*****A Cursed Existence*****
Entry 21: Feros! Finally!
AN: Well now. First chapter of the new arc. It's… going to be on the longer side, but hey, I have a feeling there are few of you that'll complain about having more to read. Anyway, let's get into it, shall we?
January 2nd, 2183, 5:51 am. (Two hours later)
Interstellar travel. I'd been doing a lot of it lately. Honestly, so much so that it surprised me. But alas, the future waits for no man… woman… person…
Watching the stars go by, I couldn't help but sigh. Asari have entire schools of philosophy focused on it, so since when was self identification supposed to be this hard? Oh right, since one day I woke up and found out I had to share a brain with a stranger who also happened to be me.
Sighing again, I turned away from the lightshow of FTL and focused back on my impromptu itinerary/checklist for when I arrived at Feros. It was all held on my… omni-tool? Well, it worked like an omni-tool anyway, just one that, after thorough testing, could only be perceived by me. A "gift" from my nuisance of a benefactor no doubt. Regardless of its purpose, it was at least useful for putting my ideas down somewhere no one else could see them, even if the weird burning thorn tattoo was a little out of character for someone like me.
Step 1: Ensure I don't become a fungus puppet. That pricey eezo-based air filter should do; getting rid of toxins and spores is what it's designed to do, after all. Also, screw those creepers; they can rot in plant hell. Which I guess would just be normal hell, but filled entirely with vegetarians instead?
Step 2: Find an ExoGeni representative that looks impressionable/disposable, "convince" them to tell me everything I want about the colony's condition and who all has visited them recently, and then find a nice spot to drop them off for a few hours while I have a chat with the thorian itself. Shouldn't be too hard; some of the guards seemed dumb and gullible enough to believe some rich alien girl would want a "conversation with such a big and strong man" like them. Bleh… honestly guys, have some standards why don't you? Stop thinking with your second head! Then again, I'm not exactly one to talk.
Step 3: Chat with the thorian, and try not to murder it. Well that's going to be fun. "The old growth does not care about the coming space squids! It is too busy ignoring the robots sent to kill it by servants of the space squids, and wishes you would leave! Oh and don't forget to leave some fertilizer on your way out, fleshling!" Goddess do I want to murder it… ah well, kill them all and let God sort it out is more Shepard's shtick anyway. I'll leave that to him to figure out once I get what I want from it.
Step 4: Determine if I can salvage anything of value from the colony that won't be missed. Maybe some misplaced ExoGeni files and blackmail- oh, sorry, I mean, "private corporate information." God, buying that company will be worth it if only so that I can fuck with the market even more before the Reapers get here. Money is mostly meaningless in wartime, especially one of that scale, so items and ownership will be far more valuable. Perhaps I could convince some of their board members to sell once the truth of Saren and his relationship with their company gets out? Maybe even use the outrage to fuel their panic even further, all in person of course, because talking to people is sooo much easier when they have to fight the urge to drool when I walk into a room. Though I do wonder when the assassins will start being sent after me for ruining one too many an executive's carefully laid plans… ah well, I've survived worse.
At that last thought, I gently rolled my shoulder. It had healed quite well, all things considered, and my personal physician just told me to keep from putting too much pressure on it for a week or two so that it can fully heal. She also suggested a few "subscription legal medicines," which was a code phrase for "drugs that I can only sell because I have a medical degree." While I'm sure they would've helped… ehhhh, no thank you. My natural healing would do quite nicely. Besides, once I make certain… acquisitions in the medical field, I'll be able to install as many gene mods as I want, and not have people wondering why my dna looks so funny compared to normal asari. Who needs money anyway? I can just own the bank if I play my cards right. Become the first billionaire (or potentially trillionaire; all depends on how well I do) to have only enough money in the bank to function and keep my properties running smoothly.
Wait, isn't that what almost all of them end up doing anyway? Ah whatever.
Adding a few more unimportant details to the itinerary, I closed it out and moved on to the next subject: My other plans.
Goodness I've been a busy little beaver, haven't I? Alright, let's see here: Try to form a connection with as many of the "squadmates" as possible before Eden Prime happens. By all guesstimates, and the last bit of info I got from my friend in the Hierarchy, I have until… March to get it done. Two months… the same amount of time since I woke up that day… hmm. A funny little coincidence. But all things considered? Doable. What else… ah yes! Those emails I sent out before everything went down!
