, Kevin was starting to mentally spiral out of control and he knew it. He nearly shot himself in the leg in a desperate bid to bring his psychological stability back into check, but was still sane enough to withhold the shot. Instead, he decided that he would task himself with projects to keep his mind busy. It was the only thing he could do now.
He decided to create a small memorial dedicated to his squad, and he dragged the bodies back into the center of the wreckage. By this point, the sun was beginning to set and the field was turning a warm shade of orange. Kevin spent an hour gathering small pieces of the hull, one for each deceased. Using his omni-tool to generate an etching laser, he inscribed the names of each member of the squad, their rank, species, and an accurate drawing of the Xelvas'taersh emblem in each piece. On Bela and Tosh's, he took their emblems and hung them around the top of the metal headstone. Using a piece of debris as a shovel, he dug a shallow grave for the bodies and buried them. He set up the memorial as a circle of metal monuments around the grave, each with their inscription facing outward. Just as the sun was making its final descent over the horizon, he took several steps back and looked over his work. Satisfied, Kevin did the only thing he knew to be proper: he gave them a long alliance military salute.
Afterward, he activated his omni-tool to document the memorial for when some future person found his body and collected his omni-tool data. "These brave soldiers, the first Xelvas'taersh of the Migrant Fleet since the exile, fought the galaxy's most fearsome foe and gave their lives achieving an impossible victory." Kevin then went on to verbally name each of those fallen – from Siri, the first to Bela, the last. "Let it be known that due to their efforts, the immediate threat of annihilation was ostensibly thwarted. We are all in their debt." The sun shone its last rays upon the valley for the day and Kevin ended the recording.
Again, Kevin was left with time to think. Aware that this was still a problem, he immediately sought something to do. He felt restless, as though an internal itch was begging to be scratched. He needed to shoot something, but it had to be something satisfying. The only thing he could think to shoot that would give him an inkling of satisfaction was to head over the mountain range and shoot up every geth platform in the cluster, whether they were active or not. Clenching his fists and ignoring the soreness and exhaustion trying to seep into his mind, he began the long trek to the mountain range. He was fully determined to do this before his body gave up on him.
It took him three hours to reach the mountain range and an additional two to blaze a trail to the familiar summit where the survey device Tosh had whipped up still rested. He was hungry, tired, and he ached all over, but he continued to fuel himself with the driving desire to murder some synthetics. He willingly let this train of thought consume him, as it was better than the alternative. When he finally got to the base of the mountain and approached the cluster, he turned on his omni-tool's light and searched amongst the geth structures to metal bodies to rip apart. He knew he was at a fundamental disadvantage – the geth didn't need light to see – but he didn't care in the slightest.
Much to his dismay, however, the geth cluster was all but deserted. The structures were there, the equipment was still in place, and the transport vessels were still parked at the far side, but there was not one geth body to be found, active or otherwise. Kevin was getting increasingly frustrated. Nothing was going right. Even the one simple satisfaction he had left was taken away. Still anxious to do something, he made his way over to the three transport vessels landed in a triangle formation facing the cluster. With clenched fists, Kevin drew up some dark energy and let loose a powerful biotic throw on the back-left transport. With no barriers up, the throw hit the ship hard enough to make it teeter, even fall over.
Kevin fell forward, positively exhausted. He rolled over and sat himself back up, staring straight into the face of the forward-most geth transport vessel. He shook his head at how much they'd taken from him. With hardly anything left to keep him going, he laid back on the rocky ground and closed his eyes. He was finally ready to give in to sleep.
A few final thoughts crossed his mind as he felt his arms and legs start to tingle from being so overworked. Those geth ships have drive cores. If only I could use them somehow so that I could see where this mass relay drops out.
Then it clicked.
Kevin's eyes, blood-shot and glossy, opened wide as adrenaline pumped through his system. He had remembered the program that Tosh uploaded to his omni-tool – the one that took control of an uninhabited geth device. All concern for his well-being vanished and he forced himself to stand. He activated his omni-tool and ran the prototype program with default settings. The program returned that no mobile platform nodes existed, but three viable ship-class platform nodes were found. Kevin caused the program to connect to the one up front, at which point the program denoted that it was swapping variables, methods, and emulator class lists in order to optimize functionality for flight platforms. Kevin was rather impressed at how all of these unknowns were automatically handled.
Finally, the program returned that it was establishing an encrypted connection to the host and the geth ship hummed to life. Connection established. A warning popped up, stating, [The geth ship-class platform graphical user interface is incomplete and some actions may only be possible through direct commands.] Kevin dismissed the warning and a fairly polished interface opened, showing a three-dimensional holographic render of the geth ship, with various points glowing blue. Kevin tested out the capabilities of the emulator by selecting the transport compartment door and commanding it to open. Lo and behold, it opened just as commanded.
