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]

"This is your ill-socialized assumptions coming out." Larmus grumbles.

She nodded, and tried to take a note but paused. "Uh. That anyone who chooses violence against me is dumb and seeking death? Or talking about fighting? Or wait, there's this other thing I say that might be bad. Sometimes I say 'If god wanted you to live, he wouldn't have allowed you to meet me.' An old earth warlord said it, and I like it so I stole it."

"I pray you never have to fight the Blue Suns, they will kill you." Larmus once again grumbles. "Spirits, this is going to be a work of years."

"Shit. Well. Do you understand the concept of homework?" She asked looking at him.

"You'll have plenty." He continues to type at his omnitool.

Rebecca nodded, "Can I send it to you when I'm finished for more? I don't want to ask too much."

"No. You have eight hours of my time daily. Two of them will be in person. Six will be me preparing coursework. The rest of the day is mine." He firmly sets his boundaries immediately.

"Oh shit, awesome." Rebecca said happily, "Good! I'll make sure to keep to that. Though we should write that all down." She wasn't sure why she was now playing stupid. He made assumptions, about her knowledge Rebecca guessed, so now she had to be dumber so he'd start earlier.

"Spirits. Alright. Activate speech to text." He gestures to Rebecca's omnitool as he settles into the idea of spending hours doing this. "We'll do this all properly. Feel like I'm back in university."

"Was that fun?" Rebecca asked him, turning on her omnitool to record the conversation.

"No. Moving on." He starts to pull a questionnaire up.

Rebecca had one more quick question, "Sorry, are any questions off limits? I asked a drill instructor in boot if his wife was a good lay. He got fucking pissed. I was curious, he seemed unhappy."

"Yes. It'll be part of your testing to figure out what's off limits." Larmus explains, "If you exceed the limits, consider it a bad mark." He makes it a challenge unintentionally as Camlos chuckles.

"She's gonna see how far she can push it now. Idiot." The younger Turian comments while Lisyris lets her typing stop to shake her head amusedly.

Rebecca smiled, "Did something bad happen in university?"

"We'll mark twenty points off this week." Larmus taps at his omnitool to record that, sending her a point total.

She stopped immediately, and narrowed her eyes, pouting. "Do you mind if I test cause and effect a little bit. I'm wondering something."

"Wondering what?" Larmus asks.

"I have this... Like, I know how to tease people really well." Rebecca said, "I'm wondering if that's something I could use to figure out how to not bother people. Like, you don't like university and have a scar. You're working on omega as a blood sport organizer. You obviously fucked up somehow, got busted into something violent but had a spot of bad luck." Rebecca lists off her observations. "That means you were educated, but had low morals which narrows things down, but not that much. You fought hard, for everything."

She reached her conclusion, trying to voice a second sense, "So like, I know I could get you really violent if I made it seem, like, like getting to this point was very less and easy, despite it being a fight for you the entire time."

"Quite. And that's a good observation of what not to do. Now you have to develop another understanding. How to see the opposite of that." Larmus points a finger at himself, "Be used to drive me to a position to help you? Think on it."

Rebecca rubbed her chin, thinking. "I'm sitting in a rich condo. I've shown you huge paychecks, and I make the things I do sound very easy. You don't know that I was abandoned as a child and put into prison, until I became a soldier. That this is the only way to regain a sense of what personhood is." She narrows her eyes, "I could try and mirror our experiences, but that might seem like... Too obvious? Maybe? Because people just roll their eyes."

"You're off track. Don't think about yourself, think about me. My experiences." Larmus directs the logic, "I don't need to like you, I don't need to enjoy your company or even need to not hate you. I need to agree with you. There's a difference there. Try once more."

"So... Oh, I could work this as a challenge, because I do want longer classes." Rebecca said looking at him. "I got you here by offering money, and I could just throw wads of cash, but I'm not made of it. Arena stuff is gambling. So... I could offer contacts I make?"

"Now you're thinking transactionally. Also wrong. Let me explain." The Turian shakes his head. "To take you as an example. Soldier, prisoner, little grasp of normal interaction. I wouldn't try to explain shared benefit or project any sort of negative consequence of not listening to my course of action. The shared benefit would be obvious to you if its real, the negative consequence shrugged off with your self-assured lethality."

Clearing his throat with a rattle-hiss, Larmus continues, "Instead, I'd draw on your directives as a combatant, your desires of leadership from a long career in the armed forces of your people. I'd begin suggesting actions from your point of view. Bringing out ideas with prodding and interaction rather than direct offers of future activity."