Switching to my more physical omni-tool – it required a few settings changes so that the gesture to open it was different from the Agatha one, which I was still getting used to – and opening my email, I couldn't help but stare as a flood of new message alerts came in. Maybe I should've checked on it yesterday after the chaos had mostly subsided? In my defense, though, convincing the police commissioner that I was simply caught in the crossfire between a trio of vengeance hungry assailants and a Justicar renown for being especially violent, well… it kinda took priority.
Funnily enough, convincing the somewhat and somehow overweight commissioner – like seriously, just how even? Asari burn something around three times as many calories as the normal human! Just walking and keeping up a barrier should be enough to have her maintaining an hourglass figure for her entire lifetime! Um, anyway, convincing her of my lack of involvement was harder than convincing her that the Justicar had been targeted like that in the first place. Fortunately, a rather detailed conversation, video evidence, and backing from the lead investigator of the case, meant that she believed me before long. The others involved were going to be interviewed separately to make sure it all matched up with my story, but that's what rehearsal and mixing in bits of truth were for (how the fight started with the Justicar launching a table at one of the perpetrators, a single assailant beating back all three inside the restaurant, the explosion outside distracting them enough for said person to get the upper hand and eventually beat them, etc.)
Scrolling until I saw the oldest of the new emails, I looked at the header, saw who it was from, that being my favorite archeologist, and opened it.
"Matron V'Seila, may this message find you well. Your offer is an interesting one. However, I must admit my knowledge of my mother in recent times is quite limited, as I have had little contact with her as of late. I do, though, greatly appreciate your support, so it is my hope that what advice I can give is a worthy enough exchange: Matriarch Benezia T'Soni is a pillar of House T'Soni, having brought it up from insignificance to being one of the most influential families of Thessia. This was made through countless deals and risky decisions. However, it all paid off in the end as she was successful in bringing fame and fortune to the house via both her business and political connections. Additionally…"
It went on like that for a respectable few pages, and honestly, while this was technically speaking stuff I could've just learned if I read a few articles or biographies on the Matriarch, this particular version did indeed grant certain insights to who she used to be. It was sad, really; Benezia was truly a remarkable woman, having effectively built an empire out of almost nothing. Granted it took a few centuries, and there was obviously a lot that happened in the background that wasn't covered by Liara, but the point stands. And now she was just another piece in a much grander game, all because she let her compassion get the better of her when it came to dealing with Saren. Fucking Reapers…
I felt my biotics start vibrating at the base of my neck, the anger making its presence known, so I took a breath to relax again. Anger had its place in my mind, but it was certainly not a place meant to control my decisions. I may as well have been a drug addict if I let it rule me.
Finishing the essay/email on the T'Soni family's history (bless Liara's little heart, that girl didn't do anything in half measures) I spent a moment to mentally tally everything in it so as to remember the important details: Benezia was efficient, intelligent, and had a remarkable intuition when it came to sniffing out things she had no right knowing. Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me if the only reason she fell for the Reaper trap is simply because by the time she realized what was happening, it was already too late.
Poor woman… and now the only real solution is to put her out of her misery. I can't imagine how it must've felt to have fought your way up like that, only to lose any semblance of control over your own agency. Then there's also… Oh? What's this?
Noticing a small paragraph at the end of the email, I took a look at it.
"In conclusion, I wish you good fortune in your dealings with my mother. And should you wish it, I would be quite interested in an in-person conversation with you whenever the two of us can manage it. It is not often I receive an email from a complete stranger who mentions my archeological efforts, never mind being so open about supporting them in such monetary quantities. Typically their only care is what profit can be made from the situation and my relations. If you refuse, however, I understand and ask that you disregard my curiosity.
With humblest respect,
Dr. Liara T'Soni"
Pausing for a moment, I felt a part of me get unreasonably excited at the request.
Oh Liara… of course I want to talk to you! Eeh-hee-hee! That was easier than I thought it'd be!
Unfortunately for me, a little voice in my head reminded me that I couldn't just go on a massive detour to get to know one of my oldest video game crushes in the flesh. But damn did I want to.