Kevin smiled to himself and started to climb one of the many legs doubling as landing gear. It wasn't the Kellius, but having a ship capable of FTL and mass relay transit at his command felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from his chest. Using his magne-boots to allow his feet to grip the flat surface of the ship leg, he pulled himself up and into the cargo bay. It wasn't exactly spacious; all manner of clamps and hooks hung stiffly from the ceiling, probably normally used for holding and rotating out folded up geth mobile platforms. They did, however, provide ample grappling points for Kevin to hoist himself up with. Lighting was dim and blue, but it was there. He hopped and swung from rig to rig to bring himself to the flat ledge that went all the way around the inside of the bay just above door level. Once there, he pressed his back against the wall and slid down to sit.
He expanded the omni-tool controls for the geth ship into multiple holographic interfaces and arrayed them in a fashion similar to a shuttle's pilot control scheme, something he was at least familiar with. He browsed the many subsystems within the ship, mentally noting everything he had at his disposal. Since he was essentially viewing root access to a complex operating system shell, he saw every minute detail laid bare. It looked as though every tiny thing had to be controlled manually – no wonder the interface for ship platforms was incomplete. The discrete adjustments to the thrusters, the average voltage going into the drive core, the direction and focus of each of the projectile cannons. . . All of it needed his constant input since automated systems for ship platforms were incomplete or non-existent. Normally, hundreds of geth processes would be handling all of this. Kevin could certainly pilot this thing by himself, but without in-depth knowledge of how to pilot a ship of this size, he was strictly limited to the most basic of flying maneuvers. Docking would prove especially difficult.
Despite the implications of all the challenges ahead, Kevin continued onward with his takeover. He was suddenly rather thankful for all of those tech lessons his love took the time to teach him – he wouldn't have been able to get this far without them. His only concern now was finding where this relay shot to, and he was otherwise glad to have something that demanded so much of his attention. Satisfied with his preliminary run through, Kevin activated the kinetic barriers and adjusted them for optimal power draw. He likewise activated the mass effect drive core, making sure to keep the input voltage within acceptable limits for a ship of this mass. He shut the door below him to be sure it sealed and the room fell dark. Only an extremely dim navy blue ambiance remained, save for the yellow-orange lit corner he sat in. He laced his fingers and stretched, cracking his knuckles in the process. Sustained almost purely by the adrenaline generated by the thought of making it back, Kevin started inputting commands that caused the geth vessel to go airborne.
The liftoff was shaky. There were a number of things he was not used to paying attention to, like the pitch and yaw of the ship. These things were always controlled by stability VIs unless overridden, so he had to quickly adapt to keeping the ship straight. Luckily, a nasty crash was avoided, and he ascended fifty meters before activating forward thrust. Kevin was jarred against the backside wall due to the fact that there was no such thing as inertial dampeners on a geth ship. Synthetics didn't need to worry about such systems, at least not at the level of conventional flight. He sat himself upright and realigned his haptic interfaces. He rose in altitude rather quickly, having no reason to remain on the planet any longer. Once he was in orbit, the pitch and yaw became relatively pointless, and he let himself relax. He tapped into the ship's scanning systems to see how they saw the universe. At first, it was an indecipherable amalgam of colors, lines, and number data all streamed into a monitor at once. He was able to apply filters to this to reduce the noise, at least. Thank you, Daro'Xen! There was no visible light spectrum scanner, oddly enough. It seemed only their land-based platforms used that. He filtered in a small collection of data that at least gave him something familiar to look at – the planet. This way, he'd be able to see what was going on once he dropped from the relay's influence.
Now that he was as prepared as he could potentially be, he sent a burst of data to the mass relay. Just as when the reaper was about to jump, arcs of the relay's energy filed out through the various caves spotting the mountains, and a massive bolt jumped to connect with the geth vessel. With one final thought back to his lost squadmates resting on the planet, the scan screen went blank and the familiar vertigo from the mass relay jump kicked in. The length of the jump was fairly significant, lasting a good fifty seconds as opposed to the usual thirty to forty. When he finally dropped into normal space and his scans started grabbing data, he was nearly floored when he discovered where it left him. On his screen were several distant blips indicating ships at long range, and a large, unique shape he suspected was within visual range.
It was that cursed rock, Omega.
