Mass Effect+Overwatch: Cowgirls And Turians

[u63r]

| Spacebattles | FF.net | AO3 |



As I ride this road
The journey of my life
Through a world with no love
I stop and wonder why
Then I come to a town
And lay my saddle down
Then I turn
Want some peace
But there's nowhere to be found
-Socalled, "You Are Never Alone"​

He seemed normal enough.

The young turian walked into the bar, a glowing disc over his ear, his omnitool similarly lit up in a soothing shade of gold.

"No, I'm-baby, I'm five minutes away! I just have to pick up-"

He wore light armor under his coat, but that was completely normal with all the mercs around. He approached the bar, and waved his 'tool over the register. The batarian behind the bar nodded, and handed over the paper bag, one with light-designs and the bar's name shining on the side.

"I've picked it up. I literally have it in my hand. Five minutes!"

His eyes swept over the patrons of the joint as he turned and headed for the door.

"I'm walking out the door now. You know Shimada's? See, I'm right-"

The people at a certain table didn't react until he had left. Then the human woman in the cowboy hat said "not bad."

"Not good either," said the turian in blue C-Sec armor two seats over.

"Enough for most people," said the large krogan between them, and took a slug of ryncol from the bottle sitting next to his chips. A few stray drops had already discolored the tabletop and were gently steaming.

The quarian woman on the far side of the table sat up. "Wait, what? Did I miss something?"

The hooded, female figure next to her chuckled. "How often do you think someone is so distracted that he doesn't notice one of the most famous musicians in the galaxy signing an autograph right in front of him?"

"Good point," the pop star replied.

On her other side, a dreadlocked human man tapped a poker chip on the table thoughtfully. "I've never seen an omnitool with a pen program before."

"Cost me a hundred creds. Guaranteed to write underwater, in five different atmospheres, in hard vacuum, even upside down!"

"How long have you had it?"

"About five hours."

"Already cracked the DRM?"

They could almost hear her rolling her eyes behind her mask. "Duh."

"Can I have a copy?"

The human woman cut in. "While all this pen talk is fascinatin' and all, but we've got a potential ambush to trip."

"But...poker!" the quarian whined.

No, wait, whining was for people who weren't galactic superstars. She protested.

"We'll leave our cards on the table. And take a picture. Speaking of cameras-"

"Okay, okay, grabbing the externals."

"Sheriff?"

"That's Lieutenant Sheriff," the cop corrected.

"Drinking and driving is illegal, right?"

"Generally."

"How 'bout drinkin' and shootin'? Especially in self-defense?"

"Law's a mite fuzzier there," the cop said, in the turian equivalent of her southwestern drawl.

"You understand that I'm speaking hypothetically, of course."

"Of course."

"Lot of dangerous characters around that might want to prey on an innocent little country girl like me."

The cop considered pointing out that she was one of the most dangerous females in the galaxy not named Kalros.

"Say, you feeling thirsty?"

"Thir-" The light dawned on the turian. "As a matter of fact, I am. If you left, I'd just stick around to finish my drink. Maybe even have another. It's been a long day."

The quarian spoke up, her tone actually professional for a change. "He just linked up with some armed vorcha. A lot of them. Their tags say they're part of the...Third Ward Mauves?" She looked up at the cop. "Am I reading that right?"

"It sounds better in their language," the human woman said. "Shame Lieutenant Sheriff couldn't hear your question, what with the music being so loud and all."

"Riiight," the turian drawled. "Couldn't hear a thing."

"Why, I'd bet that music would drown out any kinda...commotion from outside. Isn't that right, everyone?"

There was general assent from the patrons.

The cowgirl smiled, and drained her glass of Wild Turkey. "Hiro?"

The barkeeper looked up.

"Sorry about the mess."

The heavily-tattooed man raised an eyebrow.

"Y'know. In advance."

-/-​

Iolas walked out of the bar and a few metres away, to where his men were loitering as casually as they were able.

That wasn't very casually, considering how vorcha tended to stick out in this part of town. Still, he found them waiting patiently as he arrived at the firing position they had scouted.

