As if in divine defiance of the Citadel's attempts to display a pretty pristine presentation of being the tip top of the galactic community, crime was rampant in the slums of the graceful and elegant space station. On an average day cycle the Salarians would try to scam someone into buying cheap junk, the Krogan would be enforcing or selling 'insurance', the Batarians would try to trick people into a 'servant contract', and the Quarians would be trying to scavenge what little they could to sell or get by.
Many things would change this day, but the morning started like all the rest.
The familiar wake up call of people in some sort of peril caused a slum slumbering Quarian to wake up, almost releasing his half-empty bottle of Turian spirits to spill on the uncaring metal floor of his alleyway bed, "Let me go you boshtet!" a feminine voice yelled, distorted by a face mask. "Quarian girl in trouble, first thing in the day. Great..." the booze soaked bum thought sarcastically.
Aerin'Zorah groaned, standing up from his hiding place beside a waste receptacle. He had spent the previous night celebrating his twelfth consecutive successful surgery with a large amount of drinks and some very poor choices. His mask was missing, again. He was hung over, and his limbs felt heavier than normal. His head was pounding, a fact not helped by the yelling Quarian maiden in trouble. With half-cocked haste the hungover, would-be hero rushed to the aid of his fellow pilgrim.
As was the norm the victim was indeed a Quarian girl, definitely a fresh pilgrim recently departed from the migrant fleet. Far too many of them chose to start at the Citadel, thinking that the bastion of society would welcome them with open arm and amazing gifts for the people. Aerin rolled his eyes at the thought. "Stupid naive fools..." The difference with today's harassment was who was bothering the girl.
Normally it was Batarians looking for a quick slave, or Salarian merchants looking for a disposable worker. The pair of Turians clad in Citadel Security armor was an unwanted and unexpected twist. The Turians were looking at their target of choice not with the usual dislike or disgust. It was a look filled with the lust for violence you would expect on a Krogan.
Aerin did not like that at all.
"Move it suit rat, your wanted for questioning." The taller of the two demanded, you could hear barely restrained anger in his voice. When the girl continued resisting, the second Turian slapped her helmet from behind, hard, the unexpected action knocking her to the floor.
"Looks like the suit rat is resisting..." the shorter one drawled, "I suppose that means we should use force..." he said, activating an electric rod program on his omni-tool. The taller one chuckled, activating his as well.
Aerin really didn't like that either.
Normally when C-Sec came in for questioning, they asked the questions out in the open as fast as possible then left. Sometimes with a vague warning not to leave the area. This was much more, and very wrong.
"The things I do for people who don't care at all." Aerin thought with a sigh. Taking a larger swig of booze directly from the bottle, the Quarian bum began purposefully staggering over towards the confrontation, the hood of his robe like rags concealing his heritage and features.
He took five more swigs directly from the bottle, barely holding down the increasing urge to release the burning vomit rising in his stomach. With practiced ease, he pocketed the remainder of the booze while he walked right up to the Shorter officer and let the mix of booze and digestive acids fly. The pale white and caramel colored swirl of sick painted the overly aggressive officers, drawing their ire away from their chosen target and onto himself. It was a tactic that worked plenty of times before. Nobody ever paid attention to the drunken rag clad slobs that littered the Citadel slums.
"Sorry, my friend, " Aerin slurred badly, "The doctor said its not contagious! I swear!" Aerin began patting the vomited sludge with the sleeve of his rag in a poor attempt to clean it.
"Get off of me!" Shorty yelled, shoving Aerin off him with excessive force.
Tall cop held Aerin down with a booted foot, glaring at the pile of rags, "What do you have?" he questioned sternly. Aerin noted his hand was drifting dangerously close to his pistol.
"It's the Bacterial fever is all! The doctor said its only, " Aerin forced himself to vomit over himself again, instantly regretting the loss of good booze, "he said its only spread by liquids!"
"Oh spirits damn it!" Shorty complained, hastily wiping the vomit from his face and neck. The Taller one activated his comm, pulling his partner away for a medical pick up, completely forgetting about their previous plans for the Quarian girl.