Kevin suddenly had a major problem. A geth ship had just suddenly dropped out of FTL near Omega. Within minutes, he'd be marked for takedown with prejudice. Docking was certainly out of the question as well. He couldn't just FTL to the relay and jettison off to another one; he was not exactly riding in a ship welcome in organic space. Kevin quickly racked his blurry mind for a plan. He needed to get on Omega without getting shot pieces, and he couldn't be seen exiting the ship. Without a moment's hesitation, he hit full throttle towards the space station. There was but one ship between him and Omega – a simple batarian scout ship, normally used to keep an eye out for things like a geth attack, or silly invaders.
Kevin must have been in luck for a change, as the crew of that ship were likely distracted. He didn't see any of the usual maneuvers that indicated alarm, or any maneuvers for that matter. Keeping to his role, Kevin took aim with the projectile launchers on the underside of the ship and fired a pattern of full volleys. The scout ship's kinetic barriers failed in the first two, and the third saw the destruction of a sizable portion of its upper decks. The disabled vessel began to drift as parts floated away from its ruptures.
Kevin certainly didn't wait to see if that got their attention, since he knew it most certainly would. If the batarians didn't radio back to the asteroid, though, any reinforcements would be deployed too late to stop him. He aimed the nose of his ship dead center at one of the Blue Suns' internal loading bays, which appeared to have a ship inside. Perfect. He opened up the double doors below him and braced as the sealed air was immediately sucked out. With an unstoppable course set, Kevin shut down his omni-tool and inched towards the open door before pushing himself out. While he'd normally be scared stiff at launching himself out into open space again, his mind was so numb from physical and emotional exhaustion that the fear trigger failed. As the geth vessel continued to speed up and head for the cargo bay, Kevin let his momentum carry him towards the space station. He saw the logistics light frigate desperately attempt to back out of the bay, but it was far too late. The geth transport careened full speed into the ship and the internal docking bay. A smile crept its way onto Kevin's features from the fantastic explosion that resulted. He hoped that light frigate was loaded with expensive client cargo.
Satisfied, Kevin enveloped himself in a low-mass field and he pulled his pistol out. Using the same method of direction correction he used back in the asteroid belt full of geth mining ships, he used the shots of his gun as bursts of propulsion. He only had to eject one clip in order to direct himself to the outside edge of the destroyed bay, and almost a second to slow himself down enough to be able to grab the hull with his boots. He carefully made his way into the bay, whose damaged containment field was flickering ferociously as it tried to hold the atmosphere within. The pistol was holstered and he ran towards the nearest functioning door. He passed through it and was faced with several turians and humans in full hardsuits running at him. His first thought was to prepare for combat, but when he noticed the handheld fire extinguishers in their hands, he just kept going. His instincts proved correct – they were far too busy dealing with the unexpected crisis to care about a quarian running out of the bay. They probably had cargo they hoped to save. He also found that the Blue Suns checkpoint ahead was abandoned. Convenient.
As Kevin joined the screaming crowds of panicking civilians, he reached over and pulled a large, filthy, brownish-tan cloth that rested on top of a collection of crates. He was bringing his old practice of blending in back into play, and he wrapped himself in this disgusting robe to simulate the typical appearance of most quarians here in addition to concealing his armor and weapons. He had to shut off his olfactory filters within a few minutes – he had grown accustomed to the stale environmental air of the Kellius, and the rotten stench of Omega's streets were more than he could take right now.
As he made his way beyond the chaos he created, he sought out his old, rarely used apartment to see if his passkey still worked and whether or not it had been looted. During his walk, he continually got sideways stares and grimaces from nearly every person who looked in his direction. He had to remember that he was part of the trash-class now, and his attitude had to reflect that. He avoided looking any of them in the eye to give that air of escape. Finally, after many minutes of skulking like a rat, he arrived at his old apartment. Using his omni-tool, he sent the passkey to the door. To his relief, it opened. Even better, none of the sparse objects inside had been disturbed. Perhaps people knew that the tenant here did work for Aria, and no one wanted to get on her bad side for such a simple raid. More likely, it was because he had nothing of any serious value in here. Too much risk and almost nothing for a reward.
This wasn't the first time he'd returned to his apartment after a long trip. He hardly used this apartment, as he'd much prefer to stay on Illium or the Citadel. However, for situations like his current one, it was incredibly useful. There weren't a lot of spaces on Omega he could lay his head and not have to worry about hitmen or thugs sneaking up on him. He stepped into the doorway and let the door close and lock right behind him. He disarmed the many fatal traps that were waiting one more step in, one at a time. Once on the inside, he re-armed the traps in well-practiced pattern. Now he could step into his studio-sized apartment and lay his head down.
