Thirst Unending: A Romp of Sugar and Stimulants from Omega to the Endless Hunt to the Mojave Desert. BOOK 3 Begins! Lets smooch a cleric beast!

[Princess Scribe]

Welcome to @Dapperlad1 and @Princess Scribe new fic!

Here are your Trigger Warnings!

Enjoy!~

Gonna be a war vet with PTSD having kinky sex. There's going to be violence, and alien / monster fucking.


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[Princess Scribe]

Daydream Start

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The sun glinted off the medals on her uniform as she guided the sleek jet higher into the clouds. Up here she was bound only by the whispering wind and her own daring. Rebecca laughed, the sound drowned out by the jet's roar. With a whoop she sent the jet into a barrel roll, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

A faint honk from below briefly caught her attention. Rebecca glanced down at the toy cars crawling along the highway ribbon. How silly they looked from up here. She pushed the jet faster, aiming for the edges of the sky.

Another honk, more insistent now, wormed its way into her consciousness. Rebecca grimaced in irritation. Couldn't they see she had no time for such trivialities? She was flying, truly flying, for the first time in her life.

The honk became a blare and Rebecca turned angrily toward the sound. In an instant the jet and sky vanished, replaced by a crumpled hood and Cybertruck filling her vision.

​

---

Day Dream End.
​

Reality crashed in as the airbag burst forth. Rebecca slumped forward, the daydream shattered. She blinked hard but the highway remained.

A dented in rear of a gunmetal gray and slightly rusted Cybertruck is the only exterior sign of what, by all probability, fate, and destiny should have been a minor accident having gone wildly worse than anyone could have imagined. A bent neck, with a dribble of blood leaving the mouth of its driver and an empty look in his eyes shows that there's no life in his body.

On the other hand, the Subaru Tribeca that rammed into it is damaged heavily, with a crumpled in front, and the driver, a tall gangly women, in her mid to late twenties. Piercing green eyes wrenched in terror and her bright red almost cloud of hair is bouncing around as she takes a quick moment to asses her surroundings.

She was razor thin, a woman of stick and leather that looked like she spent most of her time in the sun, and found the idea of eating distasteful. Head to toe she was covered in freckles, and had a large burn on her cheek, from where it hit the dash. She could feel her blood leaking out. It was in her top ten looks as a bloody gash on her forehead leaked into her eyes, causing mascara, eyeshadow, and blood to drip in the tacky red liquid.

Son of a bitch, she thought as she spat out a glob of blood. What the fuck happened. She heard sirens in the distance. Her sirens. The ones coming for her.

"Oh my god he's dead!" A woman shouts, following words with the scream of a professional dramatic which starts a panic.

Rebecca yelled at her, "Shut the fuck up before I slit your throat."

Sirens sound in the distance as a store-mounted television warbled in the night. "This is CNN, and we all want to wish you a happy Christmas and New year! A meteor shower is supposed to fill the sky soon enough and we're all waiting for those falling stars!" An attractive voice, picked for just that attribute comes from the news anchor as, sure enough, little pinpricks of light fill the sky as the plasma trails of meteorites start to resemble stars.

Rebecca staggered to the other car, her head pounding. She turned back to survey her Nissan's mangled front end. The engine block occupied the passenger seat like a unwanted guest. Glass shards glinted sharply under the streetlights.

"Shit," she muttered. The Cybertruck, that absurd tank of a vehicle, looked barely scratched. A wave of indignation rose within her. Where was the justice in that?

Rebecca fumbled for a cigarette with trembling hands. As the nicotine hit her bloodstream, her nerves settled slightly. She took a few cautious steps toward the Cybertruck, casting glances over each shoulder. The sirens were getting louder now.

She had to hurry. Check if the other driver was alive, play the Good Samaritan. Then get the hell out of there before the cops arrived. Rebecca quickened her pace, wincing as her bruised ribs protested. She had to keep moving. Had to stay free. The trial might be delayed but the law would keep coming. She couldn't stop running. Not yet.

Did someone say he was dead?

Sure enough, her captive audience wasn't wrong. The driver was worm bait. How did someone die in a car that was barely touched? Think Rebecca think. The airbag had launched a piece of steel through the driver's throat. Poor safety standards, on a shitty car for rich fucks with too much money and too little sense for thei—

She recognized the driver, and dropped her clove cigarette on the ground. Oh NO! No no no no no. Rebecca panicked, wondering if she could flee. She had seen that bald head before on a million "Eat The Rich" memes. Rebecca tried to shake the dead man, praying to God, Lucifer, Hades, and any other dumb fuck god listening to save her.

"Wake up, wake up Mr. Bezos," She yelled shaking the man. Blood arced from the punctured artery spraying her and the inside of the car. "Mr. Bezos you wake up right this fucking instant." Rebecca started to punch him to get him to wake up, only causing the corpse to spew more life fluids.

The violation of the dead was interrupted by a high pitched whistling sound that pierced the night air.

The shooting stars start to near, coming very close in their burning arcs and pulling attention away from her as they flash and light up the Seattle sky. "Remember to make your own wishes on a star!" The CNN anchor laughs, "Have a great night Seattle!" As the screen pulls to a close, replaced with more normal content.

Lightning cracks, something impacts an inch from Rebecca's body, ramming a crater into the asphalt. Everyone screams at the noise, someone shouts "BOMB!" at the egg shaped thing on the ground, warbling the air like a bad dream, invisible noise radiating off it in an almost-cosmic influence.

It detonates into wires, seeking out anything, ripping into the steel of the Cybertruck with nary an instants resistance and spilling more blood as the trillionaire's body is torn open by them. With only the time to widen her eyes, Rebecca is overcome by a pile of them that jab into skin with delayed pain, seconds after they actually are pushing underneath skin, finding something precious and internal to connect too.

This is not what I asked for! She tried to yank the wires out of her flesh, the fight getting more brutal more painful as tiny barbs of steel intertwined with her nervous system. Rebecca thinks for a second and tries to whirl the entire thing around, wanting to smash the egg into the ground when her body freezes. A moment of paralysis and terror washes over her. This is a nightmare Bucket, you'll wake up soon don't you fret.

And then, in a flash of white static that starts as noise and turns to light in a painful instant, the floor disappears.

---

The room was aged, its heavy concrete walls cracked and worn, seemingly constructed a billion years ago. Yet, strangely, no moss or growths had emerged in the cracks. A lone lightbulb hung suspended on a wire, casting an acrid orange-yellow glow over everything, accompanied by the hum of a poorly made electronic device.

The chamber was roughly twelve feet in diameter, barely enough space for one or two people to stand unmoving. Four crisp white wooden doors occupied each cardinal direction, their presence oppressive. A droning, mechanical voice rattled off incomprehensible words, a constant background noise that never faded, grating on Rebecca's nerves.

"Of course you're in hell now. Or purgatory," she moaned, staring around at her bleak surroundings. It was just her luck, on her way to her new job promotion, to die in a car wreck. The only relief she felt was that there was no one to miss her. She had spent her entire adult life serving her country, but that didn't stop them from throwing her away when it was convenient for them.

So, of course, when something nice happened to Rebecca, the universe would take it away. It was the only mature thing for a just universe to do: fuck her entire life raw the moment she felt even a goddamn moment of happiness. At least she had her cloves in purgatory. She pulled one from the pack and lit it, the spicy vanilla tones rolling over her taste buds as the kretek crackled and popped on every draw.

"Hey!" She yelled out to the room, "If you stupid cunts are sending me to hell, get out here and get it over with, yeah?!" The mechanical voice responded with more incomprehensible words, no sense behind them despite sounding logical. The doors hung silently, as the scent of the kretek overwhelmed the sterile air of the space.

"Listen here, you whiny fucks," Rebecca kicked one of the doors, the north one, hard. "I'll not be treated like this, I'm a fucking American, do you know what that means!? It means I'll fucking kill you." She kicked the door again, and again, feeling cathartic as her foot bounced off the wood, her wiry frame tensing with the promise of oncoming violence.

That was, until the door pushed open from the force, and she fell through. A flash of white, a world of nothing but light, twisted shapes in the blinding void virulently moving like living things wanting to spread but being unable.

 

[Princess Scribe]

The cold metal was soothing on her cheek, and the aching was starting to get familiar, at least. Rebecca groaned against the chilly steel in a pitiful whiny sob as she pushed herself up. The first thing she saw in the space in front of her was her cigarette, still lit, and untouched.

"Oh thank god, there are cigarettes in hell." She almost leapt for the thing, her hands snaking out and grasping, and in her desperation, she tried to pick it up by the cherry, burning the tips of her fingers. "Mother fucker!" Rebecca yelped to herself as she caught it with the other hand.

When everything was in its proper place, that is to say, when the cigarette was finally back in her mouth, she allowed herself to take in her surroundings.

Rebecca's eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light as she took in her surroundings. She was in a cramped, claustrophobic space, its metal walls lined with exposed pipes and tangled wires. The air was stale and heavy with the scent of machine oil and ozone, a testament to the aging systems that kept the station running.

Flickering fluorescent lights cast an eerie, greenish glow over the grime-encrusted surfaces, their hum barely audible over the constant thrumming of distant machinery. Rust and corrosion had taken hold in many places, eating away at the once-sturdy bulkheads and leaving jagged edges that threatened to snag clothing or cut unprotected skin.

A labyrinth of walkways and precarious catwalks crisscrossed the space, their metal grating worn smooth by countless footsteps over the years. Thick bundles of cables hung overhead like mechanical vines, occasionally sparking or twitching as power surged through them.

The entirety of her surroundings rattled with clanks, hisses, and groans. Past that, Rebecca could also hear distant echoes of muffled conversations and the occasional burst of laughter or shouting hinted at the bustling life beyond the confines of this hidden space.

It seemed her surroundings had fallen into neglect, and she was sure she had caught something running off in the distance. A dog, or maybe an enormous rat.

She followed lines and symbols looking for an exit when she stumbled on a towering creature in the shadows. The being's ridged, plated head was adorned with goggles, and its grey-marked face seemed almost birdlike. Its digitigrade legs ended in three sharp toe points, and its body was shrouded in flowing clothes that resembled robes over some fancy kind of armour emblazoned with foreign symbols. The creature rumbled in a language Rebecca couldn't understand, its gaze fixed on her as it extended a three-fingered hand to help her up from her crouched position around the cigarette.

To Rebecca, the demon looked downright bizarre, but then, weren't angels just as strange, with their wings and eyes and whatnot? It stood to reason that demons would be just as unusual. As she gazed around, she noticed that hell seemed rather... hospitable, rather like the real world, but shittier. The demon before her looked like it had stepped out of a Tumblr drawing—just much less... fuckable. Yet, as her gaze lingered on those digitigrade legs, she couldn't help but entertain a second thought. Not impossible, though.

Rebecca pushed herself up from her knees to stand, brushing off the demon's offer. "I've got it, thanks," she muttered. The creature responded with another rumble, its words still unintelligible to her, and held out a packet of some kind, filled with a blue-white gel. With increasing irritation the creature pointed to her cuts and scrapes with an unblinking gaze.

Rebecca gazed at the packet, then at the bird-like creature, and back at the packet again. "You know, most people buy me dinner before offering to cover me in goo." She forced a smile, attempting to regain control of the situation. They'd both be uncomfortable in this exchange, and that was fine by her.

As she took the packet, she wondered if accepting mysterious condiment packets from strangers counted as being overly trusting. Rebecca inspected the packet closely, but the letters and words on it were incomprehensible to her. Probably Sumerian or something. Ugh, nothing was ever simple.

The packet's contents seemed to have an immediate effect on her wounds. Her cuts hissed and bubbled, and a cold, stinging sensation spread like a paper cut soaked in alcohol. The pain made her grit her teeth, but after a few agonizing seconds, it faded, leaving her skin unmarred.

"I think I get it," Rebecca said, rubbing the now-healed wound. The pain had brought her close to tears, and wanting to cry only made her want to break something. "I lived a shit life, but I killed a billionaire, so net good. Like John Hinckley if he decimated the military forces in Iraq."

The creature responded with an oddly human show of emotion, its annoyance evident in the way it shifted its feet, cocked its hips to one side, and placed a hand on them. It waited for Rebecca to finish speaking before rumbling again, its gaze fixed on a nearby doorway. The creature's rasping bird-like voice struggled with the English language as it said, "Get out. Re-strikt-ed."

"Hey!" Rebecca yelped, her voice rising in indignation. "I'll have you know I didn't ask to be in here. If you could speak English the entire time, why wouldn't you lead with that? The nerve."

The creature responded with a rumbling reptilian growl, its gaze fixed on her. It then tapped an orange hologram that popped out on its wrist, typing out a message with three fingers. After a brief pause, it showed the translation to Rebecca.

Fix your translator, you dumb human. The message read in Times New Roman.

"I don't have a translator, Rebecca said, her hands on her hips. "If I had one, I'd not be fuckin around untranslated, wouldn't I?" She held up her arms and wrists, gesturing to the lack of any device.

The creature's shiny green eyes were revealed as it pushed up its blue goggles. Oh... Pretty. It resumed typing, its fingers moving swiftly across the holographic display. A neon glow from a barely functioning sign above cast an eerie light on the scene.

After a few moments, the creature's arm spoke in a smooth voice, its tone in line with its own rumbling growl. "What? Are you an anti-tech anarchist?" it questioned, letting its arm drop to its side.

Oh motherfucker, it had just dawned on her, as she scanned her surroundings with newfound unease. Of course, she'd wake up in a fucking maintenance shaft. As she peeked out the doorway, she was met with a city made entirely of metal, complete with a ceiling. The realisation hit her like a ton of bricks: she was on a fucking space station. This wasn't a demon; it was an alien, some split-chin-looking motherfucker who was probably going to be all...Alien and shit.