The moment they were out of sight Aerin leapt to his feet, discarding the rags and revealing a heavily modified Quarian suit still sans his mask. "Are you all right?" He asked the upset girl, less than three microseconds later he realized he screwed up.
"Your mask!" the rescued girl exclaimed in a panic, "We need to get you to a doctor! Now!" She started tugging at his arm, intending to drag him to aid as soon as possible.
Aerin pulled the container of spirits out of its hiding place and took a deep gulp. "and here comes the hard part..." He thought drolly. He pulled his arm from her grip sharply. "I'm gonna be fine," He told her with a hint of forlorn bitterness, "I don't need a suit or a mask."
The girl looked at him with a mix of shock, awe, and a massive load of curiosity. "How is that possible!?" she asked in a panic as her brain caught up, "we need to get you back to the fleet at once! How did you do it? Medicine? Drugs? Come on! Let's go!"
Aerin smiled at her bitterly, "That's not a good idea." He rolled back the sleeves of his suit, revealing a cold metal arm underneath. An arm dangerously similar to Geth design. "I don't think the Admirals would be too welcoming to a half-Geth Quarian..." he added.
The girl jumped away from her savior, no doubt her face having become impossibly pale beneath her mask, before turning to run away with all the speed her lithe body could offer. Aerin watched her go with a feeling of remorse, "I suppose I should have been nicer about it..." he quipped aloud, walking away from the scene. The chemicals in the drink dulled the unique Quarian's senses, dulling painful memories and the regrets that came with them. The potent cocktail had never been enough to block everything however.
Aerin'Zorah nar Qwib Qwib was an unusual example of a Quarian. For one, he could give less than a day's waste sack about the Geth, Rannoch or anything to do with the history of the Quarian people. He found that knowledge like that would just hold him back. His brother, Rael'Zorah, was into that whole mess. He was the pride of the family. An admiral, a scientist, engineer, a 'paragon for the Quarian people' as Aerin's mother was prone to remind him constantly. In comparison Aerin was the disappointing underachiever. Where his brother chose to stand out, Aerin avoided all things stereotypically Quarian.
Aerin hated being in small environments, he hated being on spaceships, he never completed his pilgrimage, and he had no desire to return to the Migrant Fleet. Like all Quarians, Aerin possessed above average skills in mechanics, computers, and other electronic skills. Like his brother, Aerin'Zorah used his talents to study the Geth and other cybernetics. Unlike his brother and his rampant desire to destroy the Geth, Aerin sought ways to improve the Quarians by meshing Geth technologies with the remains of Quarian technology. And he was succeeding.
He had rediscovered the art of Quarian biological to mechanical augmentation.
It had taken many years of struggling, wandering the galaxy, getting chased away, dodging the numerous flavors of slavers and law enforcement officials, but he had done it. The final roadblock in his journey had been the hardest to do. A viable test subject. After all it made no sense to design and build the dozens of tools and devices that he had worked so hard to bring into existence. Lacking any other Quarian volunteers he used the only person available: Himself.
Funding for his venture wasn't that hard. Word of Aerin'Zorah's work had reached the ear of one of the greatest information traders in the known cosmos. The Shadow Broker. The illusive data trader cut the rogue Quarian a deal. His research would be fully funded provided Aerin did two things for the broker. The first was the standard 'Keep his mouth shut' the second was to build a special device for the Broker: an implant that could transmit commands and receive data from nearby computers. The implant wasn't hard to design, nevertheless Aerin kept the design to himself until he was sure his own goals were complete.
With the All-knowing Broker's funding it was wasn't hard to find a variety of morally bankrupt doctors to help oversee his procedures. A few were less than the required level of skill, but with the number of them assisting in the operation it wasn't the life or death matter it would have been if Aerin had cut himself open.
With the aid of the mercenary surgical team Aerin was the first Quarian in nearly five hundred years to undergo the invasive procedures needed to become fully augmented. A synthetic organ was used to replace his heart, it pumped a nanomachine rich blood in his body to prevent illness or poison and stop his body from rejecting his new hardware by overgrowing with scar tissues. Next was his arms. Two synthetic exoskeleton-like arms were grafted over his normal arms, the machines replacing his skin and amplifying his strength ten times over. After a few solar cycles to recover the legs were replaced with the same style exoskeleton that covered his arms, the knees removed to make his legs double jointed.