"This means, in the event they fail, it doesn't appear to be my fault, and in the event they succeed, you associate that with my careful advisement and presence. I've not given you anything but words, I've not prodded you into anger, nor have I established an emotional bond. It is professional, effective and distant." The Turian finishes with a nod, cybernetic mandible twitching oddly. "Now, how would you manage me?"

"I'd rely on..." Rebecca muttered to herself, distant. "I mean you do get off a little on looking down on me. So I'd let that slide, pretend to not even notice it. Recognition. Not compliments, but like, bonuses."

"Still thinking how to make me like you. Accept your guidance and leadership. As if I'm an underling. Think of me as a customer, a negotiating equal. I won't follow your lead unless I'm very vulnerable. You want to trick, cajole or calmly direct me in the right way without bonding in any way." Larmus explains again, not sounding annoyed or even distressed, rather enjoying this discussion.

Oh, cajole. "I'd imply this was too hard for you. Not directly, I'd just repeatedly offer more money, and things as if I didn't think you were up to it, and needed support."

"Ah, but now you're thinking as the customer. Not the seller. You want them to think you can complete the job. Cajole in this instance means more like....." He thinks on how to communicate the concept. "Cajole means something like an implied risk of not hiring you. A false timeline perhaps. Say something like, 'They're bearing down fast, Mister Batarian, you'll need someone, and another company might not make it here in time.' Make them feel their situation keenly."

"Oh, no-one else will hire you like this. If this relationship ends, you're back where you started, which is with considerably less, because at eight hours a day, it implies you quit or have diverted a ton of your duties from the other job or jobs you work" Rebecca said quickly, thinking hard.

"Now you're idly threatening me. Which is an effective personal negotiation tactic, if ill-appreciated." Larmus grumbles, "We'll need to engage in some educational roleplay, I think. I'll concoct some scenarios to work with for next time."

"Oh, Lisa does that. Like the CSEC and the Robber." Rebecca offered her own experiences, to show understanding. It's a terrible idea. The look on his face makes her stop immediately. Both Camlos, and Lisa are giggling, both at the humor, and knowing they don't have to do this.

"....No. Not quite." The tone Larmus takes is exasperatedly annoyed and mildly horrified. "We'll get back to that idea when I've got them written down." He goes back to his omni-tool writing something down.

It's clear however that he's greatly enjoying teaching, as he continues with his tutoring. "You're decently versed at personal communication, if crude with your words, what you lack is a sense of separation from others. Personal arguments lead to ties and bonds, which lead to personal level disagreements in business. Keeping a cool distance will let you avoid that as well as easily direct the customer to their rightful place."

"I wonder if that's because my job is so intimate." Rebecca offers offhand, "Do not many people deal with so much romance In their day-to-day lives?"

"I think it's more to do with your profound inexperience with relationships, outside of romance and murder." Larmus grumbles again, finding this annoying but educational at least.

"What else is there?" She asked, looking at him again.

"A business relationship. Like ours. With no sexual or violent tones in it." He looks back, annoyed.

Rebecca is confused, "But I'm giving you money, which controls your rent, your food, everything."

"I own my home, and have other sources of income. You control luxuries at best." The Turian stares.

She was even more confused, "What's a luxury? Exactly?"

"Liquor, electronics beyond the most basic, things you can live without." Larmus explains.

"Yeah but if you didn't have those things, wouldn't you just start taking them?"

"No. Because I value my life too much to risk it over an object. You do not value your life overly much. There is a dissonance of values between us." The Turian says with an educational tone, "Its not cultural, rather, personal."

Rebecca thought for a second, "Right. You could imply for me that my family would be safer with these lessons. Or happier, and because I value them more, I would want it more. They wouldn't be less safe because you exist. Your service is beneficial."

Lisa walked over and placed a pint glass of water on the table, and Rebecca took a sip, watching her carefully. Then she went back to the conversation, "I'm trying to apply this to something I want right now. That's not quite what I need to think about, but on a broader scale." Rebecca was mostly mumbling but her words were very clear, "On a broader scale... The more successful I am, the more successful I can make you."

Larmus has already gotten used to Lisa's state of undress, finding it ignorable, instead he leans forward. He's clearly engaged, and his eyes scour Rebecca as if she's an odd puzzle, "You still are considering this relationship transactional instead of business like. You do not want to pay me more. My aid is irrelevant. You should try to convince me to do more for less, or the same. Allow me to explain."