"No! I got abducted!" Rebecca exclaimed, her voice laced with panic. "I got hit by a metal ball and woke up here with none of my shit!" Watch yourself, Rebecca, this isn't some entity. It's a person. She took a deep breath, calming herself. "Sorry. Lying on the floor confused is a bad way to start your day. Not the worst way, but still bad."

The translator conveyed the roll of eyes and tiny little gestures into an audible noise of annoyance. "Well, ugh." The alien's masculine, yet still birdlike, tone was laced with frustration. "Fine. I... why are you here?" It struggled to find the right words, the translator still settling into its rhythm.

Rebecca's temper flared as she pushed back a sneer. "When you found me head down, ass up, scrambling for a stoge, did that strike you as the position of someone who knew what was going on?" She eyed the alien, who stood nearly as tall as her, a concerning fact. Few things should be as tall as her. "Did you think,Oh, when she burned herself, she really had her shit together."

The alien's response was hesitant, as if unsure of human behaviour. "I don't know what humans do! The only place I see them is the—uh." A word nearly slipped out,censored in a buzz that made the bird-thing twitch in annoyance, its sharp hearing overstressed severely. "Cheap, ----- translator."

Rebecca looked at the censor, then back at the alien, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Cunt, Bitch, Whore, Fuck, Damnit, which of these are getting censored? Shit, Hell, uhh... Rawdog? Hmm... Bareback? Doggy style? Dic—"

The continuous wall of translation hiss interspersed with moments of peace made the alien thing consider drawing something block at its hip. "Stop! Now!" It shouted, its voice warbling with the reptilian dual tone.

"Sorry! You try figuring out an entire fucking-" Camlus flinched with at another hiss from his translator, "-society in two minutes, see how well it does you. I'm Rebecca, everyone calls me Bucket. That's not a mistranslation, yes the pail."

"I'm not calling you water holder," the alien grumbled, tilting his head side to side with a hiss.

"So call me Becky, Rebecca, I don't actually care. I'm just trying to be friendly." She looked at the alien carefully. "Uhh... The fuck are you, by the way? Also, teach me alien swears."

"No, and I'm Camlus." He answered after another twitch at the fuck, trying to find the option to disable the damned censor with murmured alien swears that terminated in buzzes from his holographic arm computer. Finally, a two-fingered hold led to him saying, "Finally, piece of scrapped refuse and shit. Its designers should be pinned to a station near a sun!" Camlus shouted as the translator kept up, happily turning his words and gestures into understandable language.

Ah, thank god, they're basically human. If there was one thing Rebecca understood, it was the universal revulsion any sentient, sensible species should hold towards software engineers. Re-appraising what she had thought was a demon, but clearly was an alien, she tried to readjust her thoughts to better adapt.

He wasn't bad looking. Not really. Weird bony hooks protruded from the sides of his face, but the actual bony structure was rather pleasant, if a bit reptilian. She leaned in, not really caring that it seemed to make him nervous. Black irises contrasted against yellow eyes, and instead of hair, tendrils grew out from a point plate that made up his face. Weirdly attractive, despite being mostly comprised of hard angles.

"So I meant... Literally, Camlus," she said carefully. "I literally do not know what you are, other than... Maybe a really fucked up looking human? I'm assuming alien, because you called me human, but the fuck do I know." Taking a drag of her cloves, she offered him one from the pack.

"A turian. You know, the people your people fought a war with?" He waved off the cigarette with distaste at the acrid smoke."Again, face down, ass up, in a restricted hallway." She looked down at herself.

A tight black top designed to have both straps go over one shoulder hugged her torso. The front of it was emblazoned with the anarchy symbol in scratchy white font above the words "You matter," and then under it, "Be a problem." Leather pants climbed up to meet the tucked-in top at her waist. Thick, scuffed combat boots with bits of metal peeking through the toes covered her feet, clearly well-worn.

She scratched the tattoo on her shoulder, a cross of paddles with a pair of wings on the front and then a gasmask. There was a smaller circle of text that said FORCE RECON, Swift ☆ Deadly ☆ Silent. Her knees fucking hurt. They had hurt for the last ten years and never really stopped hurting.

"Uh, why are you this close?" Camlos asked, his voice rumbling nervously as he practically vibrated out of his exoskeletal chest. His body heat was high, felt even at a foot's distance.

"I'm figuring out personal space," she said quickly as she backed off. "I didn't mean to make you blush or the...bird? Person equivalent. Wait, are you like different planet alien, or 'Ah humanity has gotten really genetically diverse' alien?"

"I-What-Are you flirtin-No, I'm alien-We were in space when your people were using steam engines!" He tried to keep up with the wall of words.

She looked him up and down, delighting in making him uncomfortable. Thank god slow men were a universal constant. "So, did you win that war then? Am I to be your personal whatever now that you've found me? Assistant?"

"What? No, we don't take slaves! And yes, we won the war. The Citadel told us to stop winning!" He kept up, pointing a talon at Rebecca. "Stop trying to confuse me!"

Rebecca's eyes glinted mischievously as she looked at Camlos. "You're a man. I'm slowing down to try and not confuse you. What does a Turian blushing look like?" She almost considered reaching out and stroking his neck, but stopped herself. "Are you tall or small for your species?" She quickly added before he could readjust.

"We don't blush. Average I suppose," Camlos answered, staring at Rebecca with evident suspicion in his green, predatory raptor eyes. "Why do you not have a translator? Your kind offers them for a couple hundred credits." He was still confused.

Rebecca rolled her eyes as she leaned against the metal bulkhead of what was honestly just a hallway with a neon sign that probably said exit or maybe maintenance. "I don't know what a Turian is. I don't have a translator. I don't know basic facts about the world, and you found me lying on the ground covered in scrapes, burns, and cuts, confused. Critical thinking skills now, please. What does that say about my situation?"

"You're an idiot. Probably a druggie. Sold your translator for one last hit," Camlos shrugged. "You've got the build for it. Even gene mods can't keep up with a lifetime of abuse."

She looked at the Turian, thinking carefully, "Are you...some military type? I'm trying to decide if I should punch you in the throat or not."

Camlos stared, tapping his armoured, exoskeletal neck with a wry look. "All Turians serve in the military for a period of time. I did more than my required time."

 

[Princess Scribe]

"I need a way to get to a human embassy or whatever." Rebecca demanded.

"This is Omega, there's no embassies. It's ... ugh." Camlos got nearer, putting a hand on Rebecca's shoulder and tugging the tall woman with an almost feral strength that was entirely casual. "Think, uhm...It's like that one city on Dirt, Detroit? But more criminal." As Camlos tried to explain, a gaggle of four-eyed things with bulbous faces rumbled a series of almost sickening gurgles. They stared at them in the maintenance shaft and seemed to be trying to decide something.

"Scum and villainy is how I heard a human describe it," he finished, giving a vicious glare at the four-eyed things that stared him and Rebecca up and down.

She took a drag of her cigarette, "Hey, if you want to keep your fucking eyes keep walking." Rebecca jerked the cigarette at the creatures, malice taking over her voice as a familiar military grit, long since put away, returned. The group stopped and started to rumble until Camlos rattled off reptilian hisses back.

"Get off my street four-eyes, 'fore I have you fitted for collars and spaced!" The translator kept up with his insults as he stared down at them, quite a few inches taller with sharp talons. The four-eyed aliens glared back, shouting.

Camlos flung insults as his hand went to an unfurling pistol that hummed with life, glowing blue. The five aliens pulled their own pistols and pointed them, opening fire immediately. A ripple of blue spreading around him in a barrier bubble that made the other aliens suddenly back away. "Yeah, that's right asshats, I have a barrier. Go fuck yourselves."

Rebecca dropped down to her ankle and pulled a wicked, dangerous machete, curved almost like a boomerang, coming up almost as long as her forearm. She held it in front of her with delight. "Tell them even if they kill me, I'm going to take their eyes. They're mine now."

"Calm down, they have translators!" A bright spark made Camlos' barrier light up in response, turning a projectile into a flare of dust. His pistol rattled and put rounds downrange to far more lethal results, piercing miniscule holes and ripping chunks as the grains impacted harshly.

Rebecca leapt forward, tackling the first creature in a rough slam and putting the blade to its throat, passing through a barrier that oddly made her skin tingle. Everything had a throat, and throats sliced easy. There was a spurt of purple blood as she used its body as a shield, reaching for its gun and watching it unfurl into her palm. She fired at the other creatures with odd, barely notable recoil, letting the thing's shield and body take hits for her.

Though not before keeping her promise, as she stared at the creature, and slowly dragged the blade into its dead eyes. "You're crazy!" Camlos shouted as he efficiently gunned down two more in cold, practiced motions - breathing in, firing four times, breathing out like a rote machine, more than used to taking life. Three to the chest, one to the head.

"Ehh... The mutilation thing worked in Iraq," she admitted, firing on the last thing. "Most things spook when you start acting like a psychopath."

"Sure, but you can also just not be crazy and kill them instead," Camlos answered. The last alien started crawling away as he flicked a switch and sent an automatic burst climbing up its back and into its head, spraying bone and purple blood everywhere in a casual, uncaring taking of life.

Rebecca looked at the dead thing in her lap. It was pretty much her size. "Could you please help me get this guy's armour on, and his translator? I guess all their credits too," she said, already trying to figure out the holsters on the armour, looking for buckles or latches to disrobe it.

Rebecca's mind switched tracks when she stripped the Batarian. Her thoughts leading her to stare pointedly at the Turian's pelvis. "You're like... A bird thing, I thought? Wouldn't that mean some... Cloaca?" The mechanics of interspecies sex however, would have to wait. "We'll figure it out later. Stop thinking with the little head and help, please."

"Ugh." Camlos groaned as he made his way over, grabbing an alien and bodily lifting the easily two hundred-pound creature up and over his shoulder.

"Oh yes," Rebecca responded to the groan, not looking up. "God forbid your Alley friend wants to get armoured first." But when she glanced up from her kill to see the Turian throwing around corpses like rag dolls, she decided to self-regulate, at least a little. "Hmm." Her comments quickly slowed almost to a stop.

"What? Never seen a Turian lift things before?" Camlos joked as he started moving back to the alley, trying to work a door with some annoyance, his three fingers not cooperating with the handle sized for much smaller hands.

Rebecca rolled her eyes, looking at the handle. "I've never seen a Turian before." She quickly turned the knob, opening the door for him, but not before asking, "Why wouldn't they use something more universal? The fuck."

"Because there's no building standards on a pirate station," Camlos answered, throwing the corpse through the door to join twelve more arrayed around a table. Human, blue woman, and Turian alike, all shot to pieces. "Fucking hate my job," he grumbled again.

She looked at the bodies, then to Camlos, and back again. "Why? This looks fucking awesome."

Camlos was already stripping the suit off, prodding at the buttons and clasps of the arm-mounted device. "He doesn't have a kinetic barrier, the cheap fucker. Armour's probably a piece of shit. I'll take his omnitool and his credits. You can figure out the rest."

"Hey, I killed, and mutilated a guy that's go—" Rebecca shut up as Camlos snapped off a chunk of plastic, pulling the arm off accidentally. "Shit."

"Actually, you know what. That sounds fine." Rebecca stared at the ragged stump. "I'm glad I didn't punch you in the throat," she admitted as he slid the forearm out of the armour, pulling the plates off to reveal a much slimmer bracelet, a little overlarge for Rebecca.

"You'd have just hurt yourself. We've got metal in our exoskeleton. The last human to punch me had to reconstruct their hand," Camlos grumbled again. "This is a restricted area. Why are you even here?" he said, mostly to himself.

"Gives a new meaning to hard-on," Rebecca snickered, before rolling her eyes at the thousandth time the man must have asked.

Though it was a good question, as she quickly got fitted and took in more of where she was. A pirate station, some fuck-off criminal filled with thousands, if not millions, of aliens. It didn't really matter why she was there, she realised. She was there. It was now time to survive.

Omega felt oddly familiar in all of its unfamiliarity. The universal constants remained. People killed each other for scraps while trying to struggle and get by. There were jokes, sarcasm, flirting, and all the necessities of society. It was technologically advanced and brutally terrifying, but everything there was the same. Even the weapon, which while quite advanced, still largely had the basics: a trigger, a safety, a little block of metal that allowed it to fire.

Camlos seemed nice, which was unfortunate. Nice didn't seem to do well in places like this, and she felt oddly protective of the Turian almost immediately. It had become immediately apparent how bad her situation was and how dark this path could have gotten quickly.

"You just go quiet and think for a minute often?" Camlos asked, starting to grab and fit Rebecca's arm for the bracelet, his exoskeleton smooth and warm as he worked.

She snapped out of her thoughts. "I woke up on a new space station with a giant bird flirting with me. Then, within less than a dozen minutes, I had to commit murder." She allowed her wrist to be manipulated. "So I've got a few thoughts to process."

Camlos grumbled, "I'm not flirting with you," as he closed the bracelet, and the glinting orange hologram started to pop up in a foreign language. "Tap here. We have to reset it and download a human OS," he pointed to a few areas in order.

The bright orange hologram was easy to navigate. Rebecca found it as simple as any other device. "This thing have WiFi? Like uh... Pirate Google?"

"It's connected to the intranet, yes," he said, his voice smoothing out and acquiring a pleasant double tone as the omnitool began translation.

The translator helped a lot in making things feel more normal. A small issue she had with it was that it gave him a West Coast, almost Hollywood accent, making him sound a bit too pleasant. She liked the voice. "Is there a setting so I can make your voice funny?" She quickly filtered with dials and knobs.