After his recovery the Broker wanted to see the results. Aerin's new abilities intrigued his employer, several times the Broker's agents were sent to him for similar surgeries. As time went on Aerin added several more prototypes to his body, seeking more and more ways to reduce, if not remove, many weaknesses held by the Quarian people. His obsession eventually reached the point he was at now: the chest and head of a Quarian, but the rest was all Geth.
At that point the Broker had decided he had enough of waiting for his personal implant, and chose to remove the middle man. The Broker had believed that his own augmented goons would be enough to restrain and handle the cybernetic Quarian. The Broker had been wrong. The arms and legs his soldiers used were basic models. While they gave increased speed and strength, they supplied nothing else. Not like Aerin's own continuously modified limbs. The Scientist had spent his free time toying with, experimenting with, modifying and overhauling his own prosthesis. Instead of just being a minor upgrade, Aerin'Zorah's augmentations were closer to omni-tools than a pair of arms and legs. Realizing his life was in a severe amount of danger he destroyed his lab, his notes, and as a final spite to the Broker, installed the trouble causing custom implant into his own body. The Broker had not been pleased, placing a seventy million credit bounty for him.
With limited options the mechanical Quarian fled to the Citadel, using the security and politics of the galactic hub to camouflage himself and hide.
"Hey you!"
Aerin looked up. Officer short stuff was back, still partially puke stained. The rogue quickly decided that digression would be the better part of valor and ran away, with the Turian officer giving chase.
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As Talus Marius stood before the Council in a trance. As they reviewed the recordings, reports, and statements of Invictus survivors memories of what happened on the planet fluttered in his mind. An uncountable series of traumatic memories that refused to cease, flashing before his eyes and echoing screams of the dying in his ears. As if to highlight the Turian soldier's torment Video recordings of the newly discovered Chryssalid strain played for the entire hall to see. New scenes of grim, gore stained horror were added to Lieutenant Marius' recollections of a planet most could only now describe as hell.
For an uncomfortable number of hours Talus stood as stiff as a titanium rod, awaiting the review to end so he could finally answer the honorable Councilor's questions and return to Garrus. "The poor boy hasn't slept in weeks...Spirits... Who could blame him after what we've seen..."
"Lieutenant Marius?" prodded Councilor
Valern, "Are you absolutely sure of everything in your report?" The Salarian representative stared, unblinking, at the Turian survivor.
"Yes Councilor." Talus replied stiffly,"To my knowledge, everything in that report is accurate."
"Tell me Lieutenant, who do you believe is responsible for the Invictus tragedy?" Valern questioned patiently.
"A Quarian terrorist cell."
Valern looked at the Soldier with a gaze filled with disappointment and hint of annoyance."Then you are an absolute idiot."
Councilor Sparatus slammed a fist upon his podium, "Wait a moment Valern!" interjected the Turian Councilor, "We all saw the video! Are you telling me that those Quarians threatening us are not Quarians? Preposterous!"
"Tell me Sparatus, did you fail your biology courses when you underwent your training?" Valern asked mockingly.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Look closer at the legs and the suit of the so called 'Quarians' you idiot." Valern replayed the video, zooming in on several shots of the terrorist's legs. "Look at the legs. They are entirely the wrong shape! In several spots you can tell the suits they wear are loose or even open! Given the knowledge that any Quarian would die from a minor fever you cannot possibly believe that these are Quarians!"
Sparatus took Valern's opinion with a massive pile of salt. "Just because you think you see some minor details doesn't mean anything! The suits could be layered or have another form of protection underneath!"
"Then explain the legs then. An obvious feature of Quarian physiology." Valern snapped back calmly.
"It could be a mutation or a side effect!" Sparatus protested, "I'm telling you two minor details doesn't mean that you should dismiss the possibility!"