Kevin was mind-numbingly exhausted. He could hardly think straight now that the effects of the adrenaline had worn off. Between the fact that he hadn't eaten in many, many hours and the fact that he had used more biotics in those few hours than he normally did in a week, his brain was practically mush. He walked over to the bed grabbed the blanket at the closest two corners. He gave the entire thing a major flick and a raunchy cloud of dust fell off. Without one more thought, he dropped forward on the bed and fell asleep within seconds.
He awoke around sixteen hours later, his head in a fog. His limbs felt as though he had just gone through a rigorous workout regimen for the first time in years. His stomach yelled at him repeatedly for failing to feed it after such large amounts of activity. He could feel his hands trembling slightly as a result of the lack of nourishment. Naturally, his first order of business for the day was decided for him: Get food. He rolled over and stood from the bedside, stretching his muscles despite their painful objections. This endeavor was going to require some interaction with Omega's scummy stores; He never carried food in his apartment. It had a tendency to expire long before he ever came back to it. Instead, he headed for the bathroom to get a look at his persona from an external source.
The individual in the mirror was a stranger to him. He had never really bothered to look in the mirror at length since he had put the suit on, and the image he was presented with was even more alien now that he had the trashy rags on. He had the look, but if he was going to be interacting with anyone at all, he had to play the part. The odd nature of his suit's legs would make him suspicious enough, so he had to be convincing as a quarian in order to give the idea that he was one. There were pros and cons to being seen as a quarian, but the most obvious con was the status quo. Quarians weren't exactly welcome denizens, as they were seen as scavengers, vagrants, and thieves trying to get their way around for their pilgrimage. He was bottom rung on the food chain, just slightly above vorcha. It would be tough getting things done this way, but it would help him stay off the radar. He really wasn't in a position to be contending with the usual gangs right now.
"What are you looking at? I have as much right to be here as you," he said to the individual in the mirror with his best attempt at a quarian accent. With as much time spent around quarians as he's had in the past months, he'd actually picked up on the nuances of their general accent pretty well. As far as he was concerned, it was convincing enough. All that was left to do was go buy some food and see if his guise was solid. He began searching through his suit's many pockets, his urgency increasing with each empty pocket he came across. He finally found what he was looking for in a pocket on his right arm, and he pulled the credit chit out to see if it was still intact. He had forgotten he'd even put it in there.
He left the apartment with the chit in a more convenient waist pocket and headed towards the markets outside the VIP door of Afterlife. He had to be careful with his money – any quarians on Omega with significant amounts of credits were instantly regarded as thieves. There was one little inconsistency that he wasn't going to be able to avoid, however, and this was about to become evident.
"What do you want, suit-rat?" asked the ill-mannered batarian behind the counter.
"Just some food packs. Give me these three here, four of each." Kevin's mimicry of a quarian accent passed. The batarian went unsuspecting in that regard.
Then the four-eyed alien laughed. "I figured the labeling was pretty clear, but I suppose enough dirt on that bucket of yours would ruin your sight. This food is levo-based, kid. Get lost before you kill yourself."
"I know what it is. I want them anyways."
He leaned over the counter. "What the crap would a quarian do with levo-protein food, anyhow? Feed it to the vorcha to keep them out of his corner?" he laughed, amused by his own voice.
"Do you want my credits or not?" he asked, waving his chit.
"Hmph. Fine. Whatever tickles your fancy, kid."
Kevin bought his food and left in a hurry, not wanting to seem like he was there to challenge anyone. He didn't like playing the pissed-on social reject, but it was necessary for now. He promptly returned to his apartment and proceeded to lay the packaged food out over his dusty table. He took his visor off with the intent to eat his food like a human for a change, knowingly exposing himself to the thick, heavily recycled air of the space station. He had no intention of losing his own immune system due to lack of use, so he decided that he'd take the mask off whenever he was in the apartment. After two of the packs had been heartily consumed, Kevin spent the next couple hours cleaning up his living space. He had no idea how long he was going to be here this time, and he certainly wasn't going to put up with this level of crud. Thankfully, this project went along uninterrupted.
When he finished, he sat down at his small round table and opened an empty text document on his omni-tool. It drew up a holographic keyboard on the table below the projected screen and Kevin started typing. This was one of his favorite ways to utilize downtime; he'd essentially perform a brain dump of all the matters that needed his attention and type them up in the document.