Larmus starts to explain. "I would approach it from my university time, I'm obviously educated and believed in spending time in a university despite being a profiled minority. I likely understand—"

"Er, wait, what?" Rebecca interrupted, "I don't know what a profiled minority is, or the cultural context. It's like racism, right?"

"I am part of a group of individuals treated poorly by the majority of society due to a vagary of birth." Larmus manages to calmly get out, "I am not afforded the same opportunity as other Turians. In any area of society. And am frequently barred from sources of employment."

"The fuck. Why?" Rebecca asked, upset clearly.

"My face is bare of clan markings. I hold no family or kin." The Turian explains.

Her jaw sets, "So you get treated like shit. Because you were born an orphan. Like me."

"Quite." Larmus nods.

"Fuck that." Then she realized there was literally nothing she could do about it. She couldn't even help him in some way, she couldn't buy him a family. Or make him one. "Ah. Sorry."

"Quite. Now that you know this, however, you know that I'm driven by achievement. So, theoretically, you could phrase it as your education being an achievement of mine. If you knew more about me, you could surmise whether or not this means I'd want people to know I did it or not. Thus, you should gather more information, or gamble on assuming. Make sense?" Larmus asks.

"Yeah, you nearly spat when you heard blood pack." Rebecca said out loud, "Then winced, like constantly at every aspect of what I do. My gut says though, if I do work out, if this does. Then I'd be a stunning example. An—"

She interrupted herself to ask, "Are you allowed to be a teacher? In Turian society I mean."

"Good guess. Legally yes, practically, no." Larmus nods to Rebecca.

"You don't need to be seen, or else you'd have picked something far more glamorous." Rebecca still picking up things, "I could hire a second turian? So that your education of me would include the defeat of someone shitty. I could even have them be slightly incompetent. Wait, fuck, no I'm spending more money to do that."

"Exactly, and I'd recommend also hiring a human. Or at least speaking to one. A crucial part of socialization is understanding expected culture." He explains.

Rebecca hissed slightly, "Humans... Are... Not fond of me. Universally. Not in a racist way, they can sense my murder needs."

"And understanding the specific reasoning and cultural background behind that feeling, as well as learning to mimic their more 'normal behaviour' is a crucial part of blending and interacting with polite society, yes. Get over your apprehensions." The Turian waves away the excuse, not caring overly much for it.

"Wait, if I need to hire a human, if I find one as equally needing achievement. Then you two would be competitive." Rebecca said rubbing her chin, "When something even went right, I could send a group message on that one's success. If I got really cut throat I could even have pay based on who I feel is doing better, but then you'd both try to just make me happy. Rather than make me succeed."

Rebecca took another sip of water as she thought, carefully, "Unless, there's an unbiased mediator."

"Too many steps. Bureaucratic inefficiency is setting in. You were onto something. Competition needn't have a practical reward if properly instituted." Larmus explains.

"Like the point thing. I flew right the minute I knew points would be taken away for being a little shit."

"Exactly. Plus ten points." He rewards the understanding with vague, yet now highly sought after points. "I don't need to explain the points, nor how they work, all you need to know is you are being graded."

"Because when you hit the right nerve, they think less about the situation." Rebecca said, starting to finally get it. "I'm trying to set up the perfect scenario, it just needs to be good enough to get to the next deal."

"Exactly, or at least close enough that me saying exactly will get you to agree and move on." Larmus nods again to the woman, "Its all about meeting in the middle, or, if possible, somewhere they think is the middle."

Rebecca rubbed one side of her face, "You're kind of great at this, teaching I mean."

"Five points. Thank you." Larmus sees the practical application of the lesson and accepts the compliment.

 

[Princess Scribe]

A Blood Pack dropship is silently roaring through the void of space, a paradox made real by the vacuum swallowing every sound. Its engines emit a glimmering blue thruster flame, scorching away rock and stone where its exhaust strikes, yet no noise accompanies this destruction. From the belly of this mechanical beast, Krogans alongside Rebecca leap into the abyss, floating the half-mile distance to their target—an Eezo extraction site nestled on an isolated asteroid.