"No, but it does mean that your soldiers have made an utterly stupid decision and attacked a people under false pretenses twice within a planetary cycle! There is no excusing this, there were thousands of Quarian refugees that your soldiers killed under the possibility that they were a risk! How could-"
The Asari representative flared her biotics, silencing them both. "Enough!" Shouted Tevos, turning to her Salarian counterpart. "Valern, it was a wartime decision. The planet was burning and a clear threat to Citadel space was discovered. It was a cruel decision and more than needed, but something had to be done then and there." The Asari faced the Turian with fire in her eyes, "Sparatus your people's position is already at risk. If you ever try to justify such rash actions again I will see to it that you will suffer for the insolence."
"Now see here!" Sparatus started.
"Now nothing! We are still facing public fury for the debacle at Shanxi! Do you have any idea how many groups are demanding we start a trade embargo, restrain the Turian military, or even remove you from the council! Do not mistake a lack of punishment for approval of your actions! There is a new Rachni threat, a terrorist cell possibly disguising itself as another race, and two worlds that need support! We do not have time for your petty arguments!"
Tevos rubbed at her head, the sign she was facing another migraine.
"Do the two of you even realize how bad this is? There are thousands of survivors in Citadel space that don't have the report to go from, only the knowledge that the Soldiers defending Invictus believed that Quarians are involved. The Public is already furious from Shanxi, they are upset at such a blatant display of Turian brutality and what they perceive as a lack of discipline. If we support Governor Vakarian's decision to execute the Quarians we will be seen as accomplices to Turian blood lust and we will face other issues from the Migrant fleet itself. However if we denounce the Turian actions on Invictus then there will be no stopping the riots and public outrage that will erupt."
"Don't forget that if we support Vakarian's choice then the public opinion towards the Quarians could hit a new low." Valern added slowly, "Its only been several solar cycles but already we have seen several marked increases in violent crime with Quarians as the victims. Already there have been Quarian disappearances there are also reports of Quarians abandoning homes and jobs to return to the Migrant Fleet. I cannot imagine the Admiralty Board taking this news lightly."
"Do either of you know where the terrorists could have discovered the Invictus-strain Rachni?" Tevos questioned.
"The Special Tasks Group has come up surprisingly empty handed." Valern replied, somewhat bitterly, "The new Rachni have only basic similarities to the old variant. The new breed is genetically unstable." A large display of several severely different Rachni was activated, "The Rachni have several startling abilities. High speed regeneration, nothing short of total destruction of the head and torso will kill them. They have a severely acidic poison in their bloodstream, it becomes aerosolized when exposed to any amount of oxygen, a few drops are capable of covering areas thirty centimeters in diameter and still remain as potent. The Rachni will bite or cut themselves to expose the poison in order to weaken prey. The most frightening ability is their reproductive cycle."
Valern paused, clearly unsettled by what he had to say.
"They seem to reproduce by attaching parasites to hosts, living or dead. The parasite will attach itself to the host's central nervous system and attempt to take control of the host body. If the host is still alive the conflicting signals will cause devastating internal damage as the body undergoes a state of rapid major organ breakdown. If or when the host is dead the parasite will animate the body and direct it to attack anything nearby that isn't Rachni, allowing the newborn more hosts to implant when it gestates. Unfortunately gestation takes a varied amount of time depending on the species, state of the host, and whether the host is alive or dead. The shortest time was in minutes, the longest in hours. A noted infected Krogan took a solar cycle to complete the gestation period, the STG believes that the Krogan regeneration granted a limited resistance to the parasite. The final detail of the reproduction cycle is that it takes barely hours for the newborn Rachni to mature to adulthood."
"Spirits help us..." Sparatus muttered under his breath. "What demon would let such a beast exist?"
Tevos tried to keep a brave face on, but her pale complexion gave it away. "Do they have any notable weaknesses?" She asked, with a hint of desperation in her voice. "The goddess couldn't help us if they don't..." She thought morbidly.