"That's a good translator, expensive. It's placing me to the nearest cultural equivalent you have for my place of birth," Camlos shrugged, continuing to take photos of the corpses with his omnitool, the orange device flashing.

She looked at the translator and then to Camlos. "Alright, Hollywood." Rebecca snickered as she watched him snap photos. "You uh... You have a journal or something? Are we turning them into suits so you can... Do the bird equivalent of jacking it?"

"I'm being paid to figure out why they were killed," Camlos grumbled again. "I'm not a murderer for pay, I'm an investigator." He tilted a corpse's face to get a better image of it.

"Well, that's why I think you're flirting, Camlos," Rebecca said. "You murder for attraction. Much hotter. I could be a violent psychopath." She wondered if he could see what she was looking up at her omnitool as she started typing 'Bird Alien Cock.'

"By the spirits, I should have left you unconscious." The images of very bright blue things started showing up on her omnitool.

"Why would sex organs be so uniform?" Rebecca said, now distracted, scrolling through them all.

"It has one job. Put one half of a new creature into an orifice," Camlos answered factually. "There's only so many tool shapes for that. Don't spend your money," he almost presciently said.

She had been rotating through an app store, looking for a way to overlay images onto Camlos to figure out a general ... Sense before stopping. "Fair enough. I'm sorry, what was your first thought when you found out aliens are real?"

"I don't know. I wasn't born when we first found aliens. Also, that's edited," he pointed at one of the images. "They're not that smooth." While tapping away at his omnitool, sending the images to his employer.

"You can show me later," she murmured, not fully aware that her mouth was on auto-pilot. "You know, it's probably a good thing that I read a lot of fics that started this way."

"You're one of those. Makes sense," Camlos sighed, starting to head back out.

Rebecca looked at Camlos and then grimaced. "Oh ick. Like... A chaser for aliens? Christ, no, I'm just... loose." Though she didn't like her own word choice either.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Camlos lead them through a doorway, and the cramped maintenance shaft opened up into the broader streets of Omega. The stark contrast was jarring, like stumbling out of a cave and into a neon-lit cyberpunk dystopia.

Rebecca couldn't help it but gawk.

The streets were a chaotic maze of rusted metal gantries and decaying structures, just like the maintenance shaft, but these were held together by cables and exposed piping that snaked across cracked bulkheads. Flickering neon signs in alien languages cast an eerie glow over the grime-encrusted surfaces, advertising everything from seedy bars to illegal augmentations.

The air was thick with the acrid stench of burnt ozone and machine oil, mixed with the pungent aroma of unwashed bodies and cheap intoxicants. A cacophony of alien languages, mechanical whirrs, and the occasional gunshot echoed through the claustrophobic alleys.

Crowds of unsavoury figures brushed past Rebecca, their forms ranging from humanoid to downright bizarre – scaly reptilians with metallic frills, hulking creatures with four eyes, and everything in between. Many sported cybernetic augmentations and carried an array of weapons, both legal and otherwise.

It was immediately clear why Camlos had been so alarmed to find Rebecca in the restricted maintenance area. Omega was a lawless den of vice and corruption, where only the strong and cunning survived. A lone human wandering these streets without a translator or any idea of the local culture would be seen as easy prey by the station's countless predators.

The Turian wasn't waiting on Rebecca to catch up, expecting her to be alongside him before taking a turn to a waiting flying car. "I didn't know there was a term for it," he said as he stepped into the driver's seat, putting his hands on the wheel.

It was sleek, all silver, with a huge cockpit. Small bulbous vents sat on either side of what must have been an engine, and the shape of it made it look like a handheld vacuum cleaner. The blue light emanating from it and the light hum seemed impressive, and when Rebecca put a hand to the side of it, it seemed like it wasn't moving at all.

The streets of Omega were made to be walkable. The sky was dense with flying vehicles, and she realised that what she had taken for a city was just a single building.

"What the fuck?" Rebecca said, trying to figure out how the door handle worked, eventually realising it's just a button press. "I don't know why, but I'm more shocked by the flying car than the alien."

"Your priorities are twisted," Camlos said as the engine of the car rippled to life, pushing the sleek, curved vehicle to speeds deeply uncomfortable to anyone, while Camlos got off the steering wheel, moving to the back where Rebecca was sitting and leaning over her. Any thoughts which sparked were quickly forgotten as he pulled free a bulkier computer device, sitting down and pulling a controller fitted for three fingers.

"So," Camlos asked, letting the question hang in the air, "You're....what? The tattoo suggests military. But your build's....off. Been awhile? Or did you predate the gene mods?" he asked, making conversation.

"Fuck yo— Oh." Rebecca realised he wasn't being a dick and quickly adjusted again. "No, uh... I was a reconnaissance scout for the Marines. Basically dropped into hostile territory and poked around to get comms and shit set up. Maps lay of the land. This was a while ago. Two-thousand-nine in Earth years. I'm going to ask something, extremely stupid." she took a deep breath, touching her eyes.

"Go ahead, you've done that plenty already," the Turian watched over the top of the computer as some sort of game started up.

"That's definitely flirting now," Rebecca smirked. "Is uh... Time Travel a thing? Or like wormholes, shit like that."

Camlos stared. "No." His answer was fairly final. "Not even a little."

"Fuck." Rebecca groaned. She quickly pulled up on the intranet old Earth wars, showing the tattoo compared to old records. "That doesn't prove anything, however." She mumbled, "Fucking... What about memory fuckery? What can you do to a person's head?" She quickly collated and adjusted with new information.

"A lot. You sure you weren't just an ice cube for a while? Any severe injury? I know a couple cases of freezing," Camlos tried to find a reasonable explanation, putting his computer aside with a mildly annoyed reptilian expression.

She looked at the Turian with a bit of hope, nodding as she thought of her experience. It could have been possible, maybe. "I uh... Ran a car into the second richest man in the world, killing him instantly. Then everything went dark."

Camlos nodded, leaning into his seat. "So you had a kinetic impact, fell unconscious, woke up on Omega. You were probably sold as a cryotube, whoever you were sold to didn't want you. Dumped you here, probably thought you'd die on unfreeze. You didn't. Lucky me," the Turian grumbled, breathing out.

"Actually, yes, an elite combat operative who owes you a favour does in fact make you lucky," Bucket said quickly. She took out a wooden hair fork, smiling that it was unbroken. Her curls were quickly thrown into an extremely tight bun, and the little mushrooms on top poked over the top of her head. She checked her omnitool and quickly figured out how to do an ammo count, then immediately started looking up news and politics, using keywords she knew and then using some ... Assistant thing to summarise and collate. "The hot chick in the hologram, she a person or just a computer?"

"Virtual Intelligence, Artificial Intelligence is illegal. You're elite?" Camlos asked. "I guess I'm just used to enhanced humans." He started idly scratching his claws into the siding of the car.

"I got court martialled for the uh..." She pointed at her eyes. "But yes, I was one of the best."

The turian shrugged, displaying an incredibly factual view of the world. "Okay, so...what? You want to kill people now or something? I'm confused as to why I care you were good at fighting."

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "Because five people opened fire on you almost instantly, and I don't see a partner. I also eat very little."

A quick joke came to the turian's mind. "People's pushing it. But keep going."

Rebecca rattled off her qualifications, treating the moment seriously. "I can carry a gun. My entire time in the military was dropping into foreign territory, figuring out what the fuck was going on, and collating reports. I can investigate, fight, and again, I eat very little."

Camlos stared at the human woman with a mix of concern and disdain. "Stop begging me. If you were a soldier, just ask me."

Rebecca growled, "I don't beg."

The turian nodded. "Good." His voice remained smooth, unbothered, and assertive. "Now try again. What do you want from me?"

Rebecca never asked for things - she never would. "I need a place to crash until I figure out how to survive," she said, knowing he'd have to just figure it out.

Camlos seemed to grasp the crux of the matter easily enough. "You can sleep on my couch 'till you figure out how to ask for things."

Rebecca flicked through her omnitool, looking up what a couch was these days, what they were filled with, and what the material was made of. "The fuck is a... Biotic?" she asked.

"Someone with Eezo in their spine. They can use it to do....they don't like it when you call it magic," Camlos chuckled at the joke.

Rebecca looked at the turian. "What's the new liveleak called?" she asked, realising she'd probably have to give cultural context. "A site where you see like... People dying, military films, user uploaded bullshit."

"Oh, is the human intranet censored of that sorta thing? Ours isn't. Here." He tapped his omnitool, sending a site that translated as "Turian Imperial Army live combat footage."

Rebecca watched a video that, unmistakably, could only be described as magic. This led to a search on Asari, mind melding, and mind reading, which wasn't really mind reading but some form of procreation. She then tried to find pairings of different things, learning her first slur and delving into some dark websites.

"Wonderful, people still fucking suck," she muttered angrily as she scrolled.

Camlos idly nodded, having focused on a shooter game that occupied much of his attention. "Last war your kind fought was an anti-slaver one. Everyone sucks," he said.

Rebecca grimaced when she saw split face on the screen, quickly making a mental note to carefully regulate any observations about others' appearances.

"Does this thing have a private search?" Rebecca asked, "I want to know like..." She wondered why she gave a fuck and just kept typing in search queries.

Do humans and aliens procreate? "The only species that humanity is able to procreate with is Asari, producing Asari offspring."

Human health options? "Humanity is at the forefront of biological sciences, having invented medigel and the only species to have civilization wide genetic modification for health and lifespan, reaching an age of one-hundred and fifty."

health insurance "The colonies of the Systems Alliance rely on corporate healthcare, but Earth and all other major system planets have a planetary government funded healthcare programme, in accordance with Citadel standards."

Mother fucker. She groaned inwardly. There were basic procedures at least to handle most of her worries, though it was all in numbers she didn't understand.

Price of bread "1 credit per loaf on Earth."

How much bread does the average alien need "An Asari consumes thirty-nine hundred calories a day due to their biotic metabolism!"

How much is a ship "The Kodiak dropship costs millions of credits on the open market, but is still an affordable option for the safety conscious traveller!"

How much is a gun "An Ariake Technologies Raikou can be bought for an affordable nine-hundred and thirty credits!"

How much is armour "Kinetic barrier equipped armour is a must-have for anyone exploring the fringes of secure space, though the cheapest options come in at well over a thousand credits."

How much do people make an hour on average "There is no galactic standard wage, but the average human makes twenty-one credits an hour of labour."

Work laws on Omega. "Omega recognizes no government or law, and exists far outside Citadel space. Danger tourism is common, but we recommend you do not visit!"

What is the citadel "The Citadel is an ancient megaconstruction that forms the central point of the Citadel, the civilization which hosts this website!"

luxury apartments omega "No results"

low income housing omega "No results"

"I'd recommend going in person for that. No one wants their name on Omega housing or property." Camlos finally interceded, having watched Rebecca tap away at her omnitool. "Property is expensive here. Why are you looking for it? Just move."

Rebecca looked up from her omnitool, meeting Camlos's gaze. "Move where exactly?" Her brow furrowed. "I've got zero paperwork, zero skill set outside of murder and math, and zero world knowledge." She gestured to the six-foot-four Turian. "The closest thing I have to a friend is a six-foot-four bird-thing that is clearly in love with me."

Rebecca snorted, eyeing the towering alien. "We're eye level, so unless I'm two inches taller, you're six-four, or I've gone through the laffy taffy machine." She paused, a mischievous glint in her eye. "At least men haven't cha—"

Camlos straightened, his spine popping as he unfurled to his full height. "Six-foot-six, thank you." He started to put his controller down again, a hint of amusement in his sub-vocals as Rebecca flirted with him for the sixth time that hour.

"Not all species stand straight all the time. Doing what you do would kill my back." Camlos stretched, his endoskeleton popping into view, revealing a similarity to human anatomy as he filled the space of the car before relaxing back down. "Krogans seem short until they straighten out. They're not short." A rumbling chuckle escaped his mouth.

"Jesus christ, you're fucking huge." Rebecca rubbed her eyes, blinking rapidly. After a quick search, she learned the Krogans were the weird plated frog-lizards, which were... Well, either they were awful, or treated awfully, and probably a mixture of both.

A trill, the translator software translating it as a smile, emanated from Camlos's throat as he tilted his head. His green eyes focused intently on Rebecca, searching for something. "You don't ask a Turian his opinions on Krogan. Rarely ends well." He joked, his mandibles flaring in amusement.

"You just purred. Like a high-pitched cat." Rebecca stared at him in fascination. "You just trilled. Sick." She grimaced as she delved deeper into Krogan history. "Oh fuck. Brutal."

"Quite. The reason we were brought into the Citadel is no one else could fight them and win. Some of my people take that as proof we're the strongest. I just think we're less squeamish about how we win." Camlos watched her reactions closely, considering her. "Your searches are schizophrenic. You went from porn to property to ... history. You know you have a real person who knows these things in detail here."

Rebecca met his gaze. "Follow the dopamine." She shrugged. "Oh yeah, but I wanted cultural relevance before I ask you questions. Everyone has biases. The Citadel site shows me the government story. The porn shows me what's most and least attractive about every species. What's fetishised, what's seen as worth fetishising. The property tells me about economics. Now I know a lot more, and when you tell me something, I have a general pulse on how that'd be treated in like... Polite corpo society? Government society? The base line of respectability."

"Not Omega." Camlos finished her thought as the flying car began to pull into a park, stopping. "Why then, did you not look up prices for a ticket out of here?" He asked, his brow plates shifting. "You can buy a ride on a freighter, get back to Earth. Government pulls your records, slaps a citizenship on you. Reporters ask you a couple of questions about the two-thousands—is that the right year?"