This asteroid, a mere fifteen miles on each side, tumbles aimlessly through space. According to briefings that were more guesswork than fact, this floating rock was once part of a planet that had ventured too close to a sun, only to witness its fiery supernova a million years ago. Its surface is annoyingly flat, an expansive barren of muted grays under the starlight. Even from this distance, the site's purpose is unmistakable. Rebecca can see the makeshift structure of metal and polymer, a four-story edifice rising awkwardly from the asteroid's surface. It's flanked by a formation of guards, their figures small but discernible, clustered outside and hunkered behind makeshift barricades of rock and metal that reach chest high. The scene is a stark outpost of civilization slapped onto an uncaring slab of cosmic debris, standing defiant against the emptiness of space.

As the dropship continues its silent assault, the surrounding cosmos sprawls endlessly in all directions, stars twinkling like distant beacons guiding the way through the dark. The void feels both claustrophobic and infinitely vast, a frontier not just of space, but of survival and conflict.

"Vorcha are gonna be torn up by that." Krat points a finger as his radio crackles with connection to the internal comms of the Krogan and human team. The line of his pointing leads to a machine gun emplacement with a glimmering hardlight shield in front of it, letting the barrel and sights slip out, but otherwise nothing else. "So are we."

Beside it are another eight Batarians, all wearing various stripes of armour from merc bands no one's ever heard of because the Batarian government made them yesterday to have disposable assets for whatever purposes they wanted. Rifles in hand that glimmer a cherenkov blue, the colour of mass accelerators ready for siege. They hug cover, likely seeing the group as they are seen.

"Alright, well I either did this stupidest fucking thing in existence, or the smartest." Rebecca said to Krat. Over her comms, she clicked a button and, in the radio, barked, "Send in Twitchy."

A bright red streak flew over head. A hideously rusted pile of junk and bolts that had been patched together over a week from junkyard parts twirled and spun in the void. The engines, de-synchronized and glowing different shades of purple, would at times randomly cut out. The barest glimmer of a barrier showed as occasionally it hit a rock or dust. The mass accelerator on the bottom glowed, but swung dangerously the dying pneumatics making large hissing whines and groans as it aimed. Behind the flying salvage piece, was a small trail of rust and screws and other detritus that were seeming to peel off the ship.

The thing shouldn't have been capable of being controlled in flight. The very idea of it flew in the face of aeronautics, astronomy, physics, and plain common sense, but the vorcha had never practiced much science. Twitchy—belovedly dubbed for reasons that soon became apparent—seemed either oblivious or indifferent to his vessel's glaring dangers. As he juggled dozens of holo controls, the ship's path was a series of jerky arcs and trails, yet miraculously, it flew straight.

The machine gun opened fire immediately on the ship, sending an actinic spray of glimmering blue slugs along its course. The tracers followed the complicated maneuveours but seemed to always be a step behind the wild and utterly insane twists and turns. Rebecca couldn't help but giggle as she watched the scene unfold. She pictured the Batarians' frustration, realizing they were stuck firing their high-tech guns at what was essentially a flying junk heap with an oversized cannon. Meanwhile, swarms of jetpack-equipped Vorcha charged towards the front, adding to the chaos.

It's rather like a tide of flesh, thrusters rumbling silently as the Vorcha rush forwards at wholly unsafe speeds, some of them forgetting to decelerate and missing the Batarians, stumbling off and slamming into the building with painful crunches. Others are cut down by actually disciplined rifle fire by Batarians with real training.

Rebecca shakes Vrat, "It's working. It's working." She says, as she pulls up the omnitool. Giggling silently. A heads up display shows her the Vorcha who are reading dead. Many at the feet or on the building. She flicked a timer on the dead vorcha front line, watching as small bits of shrapnel exploded into the Batarians. Craters showing as parts of the building, and the enemy were obliterated by over-loaded mass effect thrusters.

Glowing, superheated orange omni-claws sprout from the savage combatants. Meanwhile, Twitchy cackles silently into the void. His unwieldy craft sputters and chokes, haphazardly firing thirty-millimeter slugs. The cannon wreaks havoc on the enemy's cover and randomly destroys equipment—though it scarcely manages to hit any actual combatants. He's trying.

"Probably should get going, the insides gonna be a mess." Krat grumbles, starting to run in wide strides, bouncing with the zero gee interestingly. The rest of the Krogans follow with the same stride.

"The insides is my favorite part!" Her eyes are glimmering as she breaks into a zero gee sprint. Instead of just walking she crouches, firing herself forward with as much strength as possible, like a bullet. She doesn't bother with gravitation, instead aiming herself at an angle so she can fire off another large pulse of her own energy, muscles straining as the asteroid rushes beneath her. Running seemed pointless when flight was on the table. Eventually she reached the side of the building, impacting it and holding on with cybernetic limbs and a clang, something with just enough give to let her not have to aim and focus solely on strength.