Aaaaaahhh… fine. Work first, chat later. Besides, not like I can't talk to her in the future. Though… shit, she'd treat me more like an older friend than anything else even if we did get that far, wouldn't she? Dammit! Why couldn't I have been brought here three centuries younger!? It's not fair I tell you!
Pouting in the privacy of my room aboard the Sapphire, I eventually sobered enough to think more on it.
*sigh* Though even if I wanted to, the AY genes kind of ruin any plans for it to go any further than simple friendship… at least if I want it to actually mean anything… *siiiiigggghhh*
Forcing myself to move on, at least so that I don't get depressed due to the topic, I continued skimming through my emails. Several were quite important: there was one from my (now personal) financial advisor about what investments and purchases I wanted her to make over the next several economic cycles, one from Senator Anuri Enhara thanking me for the continued support (not to mention the subtle hints slipped in that when I asked her to handle the Justicar's disappearance, she would indeed do so as a favor,) one from Investigator Ciaris Minellick about how she "appreciates my cooperation in the case" and, to my eyes at least, a subtle context that she had done everything as asked, and was simply waiting for the investigation to be either closed or transferred to someone else to close. Kinda hard to carry out an investigation when the one that wanted it in the first place goes "missing" after all, and there are only dead ends left afterwards.
The final email of any importance, and newest as such, was a bit of a surprise for me: the sender was, funnily enough, the main topic of the first email.
"Matron V'Seila, may this message find you well."
Wait, isn't that exactly how Liara started her own message? Heh. Guess we know who taught her how to write emails.
"To follow up on our prior conversations, I wish to go forward with what we discussed regarding those business ventures. My financiers have already made the funds available, and I have been in contact with your legal division regarding the contract. It appears to be in order, and has already received my signature. It now awaits your own for it to be finalized. If there are any addendums or alterations to be made, I am sure we can come to an acceptable arrangement.
Athame be with you,
Benezia T'Soni, Matriarch of House T'Soni"
Huh. Starting to think the way I sign my own emails is just because I like the list of titles I've acquired over the years… wait, that's not right…
Feeling a slight headache, I closed my eyes and started rubbing the back of my scalp, messing with the sensitive secondary tendrils there, enjoying the soothing sensation.
Hmm. Hopefully that won't be a common thing. A side effect of whatever Agatha did to me? Maybe… still have no idea what all she changed about my body. Pretty sure my DNA was messed with quite a bit to allow me to bypass the part of a bond that requires… consent, never mind what happened with that omni-tool becoming whatever it is now around my wrist, so maybe my memories were altered too. Though all things considered it hasn't really been an issue so far, so I can probably afford to worry about that later. Should I really be that carefree about it though?
Sitting in thought for a moment, I got up and made my way to the nearby bathroom to check on something, ideas for how to respond to Benezia's and the other emails placed on the backburner until I resolved this. The bathroom had nothing special about it: a normal toilet, a second toilet for the more… exotic species' needs, a small shower stall, a sink, and above the sink… a mirror.
Looking in the mirror, I examined myself in curiosity. I took note of the still healing wound on my cheek; it wouldn't scar, but for now, the scab was still there. I examined my arms, gaze drawn to the only thing truly out of place aside from the still healing wounds, that being the burning thorns tattoo that continued to shift as if on fire every time I looked at it. Aside from that, nothing looked too different. Then I brought my gaze back up to meet my reflection's own. Icy blue skin, and steel blue eyes, same as they've always been. And that's when it hit me…
I'm comfortable with myself now… I'm comfortable living in my own skin… and it feels like it's actually mine again… I wonder why?
I didn't know, but that singular question confused me more than anything else. It made sense, and yet didn't at the same time. I've always been me. Why would it be strange not to be? And then it hit me: I'm Miri now. Not just Mirilley the asari, or Michael the human, but truly Miri. It was… odd realizing it.
What actually happened when I spoke to myself in the dreamscape? And more importantly… which one was I again?
The answer, as it turned out, was fairly simple with a quick review of the odd perspective I had on the memory: both. The scared child looking for comfort, and the one that gave it.
I suppose it was a matter of time until it happened… though it taking place upon my first bond after coming here is strange. Asari physiology at work trying to repair mental damage caused by the forced merger perhaps? The bond may even have been what initiated it. Hmm… no matter. I'm still myself, it just so happens that that now includes two people instead of one. Which is… weird, but by no means impossible considering even humans can display multiple personality disorder, and that's without absorbing the very being of dozens of people throughout the years. God, I really am just a soul eating parasite, aren't I?
