July 11th

The omni-tool restarted itself twice and froze three times within a half-hour, but even that wasn't enough to completely wipe away the silly grin on my face.

This was an insanely lucky break. If I figured out how to use this, it could save my life.

"'Omni-tools are handheld devices that combine a computer microframe, sensor analysis pack, and minifacturing fabricator.'" I muttered to myself, looking at different functions of the buttons. "'Versatile and reliable, omni-tools can be used to analyze and adjust the functionality of most standard equipment, including weapons and armor, from a distance.'" Examples being the Overload and Sabotage abilities. "'The fabrication module can rapidly assemble small, three dimensional objects from common reusable industrial plastics, ceramics, and light alloys.'" Now that sounded handy, it made some of those garbage bins potential gold mines. "'This allows for field repairs and modifications to most standard items, as well as the reuse of salvaged equipment.'" Very, very handy. "'Omni-tools are standard issue for soldiers and first-in colonists.'"

That last bit gave me pause. I was neither a soldier nor a first-in colonist. Though, in the games I had seen a few other people with omni-tools that were civilians. Maybe they were just weren't all that common, but still not unusual. Either way, I should probably not let on to anyone I have one.

Browsing through the various programs on the device, I found everything the Codex had mentioned and more. There was indeed a sensory analysis program with many different modes, including heat-sensing, radiation scanning, radio wave telemetry, and biomedical readings. The fabrication module was very interesting. In order to make something you needed two things: a 'blueprint' of the object in mind and enough of the correct materials condensed into omni-gel. A blueprint could be made by hand or imported from a scan though it couldn't replicate anything too big or, as the brief tutorial helpfully informed me, anything that had 'fabrication rights management' tags, the physical version of DRM. The fabricator also took care of reducing raw material into the more easily-transported omni-gel.

The omni-tool also had a host of other interesting features. Extranet access, live communication, recording programs, calculator, flashlight, and there was an equivalent to an app store that provided programs for just about anything else someone could want. It even came with a program creation toolkit.

I suspected that the 'app store' wouldn't let someone sell hacking or combat programs, but I looked anyways. To my surprise there was a weapon sabotaging program made available, one version for free and a better one for a few credits, by the Sirta Foundation. Sirta was, as far as I could remember, mainly a biomedical firm that also made a line of armor and omni-tools. I supposed it made some sense that they would supply a defensive combat app, though the free one seemed to have a very short duration and wasn't effective on all weapon types. I took it anyways, briefly wincing at the throbbing pain of my infected gunshot wound.

It would be best not to let something like that happen again.

I decided to take another look at the programming kit, and found myself in over my head. I understood the very basic concepts of programming, I had learned a simplified language in an elective class in high school, but this was far beyond my infinitesimally small level of skill. The kit allowed for the usage of many different programming languages and had a lot of very simplistic code sections already written and available for use, but I had no earthly idea how to use them.

Unwilling to give up on it just yet, I went to the extranet and looked up information about the programming languages that the kit could work with. None of them were human, unfortunately, but I eventually found one I thought I could use. It was an older, simpler salarian coding language with a name I couldn't pronounce that was described as a language taught to salarian students to teach them basic programming skills. It seemed to fit my needs just fine, so I bookmarked site with a guide on it's syntax and use.

I read over the first few sections of the guide several times, then went back and forth from the guide and the kit for several hours. I must have passed out at some point because I opened my eyes and found myself in a slightly different position than before, gravity having pulled me down to the ground. I didn't bother to get up and go job hunting again, I simply went back to my study of programming. Under normal circumstances it probably would have taken me several days to know the language well enough to use it, but I had a lack of distractions and an overabundance of motivation. The constant freezing and restarting drove me insane at first, but fortunately the kit auto saved often and eventually I just learned to work around it.

Later the next day I managed to create a program that would, theoretically, let me piggyback onto a nearby signal like a communication or transaction and access the program like I was an authorized user. I hoped to be able to get into someone's bank account while they were purchasing something and siphon credits out without their noticing. Unfortunately the program required that I been nearby when the signal was sent, so I had to leave my hole and sit somewhere inconspicuous in the markets.

Getting up was an ordeal on its own. This would be my eighth day without food, and it was taking its toll. My vision swam with colors from low blood pressure and my limbs had barely any energy left in them. I hadn't been fat before all this, but I had not been skinny either. Now, I looked like I'd lost all my extra weight and was bordering on unhealthily thin.

I sighed, then braved a look at my shoulder. I'd been avoiding looking at it for the past couple of days because I feared what I might see, and for good reason. The wound was weeping an ugly, off-white substance that was no doubt puss and the area all around it was raised and inflamed. It felt very hot and throbbed painfully.

I really, really need this program to work. I can't afford for it not to.

I took off my glasses again and walked slowly out to the street, leaning a little on the walls the whole way there. I spotted a bench near an electronics store and sat down on it gratefully.