"Yeah." Rebecca nodded with a deep sigh. "I don't know, man. Cool fucking alien crime city. Cute alien man." She gestured to Camlos. "Guns, violence, I want to get my feet wet in society before I rocket back to Earth and get asked, 'So why did you take photos with a necklace of fingers, Becky?'"

Camlos blinked, mandibles twitching. "Oh. Yeah. You shouldn't have uploaded those photos." He stood, closing Rebecca's laptop and looming over her to put it in a wall slot, looking down at her. "Gotta be careful. Civilians find everything much more...more."

 

[Princess Scribe]

With a push of a button, the door opened, and he stepped out, heading in the opposite direction. "My house is the one with the broken neon sign." His rumbling voice trailed off as he stared at an omnitool map. "I'll be back. Collecting pay."

The narrow street was dimly lit by flickering neon signs and the occasional spark from exposed wiring. Piles of refuse littered the cracked metal walkways, emitting a foul stench. Camlos's house stood out only by the broken neon sign hanging crookedly above the entrance - the flickering letters were illegible, but the dull reddish glow cast an eerie light on the surroundings.

The building itself looked unremarkable - a squat, dura-steel structure like countless others lining the street. Heavy blast doors provided the only entrance, their painted surface now chipped and faded from disrepair. Small portholes high up on the walls offered the only windows, currently dark and foreboding.

Signs of neglect were everywhere - scorched blaster marks marred the walls, the pavement was buckled and uneven, and a layer of grime coated every surface. The general aura was one of decay, disrepair, and hardship. This ramshackle dwelling blended perfectly with the decaying, anarchic environment of Omega station. Only the broken neon sign separated it from the other abandoned-looking hovels surrounding it.

"Don't eat anything in the fridge!" He shouted, turning a corner. "You'll be puking for days!"

"Fuck." She moaned, her stomach growling. She was starving, god she was hungry. All she wanted was some fucking food, some water. Maybe liquor. Of course, They'd all have cocks, but none of them would eat the same thing. She opened the door to the "house" and snorted.

With a tired sigh, Rebecca surveyed the spartan interior of Camlos's apartment. It was a small one bedroom with an attached kitchen. The living room featured a single, well-worn couch that had clearly seen better days. Its faded fabric bore the marks of countless hours spent watching the lone television mounted on the opposite wall.

The kitchenette was equally barren, containing only the most basic necessities of someone who either couldn't, or simply didn't, prepare their own meals. His small refrigerator hummed quietly in the corner, and a bit of snooping revealed that it only had meat, meaning they were most likely an obligate carnivore. A few cabinets lined the walls, their doors slightly askew, with little for snacks within.

As she continued to explore the tiny home, she could see the bedroom was visible through an open door attached to a hallway. A quick peek revealed a luxurious bed that looked to be too soft and hot to possibly be comfortable.

As Rebecca's gaze drifted over the sparse furnishings, it reminded her of the rooms she was locked up in when on leave. The company always felt a need to monitor her, and she only left a place, just like this, for extended periods in foreign countries.

Rebecca eventually found her way to snoop more in the kitchen. "How is protein incompatible?" She mumbled angrily as she looked through the fridge.

A knock on the door sounded out. Her hand almost immediately went to her pistol as she quickly noted the hinges and took a corner so that she could light up the entryway if someone broke in. She didn't say a word as she crouched into a firing stance.

"Ah, hello? Pizza?" A voice came from the door, slightly electronic and nervous-sounding. "Already paid for. I'm just gonna...leave it here."

"Oh!" Rebecca said quickly, checking the peephole. She saw a pizza and a bottle of coca-cola being placed down and opened the door. "Oh man, he's actually nice. Poor guy." She picked up the pizza and started to quickly scarf it down, not waiting until she was inside. The first slice disappeared in seconds.

This might be your only food for the week, Rebecca realised as she moved to a second slice. The "house," as Camlos called it, didn't exactly seem like the lap of luxury. With a small, quiet groan, she put the piece back down with a rumbling stomach, which demanded a second slice. Then a third. Then a fourth.

Shit.

The television didn't have any buttons that she could see, and there wasn't any remote around her. The only thing to do while she was in Camlos's home was to check her omni-tool for information. It was fun to spend time learning about the world around her, even if it was odd to wrap her head around the enormity of the galaxy.

The loud click of a lock being turned had Rebecca return to the corner from before, in the same firing position, her gun pointed as she watched the hinges slowly open...

Her throat clenched and was dry as something stepped in.

It was just Camlos. Not wanting to startle him, she put the gun away and cleared her throat.

The Turian saw her crouching in the corner, and shook his head.

"You're too paranoid. Musta been the lack of barriers," Camlos commented as he went to his kitchen, opening up the fridge and pulling out a pre-cooked chunk of meat. His mandibles sheared through it as he pulled it into his mouth.

"Honestly, probably yeah." Rebecca agreed. "Anyone was dead by the time the trigger was squeezed. Getting the first shot off was the most important part of the engagement."

The turian nodded. "I don't got the best, but even my barrier can take three or four bursts before dropping. Whole different paradigm. Much less intense." He shrugged as the last of the cutlet went down, followed by water. "So, is it too cold in here? Too warm? I've got a blanket for guests." He offered, pointing at a space blanket that seemed regularly washed.

"It's not noticeably either, so it's fine," Rebecca said. "I normally sleep on a uh..." She wondered how the translator would handle that word. "A tatami futon? A pad on the floor. Beds are soft."

"Why?" Camlos asked, sounding exasperated. "Oh Spirits, you're one of those veterans. Sleep on the damned bed for a month till you get used to it. Before your back misshapes." He pointed at his bed through an open door with a talon.

For the first time in maybe three or four months, Rebecca whined in a playful mood. "It hurts my baaack. I like the floor! People have slept on these for millennia! They're like... Twenty credits!"

Camlos seemed unimpressed. "So you're a cave woman. I see." He still pointed at his bed.

"Unga bunga," she said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not exactly tired."

"You just ingested a wall of carbohydrates. I know how herbivores work." The turian chuckled, throwing off his cloak and unlatching his armour, pulling a chest piece off to reveal a thin shirt beneath, covering an oddly thin, or perhaps just raptor-like, body.

"I'm not a herbivore!" It almost sounded like an insult. "I'm an omnivore, adaptable." She looked at him up and down, a tone of wonderment, or maybe just surprise in her voice. "Huh."

"Why are you staring at me, never seen a tu-Well, I suppose you haven't." Camlos realised, stopping himself from saying something stupid.

"I was expecting..." She lifted her arms up to imitate muscles. "You're like... Efficient?"

He gave another tilt of the head and an amused trill. "Your kind were scavenging endurance hunters. Mine were apex predators. The difference is telling." Camlos sat on his couch, breathing a sigh of relief at the rest, his body visibly untensing, tired.

"I'm learning a lot about myself very quickly," she muttered, watching the bird walk around the apartment. Before rubbing her eyes and sitting next to him, the couch was deeply comfortable. Probably too comfortable.

The TV was on some channel displaying a weird, pink floating tentacle thing holding guns and shooting them, called Blasto of all things. It appeared to be some kind of alien James Bond equivalent. Quips and flings alike.

"Jesus fucking christ." It kind of hit her all at once about what was happening. Where she was, what society was now. "Fuck."

"You keep saying that, and I'm less and less sure of what the translator's trying to communicate," Camlos idly commented, watching Rebecca.

"The swear? Or... Holy shit, is Christianity dead?!" She blurted suddenly, turning to the omni-tool with a small laugh. "I'm fucking Jewish. Is my religion dead too? I say Jesus Christ because it's just natural. Oh man, I knew it was bullshit, but..." Sure enough, the omni-tool confirmed most religions on Earth were simply... gone. Historical bygones of a forgotten era. "Hah. Fuck."

"I mostly meant that, yes. The religion is just being translated as 'Spirit Father'," Camlos answered, watching the search function work.

"Uh, yeah, it's like a..." There was a moment where she wondered if she was going to fucking proselytise to an alien pigeon. "A church government based around God sending his son to get crucified to forgive everyone born after him of their sin. It was mostly bullshit, but it gave you a place to be on Sundays."

"We've our own religion. I'm familiar with the idea," Camlos nodded, idly considering.

Rebecca laughed, "So every time I say that, I just sound insane as hell. Well, more than normal."

Camlos, the Turian, shrugged. "Not something you need much help sounding like, yeah. The other half is just you exclaiming something. I'm assuming it's not you constantly propositioning me." He paused, trilling. "My translator's bad. I spent less than thirty credits on it."

"No, it's a swear that mostly means sex, but also means like a million other things, based purely on context. A swear you can just slot into any sentence to make it worse." Rebecca realised she was explaining fuck to a goddamn bird. An attractive bird. Christ.

Vague trills of affirmation translated by the omnitool into the equivalents of nods as Camlos listened, watching the television. A small warning popped up on the hologram. "Warning, prolonged eye contact is an aggressive gesture in Turian society."

Rebecca blinked, then chuckled. "Oh, come on, that's like the most intimate..." she trailed off, realising the Turian didn't get a pop-up. "The translator basically explained in one sentence why our species would have issues getting along. Eye contact is a way to bond. Looking away is a sign of weakness. So we'd just look aggressive, and you'd look demure, but you could clearly tear us apart." She quickly flicked through her omnitool. "Glad I got microwaved after all that got figured out."

Camlos's carapace flushed a light purple, a reaction the omnitool marked as aggression, though it faded quickly. "It's asking for a fight or a ... well." He let the sentence hang. "And yes, that's rather how it went on Shanxi. Six to one casualty for your side was the last agreed upon number." He tried to steer the conversation toward historical topics.

"The omnitool can't tell the difference between turning purple because horny, and fight-y," Rebecca mused, keeping firmly on track.

Camlos tossed her an idle glance. "There isn't one." He stated nonchalantly.

"Yikes." Rebecca responded with a laugh. "Alright, well. That's terrifying, in a fun way at least."

The Turian's laugh came out very human, if croaky, finding the whole situation amusing. "You're crazy. I'm twice as strong as you, have claws and plates, and you're lusting." He shook his head from side to side.

She was going to comment on his word choice, but then remembered it was a translator; he wasn't saying lusting, it was just the closest word to it. "I was into weird shit far before I woke up here. I wonder if..." There was no way ye old earth deviantart was around. "Fuck it. Humans were down bad for literally anything, and if it wasn't anthropomorphized, we drew it that way."

"Why do I still smell levo food in my house?" Camlos suddenly turned to the pizza box. "Did you not finish it?"

Rebecca admitted, "I didn't know how long it needed to last." She looked at the pizza box sheepishly.

"What's that mean?" Camlos's carapaced brows furrowed in a very human gesture.

She met his gaze. "I don't have money Camlos, I don't know how long it needs to last."

Then the frown vanished as he rolled his eyes. "You're a guest, Rebecca, I'll feed, house and--"

Before he could finish, Rebecca nearly leapt on the pizza, stuffing her face using the box to mostly hide her poor manners. "Oh, thank god." Another trilling chuckle escaped the raptor-like Turian.

"I'd order another one, but you might burst," Camlos commented dryly as Rebecca finished devouring the large pizza.

There wasn't a lie there, and she realised she'd need to set up her PT alarms again on the omni-tool. "I'm assuming this isn't a neighbourhood I can go for a jog in."

"No. Not particularly common for those sorts of neighbourhoods to exist on Omega." Camlos idly nodded to the soft sound of gunfire in the distance.

She expected as much; if you couldn't stand on the street without getting shot at and snipers seemed to perch on every corner, leisurely exercise was never in the cards. The bird-thing probably didn't need to work out - it looked like it was entirely made of sinew and plating. Rebecca, on the other hand, got stir-crazy if she didn't do cardio and weight training almost daily.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Hey if you're reading this at work listen up!

The entire thread is NSFW by default, but maybe your work is more progressive!

The following content may be more explicit than your average update!

The next slide has trigger warnings for those who need them.

Vanilla Sex Scene

​

The adrenaline from the earlier fighting that day had quickly worn off, but Rebecca still needed to expend energy. Fucking the bird on the first day seemed like a bit much until she learned what that actually meant for both species. Instead, she tried mentally mapping out where and how she could exercise.

"I need to do my PT," she said plainly. "I normally do two hours of cardio a day, and weights in the morning."

"Okay. Buy a treadmill," Camlos tilted his head in amusement.

"Do uh... Bir—Turians do physical training at all?"

"If I did two hours of running, I'd be as useful as a wet towel. You're the endurance hunter here." Camlos chuckled, the sound backed by a trill. "Our hips aren't made to jog; they sprint well."

She eyed his hips appraisingly. "Unfortunate, I guess you wouldn't be able to keep up with me then." The double entendre hung in the air. Then she realised cultural norms were probably whatever she dictated here. So she shrugged, "I'm going to do push-ups, until... Well, for a while."

"Immediately after eating? Vomit on my floor and I'm tying you to the couch," he threatened, his subharmonics rumbling.

She raised an eyebrow. "How the fuck did you win anything? If you can't exercise."

He chuckled again. "Because we're twice as fast, and can see at six miles. Nasty in a rifle fight." His eyes telescoped in an odd switch of their angle to a vertical rather than horizontal slit. "Makes up for your species' appetite for punishment and exhaustion."

"There's maybe one thing that seems nice about this entire... everything," she admitted as she backed up and got down to do her PT. "I didn't see any, like, open conflicts. Unified government, people are shitty, but it didn't seem like people were violently shitty in the open as much. No white phosphorus raining from the sky, or trenches getting gassed."

"Last war was the Skyllian Blitz, I think you call it. More or less Batarians hitting one of your worlds, getting their eyes shot out, and then you shelling one of their pirate bases from orbit." Camlos watched the push-ups with keen interest, observing her muscles shifting. "It was over in a week."