"How was it, boss?" one asked, in that rasp of theirs.

The turian had beaten the previous leader of the Mauves to a pulp with his bare spurs. It had been... therapeutic, considering his recent dismissal from the Talons. Then he had told them to set up at strategic positions around the restaurant. There were three groups forming a semicircle in front, a reserve to the rear, and a team in the back alley.

"They're in there, and they'll be out sooner or later." He put the takeout container down on a convenient bench, opened it up, and let the warm smell of aparterae and spices drift out. "When we do, we'll ambush them. The client will pay for even one member of this team downed or captured."

Of course, there were enough Mauves there to storm the place. And if there were less afterwards, why, that just meant a bigger cut for him.

The gang members looked at each other, no doubt communicating via subtle nuances of expression and stance and pheromones, for all he knew. Eventually, one of them said "boss..."

"Yeah?"

"You gonna eat all that by yourself?"

Iolas started at them. Then at the food. Then at the entrance to the bar, as someone walked out. It was the male human with the strange hairstyle.

The merc stuffed a few slices into his mouth, and tossed the rest to his men. "If you can eat dextro, good luck. If...not, I'd appreciate you keeping your guts inside until after we're done."

-/-​

The lights in the alley flickered, as they had in many alleys, on worlds throughout the galaxy, throughout history.

The vorcha weren't exactly great scholars of history. They were more concerned with keeping their eyes on the back door than anything else. With whether there were any scraps in the garbage a close second.

The lights went out, just for a second. Vorcha had good night vision, but it took a few seconds to warm up, so they didn't notice the door quietly opening. They did notice, however, when the lights came back on and a quarian with crossed arms was standing in front of them with two holographic discs in front of her.

"Yeah! Let's get this party started!" she shouted, and slammed her palms flat on the discs. Out of nowhere, music started playing, lights started flashing, and the female started to dance.

Little known fact about vorcha; they were excellent dancers. It was a part of their oral tradition; they danced the song handed down from generation to generation. And if their generations were shorter than those of other species, so what? That just made life all the more valuable. These particular ones had never heard the human phrase "half as long, twice as bright", but they'd appreciate it if they did.

So, they largely appreciated the quarian's dancing. But that didn't mean they weren't going to shoot her, like the one who first raised his pistol.

And was shot by a cloaked drone.

The vorcha jumped. More of them raised their weapons.

"Really?" the quarian said, still nodding, still dancing. "Do you know how much I charge for a private show?" She shook her head, while more sonic bursts took down the gangers. "No one appreciates artistry these days." Beat. "Well, besides my millions of fan-"

There was a twang, and the quarian spun, her omnitool deploying a sonic blaster. There was a vorcha staggering sideways with an arrow in his chest, and she wasted no time in knocking him across the alley before turning to the open doorway.

And bowing.

"Domo arigatou gozaimasu, Hiro-kun," she said. As she straightened up, she saw the barkeep look away, rub the back of his head, and blush, just a little.

The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that he was carrying a crossbow.

There was a rustle of plastic behind her, and the sound of someone drawing a gun, and the pop star realized she was right in the line of fire between the vorcha she had stunned and the barkeep.

"Double...tap..." the lowlife choked out.

Good advice, the quarian decided, as she dove out of the way. She'd have to remember it in the future.

-/-​

The human put a small white tube to his lips, and the end glowed. Iolas saw his chest expand before he put the device back in his pocket, and cracked his neck from side to side.

Then he held out his hand in their direction, and a massive curved rectangular glowing plane appeared in thin air.

"S'kak. Everyone fire!"

If that shield was anything like a mass effect barrier, Iolas figured, it would fall in a few seconds.

Except it didn't.

"Stop shooting!" Clearly it was along the lines of one of those high-level portable shields, the type some bodyguards carried in discreet little cases. But he had never seen any this powerful before.

Iolas wasn't an expert on human expressions, but the target seemed almost... disappointed?