Shaking my head to dispel the thoughts before they could gain traction, I focused on what was important: newfound mental stability. I had no idea if it would be permanent, but regardless I'd enjoy it while it lasts. Continuing to stare into the mirror, I felt a sort of determination settle over me.
Let's make the most of it then, shall we?
January 3rd, 2183, 6:42 pm. (One day, 13 hours later)
"-is Mirilley V'Seila of Armali Council, Independent Vessel Sapphire Mist. I'm here on business with ExoGeni."
I learned my lesson from Noveria. After a short, and thankfully uneventful trip to a refueling station near Omega, it was only a few quick trips to get here. I only had to avoid two other vessels that refused to broadcast their IFF's, and here I was now at my destination. But back to having learned my lesson: given Aena wasn't to be trusted handling docking procedures due to her personality, I had instead left her a message to alert me when we came out of the system's relay. Sure enough, she did, and so here I was, letting the Feros docking authority (or rather, the nearest thing they had to it given the size of the colony) know that I had arrived.
"Confirmed, Miss V'Seila. Sending you the docking coordinates now," was the response of the dock operator, and just from voice alone, I had no idea who it was. Funnily enough, it seemed that was mutual, as they gave no sign of caring about who I was either. Unsurprising really, considering that before the geth invasion, the colony had a much larger population, and this most certainly wasn't Noveria.
Hearing the telltale sign of the comm signal blinking out, thus ending the call, I sighed, pleased that something was simple for once. "Alright, Aena, bring us in. Oh and do try to be friendly with them; I'd prefer avoiding a fight if I can."
"Of course Mistress! Engaging 'casual politeness' subroutines!" she responded almost in a chirp. It made me wonder if she enjoyed interacting with people, or if she just enjoyed doing what I wanted her to do. A little of both perhaps?
Moving away back to my room to get into my outfit/armor – I refused to take any chances here, and safety wasn't guaranteed – I started the process of getting dressed. Oddly enough, the procedure of donning armor felt familiar and comfortable, so I took a moment to identify the memory it came from.
Ah. Turian, age 43, was recently medically retired from the military. Poor man wanted to keep on fighting, but they said no. A shame, really; he certainly had the strength and stamina for it, even if his technique was fairly average.
Pausing as I realized what exactly I'd just thought, and the related memories it brought up, I fought off the burning in my cheeks and went back to getting kitted up. It was too late to get distracted by events from years ago.
Slipping into the armor's leggings and top was simple enough. It was merely the undersuit after all. The actual plating, however, gave me a bit of trouble: I'd attached the calf, thigh, and chest plates, but the back was proving a hindrance. That was when I remembered the proper order was legs, back, then chest, and finally arms, and I had to stop myself from muttering in frustration. It explained the issue at least.
Taking the chest off and sliding the back plating into place, I noted how much easier it was, and summarily promised myself to remember that for next time. The arms went far smoother, and before I knew it I was wearing the full suit, minus the helmet. That, however, is what I had the air filter for. Granted, the actual helmet would most likely still be brought with, but I had to at least maintain some of my public image here, on top of the fact that my face was a weapon in itself in certain situations, not to mention comfort was also something I had to keep in mind. Feros wasn't yet an active warzone, and memories of many a life lived in the service or not, I wasn't a soldier at heart, and as such the armor felt… heavy for lack of a better word. Stuffy almost.
Maybe I should've spent some extra time to find one with a built-in exoskeleton. Then again, those suits are fairly rare and experimental right now, and it would've required a few days to get adjusted to the differences. Do they enhance the body's natural movements, or is it just a skeletal enhancement to ease the stress placed on the spine and legs? Something to look into later.
Pulling myself back to the present, I booted up the armor's HUD, the holographic info screen projected from the neck guard and appearing in front of my face. It wasn't intrusive, and was thankfully quite minimal, due in part to the fact that nothing else was linked to it at the moment. A simple blue bar for my shield strength and shield emitter condition, and a red "health bar" representing my general overall physical status, a more detailed diagram for individual body parts being pulled up if I focused on it for a couple seconds. Why was it all the same as it was from the game? Hell if I know, though I could certainly change it if I wanted to, given this was modifiable to customer standards. Seeing everything operating as intended, though, I selected the option to minimize the HUD, not especially needing it at the forefront right now.