Current ongoing matters:
Quarian disguise – Continue practice of mannerisms and culture; also, pick a freakin' name
Neural decay – Find a way to contact TIM? Get this crap fixed ASAP
Living like a king/bad news – Get in contact with Tarsil
The Migrant Fleet – Find them to relay the results of the Xelvas'taersh mission
Kevin's typing stalled. He brought a hand up to clutch the dangling Xelvas'taersh icon on his left arm. He decided that until he got in contact with the Migrant Fleet, he'd cover up his emblem. He wasn't going to take it off, as he felt it would dishonor his squad if he did, but he couldn't have it flopping in the breeze anymore. If someone were to see it, they might ask questions. He got up and sought out an unused, folded up white sheet in a cabinet. He gave it a fervent flick to unravel it, letting it slowly settle flat on the floor. He used the omni-tool's cutting laser to slice off a thin strip all the way down the long side. He picked up the thin piece and began wrapping it around his bicep, emblem and all, making it look like a crude bandage job used to seal a suit breach or something. It was a little awkward, since the shape hardly conformed to the roundness of his arm, but it would suffice. Satisfied, he sat back down to continue his mental analysis.
Jobs – Get into working status on Omega
Operation Quiet Rep – Bring back the benefits of being a reliable workhorse for Aria [KEEP IT
MINIMAL]
'Commandeer' – Acquire a new ship to allow movement/quick escapes when necessary
With that settled, Kevin had himself a handsome little questlog. Some of these issues were clearly more difficult to resolve than others, but they all needed to be worked out. He saved the list and closed it before heading out of his apartment. Afterlife was always a great way to find strange contacts with who-knows-what in the galaxy, so he figured he could hang around whichever part of the club he was allowed in in hopes of finding information. But before that, he had a few calls to make. He redirected himself towards the "Databurst Lounge", a tavern of sorts that specialized in hosting groups of terminals that allowed high-priority data stream communications anywhere in the galaxy through use of the extranet. For a fee, of course, which was charged per call and limited to somewhere around ten minutes before premiums got involved.
After paying the receptionist for two calls, he stepped up to an isolated terminal and sent an audio call out to Tarsil Dolannus. He made very sure that no one was watching him and he removed his visor so that Tarsil wouldn't hear the modulation. He wanted to make sure Tarsil knew it was him, and he knew the salarian information broker had keen hearing. Kevin gagged the moment the stench of the air hit his nostrils, but he choked it down and acclimated as best as he could. The moment the words 'connection established' were highlighted, Tarsil's voice came through the terminal.
"Dolannus information services. What information can I sell you today?"
"How about some details on the Melkanis relay? I hear that's hard to come by these days."
"My word. Kevin, is that you?"
"Sure is, old friend. Listen, you might want to head to the back. I've got good news and bad news."
There was a pause while the salarian relocated as he let out a nervous sigh. "I'm always right to worry when you start a conversation like that. Give me a quick second to secure the channel. . . Alright, we're secure. Were you able to reach the relay?"
"We did, and I've got quite a bit of information I'd like to send you."
"It'll take me a few minutes to set up a high priority stream. Looks like you're on Omega, if I'm reading this right. How's Ralik holding up, then? He never did like that pit."
Kevin braced himself to deliver the news. "That's the bad news. Ralik. . . He didn't make it. It got messy on the far side. Real messy."
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line. "Poor Ralik. . . Just tell me it wasn't his own fault." This was the most somber Kevin's ever heard his friend get.
"It wasn't, and I'd want to get a look at that crystal ball he had if he even saw it coming. I'll fill you in on the details if I ever make it off this rock. Just know that he died defending his squad."
"A valiant end. . ."
"His old STG squad would have been proud to call him such."
"That means a great deal. Thank you, Kevin, that will help me put his memory to rest. Now then, what was the good news?"
"The information I'm sending to you now should be worth a fortune to the right people." The data stream connected and Kevin picked out his data drive to plug it in. The upload began immediately.
"How does a sixty to forty split sound? You did most of the work, after all."
"Sixty to forty? You are most generous, kind sir. You still have my account information?"
"But of course. Had to put it on ice while you were out, but it'll take less than a day to get it back to operational status. I'll buzz you when it's wired in."
"Excellent. I think I'll be hanging around here for a while, Tarsil. There's a few things I need to look up and whatnot, so it might be better for me to stay off the grid for a while."
"Sorry to hear that. I was looking forward to having a few drinks with you when you got back. Keep in touch though, yes?"
"Sure thing." A light chime indicated that the upload had finished. Kevin pulled his storage device and pocketed it. "Give that data a look-over and tell me how the negotiations go."
"Will do."
There was a brief lull in the conversation before Kevin spoke up again. "Hey Tarsil, I need a favor."
"That's all I do for you Kevin. Give, give, give," Tarsil quipped.