"Hah." Rebecca huffed a laugh between push-ups, sweat already beading on her brow. "Last conflict I was in involved moving huge crates of heroin in the congo."

"About thirteen hundred years ago, there were the Krogan Rebellions. Those lasted ten years or so," Camlos rumbled thoughtfully as sweat dripped onto his floor. "Before that were the Rachni Wars, but Asari and Salarians are bad at war. Those lasted three hundred years. Then...probably about a thousand-ish years of peace." He trilled as he spoke.

"That may be the nicest, most wholesome thing I've heard like... ever," Rebecca panted, nearing her limit around two hundred push-ups. She never kept track; she knew when to stop because her body started getting weak. "I guess endurance scavengers are probably exhausting to fight if you don't blitz the whole thing quickly."

"I don't understand human patience in fights. You're content to sit behind cover and wait." Camlos admitted, his trill taking on a lower, more vibrational quality. "All I can think of is how to manoeuvre out, flank, get fire on them. How to hunt them, I suppose."

Rebecca laughed at the idea of Turians freaking out strategizing while soldiers likely played cards, slightly bored. "We just switch from fight to social easily. Just bullshit, if..." Her arms struggled for a moment as she neared exhaustion. "If we put on music, we don't really observe time passing until it's gone."

"Odd, we savour every moment," Camlos answered, raking his gaze over Rebecca again. "Every breath and motion and movement's the focus of our thoughts. Something interesting can dominate our minds for hours, days, weeks."

"You have the human equivalent of ADHD, I think," she laughed, fully aware of what she'd done by doing push-ups, and wondering if some part of her knew precisely what she was doing. Almost no one could resist her when the push-ups started. Well, until they got to know her personality. It became much easier after that.

"Maybe, wouldn't consider it a disorder or deficit. I pay close attention to everything," he answered with an amused trill.

She was finally finding it hard to speak as she reached her limit, somewhere around two-fifty or three hundred push-ups. "Humans... have..." She groaned angrily, wanting to push past her weak flesh. "A... baseline... or did... that's... normal... order... anything... motherfucker" She swore as her arms ached, finally having to give up. Collapsing to the ground, she still felt very tense, anxious, and full of energy. She heaved a few breaths. "Well, that was true, normal was order. Anything else was disorder."

"Hmm, sounds very human. Everyone is useful. They can find a way to contribute." Camlos was still watching her, considering something as a purple flush invaded the edges of his plates again, visible at the edges of his shirt. "What're your thoughts on...?" He paused, trying to phrase it right for the translator's sake.

"Buddy, I'm the one with the good headpiece," Rebecca laughed breathlessly. "But I don't need it to know the next question you're going to ask."

Tilting his head in amusement, Camlos explained, "Your kind are strange; they want love in every touch. Best we can often do is desire." The translator worked hard to translate a common Turian saying. "Love is by chance, lust is by design."

"Oh, that's good," Rebecca laughed as she heard the phrase. She realised she was the one who needed to be careful with her words. "I used to be a part of these large romantic partnerships. Like, three or four person families. It never worked out because I kind of just ... keep going. Overactive need for new experiences. Might be in heaven right now, now that I think about it."

Camlos's mandibles relaxed in a facsimile of a smile. "There's plenty of ways to find out how close to heaven we are." He tapped the couch next to him with a talon, considering, musing on something.

For a split second, the far more sensible part of her mind asked, Why are you always like this? Though it was ignored, as always. Then she realised her only pair of clothes were covered in her blood, Batarian blood, billionaire blood, burnt rubber, clove smoke, and sweat. I must smell like an open sewer line.

"I must be very pretty to your species because as far as I can tell, I smell like a war-zone in a locker room," she laughed, standing up.

"That'd be the sexy part, yes," the Turian returned her laugh. "Blood and sweat's exciting. Always a good thing." Oh, he's that sort of crazy. Or maybe that was his species' norm.

"Poor you for the next few days; I don't have any clean clothes." Rebecca laughed, then added with a wink, "And fucking with people's heads is one of my favourite hobbies." She wondered what the erogenous zone on the bird-thing was.

"If you're going to be mean about it," he leaned back into the couch, pulling his arms up and behind the cushions. "I won't bother with my gloves. You'll just have to trust me." His talons tapped a hole in the couch with an idle pressure.

"That means like, nothing to me, you realise," she said with a laugh. "What do gloves matter?"

The talons pulled out of the couch, three fingers covered in the interior fluff, wiggling about to accentuate their danger.

"Oh right, raptor-like." She eyed the talons warily, standing up. "Oh, the bird jokes/statements, are they offensive? Normally I wouldn't give a shit, but like... cultural norms."

Camlos rolled his eyes. "I don't care; you mention it to some other Turians, you might start a fistfight. Or a claw fight." He reached over to his coffee table, pulling open a drawer and placing two gloves that could cover his hands completely on top. "More seriously though, I know softer people prefer these... covered."

Rebecca's demeanour changed in an instant once kid gloves were literally suggested. She growled, "Oh, sorry. I didn't realise I looked like a massive weeping pussy to you." She lifted herself over him on the couch and straddled his lap.

"This might end with a few fresh scars for you, then," Camlos warned, starting to move as he placed one claw on Rebecca's thigh.

"Are you trying to get it wet, or are you trying to be a scary bird person?" Rebecca shivered when the claw hit her thigh. It tingled, mostly because of the implied danger. She pointed at his talon. "That's not going inside me, however."

"I realised that, yeah." Camlos trilled lightly, an odd, alluring noise. Like a songbird but more...vibratory in a way, originating from a larger set of vocal cords as his hand trailed up, using the soft palm to brush through her clothes.

Ctrl+F Porn to skip this Cut scene

---

Deep breaths, he's cute, he's fun. Very hot in more ways than one. What was there to be nervous about? Really? The cock has spiral ridges, like a human cock you know, just... ribbed. That's not necessarily a bad thing.

"Let's start by kissing, both of us do that." He offered, relaxing his mandibles and letting a bright blue tongue show, along with massive production of saliva, wetting his otherwise dry mouth quickly.

It looks like one of those fucked up horny Sans Undertale drawings, Rebecca desperately wanted to be lobotomized so that the stupid thoughts would stop. Still, it looked like candy attached to a person. Person candy. She nervously bent forward, her previous partners weren't really... kissers, and the gentle touch on her back made her shiver. Their lips touched, gently. The kiss tingled like something spicy, without the burn, then their tongues touched.

He tasted sweet, like liquid sugar, and his tongue was prehensile, judging from how it twisted, inflated, and deflated. The kiss is overpowering fun and almost addictive, like drinking soda without the fizz. His hand was on her back, pulling her against hard plates and rough skin, avoiding catching anything in between them.

She was no longer interested in sex as much as she was interested in the new thing. Rebecca's hands squeezed his face hard, trying so hard to keep him close. Eventually she got aggressive, and wrapped a hand around the back of his head to hold him in place, so the stupid turian couldn't keep pulling away. "Will you stay here?!" She muttered angrily, once again trying to get her tongue in his mouth.

"Sure." Camlos murmured back. He pressed into Rebecca until she was fully leaned against the couch, kissing with experience and energy, finding her just as enticing as she found him, just as addictive in a way. The inside of his mouth was ridged too, the avian roughness of it mollified by the moistening and making it just as soft and fun as any human one.

Lust overrode every sense she had somewhere in the kissing and touching. It wasn't something she was used to, but she needed to ride the feeling. Ride a lot of things, truthfully. She considered biting him but didn't really want to fuck things up at the moment. They had taken their clothes off at some point, which was impressive because she didn't quite remember when that happened.

It was time to figure the rest out, she realized. She wondered for a second if it would be difficult. Some of them seemed quite... Oh, that's not a limb against your back. Rebecca tried to find a cute, sensuous way to slide down, but she just wanted at it. Though she also didn't want to hurt the poor guy. "Is there anything about..."

As she backed up a bit, lifting herself to a height that made her nervous, Rebecca tried to finish her question, "Is there anything I should know?"

"Expect, uh, a lot more fluid," Camlos warned, "Like, a lot more." He was breathing hard, excited, and looking nowhere else but Rebecca, wanting to pounce on her but holding himself together.

The forums had mentioned that. It was one of the things she was curious about. No real way to go but down, she positioned him against her folds and made a cooing noise as she slid down. Fluid referred to a lot more than she was expecting, aliens are self lubricating. Oh, she was going to need much more of this. She grabbed the turian's hands and forced them to settle on her waist.

She almost entirely forgot about the Turian after that, as she aggressively rode him with a desperate intensity. Wet noises filled the room with every single thrust that pushed and prodded new and amazing places, accompanied by an intake of breath. Ridges rubbed against her walls, sending delightful shocks of feeling up her spine. Camlos's own motions somehow sped this up, or at least gave the illusion of it. His fast twitch muscles turned on with a frenetic desire, his heart pounding, and his body almost steaming with heat.

"Harder, not faster," she whispered, placing her head against his. Oh god, he listens well. Then she tapped the beat on his back with a bit of hope.

His grip stabilized Rebecca as the fast thrusts slowed down a notch, moving into forceful motions that eased up and then intensified, trying to find the right balance, the exact perfect rhythm that would break her. A trilling sound spread from his chest into his lover as hot breath and sharp teeth gently lay on her shoulder, instinct to bite resisted just enough to not break skin.

"Yes," she whispered over and over. "God, you're amazing."

The trilling grew louder, starting to match her moans as a rumble entered him as well, a dual-tone only possible in an alien throat. The pace was kept, continuously stimulating Rebecca's center in the exact way he was instructed, taking the orders perfectly. Then, finding his own initiative inside the instructions, a tongue that was hot, almost scalding, on the edge of bearable, started to lick at her neck, wrapping around it entirely.

His Saliva spilled over the both of them with a sweet, sugary scent, destroying any hope of salvaging these couch cushions. Camlos delighted in the contact, the rumble overpowering the trill as he started to slowly, by inches, lose control of his thrusts, then steeled himself before a few minutes later having to do it all over again. Finally, she muttered, "Go, just go." Rebecca had forgotten he was focusing on doing what she asked. She was so close; she just wanted to see what full-borne, uncontrolled lust would feel like. "Harder, faster, just go."

The talons finally broke skin, not deeply but enough to draw trickles of blood as he moved at an utterly inhuman pace, accompanied by fast breaths and even more heat. The odd scent of bubblegum filled the air. Camlos still kept himself together for minutes, but a shake inexorably slipped into him, and he collapsed beneath her. There was a small pool building between them, and extreme heat blooming all throughout where the pool touched.

It was surprising, and she loved it. She cried out, mostly for his benefit. I'll get a space vibrator or some shit later, but god I need more of this. As the blue fluid spilled between them and her moans ceased. Finally as she lifted herself off, she moved downwards to taste it, both through curiosity and a deep, needy urge to do well. Her tongue moved along every piece of his body, causing him to spasm in twitching jerks. A smile gleamed on her face as she worked diligently, feeling it finally soften, overstimulated in her mouth.

There wasn't a lot about turian refractory periods. There was a small hope that sprinter meant they recovered fast, and she left her on his thigh, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

A hand rested beneath the member and waited expectantly, "Hurry up."

---

Porn End​

Between gasps for breath and stimulation, he said, "C-can I get some water? And, twenty?" The Turian shivered, exhausted by the experience.

Oh right, sprinters, not endurance. Shame. "You have five."

"O-oh."

View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c6-vmm36UkM​

 

[Princess Scribe]

Rebecca woke up mere minutes before Camlos after a hell of a...morning? Night? Time wasn't exactly easy to keep track of on a station with no sunlight. As she constructed the beginning of her daily schedule, her omnitool pinged with a transaction notification: sixty credits labeled 'Clothes and food fund for the week' from a Camlos Druslin. The man stirred awake, tapping at his omnitool to make the transfer happen.

"Do you know how bad that looks," she laughed, still deliciously naked as she started her day. "If only because I'm worth far more than that." An itch crept across her face, neck, and throat. A panicked thought shot through her mind, and after some swift searches on her omni-tool, she learned humans were commonly allergic to ahem Turian fluids. She scurried into the bathroom and checked the mirror.

"Son of a bitch," she groaned, eyeing the giant red splotch trailing from her eye, over her cheek, and down to her chest. "God damnit."

"Put some medigel on it and stop whining," Camlos grumbled, rousing from slumber.

She turned to face him, brow raised. "What, do you just put that shit on everything?"

"It's nanomachines. Like wet nanomachines. They fix anything." He pulled out of bed, stretching his full height with a pop of joints.

"Can you eat it if you're sick?" Curiosity piqued, she found a container of the mystery fluid and felt the rash disappear within seconds. Relief washed over her. "You know, I probably should do a quick search about something before I fuck it."

"Probably." Camlos joined her in the bathroom, taking the medigel to rub it on his mandibles. "If it's any comfort, the allergy goes both ways. I'm itching all over my mandibles." He grimaced as the medigel did its work.

Rebecca couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. "The itchy morning after, a true tale of lust and adoration."

A familiar trill escaped him. "I don't doubt you'll be coming back," Camlos stated with a wry voice and expression, the woman alongside him learning the nuances of his species quickly enough. "Though, I do need to get a new bed...head? I forget what it's called. The thing I grabbed that broke."

"That describes no less than four objects in the room. The headboard. Or the dresser. Or the bed frame after the headboard snapped." She examined her surroundings, surprised. "I'm surprised you didn't just remove a chunk of drywall." Probably because things weren't built out of drywall, she realized, taking in the metal surfaces that gleamed and refracted light everywhere. She wondered what people with astigmatisms did in a world where everything was shooting rays at them.