Finding my weapon of choice, seeing as I still wanted to hold off on using the ones I bought from Combine Weapons until I'd properly taken them apart to learn what made them tick, I attached an Armax Arsenal Brawler heavy pistol to my hip. Normally it would've been quite expensive and difficult to acquire, needing several permits and permission from the manufacturer to buy, but wouldn't you know it, my friend in the Hierarchy just so happened to be nice enough to ship me one when I asked for a solid pistol recommendation. Wait, what do you mean I illegally bought it from him rather than the dealer to avoid the wait? Ridiculous! I'm an upstanding citizen, who would never think to do that, and am insulted you would even insinuate it! Clearly, I just found it at a used gun store, like any normal person.
Chuckling to myself at the internal joke, I took a minute to stretch now that I was fully suited. While technically being classed as medium armor, the suit I had on now was quite comfortable all things considered, and once the internal environmental system was turned on after messing around with the settings for a moment, it was also rather cozy, neither too hot or too cold. The only real downside is that it felt heavier than I was used to, which was expected.
Is it funny that this was easier to put on than most of my dresses? Well, maybe not "haha, that was funny," but definitely the other type… ah well. Time to get a move on.
As I thought it, I felt the ship shudder, having reached the docking port and signaling that we'd arrived. Doing one final check to make sure I had everything on me, I quickly placed the air filter on. It sealed with a barely audible fizzle, almost static like, and noting that it wasn't too uncomfortable all things considered, I made my way over to the cockpit where I expected Aena to be. There was no need to remove any luggage aside from the bare essentials, seeing as I intended to sleep on the ship itself rather than make use of any "hospitality" the locals could offer. Seeing Aena in the pilot's chair, her running lights off and not really moving, I assumed she was currently engaged in something more on the digital side.
"Aena, is everything ready?"
She popped back to life at that, almost startling me, but I kept calm and waited for an answer. "Indeed, Mistress. I was simply in the process of reinforcing the locking mechanism with additional programs and security measures."
"How much longer will that take?"
A beep from a console distracted me long enough for Aena to respond. "It just finished."
Huh. Convenient.
"Well alright then. Let's go say hello to the colonists…"
…
…
…
"-lease, speak to Fai Dan. I am sure he can help you. Now if you'll excuse me."
That made three. Three colonists now that told me that exact same thing, word-for-word. Well, not counting a random human man who took one look at me, muttered something that was probably a slur given the expression on his face, and then said he didn't have time for me. Which was rude, but I let him be. Don't get me wrong, I expected it – the strange behavior, not the racist (or is it xenophobic?) fucker; why else would I have the air filter on right now – but it still surprised me how odd so many of the colonists acted. The only ones that had shown any particular sign of caring about my presence were the greeter at the docks, a few random people that weren't actively working at the moment – if anything they seemed to be avoiding me and anyone else that came near, which was odd by itself – and the security I'd seen scattered throughout the colony. I hadn't seen a salarian merchant anywhere, so it was probably safe to say he hadn't come here yet. There were far more colonists than my memories indicated, though the numbers did line up with the few hundred that should've been here prior to the geth attack.
I could've told them about the coming attack in a few months; could've let someone know not to trust Saren and whatever he said; but unfortunately, I'd have needed to explain how I knew such things about him. How I knew the geth would be the ones to attack. Not to mention that the thorian would almost instantly have an interest in me as a result, and while I wanted to have a… "chat" with that manipulative plant-thing, it would be from a position of strength, or at least, a position that gave me as many advantages as possible. And right now? All I had was "me rich, me know things I shouldn't" and as such, I really didn't want to provoke the ancient alien freak of nature. Now that didn't mean I'd leave the planet without having said chat, but I wanted to first chat with the corporate overlords of the colony before the chat with the fungal overlord, so that I at least had an idea what they currently knew about it.
Wait, why do I want to involve myself with the thorian anyway? What benefits would that give me? I already know everything I need to from it… right?