"There only seem to be two weaknesses to the Invictus-strain. First, they are genetically unstable after a few generations of breeding they begin to take on traits of their hosts and mutate with features from the host. Eventually they become misshapen and chaotic, their bodies unable to support themselves and their combat effectiveness takes a drastic drop. The second weakness is their metabolism. Because of their impossibly fast rate of healing and reproducing these new Rachni need to feed constantly. Judging from what samples and specimen we could obtain we estimate that they starve to death within cycles of hatching. Some mutated variants have been seen entering a state of hibernation, but it is incomplete and many still starve to death before re-awakening. Many of the mutations lost their regeneration and reproductive abilities which allowed them to slow their metabolism and outlast the others, thankfully that number was very few."
"How in the name of the Goddess could the STG obtain samples?" Sparatus questioned.
Valern hesitated, his answer was not pleasant, "There have been a number of ships that escaped Invictus with someone infected on board. Many of them are floating in space or have crashed killing all those on board. The STG encountered several while searching Invictus and its orbit for survivors."
"Was there any sign of The Governor-General?" Sparatus pressed, hoping for good news.
Valern reviewed the STG reports for several moments skimming for the information, "The STG located where Governor Vakarian made his last stand. He and the remainder of Invictus High Command did not survive. They were overrun by a swarm of the mutations. His body was intact, mercifully uninfected." Valern noticed Sparatus' paling complexion, "For what it is worth I am sorry for your people's loss."
Sparatus was not pleased by the information, sitting down in his chair. Sparatus had been trained by Natal Vakarian back when the Governor had been a Major. The loss of Natal Vakarian would be a devastating blow to Turian morale, the General had long been held up as a paragon of what a Turian soldier should be for decades. There wasn't a single Turian Soldier in the last sixty planetary cycles who hadn't known about the Vakarian legacy.
"Primarch Fedorian will need to be informed. Excuse me." Without waiting for a dismissal Sparatus left the chamber.
Lieutenant Talus didn't take the news much better. The General's final message had him suspect, but hearing it confirmed made the loss feel so much more real. "Oh Spirits... Garrus..." Talus thought miserably. The young boy had been left in the dark about his grandfather, Talus not wanting or not knowing how to answer his many questions had simply told the boy the truth: He didn't know.
"May I be excused?" Talus questioned, realizing he finally had an answer for Garrus.
Valern nodded, most likely realizing what Talus intended to do, "Make sure you do not leave the Citadel Lieutenant, you may still be needed later on."
Talus left the room, his feet filled with lead and his heart filled with dread.
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Aerin wasn't happy. When you work with the shadow broker and his army of pawns some of their information gathering skills will eventually rub off on you. The fact that two Turian C-sec agents would risk their badge just to harass a Quarian pilgrim didn't sit well with him. It didn't take long at the local hangouts to find out why.
Invictus. A known Turian vacation trap turned death trap.
The moment he started sending out extranet requests for information he started receiving hundreds of reports opinions and public outcries. Copies of multiple videos showing Quarian terrorists killing Turians with the help of Rachni were spreading to the public like a virus. Dozens of sources were claiming the videos were fake or lies, many Salarians and noted scientists pointing out several things that could point out that the people viewed could not possibly be Quarians. Lack of accents, wrong shaped legs, the odd featured suits, none of the evidence truly changed what the Citadel people were seeing. Quarians unleashing Rachni.
Most who saw the recordings or heard the tale from Invictus survivors were not old enough to have lived during the Rachni wars, only hearing tales from the Ancient Krogan and Asari who experienced it or reading about it in history texts. What they did know was the fear the Rachni caused. The devastation. The death. The chaos and ruin they brought to dozens of worlds. For ages the members of the Citadel warned their kids of the terrors spun by the Rachni, they taught them to fear a faceless evil.
Now that their nightmares had a face, the people reacted as all who face such perils do. Anger, violence and fear.
After the Mourning war, the Citadel races refused to help the Quarian people, selfishly fearing to aid them for fear of the Geth assaulting them. Eventually that fear was proven false, and to justify themselves they labeled the Quarians beggars and thieves, falsely believing that a race of homeless vagabonds couldn't be anything but trouble. After the Mourning War the Citadel had given the Quarian race a final devastating blow. Until the Geth threat was ended and the home world of Rannoch reclaimed, the Quarian people would never be allowed to colonize another world. Many Quarians believed it was a death sentence for an accident.