He yelled at them "is that it? Is that the best you can do?" Beat. "Well. Now it's my turn."

And then he dropped the shield.

Before Iolas could react, something on the human's back ignited, propelling him forward at high speeds somehow. Light traced a long pyramid shape, whose sides divided into smaller and smaller pieces before the whole thing shone, becoming a long cone with the wide end flared.

It's amazing what you notice sometimes as you drive out of the way.

The lance pierced one of the vorcha clean through, and the human kept going until he hit the wall of a shop that had closed for the night.

The takeout container the vorcha had been holding hit the ground.

Iolas stared at it for a second before going "take him, take him, take him!"

The human's charge had carried him remarkably close to the reserve Mauves, who reacted predictably to seeing one of their brethren die in front of them.

Iolas swore he saw a smile on the human's face as the man spun, tech armor appearing on his body. The lance vanished in dancing light, only to be replaced by a much smaller shield and a long omniblade in the other hand. The target found a car that hid him from the reserve, as the rest of Iolas' merry band pivoted to focus on the threat.

At which point someone began peppering them with rifle fire from the bar's doorway.

Iolas ducked behind cover, and told the team on the left flank to address the problem. There was a smattering of undisciplined fire, mostly handguns and SMGs, the occasional boom of a shotgun. One or two grenades.

And underlying it all, steady as a metronome, was that rifle. Wielded by the human woman wearing her spirits-taken hat.

Iolas watched as the vorcha on the roster slowly went from green lights to gold. And occasionally blue. This one monkey was just tearing through them, and he'd have to go all-in to shut the two down, unless he left the back door uncovered-

Wait.

Where were the other three?

"We see krogan!" someone shouted into the radio.

-/-​

The krogan was tending to the quarian. More precisely, to the wound in her side staining her rather expensive, rather trendy, but tactically-useless clothes with red.

Of course, she was the one setting the trends.

"There," the krogan grumbled, completely heedless of the few bullets scoring marks in his flesh. Not all of him could fit behind the planter, after all, and he was more concerned with the way his patient's flesh knit back together. He cut off the stream of golden light emanating from his gauntlet, and probed the spot. Seemed fine.

"That tickles!" the quarian squealed.

"Tough," the krogan grumbled. "You're on the bench."

She would've argued, but he gave her a look he had practiced on a lot of patients, and she subsided.

The human in the cowgirl hat looked over at them from ten feet away. "Problem?"

"No," the krogan grumbled, like thunder on the horizon.

The quarian pouted. Well, her voice sounded like she was pouting, anyway. "Fine. I just don't know what went wrong!"

"You got shot," the krogan said. "That's what happens when you don't mind your surroundings, kid."

"But they were just vorcha! I could take them!"

"Obviously not." He tapped her side. "All it takes is one. Patch up your suit and get yourself to a cleanroom right away. Take two medigel and call me in the morning. And apologize to Hiro for staining the floor."

She saluted. "Yes, ma'am-"

He slapped her upside the head. Well, the envirosuit.

"Owww!"

"Now, if you'll excuse me-"

He stood, drawing the attention the bad guys who weren't occupied, and activated his shields. Where was the largest-ah, there was a good clump. Currently being distracted by a guy with a sword and shield made out of light.

The Ragnarok suit had been custom-made for him. It was capable of propelling several hundred kilos of krogan medic high into the air.

And after he crossed himself, it did.

He gathered energy into his fist as he rose, using the wings to draw attention. He wanted them to know he was coming, to see the looks on their faces.

It never got old, that moment of dawning comprehension.

The krogan equivalent of a smile could be seen on his face as he reached the apex of his jump, and a thought flickered through his mind. Specifically, a part of the Hippocratic Oath.

First, do no harm.

And then he bought his fist and body down into the middle of a gaggle of vorcha, with all the biotic fury that a centuries-old krogan battlemaster could muster over the fact that he had been interrupted while out drinking with his friends.

It did a great deal of harm indeed.