As I walked, I thought on it more. Did I? Did I actually know where Ilos was? I mean, I sort of did, but knowing the name of the system given to it after its discovery is just a tad useless if I didn't even know where the Mu Relay was, as in the actual coordinates rather than the general spot on the galactic map it held, which… was also why I'd involved myself with Noveria already, so I could chat with the rachni queen when she matured. Not to mention that my next step after this was probably going to be Eden Prime, and I had no idea how long my visit there was going to last.
And the overall reason behind all this was? The reasoning behind all my scheming and plots and interacting with all this risky business on planets that, in the next year, would be known across the entire galaxy? Oh right! So that I'd snag the info that only Shepard would ever have before he even manages to know he needs it! The prothean cipher, the location of the Mu Relay and Ilos, Javik the cheery prothean, Vigil the nearly dead VI, and all those other fun and useful things. Would I hoard it for myself? Of course not! Shepard can still come and get it like always, I just wanted a leg up on him and Saren both so that I could get ahead of the game. Well, aside from Javik; if I managed to find him first, he would be getting an early wakeup call. Knowing the script ahead of time isn't even fair, really. But should I really keep going through with it and involve myself further? Thinking about it now, though, I'd already come too far to have second thoughts.
It was with this in mind that I finally spotted someone that looked close enough to his game counterpart to have been Fai Dan. Walking up to the man, as he was simply looking through his omni-tool at the moment and didn't seem too busy, I didn't have to get his attention as he noticed me coming and closed out the 'tool.
"Hello, traveler. My name is Fai Dan, the leader of this colony. What can I do for you?" he asked, a slight wince showing on his face near the end.
…my GOD that sounded scripted. I mean yikes! Does he say that to literally everyone that comes here? Oh wait… yeah, he probably does…
Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I responded to the question. "Hello to you as well, Fai Dan. My name is Mirilley V'Seila. I'm here on business with your boss and ExoGeni, and was told I should speak with you for help."
"My… boss?" he started, looking a little wary, before a twitch around one of his eyes told me he felt some pain. "Do you mean the ExoGeni representative here?"
Deciding to test something before moving on, I thought out my answer. "Yes and no. I did wonder something though: is there a sickness going around the colony right now? Many of the people I saw were acting unusual. I wouldn't want to risk any possible cross-species contamination, after all."
He winced at that, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, but props to the man, he held it together. Either that, or the "motivation" he was being provided was working overtime. "Unfortunately, yes. It's a recent thing; the past week or two, as far as we're aware. It's…" he paused and groaned for a second, and I had to stop myself from asking if he was alright, "not especially harmful, but it has left many of us bedridden. Hopefully, those under its effects should recover before long. I can assure you it's," his eyes flickered for a moment before refocusing, "not something you need concern yourself with. We'll get through it without issue."
"I see," was all I could say, considering I knew he was probably dealing with a rather painful voice in his head right now telling him to avoid certain words, so I decided not to torment him anymore asking for information I already know. "Well, could you at least direct me to the ExoGeni headquarters here? I do have some important things to discuss with them."
"Certainly," was his response, all too happy to move on to a different topic. "You just need to take the elevator down to the garage, then go across the skyway, past the weigh station, then…"
Meanwhile, Somewhere on the Citadel…
There was a bar on the Citadel, a small one, far away from the busier sections. It wasn't a glamorous spot, or seemingly well maintained from the outside, some would even describe it as a hole-in-the-wall. It didn't even have a proper name; the only way you would even know it existed was if you simply knew. And if you didn't? Then you weren't supposed to anyway. However, despite that, it offered something that was incredibly hard to find on the massive station: true peace and quiet. More than that, it offered privacy. Every booth at the bar was fully sealed off from the others, not even allowing any atmospheric changes to take place. At any given day, you could find turians relaxing and enjoying some raw steaks in one booth, while the next booth over would have hanar freely swimming through it and enjoying the "indoor ocean," while the next one over from that would have volus outside of their suits, happily breathing in the normally toxic ammonia-based air. Suffice to say, while it was seemingly grungy from the outside, its interior was almost spotless in comparison.
Among all the exotic and clearly wealthy patrons partaking of the bar's various services, one in particular, a krogan, stood out, as he was the only one there in full battle armor, even compared to the few others of his own kind that were there.