"I need to work, or I'm going to go insane," Rebecca said, quickly searching through coupons and deals. Finding sales proved easy enough, though she knew she'd pay a markup if she didn't go to stores herself. "Preferably something that I'd be good at but literally anything." As she applied a tiny bit of medigel to a missed splotch under her chin, she muttered, "Okay, almost anything."

"Work's not hard to find. Something energetic, I assume." Camlos combed through his omnitool, finding job postings that were less than public. The question was rhetorical.

"Used to pop ATMs when I got back home, but yeah. Anything that lets me stretch." She paused, wondering how well that translated. "By that I mean, I used to drive around in a big truck with a winch, drive into the front of liquor stores, and take a giant box with paper money out and drive off before the police got there. Uh... It was victimless, however, everything was insured."

Camlos chuckled. "Yeah, no more paper money now. I've got a transit security gig in a week. Enough time to get you your shots and equipped."

Shots?! Rebecca pouted with a small groan. "I hate needles. Fuck."

"Mhmm, you're behind on inoculations, genetic fixes. You probably have cancer and tooth decay. Pains, all sorts of things." He began practicing hygiene, rubbing a dry powder into his exoskeleton. "I know a doctor."

Rebecca glanced at Camlos and raised an eyebrow. "You don't have pain? Just like normal everyday aches?"

"Remember being... We live about the same time. Imagine being ten again. No broken bones that healed wrong, no joint issues, none of that." Camlos chuckled, having been very aware of her knee clicks and hip clicks.

"Please, for the love of god, call the doctor," Rebecca gasped. "I haven't had a day where I didn't feel like shit in almost a decade."

With that, he tapped a message into his omnitool. "She's pleasant. You'll not like her though. Very stab happy," Camlos warned with a smile.

"Women get a lot more leeway with the stabbing," Rebecca admitted. "Especially if they're cute... Or... Wait, it's probably still a bit inappropriate to hit on your doctor, right? My last GP despised me for it."

"She's thrice my age... More actually. So I doubt you'll manage to rattle her." Camlos sent over a text with the address, about a quarter mile away on foot.

"I mean, it sounds like she's mostly bones. Easy to rattle then." Rebecca smirked. "Do you have any clean smelling sanitary spray I can use on my clothes so I seem halfway presentable?"

"I have some clothes. You're not that much shorter than me. Here." He pulled a shirt from a closet and stared at the pants. "You might have to cut these down. My legs are longer." He tossed them to the woman.

She quickly donned the shirt, which had odd cuts and lines, seeming to have gone from just T-Shirts to even fast fashion being intricate multi-pieced affairs. She liked it though, especially how the convex lines seemed to both slim and accentuate. The pants weren't overly baggy, and she easily tucked them into the high of her boot, then quickly tied her laces around them to keep them in place. Rebecca refused to leave without a gun, however, and attached it to her waist. The fit would have been complete with some radiators, but alas, 'twas the future, and she'd have to make do for now.

Omega was burgeoning at this time. Hovercars flitted past on blue glows of mass effect fields. People of a half-dozen species started going about their days—the less violent types that happened to make their residence here. Chemists and illegal doctors, criminals of all stripes that wanted a quieter life, or at least one that was semi-stable. They vanished in a few hours, but for now, they were out and about.

It made her happy to see how normal it all was, even the basics of living in a dangerous place. Eyes forward, chest out, confident but not on attack shot clear signs of body language that made her fit in. Like a switch had been flipped and people just got a bit more exotic in color and shape. She even caught out of the corner of her eye a Batarian and some other thing almost walk into each other, sidestep, sidestep again, before one moved out of the way to let the other pass. Just normal life shit.

A quarter mile wasn't a long walk, even on the worst of days, and in Giza, she'd regularly do almost daily marathons with a full ruck. The only thing that bothered her was that many things that had been improved upon for years were now far lighter. Strong, but not really weighty. Nothing had density to it; it constantly felt like she was untethered from her surroundings.

The oddness and familiarity alike intensified as they approached a small clinic, a glimmering neon sign glinting "Morave Medicines" atop a door, which showed a small tiled internal space with clearly visible clinical tables and an otherwise clean interior through its glass porthole. It was obviously open for business as another human, the first in a while, came out and went about his own business.

She looked for a no smoking sign as she walked in or an ashtray, standing in the doorway trying to decide. On the one hand, entirely illegal pirate station. There were no laws. On the other hand, if people still found that rude, or if air filtration wasn't on par, there was nothing stopping them from shooting her. She stepped back outside to try and find an ashtray or even a trashcan. Where the fuck do people throw things away?

Rebecca sighed, stepped inside, put the cigarette out on her tongue, then quickly stashed the second half for later before walking up to the front desk. She checked her appointment text that had been forwarded from Camlos.

And then the woman turned the corner. Dark blue skin, glimmering eyes, an easy smile on purple lipstick'd lips. A lab coat thrown over a two-piece green and white uniform of some stripe, buttoned down her front and tightly bound to the ample curves of her body. She was about five-ten, and the scars of a lifetime of war on her hands competed with softer life for lifetimes after that.

Head tendrils formed in a tight shape while her hands idly rattled against a clipboard, smiling at Rebecca with a friendly expression.

The holotranslator popped up another warning: "Much like human society, prolonged staring at sexually dimorphic features is considered rude amongst most cultures." Right, duh. Rebecca realized, taking a deep breath. "I'm uh... Becky? Becky Dinozzo."

"Lisyris Morave. Humans often call me Lisa." She sounded like a movie star, all a husky smooth growl that tickled the ears with every word. "Let's take care of you, Miss Dinozzo, alright?" Straight out of the forties with every word and gesture.

Becky never quite minded the doctors. When she was growing up in group homes, a doctor trip meant a day off school, some nice food, maybe a visit from her social worker. It was really only the shots, and really only when the shots became regular that it had ever really been distressing. "Yeah, absolutely uh... You're going to have to walk me through the process, like, entirely." It seemed normal, however.

"We'll start with a physical exam. I'm not too familiar with humans, only been working with them the last ten or so years." Lisa pointed to a clinical table. "Just checking for growths, gland inflammation, rashes, etcetera. After that, I've got you scheduled for a full workup and then just a dental check. Everything sound fine, dear?"

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, absolutely." She started to take off her shirt before thinking on it and then lowering it. "Is that still a like..." How did one even ask that? She stared at the doctor, trying to figure out the words. Sighing, she'd just have to ask the stupid question. "Is that like a thing you do with your eyes or a machine? Ma'am."

"Don't worry, I have a little equipment here, just a tiny scan. No need for me to feel around and make you uncomfortable." The scan from Lisa's omnitool started to pulse out in blue-orange gleams of light.

Rebecca looked the asari up and down. "I mean, if it'd help, I have no problem with it." Though she realized she had no clue what was going on as light just kind of coasted along her body. "So I'm pretty sure I was a popsicle until recently, like uh... Frozen and thawed? I don't remember anything, and what I do remember is from the year twenty-ten in Earth time."

""You'll have been fine without it."" The light flashed again as the alien woman spoke. ""You don't show any signs of cryogenic suspension. How long ago was this?"" Lisa questioned as the glowing light flicked over Rebecca's naked flesh and then died out.

"I was found unconscious in an alley with no memories… less than twenty-four Earth hours ago," Rebecca said. She started to undo the zipper. "Pants too?"

"Everything off. That's…. Hmm." Lisa considered, leaning onto the empty space of the operating table. A slight frown came over her supermodel-esque face.

Rebecca looked at Lisa with a small but nervous smile. "Well, I'm hoping that's a good hmm. Most people don't go 'Hmmm' the first time they see me naked. Wow sometimes, the occasional whistle, but never hmm." She hooked her fingers through the loose boxers and took those off as well, revealing a stringy, lanky physique that was toned and rough. Her sunkissed skin stretched so taut and firm over her muscles that it looked seconds away from snapping.

The Asari seemed more focused on the readings than the gorgeous woman in front of her. "According to what I can see, you've a very mild case of radiation poisoning, but… nothing else. No cell death from cryogenic freezing, no stasis effect… nothing. You're perfectly hale and hearty." She tapped at the omnitool again, pulling another, seemingly deeper tissue scan up. "Let's see your insides," Lisa commented with some humor in her voice.

"I don't see any stirrups here, ma'am," Rebecca said frankly as she hopped up on the operating table. "Poke away. I assume it's still very standard for doctors to assume that people are either lying or crazy when they walk in saying batshit things. That much can't change over the years."

"I assume everyone's honest until proven otherwise." Lisyris chuckled. "For example, you do display genetic features in line with studied skeletal records from the early information age of your society."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. What happens to America? she wondered suddenly, reaching for her omnitool and doing a voice search. How did I not think of that. "Fuck. I never got to see the Statue of Liberty." Now Rebecca was scrolling through pictures of places, mostly of war, when she noticed that South Park, where she had been raised most of her life, had been completely decimated by conflict. She didn't recognize anyone, but the pictures and social media archives showed familiar shops and buildings flattened. Entire city blocks were gone, reminding her of her time in war, except no one seemed to be holding back.

"A civil unrest of some kind, I think. I'm not sure, Earth history isn't something I spent a lot of time on," Lisyris answered as Rebecca scrolled through more and more images now a century or more in the past. "It's over and done with now though. The last of the terror groups were crushed with Citadel assistance a bit ago."

She looked up from her omnitool at Lisa, the description sounding almost like a utopia at this point. "I'm going to call bullshit, ma'am. There will always be terror groups. We are, at best, violent monkeys who hump couch legs with poor self-control."

The Asari smiled, a careful, slight and elegant thing, more a quirk of lips than anything broader that nevertheless seemed tailor-made to obsess the eye. "I disagree. I think there's something very much more worthy in humanity than that. The Asari vote was how they entered the Citadel." She finished her scan and started looking over the results.

"I guess a lot could happen in a couple centuries," Rebecca muttered darkly. She didn't believe it, not really, not the humanity that she knew. Obviously, there was a psy-op or a big rug pull, or fucking something. No alien civilization would see Russia or North Korea and think, Ah yes, these are a people who deserve a voice on the galactic stage. For fuck's sake, when she left, America couldn't even fucking feed people. Well, not couldn't—they simply chose not to. The military was backward, and half the time, her friends had to wait until they were full of holes before they could defend themselves. "Can you fill me in a bit on… What's the technological baseline now? I see flying cars and fast fashion that looks snazzy. Are we full Star Trek? Do you have replicators and shit? Your scan, can you count how many… little building blocks are in my liver or whatever?" The fuck was that word again.

"Cells. And you're very lucky I had a human partner. Most have no idea what Star Trek is," Lisyris joked with that same smile. "Resources are not infinite, or more accurately, skilled labor is not. Many places are improved, but I know Earth still receives humanitarian aid to its less well-off portions from the Asari Republics and Salarian Union."

A dark mirth bubbled from Rebecca. "You still call it humanitar—" She stopped herself. "Right, universal translator."

"Mhmm, but in general, your omnitool can make most small things if you feed it gel. Think of the gel as… a base building block for anything simple," Lisa explained.

Rebecca looked at the Asari, then the omnitool, and back to the Asari. "Uh… Okay… Omnitool, clove cigarette please?" She focused on the little virtual thing in the omnitool—a virtual assistant.

"I would not ingest omnigel. Think tools and useful gadgets." Lisa tapped at her omnitool, and a flickering shape started to come together. "If you've a very good omnitool, you've also got hard light functionality."

"A…" Rebecca pondered what she wanted right now, what would be cool and fun. "A karambit, Damascus steel, ionized pink?" With childlike glee, the small tool seemed to spit out a long, talon-shaped knife that was bright pink, seemingly made to fit perfectly around her finger. Very quickly, she started to spin it around, finding it sturdy and capable. She dragged the tip of the blade across her palm, marveling at the incredibly thin line it made.

Lisyris was showing more on her own tool, the shape on her forearm had settled into a hard plate of light over Lisyris's forearm, and with a click, she turned it vaguely blade-shaped. Another tap made it oddly cylindrical as she blinked and quickly tapped off that one. "Apologies, didn't realize that was still on my quick list," Lisyris joked.

Rebecca stared at Lisyris in amazement. "Oh my god, that's so fucking cool. That's just a light knife. A light made of knife. A knife made of light, I mean? Why do people use bullets if you can just fire photons and shit at each other?" She winced internally, realizing that in this new space-faring age with no terrorism, all she could think about were cool ways to kill people.

"Your bright enthusiasm for killing is adorable. Reminds me of a young huntress," Lisyris chuckled as she went over to a larger desktop monitor to start looking at the readings through advanced software, getting a treatment plan worked up.

 

[Princess Scribe]

"Your bright enthusiasm for killing is adorable. Reminds me of a young huntress," Lisyris chuckled as she went over to a larger desktop monitor to start looking at the readings through advanced software, getting a treatment plan worked up.

The word huntress made Rebecca's face fall. They were on a space station. There probably would be no more hunting. Hell, there were probably no more bows either. She hadn't seen many knives. Would she even fit in? Sure, she and Camlos had destroyed some Batarians in an instant, but was that because they were predators, just killing machines among cattle? "Probably not a lot of deer on Omega, I suppose."

"Varren mostly. Uncomfortable beasts in the maintenance shafts and deeper segments," the Asari answered. "Brought aboard by pirates and then allowed to run wild. They breed anywhere."

The omnitool made them look adorable. Rebecca couldn't wait to find out what hunting one felt like. "Do uh… Stupid question, do people use bows anymore? Do you even know what I'm talking about? Jesus Christ, what can you tell about my brain with that thing? Can you read my thoughts? If so, sorry."