-/-​

There were the sounds of more impacts on the facade of the joint, and the turian cop winced. He raised his glass, realized it was empty, and turned towards the bar. "Hey, Hiro-"

The human looked at him. He was trying to mop up the quarian blood drops that had landed on the floor. The cop's practiced eye automatically noted that the drops were ovals, not circles, meaning she had been moving when they fell. And they were headed towards the entrance.

He looked longingly at his empty glass. "S'kak. I guess I can't ignore it any longer, can I?"

The barkeep somehow managed to shrug sarcastically. It was all about the eyebrows.

The turian rose, paid the check - plus a bonus - and pulled his rifle. He tapped a button, then the barrel extended and a scope unfolded from the top. A blue visor wrapped across his eyes.

"If I don't come back, sorry about my tab."

-/-​

Iolas watched the Mauves die.

One bodycam showed some of them hiding behind a bench in front of a store, just unloading on a krogan whose shields brushed off the gunfire. He threw out a hand, and a sort of glowing rope - no, a chain - with a hook on the end erupted from his omnitool, snagging the awning above the vorcha. He set his feet and pulled, and it came crashing down.

Several of the little dots on Iolas' roster went blue. Others went yellow, though they might wish they were dead soon. The handful of greens included the one the camera was attached to.

Then that hook snaked into view, yanking the vorcha out of position. He came to a stop in the krogan's massive fist. The camera, on his chest, showed his arms as they tried to pry the battlemaster's fingers loose.

And then the krogan pressed some sort of large, double-barreled weapon to the vorcha's chest. There was blackness for an instant before the signal cut out.

And the little dot went blue.

Next feed.

This group of vorcha were firing at a shadow, at a narrow-waisted figure with wide hips that flitted in and out of view. When they tried to shoot her, their guns would jam, or the IFF would engage, or something else would go wrong, all while the quarian wove in and out of them, legs flashing in a manner that reminded Iolas of the standard turian male spur kick, almost too fast to see.

One of the vorcha managed to drop a flashbang, sending the female staggering, and with a cry of joy, two more vorcha caught her arms. A third approached, pistol levelled at her head-

Iolas opened his mouth to point out that they hadn't secured her feet.

She kicked, sending the third vorcha's head snapping to the side. When it came back, it was clutching at his face, and the turian didn't understand until he saw the lower half of the alien's face just kind of...slide off.

The two other vorcha stared at their comrade, at his hands clutching at his throat, at the blood spilling between his fingers, and their grip slackened, just for a moment.

"Grab her hands-"

It might've been a useless gesture. For all the young merc knew, she had slaved some sort of countermeasure to voice command. But she still made that strange gesture, like she was tracing the arc of a circle, and lightning played over her body.

And, perforce, the two gang members holding her.

The turian almost sobbed as he checked the last group.

The...knight had shifted his weapon to some kind of light-stave. That had to be ancient even by human standards, but he was winning against the Mauves with it. It helped that he could make it expand and contract, disappear and reappear at will.

Iolas saw one of his men stagger back to avoid the human's swing, only to step right into a kick to the gut from the quarian. The turian frowned, and scrubbed the feed back, slowed it down, noticed the flash of light when she connected. Ah. Some kind of omni-blade attached to her...feet?

He switched back to the live stream just in time to watch the vorcha fall to his knees, clutching at its entrails. Then a curved, glowing hook wrapped around his midsection.

Iolas had never seen someone used as a flail before. Much less by a krogan laughing and shouting "I said you were benched, buckethead!"

He cut the feed, closed his eyes, tried to breathe through the hot, spikey feeling in his crop.

"Boss?"

"What?"

"What do we do?"

Spirits take it, he was going out on his feet. Not hiding behind a wall.

He opened his eyes, tried to give a confident smile. "Over the top!"

The few remaining vorcha cheered. They scrambled over and around the bench, and Iolas follo-

There was a sound.

Extremely loud, and incredibly close.

Suddenly, Iolas was lying on the ground, and everything hurt.

rocket

There was an arm in front of him. It wasn't his. There was a body a few feet farther away, one leg missing, the other slightly less so. Red vorcha blood was spilling out.