I watched someone enter the store, a purple asari. She browsed the merchandise for several minutes before walking up to the counter. I hid my arm behind my back, occasionally glancing at it to see if a valid signal had been detected yet. I looked back at the store in time to see the store owner's omni-tool flare to life and I quickly checked my own, only to find that it had frozen. I turned away to see that the asari was already leaving.

I restrained the urge to curse out loud, so as to not draw attention. Internally, however, I was alternating between rage and depression.

I sat there for another fifteen minutes, growing more and more demoralized. Eventually, someone else entered the electronics store, a batarian. He didn't browse like the asari had; instead he went straight up to the counter. I readied the program again and waited. After a moment in which the batarian customer and the shopkeeper had a heated discussion, the owner's 'tool lit up again. I looked at the program, which had successfully detected and traced the signal coming from the other omni-tool. I quickly tried to connect with the bank account that the signal was going to, but something in the program failed and the signal was lost.

Fuck! What in the hell? What went wrong?!

Panicking now, I waited until the batarian customer had left before bringing my omni-tool up to my face and opening up the program's coding, trying to find what the problem was. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a few people look at me oddly, but they didn't stop to question me so I ignored it. I double and triple checked my syntax and wording, everything seemed fine.

Unable to find the issue, I rebooted the program just in time to look at the store and see a customer, a salarian this time, walk in. He momentarily looked over the items on display, but soon he strode over to the counter. The customer and store owner spoke very briefly before they started the transaction, leaving me with only two seconds to catch the signal. It successfully got into the bank account this time, and I just blindly transferred a random amount from the account into the onmi-tool's internal credit storage before quickly disconnecting. I watched the last customer leave, then got up and headed into an alley before chancing a look

The number softly glowing at me was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in a long time.

200. Two-motherfucking-hundred. Two hundred credits. All mine.

I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty for taking the salarian's money. I was in far too much pain to care, and this was Omega. There was a high probability he'd done much worse.

I was jubilant, ecstatic, beyond relieved. Two hundred was just what I'd needed, enough to pay for medical treatment and have some leftover to feed myself for a couple days. I made my way to the closer of the two clinics I had found, unable to contain a smile. It was sad that I could be so happy for getting the bare minimum I needed to survive, but given the utter hell my life had been for the past week something finally going my way had me feeling like I was walking on clouds.

I reached the clinic and took a moment to collect myself before going in. The medical personnel were blunt but I didn't mind. I paid one hundred and fifty credits for a 'quick-treat', which consisted of treatment of any existing wounds and a round of common vaccines. It went by lightning-fast. A nurse quickly scrubbed out my injury with something that stung like a bitch, slapped a large bandage on it and gave me an injection that I assumed to be antibiotics near the graze so quickly I didn't even feel it. Then I was handed over to someone else who gave me three other injections in the crook of my right arm and before I could even say 'thank you' I was pushed out the door. The cleaning agent still stung, but I could already feel the throbbing fade a little.

I then headed to the nearest restaurant, next door to the electronics shop I had targeted before, and ordered their cheapest levo-based meal. It turned out to be a batarian dish that reminded me of spaghetti. I had barely set the plate down before I had inhaled half of it. The turian owner of the restaurant was staring at me, but I was incapable of caring. I had food. I didn't care that it had flecks of plant and meat in it that tasted odd, I didn't care that it smelled weird as hell. Both would have made the dish inedible to me before, but I just couldn't give a shit anymore.

I was nearly finished when I heard yelling from the electronics store.

"-epayment! Either you overcharged me or someone stole from me while I was in your store! I am missing 200 credits! 200! That much doesn't just vanish!"

It was the salarian I stole from. I went rigid and the blood drained from my face.

What if they trace it back to me? What would happen then?

"I'm sorry, but I can assure you that I did not take your money and if someone else did, I cannot be held responsible." The volus store manager sounded very annoyed.

"Responsible? Of course you're responsible, this is your store! You have to assure your customer's safety-"

"I don't have to do anything. This is Omega, who are you going to report me to? C-Sec?" After hearing that, I slowly began to relax. I'd forgotten that Omega had no police force and no laws.

"Now see here-" The salarian tried to argue, but the volus cut him off.

"I will say it one last time; I am not going to reimburse you. If you got stolen from, that's your fault. That's how things work on Omega, if you have a problem with that go back to the Citadel. We could stand to lose a few whiny Council-worshipers. Now, you can either leave my store or I can call the Blue Suns in to throw you out of here."

The salarian spluttered for a moment, then turned on his heel and stormed out. I sighed and looked back at my nearly empty plate to clean it off completely. The turian chef walked up to me and I froze, watching him from the corner of my eye.

"You're the one who stole from that salarian, aren't you?" He asked without preamble.

My voice stuck in my throat. I didn't look at him.

"I've noticed that you humans' skin looks whiter when you're scared. So? Did you?"

No, you're wrong. I'm always pale. I was just scared from the yelling.

I couldn't get any of the words through my mouth.

The turian blinked and his mandibles twitched. "Well, if you did, I'd say that was a good job. Cloaca deserved it." He turned and walked back to his kitchen, leaving me there with my thoughts.

[Edited 2/26/2017]