Lisyris laughed, a loud and proud laugh, elegant somehow but not at all restrained. "Reading your thoughts would mean we're a step short of marriage!" she exclaimed. "I know what a bow is. I used one back home when I was young. In the modern day, you may prefer using a mass accelerator, however. Generally better for things like barriers and armor."

Oh wait, shit, she's a doctor! Rebecca thought. "So like... How similar are aliens? Brain-wise, I mean. Personalities? Does everyone get schizophrenia or depression? Is it dopamine for everyone or just like uh... unique chemicals that do the same thing? I noticed we can't eat the same food or drink the same liquor. What happens if you give an Asari or Turian crystal meth, for example?"

"Generally, sapient life is mostly similar in many ways. There are extreme examples, such as the Elcor or Hanar." Images of huge quadrupedal creatures and floating tentacle blobs popped up on an omnitool display.

Rebecca's mouth fell agape in awe, and she quietly whispered, "What the fuck? Those are cool." She immediately looked up reproductive organs and whether they paired with humans. There was a whole world out there.

"But the largest difference is in the amino acids used," Lisyris explained. "Levo-aminos generally assume us, Asari, Humans, Salarians, etcetera. Humanoid with warm-blooded metabolism. We can eat the same food, have sensual contact without allergic reactions, etcetera."

"Dextro-amino life are the Turians and Quarians, those with descent primarily from harsher environments that required more robust physiques, even down to the genetic level, owing to intense solar radiation in the Turian case. They ingest different everything and are genetically different at that. I specialize in Levo biology but am not inexperienced with Dextro." Lisa finished off with images of Turians, as well as completely suited creatures with very wide hips and digitigrade legs, seeming otherwise humanoid sans three-fingered hands.

Rebecca was curious. This was the first thing she saw that had to be in a hazmat suit. She typed Quarian into the Omnitool and then really grimaced, an almost pained wince at what was essentially a species of people treated like Roma in Europe. She refused to believe this level of extreme racism was justified, especially as she scrolled through their history. Their bits looked similar to everything else, and the constant affirmation of normalcy was getting a bit boring, though the corkscrew on the Turian had managed to give her a bit of a shock.

Too far away to read the omnitool, Lisyris continued, "Generally speaking, however, nothing is overly different. Drell excrete extreme hallucinogens, whilst Hanar are mildly bio-electrically charged, but other than that, they act similarly."

"I think the baseline for 'overly different' may have shifted over the years, ma'am," Rebecca said. "I mean... I don't know what I mean. I'm trying to figure it out, but I wasn't expecting the morning walk to just be... the normal city morning walk. Or the doctor's office to just be a doctor visit with less poking. Everything is the same until you get whacked in the face with hallucinogenic jizz as an aside."

"And saliva, and sweat, and breath," Lisyris corrected. "Drell are an excellent week to lose. You seem reasonably healthy, though I must insist on a regimen of genetic treatments before you die of, say, cancer in thirty or so years." The Asari's expression turned to a frown. "It's terrifying what an unaltered genome allows."

"Probably worse, I had to spend a lot of time around burn pits." Rebecca looked to the Asari again with a weak smile. "Uh... Giant garbage pits of smoldering trash and chemical waste. Can you figure out brain shit with that thing?"

"Mhmm, you're divergent from standard neurology. I don't feel comfortable offering any solutions there." Lisyris clarified immediately, turning away from the desktop as she arrived at the end of her initial treatment plan.

Rebecca snorted, making a strangled honk. "Yeah, no, that's pretty typical after about fifteen minutes of conversation." She was still absently flipping the karambit around, watching the blade make beautiful, perfect, precise arcs. "More of a 'Jesus Christ, get the fuck out,' reaction."

Lisyris smiled at that, the reaction amusing her. "You are a veteran, Rebecca. Little else is severely divergent. I can't imagine the stress of warfare before the barrier, but I have fought as well." She moved back over, sending a message with a treatment plan full of words that didn't quite make sense to Rebecca. "I don't judge anyone on what they seem to be, only what they do to me. Is there anything wrong or not wanted in that plan?"

The plan seemed to be a bunch of injections of gene things, followed by dental reconstruction, and then a few months of taking vitamins and minerals as bones and muscles refit to new standards. Nothing crazy on the face.

"Does any of this mean space magic?" Rebecca asked, looking at some of the odder-looking gene injections. "Like uh, throwing shit with my mind or whatever."

"No. That'd be a much more experimental, highly dangerous, illegal, and very stupid procedure. You'd need Element Zero in your spinal column." Lisyris crushed that dream immediately, even as she floated a cup of some drink to her hand, sipping at it as the warbling blue-space faded.

Of course not. Why be able to be special? Rebecca sighed. "Ah well, fuck it. Any societal norms or common scams or anything? I'd rather not get how to be polite from web searches. I'm assuming the translators mean I can just say whatever and expect it to be clear as long as I don't intend to be insulting."

Lisa smiled. "Plenty, thousands of them, many unique to the planet the scam is taking place. You'll have to figure it out most of the time. The translator will do his best, but a human can speak most Asari languages, many Turian ones, the remaining Quarian languages, and even some Salarian. If you can learn, it's very in-vogue to be multilingual." She finally started pulling out what looked like syringes with no needle, laying them out one by one.

"I'm multilingual. I speak English, grunting, and pointing." She continued laying out injections, seemingly unable to stop, as if the drawer were a bio-hazard hammer space. "Shit, that's a lot of fucking needles. How come you all didn't figure out like… A pill or suppository or something? Needles seem… Barbaric considering everything else around us." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, startled by the tiniest, almost non-existent pinch.

The first injection was pressed into Rebecca's arm, and with a hiss of pressurized air, the substance pushed through a pore near-painlessly. "We have. I'm just teasing." Lisyris giggled, brushing away a small trickle of blood.

Rebecca snapped, a hint of annoyance in her voice, "HEY! Ask first!" She groaned at the small poke, treating it as if it were a grievous gunshot wound. "Sorry, don't like needles, which sucks when you have to get fucking vaccinated every few months. Fucking… Ugh."

The Asari nodded, placing a cool hand on the injection site. "I didn't realize. It's uncommon now." Her tone was apologetic. "I'm sorry, miss. I won't play games like that." Lisyris assured, though she started moving the next injector over.

"Don't worry, it's fine. I'm already over it. It's not really like how it was uh…" Rebecca didn't feel the next pinch as she pulled out the omnitool to show the large gauge syringes of early information age Earth. "They were a lot bigger and more violent. Sometimes when drawing blood, you'd get a blood lady who had to rummage around with the needle to find a vein. I have small ones, so it was an ordeal."

The rest of the injections were instant, painless, and took less than a few seconds. Rebecca adjusted to that too quickly. She knew there was going to be a rude awakening here. No place was utopic; there were no fucking paradises, and her first time here was spent slitting throats. There'd be issues—they just hadn't shown up yet. She could see them, just beneath the thin veneer of polite presentation. There had to be worse. People had guns, prejudices, and they killed each other. That's not something you did in a utopia.

"Sounds awful. Field medicine sadly still uses syringes oftentimes, especially medigel injectors. I still shiver remembering what a hardsuit detecting a 'vital wound' is like." Lisyris made conversation about past trauma as easily as making conversation about tea.

Rebecca looked at the Asari, a question mark almost painted on her face. "What the hell do people even fight over anymore? If you've got magic healing gel, light that can make shit out of, and technology that makes food issues almost non-existent."

"Element Zero, mostly. Money after that. Politics as well." Lisyris answered affably. "Eezo is rarer than rare, but is needed to build ships, make mass accelerators—" She stopped, tapped something on her omnitool, and then with an adorably accented voice, sounding almost like a Persian woman speaking English, "Guns is what you called them." She turned her translator back on. "My language has no word that translates well to mass accelerator." She let the point stand on its own. "As you can see by the previous translation attempt."

"The point and click off button?" Rebecca offered with a laugh. "I need to find work. Do you need anything done? Preferably for cash. I'm not going to rest on my laurels for a week despite what Camlos suggests. I'm violent and desensitized if that helps."

"There's no taxes in Omega. I need a nurse." Lisyris answered two questions. "How do you feel about scrubs?" She stood up, moved to a metal closet, and pulled out one of the tight, almost plastic outfits, like the one she was wearing.

"Meh? The biggest issue would be my bedside manner. It mostly involves knives and threatening people." Rebecca admitted. She wasn't going to try and push herself out of her comfort zone, and being nice to random people was far outside of that. "But I'll do anything just to have something to do. I get tense when I don't have a job or goal. Short term is maybe a fancy assault rifle, some decent armor and barriers, maybe a nice multi-tool. Then I guess I'll find out what soldiers do these days."

The Asari laughed. "Very much like a huntress. All anxious violence and desire to fight. Why not enter one of the arenas? I know many of them allow hardlight firearms and simulated violence."

"An Arena?!" Rebecca exclaimed, excitement coursing through her. She almost bounced off the examination table. "Holy shit, yes. That's so fucking cool." Her legs swung off the side of the table, and she hadn't really stopped moving since she got up there, but now she was practically vibrating. She had a pistol and a knife; she could definitely fuck around in an arena.

"Maybe clear it with your… sponsor? Guardian? Whoever the person who paid for this is. It wasn't a cheap visit." Lisyris chuckled.

Fucking Camlos, didn't mention that part. "How much was it? New short term goal."

Lisa tapped at her omnitool, pulling up the invoice. "Because we are friends, I only charged him twelve hundred credits."

"Jesus, that's gotta be one of the most expensive blowjobs of his life…" Rebecca muttered, looking at it and comparing it to numbers from last night.

"You're his guest. Turians have an extremely… rigorous understanding of what a guest is. Healthcare and food is the start of it." Lisa explained.

Rebecca looked at the Asari for a moment, then back to the bill. "Am I taking advantage of something? Culturally? Biologically?"

"From what you described," She thought for a moment, "You were helpless and latched onto him, so he likely felt he was now required to at least keep you alive in the short term. Your and my kind have a pack bonding instinct, yes?" Lisa asked, actually looking for clarification.

"I've been told it, but I've been pretty iffy on whether it was true. Most people fucking despise me." A long string of failed relationships, lost jobs, angry people, and broken hearts after the military seemed to bubble to the surface. Not to mention the dishonorable discharge, the time in prison, the people who hated her fucking guts in prison. The shitty job interviews.

"Turians have a more… hierarchical bonding instinct. Predatory lifestyle did not lend to easy grouping together. Early Turian society was violent and bloody. Guest rights and how to treat someone in need, the requirements of charity formed much on how they interact with others and avoid the desire to, say, engage in a dominance battle that ends with someone's intestines on the floor." Lisyris shrugged. "Hypothetically."

Rebecca groaned quietly to herself. "Alright, how do I politely, without hurting him too bad, stop taking advantage? An Irish goodbye?" She realized it was impossible for the translator to know what that meant. "Ghosting? Fucking off silently."

The Asari's expression turned to minor amusement. "You realize he is a private investigator. And if you disappear suddenly, he'll assume something happened to his guest." Lisyris sighed, still smiling. "In truth, you are not taking advantage of him any more than, say… you take advantage of another human by saying hello. This is his way of life, just as your own culture informs how you act around me or your desire to not 'take advantage' of him."

"Ultimately speaking, this could all be best handled by speaking to him. You've already been more intimate than a conversation could be." The Asari joked with a smirk.

"I seriously doubt that," Rebecca bemoaned quietly. "That required very little communication, other than say… Logistics." She had already decided she'd be sleeping on the streets tonight. How would that text even need to go? Maybe a voice recording: You're nice, I'm not a charity case, fuck off until I'm stable? She wondered if that was polite, however, and what insulting him would mean. Fucking alien bullshit. Humans were aliens too now, two hundred years separated from any cultural touchstones.

Lisyris murmured, "Ah, youth." She smiled at the room without interfering in Rebecca's thought process unasked, starting to assemble bottles.

"I mean, I saw the tiny place. The dude doesn't have twelve hundred dollars to throw on alley strange." Rebecca groaned angrily. She wondered how hard it would be to just disappear without knowing anything. It'd be hard.

"We live on a space station, Rebecca. I don't think you understand property prices as well as you hope." Lisyris joked. "It's… something like sixteen hundred credits per square foot? If the translator managed that conversion well enough, you've got an excellent model." She said idly, considering.

Rebecca looked at Lisyris and held up a square foot with her fingers, a quizzical eyebrow raised. She received a nod of agreement from the Asari. "I'm paying him back." She muttered, doing the math on what half that rent would be and sighing. "Does this thing have lowjack, by the way?"

"What's that?" The Asari asks.

Rebecca was going to fucking scream in a second. All the English, but half the things the Asari said were incomprehensible. "Like... a search-y thing? When you steal or take something and then the owner comes and plugs you twice in the back of the noggin for the pleasure?"

The alien woman nodded, understanding. "Ah, most things are computerized and hooked to the intranet in some way. You can track them on your omnitool with an application."

"So what happens if someone takes your omnitool and leaves you, say, rotting in an alley?" Rebecca wasn't sure if she was asking for herself or devising a plan. It might have been a little of both.

"Most omnitools are not genetically encoded. In the interest of keeping you and a friend of mine out of trouble, how about we settle on twenty-five credits an hour of work here? You'd pay him back rapidly enough." Lisyris offered, quickly realizing the criminal spiral taking place. "I do need help here. A one-woman show's getting difficult to manage."

"I also signed up for security work next week, but I think that was a weekend thing, which is good. Just need to figure out what to do on Sundays." She muttered, then realized that no, none of that was probably right. Why would anyone still be using a fucking Caesarian calendar on a space station?! Why would anyone still have a five-day work week? "Yeah, absolutely. I'm uh, probably the worst person for the job. I'm bad with people and worse with maths that isn't extremely navigational. Maps, yes, which is probably fuckin' worthless now. Accounting, no." Rebecca was glad no one here knew how badly she was going to fuck up that accounting job. It felt so long ago, but it was only last night.