No.

No.

He was done. He was done. He should've never taken the job. He should've done more research. He shouldn't've tried to go private.

He got to his to his feet somehow, the world feeling like it had been tilted a few degrees to the left. The body stirred, and looked at him. It raised an arm in his direction, tried to speak.

Boss.

Okay.

Maybe he could get something out of this. Maybe he could save someone, just one person. Even if they were a lowlife piece of s'kak.

He reached for his soldier.

He almost made it.

A blue glow enveloped him.

"No!"

He kept reaching for the vorcha, even as the Lift pulled him farther and farther out of reach. He began to twist in the air, and at one point got a good look at the three beings near the door of the bar and grill. One was the human woman in the strange hat. Her right hand held a sidearm, and her left, the cybernetic one, had somehow converted itself into something that looked a lot like a weapon.

The cop had pulled his carbine, which had been converted to a marksman rifle. Iolas saw the clan paint, saw the blood-colored visor, and a chill ran through his veins. Vakarian.

He never should've taken the job.

The third one, the female in the hood, had a hand raised. Obviously she was the one keeping him up, and given the way her head was moving, she was speaking to the other two.

Iolas craned his neck back, to find the vorcha had gone limp and still.

The kick in the chest, when it came, was actually a relief.

-/-​

The cowgirl raised her guns, blew the smoke off the one in her right hand, and said "Does that meet your satisfaction, Pri-"

The space behind them was empty.

"She keeps doin' that!"

The cop lowered his rifle. "Think you won."

She rubbed her thumb absently over her EZK 7:6 belt buckle.

"So you're buyin' dinner?"

"And drinks."

"Why, Lieutenant, are you tryin' to get into my pants?"

"Maybe after dinner." He gave her half a second. "Hannah."

She stopped, stared at him, then blinked.

Well.

A smile spread over Shepard's face.

Finally.

-/-​

"You're dying, Iolas," said the woman in the black hood.

Her voice was dark, smoky, like humans the turian had heard in one of their old films once. But that was less of a priority for him than the ache in his chest, his stomach, the fact that his hands came away wet and dark blue.

"Seems more like I'm dead already."

Didn't seen quite as alarming a prospect as it should've.

Iolas looked around. At the debris hanging frozen in the air, including his blood and a few pieces of the Mauves that still hadn't landed. Even his own rifle was at an angle, just about to hit the ground.

He reached for it, and the kneeling woman pushed it down with the biggest shotguns he had ever seen. She wore gloves, but her blue index finger was exposed.

"Ah ah ah," she said. "Don't bother. You can't use it here anyway."

"Where is 'here'?"

"A timestop." She tapped her wrist, where a glowing white-blue circle was projected. Her shotgun had vanished. "Until you die."

What? That made no sense...

His mandibles flared.

"How much time do I have?"

"All the time in the world. Well, at least, your world. Until I kill you."

"What?"

"I need to know what you know," she said.

"I...I could just tell you-"

"They always say that. But I need to know what you don't even know you know. It won't hurt."

"How do you know? Have you died before?"

"Yes."

He waited.

She said nothing.

"This was all a setup, wasn't it?"

"That, or you were contracted by an idiot. Clearly you weren't briefed on-"

Her voice gained a sardonic edge.

"-High-tech Special Forces Unit Overwatch."

Huh.

"Your boss, and Vakarian...she could've shot me in the head, couldn't she?"

"Asked them not to. We needed the intel."

He felt cold, now. Creeping up from the edges. "You...you people...hiring?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "Always. But I don't think you'd make it to the recruitment office."

"Heh." Iolas propped himself up on the solid...thing behind him. The details didn't matter. Not anymore.

"Any messages you'd like me to pass on before you pass on?"

He could hear the laugh in her voice, and for some reason it didn't really bother him. Spirits, he saw the joke, saw the sick joke his whole life had been. No one who gave a s'kak about him, no one he'd want to burden with his death.

He shook his head.

"All right, then."