Now the people had something to blame. Something to hate. Something to fear. Aerin'Zorah's search revealed hundreds off attacks on Quarians and their supporters, people fearing the possibility of a Rachni attack were removing what they thought would be the cause of an attack, not realizing that it would instead make them a bigger target. Many Quarians were receiving messages from concerned friends and family begging them to return to the safety of the fleet. Aerin was pointedly ignoring the idea of returning to the Migrant Fleet. With his modifications it was unlikely he would even be welcome.
Instead of finding a nice place to hide from any anti-Quarian sentiment that he might encounter, Aerin decided a drink was in order.
Purgatory was normally an interesting place. Run by a rookie information broker named Aethyta the place was decorated with mostly Asari art and themes but it was one of the few places that carried Aerin's preferred brand of Turian spirits. Whenever Aerin had an urge to attempt to drink himself to a stupor he would visit the good Matriarch, share stories, buy booze, and drink and drink and drink. One of Aerin's favorite ways to make money was drinking contests with Purgatory's assortment of patrons. Many foolish Turians and Krogan were sent to the medical bays of the Citadel challenging Aerin's reputation and stomach.
Aerin's entrance to the bar was not unnoticed, "Goddess... Aerin! I've been worried about you." Aethyta looked over the cybernetic Quarian as he sat at his usual place at the bar, "Have you heard the news about this new group of Quarians? Are the rumors about Invictus true?"
Aerin narrowed his eyes. Aethyta was a rookie broker, but would still know plenty about such a news worthy bit of info. "Shit, someone is here." He thought with a large dose of annoyance. "Judging from the over acting and the fact that she isn't hinting at someone, its someone professional."
"I heard all about it. I don't know anything about some mad Quarians and you know what?" He asked, spinning around in his seat with false cheer, "I don't give a damn either. Now how about a drink?" He followed with an exaggerated gesture, miming gulping down a drink. The spin and fake joy were a front. When Aerin spun in his seat he took advantage of his new face mask and looked about the room for any threats. Five 'off-duty' C-Sec members were sitting at a booth nearby, they're expressions were not friendly.
Aethyta poured a set of multicolored drinks together, ducking below the counter once or twice to flash Aerin a view of two scatter guns and a blade she kept on hand in case. Aerin declined the offer with a subtle gesture with his hand, and tapped on his arm to warn her.
"Hey Quarian," said a rough voice from behind, "You need to come with us for some questioning."
"Oh for the love of the homeland..." Aerin thought with a hint of disdain. "What seems to be the problem officer?" He asked in a joking tone without turning around.
"There was a break in on the Zakara Ward. The suspect matches your description."
"Let me guess. Tall, thin, wearing a skintight environmental suit and helmet? Congrats you've described two million Quarians."
"Aren't you witty..." the officer growled. Aerin could hear the tale-tell beep and whirl of an omni-tool transformation. The moment he heard the officer move Aerin ducked and rolled, swiftly standing with his arms in a defensive stance.
The five officers were ready and armed, each had a stun rod or defensive rod in hand. The cornered Quarian pondered over his options while dodging the now swinging C-Sec forces. Sticking to non-lethal tactics would result in some bruises but if he cut them down quickly there was still always the chance they would cause more trouble in death than they could in life.
"Pin him down while I call this in!"
"Well that solves that choice..." Aerin thought a bit of mental sarcasm. With practiced grace Aerin caught the closest officer's omni-tool forged weapon, and activated his own omni-tool protocols.
Most omni-tools worked by using nanomachines to flash construct or deconstruct tools or computers at the users' whim. The nanomachines were usually pre-loaded with certain scripts and protocols based on creator or user specifications. This of course meant that most were restricted to how much they could do, when they could do it, and for how long they could operate. Aerin'Zorah's customized Omni-Arms didn't have those weaknesses.
The moment Aerin's synthetic hand touched the officer's defensive rod, made of course from flash forged Omni-gel, Aerin's arm nanomachines rewrote the C-Sec omni-tool. Within seconds it was converted from wrist mounted super tool to scrap wrist band. The Nanomachines and Omni-gel it once contained were siphoned into the reservoirs concealed inside the synthetic arm for their new master's use.