She looked behind and saw the krogans in the distance behind her. "Remember, most kills gets a bonus." Then flings herself towards the front line screaming past the vorcha. A surprised Batarian is slammed by a now nearly seven foot tall missile that consists of blades and manic bloodlust, tackled to the ground and pushed into a struggle. A cybernetic whirr leads to his arm coming off and a sudden vacuum ripping out blood that freezes and crystallizes oddly in the black.

Her assault rifle opens fire as combat instincts kick in. She falls to one knee and achieves a stable firing position while spewing sustained bursts that ignite kinetic barriers. The Batarians, fall back, hounded by Vorcha to the doorway.

Expensive comm relays were too delicate to trust to a vorcha, but tremendously useful for more intelligent combatants. They feed targeting telemetry to a distant rock, about fifty metres tall nearly four miles away. Anti-material rifle rounds punches down barriers and sends a spray of instant-freeze brain and bone out into the void. Vorcha fall upon more, and walls of munitions arrive from Krogans to kill the last of the front line, everyone arguing loudly as too whose kill that was.

As Rebecca and her team breach the entryway of the Eezo extraction facility, the atmosphere shifts palpably. They leave behind the vast emptiness of space for the claustrophobic confines of the facility. The corridors are narrow and oppressive, lined with cold, utilitarian metal that seems to absorb both light and sound. Pipes and conduits snake along the ceiling, pulsing with the lifeblood of the facility—power and Eezo-laden fluids. The air is thick with the acrid scent of lubricants, metallic tang of blood, and the faint, sharp scent of ionized particles left hanging after each shot fired.

The layout is a labyrinth designed more for function than ease of navigation. Sharp corners lead to long, straight stretches that offer little cover, making each step forward a calculated risk. Overhead lights flicker sporadically, casting erratic shadows that distort the perception of depth, adding an eerie, disorienting quality to the already tense advance. Every few meters, the walls are punctuated with heavy blast doors, sealed shut or left gaping open, leading to offshoots that could either be shortcuts or deadly detours.

Rebecca falls upon another Batarian, finding him strong enough to rip her gun out of her hands with a grimace of effort, but not sufficiently strong to stop her from gripping tightly at his hands and tearing off his arms. A steady pulse of blood pools beneath him while medigel is desperately injected to stop the traumatic bleed.

The building is well designed, and the Batarians are able fighters, locking down corridors with heavy fire and trying to control movement with locked doors, but when faced with cybernetic and Krogan strength, they can't. Rebecca is at the lead, grinning widely as the noise of screaming, gunshots and violence finally returns in a building with atmosphere. Vorcha are slaughtered at a great rate by automatics and tight quarters, but they're meant to be expendable, and their detonating engine packs when life signs stop mean they still can break positions given death.

Pulling a pistol, she puts a half-dozen rounds from the Striker into his neck, near-detaching the head before grabbing and throwing the thing at the first fighter to turn a corner. The detached skull cracks the next fighter in the helmet and stumbles him into the column that was following behind, giving both Krat, who has been directing the lower level battle, and her time to pull rifles up and flick to automatic, filling the hallway with ferrous slugs and scarlet arcs that paint in their own, random patterns of death.

"Be careful, Eezo's unstable!" Krat roars into the comms, slamming a Batarian into a wall and dispensing a shotgun blast from a second weapon into his gut, nearly bisecting him with the horrible damage done to his spine and connective tissue, offal and bone spilling out in a tide as the room everyone's here for reveals itself.

Vorcha go in first, tripping the wire and letting autocannon turrets bark their thunk, thunk, thunk of heavy calibre shells, tearing them to grizzly explosive chunks as Krat and Rebecca take cover around the entrace, a ten foot tall, ten foot wide cargo door into a storage centre for the mine. Other Krogan throw suppressive fire, but mostly take cover themselves as VI's do not care for suppression.

"What's the plan!?" Krat asks, staring at Rebecca while the turrets start digging in through the walls, APHE rounds threatening to make cover a thing of the past with every passing, terrifying second of heart-pounding adrenaline and blood. As she thinks, a smooth, Turian voice gets on comms, "Stop worrying so much and just give me....one....single....second."