"Another one," the person said, putting his now empty mug back down on the table of his booth. It was currently wide open, as he was waiting for his contact to arrive, hence how he was able to call over to the bartender, an older asari who may or may not have been the one that owned the bar. No one really knew who actually did, because while the ownership wasn't known, what was is that any "interested parties" from various intelligence agencies and groups always ended up having unfortunate accidents if they pushed too much. It could've been whoever actually ran the place, or it could've been the "accident" victim's competitors trying to make sure the neutral ground stayed neutral; the effect was the same either way.
"One distilled ryncol, coming right up," was the bartender's response, already moving to mix the alcohol. It held a special place away from the other drinks at the bar, as without the proper gene mods (some of which were technically illegal in Council space) anyone that wasn't either krogan or vorcha would have their liver shutting down after the first couple sips. That is, of course, if the near instant alcohol poisoning didn't knock them out first.
Personally though, Wrex thought that it was the alien's fault for not having a higher tolerance for the stuff. Ah well, nothing to be done about it. Not like they chose their genetics.
The bartender dropped off his refilled mug a minute later, and paying for the drink, Wrex picked it up and took a swig.
Not bad. Still, I've had better. At least this actually tastes like it was made to be ryncol, rather than some nasty shit whipped together in a cave somewhere… though I guess that shit can still be some of the best booze you can find, depending on who made it.
As he took another gulp, feeling the liquid actively trying to destroy his cardiovascular system and smiling as he began to feel the effects of the alcohol, another person sat across from him. Given he'd never seen the salarian before, he grunted in greeting and put his mug down, giving the alien a proper intimidating glare and remembering the phrase he was supposed to use to confirm this was his contact.
"And who might you be?"
It was a simple phrase, and one that could have a dozen different answers, but the right answer was all that mattered. Fortunately for the both of them, that's what the salarian gave. "Merely an employee here on my time off."
Wrex hummed and took another sip of his drink, no longer glaring at the amphibian. Now that they'd confirmed the other was who they were supposed to be, he could get down to business. "You want a drink?"
The salarian shook his head in the negative, not explaining further.
Wrex shrugged and pressed the button to close off their booth. "Suit yourself."
Once the booth had completely shut and sealed, various other noises signaling that the room was secure, he cracked his neck and put the drink down once more, focusing on the alien in front of him. "And who is it that the Broker wants dead this time?"
The salarian blinked, his eyelids doing that weird sideways thing their kind always did. "The Broker does not need that particular aspect of your skills at this time. Rather, he seeks to get your professional opinion on certain issues happening in the Terminus."
Wrex didn't stop his eyes from narrowing in doubt. "What, doesn't the Broker have enough sources in that part of space? Why would he need any info I have?"
The salarian was quick to dismiss the concern. "There is no issue related to the intel itself. Rather, he seeks your particular knowledge on that area, and more specifically, certain persons of interest that have appeared in recent times that are acting… out of the ordinary, given their prior decisions. In summary: I have been sent to speak to you to get a consultation, given that you have been operating in that sector of the galaxy for centuries, and may have some insight that the other agents assigned to this have yet to account for."
Thinking it over, Wrex couldn't help but scoff. "So what you're saying is that I'm old enough and connected enough that I might have some 'elderly wisdom' to impart to help the Broker figure out something that's concerning him."
The salarian pursed his lips at the way Wrex commented on the situation but nonetheless affirmed it. "While I would not exactly describe it as such, that is the basics of it, yes."
Sitting up as straight as he could manage (the damn chairs, while relatively comfortable, weren't exactly made with the bulk of a fully armored krogan in mind) Wrex felt his body fighting off the effects of the ryncol as he began to focus on the conversation. "Alright then. What did you want to know?"
The alien pulled up his omni-tool at that, followed by placing a device on the table, apparently not trusting that the booth's security was up to standard. A pop of his eardrums told Wrex that yet another layer of security was added on top of all the others currently running in the booth, this one no doubt designed to stop any audio from leaking out to any theoretical listening devices. Only then did the amphibian reveal what was on his 'tool, it being a series of dossiers and info on several people.
"First, has an asari by name of Mirilley V'Seila attempted to get in contact with you?" the Broker agent asked, though it was less 'ask' and more a 'request' than anything else.
Thinking on it, Wrex felt like he'd heard of the asari before, but not about anything that related to him personally. "No. Why?"