She laid a gentle hand on his cheek, and he felt the faint tingle of the gathering biotic energies playing on his skin.

"May you rest in the arms of your ancestors."

He could see her face now, in the shadows of the hood, and it was covered in some kind of white paste, like clan paint. Was that what her skull looked like?

The asari's eyes went completely black.

"Embrace oblivion."

-C&T-​

The belt buckle was originally going to be Ezekiel 25:17, for the Pulp Fiction reference (it even references a 'shepherd'), but it turned out 7:6 (KJV) was even more appropriate.

I planned a cowboy-themed fic involving the frontier of Mass Effect, and a team of misfits defending a secret weapons lab against a lot of bad guys, with scrappy ingenuity and experimental weapons. It was boring. I never finished it. based loosely on Myetel's epic-length "Spirit of Redemption" continuation fic, and was going to have more of a tech focus than SOR's "all biotics, all the time".

But I did use the title and themes and some of the worldbuilding for this fic, which was started separately before I folded in the Wild West elements. It was also going to include Ash as a 76/Widowmaker hybrid, a monkey named Jenkins as a Pharah/Winston hybrid who shot lightning rockets, Meibjorn, and possibly some kind of Mercy/Bastion hybrid and a Junkrat hybrid. The only one that I actually kept with the Mercy/Roadhog krogan.

I'm not sure where DJ-TAL1 came from.

I'm putting this fic idea up for adoption, BTW. It's yours if you want it.

 

[u63r]

I'm sorry.



I had to.

 

[Strunkriidiisk]

Very nice.

the Titian in blue C-Sec armor

Click to shrink...

Unless Garrus is in fact a famous Italian painter, that should be fixed.

"S'kak. Everyone fire!"

Click to shrink...

Sneaky, sneaky. [Reads further] Well, shit. Spoil my fun why don't you.

 

[aeroprime]

Innnnnteresting. Welp I'm watching this.

 

[u63r]

Who did you think it was? Another Lucio based character? No one likes hero-stacking.

Unless Garrus is in fact a famous Italian painter, that should be fixed.

Click to shrink...

I wrote this mostly on a tablet, so there are shedloads of autocorrect typos. And I have this posted on five different sites, so it's gonna be a bit of a pain in the neck to get em all.

I'm not sure why I bothered with AO3. This isn't a shipping fic, so they don't care.

 

[u63r]

Since I am not updating my fics on SV anymore, I would like to inform anyone still subscribed that there is a new chapter on the other sites. A new chapter I will partially excerpt below, after the links.

Mass Effect+Overwatch: Cowgirls And Turians

| Sufficient Velocity | FF.net | AO3 | As I ride this road The journey of my life Through a...

forums.spacebattles.com

Mass Effect & Overwatch: Cowgirls And Turians Chapter 2: Sound and Fury, a Mass Effect + Overwatch Crossover fanfic | FanFiction

www.fanfiction.net

Mass Effect+Overwatch: Cowgirls And Turians - Chapter 2 - JonnWood - Mass Effect [Archive of Our Own]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

archiveofourown.org

I meet Tali in a penthouse hotel suite the rest of the press hasn't managed to suss out. After checking IDs and subjecting me and my photographer to a full security scan, her bodyguards begrudgingly let us in.

Tali herself looks like any other quarian, as she lounges on the hotel room's luxurious couch, which probably costs more than the rent on my first apartment. She's a gracious host, offers me a drink. I refuse.

I can only assume the low-key disguise makes it easier to sneak past the press. She's not even the popular omni-skates she's a spokeswoman for.

There's a turntable on the suite's kitchen countertop, and a few suitcases scattered about. But when you're wearing a sealed life-support suit, I assume you don't travel with much in the way of clothes.

This popular and often controversial musician grew up an admiral's daughter, and discovered her DJ talents during her pilgrimage.

"I don't regret it," she says. "Any of it. Not for a second."

Even after the Hotel incident?

Tali is quiet for a moment. When she speaks, I hear the ruefulness in her voice. "Regret is...not exactly the word I'd use."