Three shots pass through walls, the heavy slugs he's loaded into the sniper after tinkering with it for hours making the reinforced graphene more or less butter as the turrets fritz and sizzle, a thirty grain round ripping through their internals at hypersonic velocity and tearing out a spray of electronics, oil and hydraulic fluid.

"See, trust your sniper ladies and gentlemen." Camlos sounds very cocky and self-assured right now as the remaining Batarians are rushed by Krogans hungry for blood, shotguns, rifles and hands making mincemeat of them, limbs and heads flying free while a particularly angry Krogan, having been shot within an inch of his quad, sees fit to bite out a Batarian's eyes before killing them.

Leaving naught but the cherenkov blue magnetized containers of Eezo, creeks of blood flowing through the halls, and maybe a dozen Vorcha from the fifty Rebecca brought here.

"Oh, well if no-one has any objections, I'll just be taking these," Rebecca said to the room of corpses, "Hmm? No? You're so shy! Thank you."

She holds out her knife and slices off the lead Batarian's hand, identifying his markings from a photo. He screams, apparently only playing dead, and she returns the scream with a sharp stomp of the boot exploding the gushing melon that was once his skull. The hand is placed on a scanner, which pings open, and the crates begin to levitate on small thrusters, released from their clamps for transfer.

"Alright Krat," She yells as she begins to move the first container, "Get the boys, and lets get this shit out of here." Rebecca rarely gave the Krogan direct orders, instead just letting Krat handle it. None of them had gotten more spicy than her second could handle. At least not yet. The comms sparked at the signal of the Dropships coming down. The overwhelmed Batarians having lost any anti-air capabilities, and most of them now dead, or fleeing from the vorcha swarm.

Under her gaze, and a tight paranoia watching the horizon, she oversaw the first crate getting placed into a dropship, and double, then triple checked the pilot was precisely who they were supposed to be. As the crates were loaded, she examined the crates for trackers, extra loads, possible explosives. She made sure that she helped push each one closer to the door, to see if any of them were lighter than the others.

The long stretch of quiet as combat ends, but the mission continues. A constant repetitive hiss of oxygenation being the only background noise until, finally, after shipping the Krogan, the Vorcha, every crate, and whatever loot could be gathered, Rebecca and Krat got into the dropship themselves, and rode the fusion fire into the void-sky, coming alongside a freighter with civilian ID, but Blood Pack markings and docking inside a flight bay.

 

[Princess Scribe]

With the mission accomplished and their cargo secured, Rebecca and her team make their way back to the Blood Pack carrier. The dropship docks smoothly in the hangar, its engines humming a low, steady goodbye as the doors seal shut behind them. Inside the carrier, the mood is one of cautious relief mixed with the fatigue of a hard-fought victory. As the ship begins its journey back through the star-studded void, each member of the team has a moment to reflect on the chaos left behind and the quiet that now envelops them, save for the soft thrum of the carrier's engines guiding them home.

"Five credits they're fighting." Krat mutters as his mask is removed, letting fresh instead of recycled air into his lungs.

"That's why we gave them extremely advanced comms and shit," Rebecca said, with a deep breath of air, "I can just pull up combat stats and say, 'That one wins that argument.' Just need to break up any physical shit. They've been trusting it with their lives this entire time, so they should trust it with calculating the best one."

"I can do that bit, your boytoy should be coming up soon." Krat says, getting off the ship with a hiss of servos, "How'd the fuck did he afford a personal gunship?" He's still on that, having been unbelievably baffled no matter how many times Camlos explained that he knew someone who wanted it off their hands for cheap.

"It's a weird fleshy thing," Rebecca shrugged, "For some reason Turians, Humans, and Asari all hook each other up with deals and shit. Probably owed Camlos a favor, and part of the ship's price was that." Though she did growl a bit at the idea, "He won't let me drive it either. Dickhead."

"I asked, his words were." As Krat grabs one of the Krogan who was headbutting another one and tosses the younger male skidding across the floor with a thunk-clang of hardsuit smashing into metal, "'When Turians and Krogan declare they love eachother and will forever be friends, I might let you touch the turret controls'. Your boyfriend is an asshole." Another Krogan attempts to leap at the whelp Kratt just subdued, but he's swiftly crumpled by a powerful kick that sends him tumbling to the ground.

Finally, when the violence had died down, Rebecca gave a shout to the Krogan crowding and bickering. "The fuck is wrong with all of you? You know who did best. You've got a fuckin' read out, the strongest gets first pick. In order, remember this next time and do better." The command is backed by a stomp and a growl from Krat as her first sergeant, threatening great violence if they don't listen.