"Actually, a couple favors. I need to know the current location of the quarian Migrant Fleet, and I need to contact The Illusive Man."
"I'll admit, I'm a little weirded out by that first one, but that second one scares the crap out of me. Why would you want to get in contact with them?"
"A matter of life and death, believe it or not. Ties in with my being an ampless biotic. I. . . Learned more about myself than I bargained for during the trip."
"Hmm. Well, I trust you well enough to believe you know what you're doing. Give me a second to look up the necessary information." A couple of minutes passed, edging Kevin uncomfortably close to the ten minute limit on his call. Luckily, Tarsil responded in time. "Alright. According to my sources, the Migrant Fleet is actually on the move. Unless you have a way of getting off that dump now, you'll have to wait until someone locates them again."
"Crap."
"Not happening? Come on, Kevin, I know you're capable of acquiring a ship. Look at the last one you picked up. Where's that one?"
Kevin shook his head out of habit. "The game has changed, Tarsil," he said, the phrase having more significant meaning than its words.
"Huh. That bad? That's not good. Err, anywho, I just transmitted an address that should connect you to whatever front Cerberus is using at the moment."
"Thanks. I owe you one."
"Five, if I'm keeping correct count."
"My limit's up. I'll talk to you later, Tarsil."
"Good luck, I hope I'll see you soon. And Kevin? Take care – those Cerberus folks are not to be taken lightly."
The connection was manually severed just before he crossed into premium territory. Kevin brought a three-fingered hand to his chin and stroked his hardly-grown stubble for the first time in months. He wasn't sure how he was going to handle this conversation with the big man of the shady group, as the last time didn't quite end in his favor. He had little choice in the matter, though, and he decided to wing it like he did for lots of things. He entered in the address Tarsil sent him in the outgoing audio call field and hit the connect button. Within seconds, a connection was established and a female on the other end greeted him most formally.
"Thank you for contacting Terrium Logistics! What can I do for you today?" Kevin noticed that the connection was immediately secured the moment she spoke.
"I need to speak with the Illusive Man."
"May I ask who is calling, and what business this is filed under?"
"Kevin Folner, regarding a certain research project on natural human biotics."
"Thank you. Please wait one moment while I attempt to access your information." The pause only lasted a minute or so. "I'm sorry, Kevin, but it seems the research project you specified does not exist."
Kevin's brow rose. Something wasn't right – he was being deflected. "What? Can I get more information on that? I'm fairly certain it's still running, though the project is easily over twenty years old."
There was another pause. "Mmm. . . It seems the project you specified has been disbanded as little as three weeks ago. All assets have been liquidated or repurposed. I'm sorry, Kevin, there is nothing more I can do for you. Thank you for calling Terrium Logistics!"
The call ended before Kevin could inquire further. He didn't like this. There was only one team in the entire galaxy qualified and knowledgeable about Kevin's condition, and they've just been. . . liquidated. Judging how Cerberus has handled things in the past, he could only assume they've been killed to prevent liabilities. He was now officially out of options, and the ticking timebomb in his head was a constant reminder of this. He replaced his visor and left the lounge before the depressing thoughts could bombard him again.
It seemed like nothing was going right. Most of the major things he had hoped to get taken care of were shot down before he could really do anything about it. All he had left was the meager setup he had here on Omega, and calling it meager was being generous. He had a decent sum of money in his chit, but he decided to ration it. It wasn't enough to buy him a ship, and the only place he could go without one was back to the Citadel with Tarsil. Getting his place back as a reliable mercenary was going to be long work, especially since he was starting from scratch under a new guise, but establishing a usable alter ego here had too many benefits to pass up.
But why keep the quarian getup? It was understood there were going to be cons to keeping up this image, but more keep cropping up the longer he stayed in the suit. He had a name as Kevin, but he had a lot of enemies, too. This existence as a quarian had nothing – no friends, no enemies, and no reputation. A real blank slate. Even as Kevin, he'd probably just hang around Omega taking jobs in hopes of scoring some information on The Migrant Fleet. In the end, there were two main reasons to why he ended up deciding to stay with the disguise. The first was that a state of anonymity was preferable in his current situation, and the second was that he simply could not discard the identity. This suit was part of him now, and it was all he had left of his squadmates.
Feeling that some pounding music would help him calm his nerves, he stepped into the back of the surprisingly short line into Afterlife. It was so short, in fact, that it only took him forty-five minutes to get to the front. When the elcor guarding the cutoff point let him through, he started up the stairs. Standing in his usual spot, the krogan guard, Targold, eyed him with typical ferocity. It seemed it was somewhat unusual for quarians to head into the club, so he gave Kevin special attention – enough to step in his way.