Indicating one of the dossiers, Wrex took note of the asari it showed. Though seeing as he wasn't the greatest with alien faces (it tended to happen once you've seen a few thousand of them over several hundred years; they all blurred together after a point) he didn't really see much difference to hers over any other asari he knew, aside from maybe that she was a little more pale than average. "Recently, it has been noted that she has been making numerous unusual decisions, some of which seem… too effective. As it pertains to you, however, she recently hired out a full Eclipse branch for the foreseeable future, and has been reaching out to multiple individuals of particular skill, who have no known prior connection with either her or each other. Though if she has not contacted you, then there is no need to concern yourself with her. Other agents have already been assigned to her."
Closing out that dossier, the agent indicated towards another one, a batarian this time. "What do you know of Hegemony Governor Jak'then Tamas of Camala?"
This one Wrex was familiar with. Unsavory as batarians could be at times, their money was just as good as anyone else's, and he was a mercenary at the end of the day. "Last I heard of him, he was pretty standard for a batarian bureaucrat: rich, egotistical, and occasionally an ass. The only difference is he runs a pretty good fighting pit, compared to most of the other ones in that section of space. Anyone that gets caught trying to rig the fights tends to find themselves becoming an active participant; I've won a few bets on those fights myself."
The agent nodded as if this lined up with what he knew. "Is that all? Anything else about him you are aware of?"
Wrex shrugged his armored shoulders. "I didn't exactly know him personally. Mostly it was one of his minions that needed some poor bastard dead or 'removed,' for whatever varren shit reason they came up with. You know what those types are like."
The alien's response was neither agreement or disagreement, only a blink followed by closing out the dossier and moving on to the next, a dark skinned human that looked vaguely familiar. Wrex noted there was only one more after this one. "What have you heard about 'Smiling Warlord Umaka'?"
Wrex took a moment to try and remember why it felt like he knew that name. Then it clicked. "I got an email from him not too long ago. Something about how he's hiring for his little warband, or fleet, or whatever he called it. Never heard of him before that, so either he's just another idiot that let his ego get to him and is on his way to an early grave, or he got very lucky and is now looking to grow his little army… either that, or he's actually competent. Couldn't tell you which; humans tend to be unpredictable even at the best of times. Bold of him to refuse batarians though, especially so openly like that, but it won't make him many friends with the resident four-eyes. My money's on him getting killed in less than a year once he pisses off his neighbors enough. Batarians don't like sharing, after all – just ask the Systems Alliance."
If the agent cared about Wrex's casual racism, he didn't show it, instead moving on to the fourth and final dossier. This one was different from the others, however: no image was attached to it, just a name. "What do you know of the 'Bloody Saint of Omega'?"
For the first time during the conversation, Wrex was caught completely unaware. "Not a thing. A 'saint' though? As in, a holy figure of some sort? When did that happen?"
The agent paused at that, apparently rethinking something, before giving a response. "We believe the first appearance of the… 'saint' was a standard month ago. However, details have been unusually difficult to confirm, though that is most likely due to interference from Aria T'Loak's passive countermeasures. As with Mirilley V'Seila, if you know nothing, then no need to worry about it."
Wrex grunted, acknowledging the "suggestion" for what it was. "Anything else you wanted to ask, or am I free to go?"
The salarian blinked again, processing what he said. "That was everything related to the consultation. The Broker does, however, request that you stay on the Citadel at this time. There are certain issues that have been encountered with other agents on this station that your skillset would be uniquely qualified to handle, once it has been determined how to deal with them."
Wrex internally translated that to mean he would get to kill some damn fool that thought betraying the Broker was a good idea, and he gave a toothy smile as a result. "So long as I'm getting paid for it? Heh. I'll stay here for however long he wants me to."
"Good," was all the agent said, after which he opened the booth and left, Wrex staying behind and thinking about the future. More accurately, what he was going to do over the next few minutes. After all, it'd be a shame to waste some perfectly good ryncol…
Wrex being Wrex, amirite? Angry lizard-man uncle just enjoying his best life of killing stuff and getting drinks.
Alrighty, so we're getting into the thick of it now. What will happen next I wonder? Wait, I'm the one who decides that… uh, I mean, haha, as if I don't already know!
Anyway, that's all I've got for now. Hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you next time!