The Turian cop had a few seconds to dully say "What?" before Aerin followed his startling skill with a sucker punch to the throat. The offending officer dropped to the bar floor coughing, wheezing and desperately trying not to vomit.
The remaining four hesitated, unsure of what had just occurred. Aerin took that moment to activate another application of his limbs. "Armor." he commanded clearly. The limbs instantly reacted to the voice command, unseeable to an unaided eye, dozens of slots opening unleashing a swarm of Nanomachines to transport and mold the previously stolen omni-gel. In seconds the material was shaped, molded, superheated and remade to form hundreds of plates of neon orange that covered Aerin'Zorah in a suit of armor.
The officers didn't take the challenge lightly, pulling their sidearms from their holsters. "Deactivate your armor, and extend your arms to the side!"
"Don't keep up the act, Turian. We both know your doing this because of Invictus." Aerin warned, done playing around, "Now either back down or I will break you in half."
"Your people should have stayed in that floating waste barge you call a fleet!" one barked firing a shot into Aerin's shielded face. The bullet ricocheted off the armor, as the other three began to open fire. Aerin's response was simple: charge.
As bullets bounced harmlessly off his armor, Aerin ran at the C-Sec officers fists tight to his side. "Arms, low overload."he commanded. The arms began emitting a cackling blue electrical charge, sparks leaping from the forearms. With excessive force Aerin rammed the loaded limbs into the two closest of his foes. A specific thirty-five thousand volt charge was released from both arms at the point of impact, the setting was low enough that the risk of death was low but the two would be knocked out from the pain and electricity that ran rampant inside them.
"Last chance." Aerin coldly informed the remaining two, "Get lost, stop picking on Quarians, or I can stomp both of you down to pulp."
The duo looked at each other, and grabbed their partners to drag them away. As they left they made the standard threats of violence and retribution, but Aerin honestly couldn't care less. The Citadel's glorified security force was a load of waste bags in comparison to the Shadow Broker's hit squads.
"Aethyta, beautiful exemplar of the Asari Goddesses, would you mind pouring me another drink."
The Matriarch pulled out a bottle of Salarian swamp fire, a rather strong brew, and two glasses. "Flattery is nice Zorah, but your still paying for the bullet holes." She said, filling both glasses and drinking one straight. She drank one down as a shot and handed him the spare.
"Now tell me what is going on." Aethyta demanded, her face serious, "Those C-sec bastards have been pulling my Quarian regulars ever since word of a massacre on Invictus started spreading. I haven't seen one return yet. I don't like it Zorah. "
"Long story or short? Either way your not gonna like this."
"Short, the C-Sec will be back soon with friends. I don't need you disappearing on me too."
Aerin told her what he knew. He was right. She didn't like it.
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Primarch Fedorian was not in the best of moods. For months he had been feeling ill at ease, as if a shadow lingered over him at all times. He had expanded Turian patrol routes several times for the last three planetary cycles to ensure that there was no threat approaching Turian space. Then the self-righteous humans had shown up. "The Humans need to be extinguished!" heard echo in his head viciously, for a few moments he seethed in rage and self-loathing, "Why couldn't that thrice damned patrol have just killed them all! Those primitive parasites couldn't even die right!" Fedorian thought spitefully.
After the Siege of Shanxi, as the Citadel races were calling it, everything had started to become poisoned in some way or another. Salarians were withdrawing offers of trade. Many colonizing rights in Asari or Salarian space had been revoked, causing billions of credits worth of plans to be scrapped. There was even whispers of military sanctions on the Turian fleet! It was an outrage! The Primarch knew who to blame. The Humans. It always came back to the Humans. Constantly they invaded his thoughts, reminding him of the failure of his people.
A knock on the door of his office pulled the Turian leader from the boiling vat of hatred that was his thoughts. "Enter." Fedorian commanded, taking a seat at his desk.
Desolas Arterius entered, his face as sullen and withdrawn as it had been since the death of his brother. "You asked for me, Primarch?" he asked expressionlessly, dutifully, empty.