"Easy there, tiny," the krogan growled at Kevin, his low voice rumbling.
"What can I do for you?" Kevin asked in the closest thing to his best quarian accent.
"Haven't seen you around before. Figured that I should acquaint you with the guidelines to not getting my gun up your arse." The word 'acquaint' was coupled with a slight jab from the muzzle of the shotgun he was holding.
"I know what they are. Can I please go now?" Kevin was finding it hard to keep the secret of who was really under the suit from his old friend.
Targold squinted at him, measuring whether it'd be worth messing with the whelp of a quarian or not. Stepping back to his normal position, he warned, "Get out of my sight before I show you anyway, runt."
Foregoing any further quips, Kevin simply strode on inside. He went straight for the dance floor, but he did not join in. He garnered far too many odd looks and scoffs to be in the middle of a crowd right now. Instead, he opted to lean against a wall nearby and bounce his head to the deep, throbbing beat of the current song. From his distanced vantage point, he could still make out the faces of the many individuals happily writhing and bouncing in the crowded areas. In the midst of the sweaty, partially drug-happy masses, he spotted Maera. It seemed his old dancing companion was still coming here on a regular basis, finding any reason to get lost in the music and physical contact.
Kevin wanted to be out there dancing with her, but he knew he couldn't. It was a tough decision, but he had to stay consistent with his identity in order to keep the air of suspicion from breathing down his neck. Breathing down his neck. Yeah, she did that too. Perhaps the nostalgia of Afterlife was a bad idea in retrospect, but it was one of the best places to find people who needed things done. Before long, he was getting pestered by a human and turian from the Blue Suns.
"Well well. Looks like they'll let anyone into Afterlife these days," the human spat.
A scowl crept onto the turian's boney features. "Was it the guards or Aria that's gone soft? Should have told a suit-rat like you to beat it."
Kevin let loose an exasperated sigh. These two have obviously had a few too many drinks, but were too afraid of pissing off the wrong person until a quarian walked in. "I don't mean to ruin your perfect, scummy lives, but I'm not in the mood to be dealing with racist bigots right now."
The human feigned surprised and alarm. "Look at that, Polnus, the kid has fight in him!"
"Wonder just how much fight he's got?"
"Keelah, you guys are idiots. Do yourselves a favor and pick on someone less vulnerable."
"So much for that fight," the turian said as he nudged his human buddy.
"Oh, we'll find someone else vulnerable, alright. Why don't you do us a favor and tell us where your quarian girlfriend is so she can fight your fight for you. Freakin' pansies, the lot of you."
Kevin nearly lost it. He was clenching his fists so tightly that he heard his knuckles crack. Dark energy started to build up, but Kevin was only mildly aware of it. Despite this, Kevin maintained composure. He was doing fairly well up until the turian's last comment.
". . . You do have a girlfriend, right? She's not already dead or anything? I'm not the necrophiliac type."
Kevin slowly stood himself up from the wall and faced the two soon-to-be-victims, fists by his sides. He knew biotic displays in here would be a bad idea for a plethora of reasons, so he focused his gathered energy on a subtle barrier in case the guards decided to use bullets in an attempt to stop him.
"I think we struck the right chord, Polnus! He's ready for a beating!"
"You go first, Higgens, I want to see this."
The human nodded and came at Kevin while cracking his knuckles. Kevin could see a few guards in the distance already eying the situation, so he made absolute sure that the other guy made the first move. It was more beneficial for him to do it this way, regardless. The first mistake the human made was visible from the start – he assumed Kevin was just going to stand there. When 'Higgens' stepped forward to launch his straight-on right handed punch, he left a comical amount of open space inside. Kevin pushed the man's extended arm towards the ceiling and followed up with a quick and powerful one-two punch to the diaphragm and the throat. Higgens collapsed on the spot. The turian, Polnus, was a little slow on figuring out what had happened, so he didn't even come at Kevin until his friend was lying on the floor.
This guy made the terrible mistake of pulling a hidden pistol on Kevin as he was approaching. Naturally, Kevin wasted no time in taking care of this potentially hazardous situation, even as the guards were starting to make their way over. He stepped forward to bring the pistol within arms-length and grabbed the turian's wrist just as the gun finished assembling itself to full form. He twisted the wrist at an extreme angle, causing the turian sharp pain and forcing him to drop the weapon. Another stride forward brought Kevin behind the adversary, and he brought the grasped wrist with him. A second quick twist pinned the turian arm against his own back, but Kevin wasn't done here. He reached over the high back of the blue and white armor and grabbed a hold of the longest of his head fringes. He gave it a merciless yank, causing the turian to immediately fall hard on his back. A final solid punch to the face of the assailant put him out for at least a couple hours.