"That's fine, you'll learn." The Asari sounded very certain of this. "Everyone needs a few months to get used to something." Lisyris nodded to Rebecca as she picked out one of her uniforms, offering the blue and white garment to the other woman.

Months!? Rebecca sighed as she very quickly tossed on what could essentially be described as extremely flexible shrink wrap. "Can I smoke?" she asked, rummaging through the pockets of her pants from the previous night and pulling out a pack of kreteks, possibly her last pack.

"You'll be cleaning the residue later," was all Lisa said on the matter, starting to send over apps to download to Rebecca, medical ones with subscriptions she was covering.

The ankle sheathe for her kukri had to go over the scrubs, and the gun holster did too. The uniform was too tight to hide things. She quickly made an executive decision and said into the omnitool, "Chain necklace, quick breakaway," and put the talon-shaped knife on it, hanging it over her neck. Then, looking at the omnitool, she added, "Uh… Sunglasses?" She stared at it expectantly and realized that what she had said was incredibly generic. I'll look it up later.

Rebecca quickly thumbed through the apps and filled out the forms in minutes, not really reading anything or overly caring. It was a pirate station, and at this point, being taken advantage of was not really a decision she had much choice in. It would be nice to have a bit more jewelry, though, she thought, making some long, spear-like earrings.

As the workday started, though Rebecca didn't quite realize it, Lisyris idly commented, "If you intend to continue sexual congress with Turians and other Dextro lifeforms, I'd recommend immunosuppressants. Medigel gets expensive if used daily."

"Oh, uh yeah, is it just Dextro and Humano or whatever?" Rebecca asked. Jesus Christ, why are you like this? she wondered again.

"Levo, yes. There've been no other discovered differences at that level," the Asari said. Just then, a customer came in, prompting her to shift and greet them. "Welcome! This is about the pneumonia still?" she asked the lizard-like Salarian who entered, thin and very neurotic in motions as they coughed into a hardlight mask.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Nine hours of clinic work is tiring. Rebecca was given the chance to enjoy seeing every species she's been reading about in detail. She then learned plenty about the various illnesses, recycled air, lack of sunlight, generally packed conditions and everything else causes to them. Except for a Krogan, that Krogan walked in with thirty-seven gunshot wounds, but was otherwise in stunning health. Apparently, the Krogan's redundant nervous system and regenerative abilities made him nearly impervious to the ailments that plagued the other species.

As the last of the blood from that is cleaned off the operating table, Lisa said, "Excellent work, do you want your pay in an account or in a chit?" After a day of mostly manual labour.

She doesn't know the right answer; the Turian set her up with an account, yeah, but how traceable was it? What could she use the chit for, "Chit's like untraceable cash, yeah? Chit I think?"

"Everything's traceable, sadly. It's an electronic currency." She printed off a small almost USB drive from her omnitool with the day's pay, two hundred and twenty-five credits marked on it. "See you tomorrow in … let's call it sixteen hours?"

Rebecca groaned quietly, "Of course it is. I can be back in ten if you need it? I don't sleep much."

"Ah, you'll be sleeping, expect bouts of exhaustion, muscle cramps, general mood swings and the like for a few days. Genetic changes are … broad." The Asari takes off her lab coat and closes down the clinic, going to a wardrobe and picking between clothing there.

"Isn't that just the human condition?" Rebecca laughed, "I'll be here ma'am come hell or highwater. I'm more scared of being late than gunfire."

"That's rather normal for veterans of the turian and human militaries. Sticklers for timing." She says, pulling free what looks like the cyberpunk rendition of a leather jacket and pants, not bothering with a shirt underneath it. Getting ready for … clubbing?

Rebecca set up four timers on her omnitool, fourteen hours, fourteen thirty, fifteen, and fifteen fifteen to make sure she'd be awake, ready, and on time. "Damn, I'll need to learn more about fashion. That looks rad. Uh. Radical, not radiation."

"That one's survived the ages." Lisa chuckled. "And the translation software. I'm just going clubbing for a few hours. The Afterlife is very exciting whenever a mercenary fleet docks, and that specific event has just happened." She started trying on boots, usually with two inches of heel on them that rise to her knee. In addition to this being a clinic, it seems to also be her home. "Here are some places to buy clothing. Turians rarely have any idea where to get anything that isn't a hard-suit or disposable cheap shirts and pants." She forwards stores from her omnitool, this new era seeming to not have embraced one day shipping.

"Oh, can I just wear armour? Like, all the time if I want?" Rebecca asked with a sigh. The idea of just not picking clothes and wearing armour was very comforting.


"Sure, most hard-suits are figure hugging, so you're not sacrificing much." Lisa chuckles, standing up and applying makeup to herself.

Alright, the future isn't so bad if I can always be armed and armoured, Rebecca thought to herself.

"Civilised space might be a little more selective, but that's why we live on Omega, no?" The Asari remarks, applying swirling lines around her face, making designs around the edges with an expert speed, well practised.

"Technically, I live here because the guy with a candied duck cock also happens to be a nice guy." Rebecca proffered with a laugh, quickly pulling up where to get weapons and armour, and regular prices. She sent a text to the turian.

Private Message to Camlos Mercaion /Rename "Camlos Mercaion" "Birdy" Rebecca Hey loser, it's Dinozzo Date? Clothes Shopping? Murder? What we doin? Also, here's the clothes money. I should be able to help with rent. I'm not a charity case. Can we go to the arena? I'm employed at clinic too. Birdy Let's go shopping, the arena is dangerous, and there's no real work right now. I'll be at apartment in fifteen. good work. also, rent 3200 a month. good deal.

"Alright ma'am, if you need anything dangerous done, let me know. I'm always down for work." Rebecca said cracking her neck, before waving and leaving. The pains and exhaustion were already setting in. The idea of having to slow angered Rebecca, and to punish her body for trying to quit early, she broke into a full sprint.

She arrived at the apartment in less than ten minutes, and she saw a delivery out front, bags of groceries left untouched, mostly brands with very … odd names on inspection. 'Chocolate Balls, for any human who wants a reminder of home!' seeming to be an alien riff on a cereal brand, whilst, 'Oats! A replica of the most popular breakfast meal on Earth!' quickly placing this as a casual shopping trip for basic foodstuffs.

Okay, so do people just adopt humans, or is there seriously a market for "What the fuck do I feed this person? Rebecca wondered, she pulled out her gun, and pushed open the door checking the right and back right corner before stepping in peeking around the door, and checking the rest of the apartment to make sure it was empty. After a thorough sweep, she put her weapon away. Only when the house was cleared, did she pull the groceries in and put them away. She had the omnitool make her a small block of wood like substrate, and sat on the kitchen counter.

Whittling had always been a pleasure. You could do it anywhere, anytime, it involved knives, possibly cutting yourself, and made something beautiful. Watching the small curls of material gently shave away, revealing something underneath, had always made her feel calm. Every cut a step closer to finishing, every shaving a moment of peace. It required concentration, careful work, and a bit of creativity. She hadn't found a trash can, and it was bugging her there didn't seem to be trashcans anywhere. Instead she grabbed a bowl, letting that catch the pieces she curled off. Letting her laser in on the small ridges and feel of the material.

A new universe. A new place, new people. It kept hitting her, she kept exclaiming it or mentioning it or muttering it. Trying to convince herself of the validity of the statement. If it was new, maybe the problems would be different. She felt like she needed it to be new. The carving hadn't taken shape yet, she hadn't decided what she was making. The block was slightly larger than her fist, and slowly being worn down to something very smooth and triangularly shaped. Just keep moving forward, don't bother figuring it out now. She thought to herself, It's not worth it right now.

The door being kicked open and sent a shock of anxiety through Rebecca as she dropped the wood and pulled her gun. The mass accelerator peppered Camlos's barrier, and he swears angrily. He was hauling in a bed with a grimace of effort, showing both Turian strength in being able to lug a frame alone and reasonable limits to it, in finding the entire process distressingly difficult. "Little help?"

"Mother fucker," Rebecca muttered, More shit? Stop buying me shit! I'll fucking kill you. She ran next to him and quickly got under the frame into a sort of crouch, grabbing the other end and bearing half of the load. "The fuck they make this out of? Lead?" She muttered as she hefted it.

"Lucky find, since we broke the last one." He sounds much less stressed, now only carrying one half, manoeuvring into the apartment awkwardly, having to tilt it to get through the bedroom door.

She looked at the guy, then back to the bed and rolled her eyes. "You'd be a lot happier with a futon on a mat, trust me."

"And you wouldn't be when I wake up with stiff plates and scratch marks on my floor." Camlos mutters, glaring at where he's already scratched the simulated wood of his flooring with talons and hard plates of carapace. He seems to like his home spotless.

"Security deposit's a bitch, I guess." She said as they put the old bed down, "When did you clear out everything? Have you just been homemaking the entire time I was working?! For fuck's sake, man."

"I will not leave my home in tattered shape! I don't know how they do it on Earth, but you keep things clean and in good shape where I'm from." Camlos rolled his eyes at the questioning. Rebecca took a closer look and noticed that everything was clean and sparkling, god he dusted the tops of the wardrobes.

"It's your life, I'd never tell you how to live it," Though she grimaced, remembering that she left the bathroom pretty much a mess, the room pretty much a mess, and she was pretty sure she left the Pizza box on the couch. Part of sleeping on the floor meant that no surface was safe from detritus. "I'll, uh … Try to keep clean till I get my own place. Hospital corners and all that."

"Good." Camlos simply nods, a universal gesture as far as Rebecca has seen. "I had food delivered. Prepared things get expensive fast. I don't know what you eat, so I got a variety." He gestures vaguely at the kitchen.

"I know how to cook." She rifled through the bags, "I'm surprised one of these brands wasn't just 'Human Chow, keep their coats fresh.'"

"Lucky you, half the turian men I know can't fry a cutlet. Military life gets them used to having their food made for them." Camlos chuckles, "Had a long trial-and-error period myself, took three years to actually not burn them reliably."

"I practiced a lot when I was off duty." Rebecca said offhand, "It was cook or whittle, I got locked inside on leave for nearly three months after I nearly killed a company man in Mumbai."

"Suppose nearly killing a person is universally bad." Camlos shrugs, starting to put two pans on the electric stovetop. Beginning a meal of meat and some form of light-blue eggs.

"Yeah, eventually I just saved up all the cooking oil and then started a fire. They had to let me out, or risk the entire room going up." Rebecca sighed, a little sad she couldn't eat Turian food. It looked yummy, it was just meat, but it was the fact that she couldn't have it that really bothered her. "These are all red flags I'm waving at you so that I don't feel responsible when this all blows up by the way."

"You've never met a turian woman, have you?" Camlos chuckles, a sound that's translated by the omnitool from the almost parrot-like croak it really is. "My last time of having to host a female turian ended in her trying to scrawl her name into my fringe with claws. Twelve hours after meeting her." The raptor-alien sighs.

Human extremes are in the middle for a lot of these people, maybe I'll fit in. She balked immediately took the thought out back and smashed the thought's skull with a brick. Fuck off. Stay safe moron. Out loud, though Rebecca just gave a jovial laugh. Hope is for sheep.

The turian seemed to not notice the internal thoughts, keeping his eyes on the meat with an obvious hunger, judging from how his mandibles shift eagerly when turning it over barehanded, their talons evidently heat resistant. "I know back on Palaven, everyone's more used to that, but when you get out in the galaxy and live with other species, you find strangers trying to carve into you less fun." He shrugs.

"Fringe, Fringe, not Fridge." She realised, touching her mouth to hide a slight giggle, "I misheard the translator. Uh, what parts are the fringe just the swoopy bit on top?"

He touches a claw to the plates that almost seem like hair. "Yes, sensitive after about half an inch. Very Fucking Sensitive." Camlos rattled off a hiss that's properly predatory, like a primeval dinosaur expressing anger.

"Oh, my god." Rebecca laughed, squeezing her eyes, "Yeah, carving into your face would probably be mildly upsetting. I'll ask first."

"That's good. I'd have clawed you if you didn't." Camlos chuckles again, tilting his head in amusement as the meat finishes, eggs close to completion as well. The cutlet was swallowed immediately whilst the eggs were picked at before being eaten with a gusto as well.

The smell was making her dizzy, really dizzy, she realised. No, it wasn't the smell. She had skipped breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and then got a ton of shots, stood on her feet for ten hours and was still refusing to sit down. That was what made me dizzy. Might as well be honest with myself. The room swam in front of her, and she choked out a feral growl. She had to work in a few hours. She had errands. She had shit to do.

"Sit down. I can figure out the instant meals." Camlos sounded annoyed. "You were lower enlisted, weren't you?" He grimaces at the idea.

Rebecca muttered, "Its … Complicated. I was an E-7. Also fuck you, I can take care of myself." Her body had other ideas, however, and was already taking her to her seat.

"Congratulations, I outrank you. Sit down Gunny." The translator worked overtime after a quick search on his omnitool for the correct term as he pulls an instant meal of some variety and warms it.

She snatched the wood carving, knife, and bowl to herself as she returned to the carving. Quickly letting the pieces fall away, it was taking shape. She didn't really like it yet, but it was taking a shape.

The instant meal comes together quickly enough, vermicelli rice, and chicken in a packet. "This looks edible." Camlos mutters, putting it into a bowl and placing it in front of the woman.

She snatched the bowl from Camlos immediately. "It's not glue or crayons, but I'll make do." She said as she picks the bowl up with one hand to speedily devour the contents, tucking as much away as quickly as possible.