Fedorian looked at the fleet General with pity. After the announcement that the Turians would be forced to leave Shanxi with nothing to show for their losses many Turian officers had been furious with the Citadel, others had been upset but followed orders. Desolas had shut himself off from his emotions entirely. During recent training it was noted that the General nearly killed his sparing partner during routine close range combat exercises after mentioning the events of the Shanxi siege.
"Welcome General. Seal the door," Fedorian commanded, "we have something important to discuss."
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AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE-AUTHORNOTE
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Greetings readers!
Normally I don't like to do author's notes. I think they are ways to poorly increase word count. However the number of negative reviews and messages I received has lead me to believe that I need to say this: This is not a goddamned Warhammer 40K story. This story is covering the (in most fics and strangely cannon) glossed over events of the first contact war. Just because it has humans fighting Turians in an interplanetary war doesn't mean I am going to push for total warfare across the stars featuring pitting humans against every race until humanity waves its triumphant dong over the desecrated corpses of all it not-human foes. That is a gore fic, and while I like to go into detail with the slaughter I am not a gore fic writer. While it may entertain some for questionable reasons, that is not a good story.
In my opinion a good story has more than just the one central plot, more than one element, and usually (for the big ones) more than one set of characters. I'm sorry if this is disappointing to all of you but I'm not going to write gore and warfare just for people to get a dose of violence, I want it to have a plot-line and story driving it. If you want pointless warfare and violence, go buy a copy of an FPS game. I admit I'm not a great writer, hell, most of the time I don't even think I am a good writer. However, I want to, and will continue to write this story to the best of my ability. I might not post on a daily basis or even weekly, but I intend for Once Bitten to not just be finished but to be the first of a series.
Rant concluded I want to thank four people: the pkrmgc, Nathanhale2, Gorebad Ironclaw, and Dur'id the Druid.
Whether they know it or not these four inspired me to keep writing this, and if any of them are reading this I want to say honestly and sincerely, "Thank you". I admit, when I first started to read the outraged messages loading my inbox my ego took a massive hit. A lot of you really thought I was suddenly going to have humanity give up, bend over, and take it up the rear with a smile on its collective face. Pardon the overused pun, but fuck that. There will be four events that have to occur before this story will be over. I'm not going to tell you exactly what they are, only hint at it, otherwise whats the point?
1. The Cycle will be broken.
2. Palaven will shatter.
3. Humanity will Rule.
4. The True Foe will be forced to reveal themselves.
Until these four events have occurred, there will be no peace between Humans and Turians. The War will not end, and the violence so many of you crave will not end. Humanity is an infant on the galactic scale. Even with the most impressive technology in both XCOM and Mass Effect they just don't have the numbers nessisary to wage the war the way you all think they should. They will need help! Just because it makes peace with the other species out there doesn't mean its going to become all flowers and love. That is not how real politics are played. In humanity's history many countries have made allies with those many would call monsters. That didn't mean that when one hand was handing out a gift, that there was not a dagger in the other. Yes, Humanity in my fic is xenophobic. Many of you keep thinking that means everything human hates everything else. Xenophobia is defined as: (and I am quoting a dictionary) fear and hatred of strangers or foreigners or of anything that is strange or foreign.
Many of you have misinterpreted my story and that is my fault as the writer. I get that. Again, if you want to see blood and gore due to blind hatred your not going to get that here. In this Fic humanity is a race that has looked at the stars for hundreds of years thinking that its death will come from the void. They explored and expanded and found the threat they had feared. They were attacked and lashed back. When more peaceful encounters come, humanity cannot claim to be intelligent and civilized then strike down a race of gypsy-like people with space aids. It would not only make for a bad plot, it would be something I just couldn't write. I have openly said on my profile that if any of you ever want to try and remake my work then your welcome to, hell, send me a link or message and I'll even help write it. That being said however, I am not going to change how I write. While the material I have made here is spawned from someone else's creation the story (at this point) is my own.
My apologies for the rant, I know this boosted my word count by an unnecessary amount, but again I feel this had to be said. As many writers say many many times, please read and review.
Thank you all for reading Once Bitten, Twice shy so far, and I hope you enjoy it up to its end.