"Bosh'tet," Kevin muttered as he stood up straight. As much as he would have rather killed them, it was still quite satisfying to feel the disabling impact of his fist on their person. He looked around briefly to see a number of eyes settled on what just went down, but they seemed satisfied that those two were put in there place and even more so that it was all handled before stray shots ruined the party. He went back to leaning against the wall by the time a pair of assault rifle-bearing turians showed up.
"These two giving you trouble?" One of them asked him.
Kevin looked down at the unconscious drunkards then back up at the guards. "Not anymore."
The second turian shook his head a the two on the floor. "The Blue Suns probably won't be too happy with you, but these guys had it coming. Nice handwork there, quarian. We'll dump these two on the street where they belong."
"Thanks," was Kevin's accented, monotone reply.
"Come see one of us later. Normally we don't ask quarians if they're looking for work, but you seem like you can handle yourself better than most. Who knows, maybe Aria will have jobs for you at some point. We always need someone to handle the dirty work."
Kevin raised a brow, his interest piqued. "I'll do that. I appreciate the offer."
The turians both nodded to Kevin and dragged the rabble out of the club. Finally, something went right – he was already being considered for work. He was surprised at how quickly this came about, especially considering his place in the status quo. At least he had that base covered for now. He waited an hour or two before going to see those guards about some work. The job wasn't a hit, but it was a non-lethal takedown of a couple punks that had agitated the queen of Omega. A turian male and human female, each hardly out of their teens. A small job with negligible reputation – just the way he wanted it.
If there was anything that came out of the recent catastrophe that he could consider 'good', it was that it left him emotionally deadened. He used to have some reservations about taking down young people, but that was long gone from him now. He feared that his uncomfortable and confusing run-ins with death taking his squadmates would throw him off, make him lose his nerve. He was already showing soft edges, and it bothered him. As far as he was concerned, the loss of the Kellius and his squadmates was indirectly his fault – he had the chance to shoot the imposter masquerading as captain Siri'Krotel, yet he didn't. Kar got pumped full of machines because he failed in his duty to make the critical decision and take the shot. Those very machines prevented him from steering the Kellius to safety. Perhaps being emotionally vacuous wasn't the healthiest frame of mind, but he knew that there were going to be unsavory jobs he was going to take that would require him to take full advantage of it.
Not wanting to deal with this right now, Kevin took to the dance floor. He failed to care when a small circle of the gyrating masses thinned away from him when he joined. The guards didn't bother him much after his little display with the rabble, but that was more because they knew he wasn't there to draw out or exacerbate bad situations. He simply handled them. He intentionally lost himself in the music and let his thoughts and burdens fall away. He stayed there so long that people stopped actively avoiding him. It was at least five hours before he finally left for his apartment.
As he laid on his bed, he considered his experiences with the giant sentient machine. That tone of absolute superiority still sent a chill down his spine. Worst of all, it made him well aware that others were coming, and Kevin hadn't done anything to disable the mass relay before leaving. There was nothing he could do about it now, though, and he had to simply let the thoughts go. He'd be on guard, though, if any giant ships started dropping from a relay-based FTL trip right outside the doors of Omega. He'd probably have less than a fraction of a chance of taking one out, but that didn't stop him last time. Not to mention that his deep hatred for the geth now grew to any form of sentient machine. Maybe he'd try to alert the denizens of Omega to their arrival Kevin gave up on all this pointless thought and let himself drift to sleep.
And so life went on. He continued to play the role of a post-pilgrimage quarian creatively named Kev'Renlof vas Del'Kellius, working his existence through Omega's terrible and trashy social culture. He gained a small reputation as 'The Suit', a colloquial name that mixed his quarian appearance and efficiency of a top-tier hit squad that wore formal suits. When the eighty thousand credits from his share of the successful sell of the information rolled into his specialized account, he told Tarsil to put it back on ice. He started earning enough from his jobs to sustain his place in Omega comfortably, and he didn't want anyone tracking that information and finding his real identity, or worse, stealing it. He settled into the deplorable existence that the space station perpetuated once again, though he was able to regain the mercenary roots he had as his true self. Perhaps one day he'd get off of the rock and go back to being Kevin while enjoying a long vacation on the Citadel, barring any reaper invasions. For now, however, he disappeared amongst the culture, lost in the usual nonsense it came with. He would remain this way until something significant would rouse him from his ill-conceived complacency.
Knowing Omega, though, that was going to happen sooner rather than later.