The Krogan grumble and mumble, but don't pick a fight with their elder nor their employer yet, though an authority struggle's likely somewhere on the horizon, at least from a Vorcha, there's always one or two Vorcha. Always.

The hiss of advanced engines burning low is a clear sign that Camlos is now on the ship, and he chuckles from the cockpit that pops open, joking, "If total kills are the mark of first pick, Rebecca, I should be scrounging in that hole of guns." He hops off the gunship, a sleek model of VTOL that has an underslung rotary cannon and rocket pods that glimmer with high explosive warheads.

"You chose a different hole to scrounge in months ago, no take backs on that." Rebecca said with a laugh. She gave him a hard punch on the shoulder as she lit up a small cigarillo with a plastic tip, and tasted of violently over-flavored imitation grape. A small luxury she afforded herself after her first successful mission.

"The fuck's in your mouth?" Camlos asks, putting an arm around Rebecca's waist after the excitement of a gunfight.

"It's a uh... Purple flavored cigarillo?" She laughed as she moved it to the side of her mouth and exhaling a cloud of what could only be described as hideously noxious smoke. The Turian gives a rumble, shaking his head in the smoke.

"Tastes good, but smells like a chlorine attack." He comments at the cloud, waving it away from his face amused. "That doesn't... choke you?"

"I'm very grateful for modern medicine, yeah. Humans would die at fifty sometimes from the problems of smoking these things." Rebecca inhaled, and then kissed him, letting the breaths between them push and pull the smoke into a small cloud around their head. "I'm good at holding my breath." She whispered.

Camlos gives a short cough as his mandibles relax, "I'm very aware." He jokes with a sparkle to his gaze, not leaning away in the slightest as he gently presses his forehead into Rebecca's. Making Krat mildly gag at the sight of relationship as he goes off to handle something more important. "You're really hot." Camlos trills at the sight of Rebecca.

He's not as good at compliments as Lisa, but what he lacks in verbal skill, he makes up in raw uncontained enthusiasm. She can't help but giggle, there's a small part of her that can't help but look forward to a Krogan challenging her, none of them are strong as Krat. She'd publically beat them without a knife or gun. Then the threat wouldn't just be failure but humiliation.

It was difficult to stay present. Since taking her promotion—literally taking it from Kratt—work and strategic planning had consumed every spare moment of her life. Although it was fulfilling and aligned with her ambitions, the relentless demands were taxing.

Combat was less than a day of work, actually doing the thing she loved was, at most a reward, for grueling logistical labor. She only got more frustrated, as Vorcha and Krogan mumbled about "weak paper-pushers," who "don't do the real work," when Kratt and Rebecca weren't in the room. However, her strategic placement of bribes and surveillance around the bar area allowed her to keep a vigilant eye on potential threats.

It shouldn't matter what they think, none of them would even get a chance at what she was doing, the ones who even tried would be obliterated as a threat in seconds. She couldn't help focusing on it, letting it subsume everything else important. The whole point of the work, of everything was recognition. That she was the best combatant, the best leader, the best mercenary. The best everything.

"You're getting in your head again," Camlos softly trills, looking a tad concerned, letting his talons tap a pattern on the hardsuit in something that's a common loving gesture among Turians.

"Sorry, doing math." Rebecca said with a small laugh, "Takes up a lot of thinking space."

A trill escapes Camlos at the excuse, "You're lying to me. 'Bout what though?" He asks, following along with Rebecca up to the gunship for some privacy.

"Ugh." Rebecca said, once she was in the passenger seat of the gunship, letting the sealed canopy come down. Once it was closed, she took a second to observe the outside surroundings, trying to place what she could hear, versus the noise it should be making. "I thought joining the Blood Pack, beating the guy in charge down, and doing missions and shit successfully would make the other morons go 'huh, shouldn't fuck with that' instead, they just think, 'Well, she obviously didn't earn that.'"

"I see the issue, you're dealing with idiots." Camlos responds to Rebecca, noting the subtle signs of stress he's learnt through rote exposure and trying to soothe them with a trill and a hand that's presence is fed through the haptic feedback of her hardsuit, "Maybe....you should pick up some people that aren't thirty year old Krogans? Turians or Humans that'll actually understand what having a supply line means."

"Turians in the Blood Pack," Rebecca said with a laugh, "They'd never even consider it."

"Dunno why you wanna be in the Blood Pack so bad. You got a platoon, you got money, you know someone that can get jobs....go independent." Camlos offers, twisting and turning in the cockpit to put his head in Rebecca's lap, looking up towards her and letting his trill vibrate through his neck and into her.

Rebecca sent a message, it was a good idea, but it was also something Vro setup. She didn't know what arms he broke for this.

Private Message to Quadzilla Rebecca If I went solo with my platoon. Would that be stupid? Quadzilla You got jobs lined up? Equipment hashed out? Transport? Any of that? Rebecca I made the connects for everything but jobs. Quadzilla So get the jobs. If you were already doing this, you know what's left to do, idiot. Rebecca I thought you helped me get the blood pack gig? Quadzilla I called an idiot to tell them you were coming so they didn't quarter you. You got the job yourself. Rebecca Dinozzo Fucking ***sivk*** sick. Quadzilla I bet Camlos talked you into this. Rebecca I didn't need to be talked into it. The idea came up, I needed to know why it was or wasn't dumb. It's business. Quadzilla Dumbass. Do what you think is right on your own. I'm not gonna hover over every decision. Star being smart on your own star star star fuck you Rebecca Nah, that was smart as shit. Collecting data and stuff. Thanks. I'm still going to pester you for advice <3

"At some point he'll start ignoring the texts. Don't think it'll be soon though." Camlos considers from Rebecca's lap, having been staring at the omnitool throughout with budding amusement. "You realize what you are to him right?"

"Yeah. If I say it out loud though it's going to freak me out." Rebecca whispered quietly, "That's stupid though. It's a good thing. I'm like a... Kid. No, like his kid." Yep, she definitely felt like freaking out, the anxiety of the situation and vulnerability hitting her like a finger-flick from god on the chest. Still, it was true she acknowledged it.

"Yeah." Camlos says, reaching out and holding Rebecca's hand gently, "That's, uh.....intense, I know." He tries to comfort her, starting to quietly mentally scramble for words to use.

"It definitely is, yeah." Rebecca takes a deep breath, trying to remember what she was supposed to say, how she needed to express herself. It fucking sucked to try and do while her heart was going a hundred miles a minute. "It's scary, because it's new, but that doesn't make it bad. Realizing doesn't... Change what it was, or what it might be."

"You're really fucking brave, you know that?" The Turian smiles at the display, pulling her hand to his chest, letting the fingers brush on rough, angled plates.

She laughed quietly, and took a shuddering gasp, "Yes I am." Her fingers gently moved across reaching up to his neck, stroking the side of the Turian's mandible to soft trills. "Thanks for not leaving when I tried to blow off your legs."

"You're stuck with me, hope you realize." Camlos idly responds, leaning into Rebecca's touch, the cybernetic limbs now easily strong enough to throw him around, yet still trusted to never really hurt him anymore. "Turian's bond for life, we just mate for fun."

And that was that for a time.

In the shadowed corners of Omega, under the neon lights and ceaseless noise, Rebecca found her own kind of peace. She shared a condo with Camlos and Lisa, turning it into a stronghold of normalcy amidst their chaotic lives. Here, amidst the clatter of dishes and the murmur of shared plans, bonds were strengthened. Regular dinners with Vro and Kratt brought laughter and camaraderie, softening the harshness of their daily struggles.

She continued lessons with Larmus in socialization and etiquette, as Rebecca honed the finer points of interaction that were so vital outside the battlefield.

The galaxy buzzed with distant dramas: Spectres turning on each other, Eden Prime annihilated, some war hero named Shepherd destroying a research station on Noveria, and disturbances caused by Geth in forgotten corners of space. These were mere background noise to Rebecca, who was more concerned with the immediate realities of Omega and her expanding role within it.

From this close-knit circle, Rebecca led the Worthy Fists, a mercenary troop born from the best of the Blood Pack unblooded. They managed the skirmishes and power struggles of Omega with a practiced hand, treating each conflict as just another day at the office. Throughout this period, Rebecca also enhanced her combat effectiveness with strategic cybernetic upgrades, integrating advanced tech with her already formidable skills.

For Rebecca and her chosen family, love was the true measure of strength, and they built a future where this was the cornerstone. In the heart of Omega, they didn't just survive—they thrived. This was their life now, a delicate balance of power, diplomacy, and occasional force, preparing them for whatever challenges the next chapter might bring.

 

[Princess Scribe]

You know who it is.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Club Afterlife had been a feast for the eyes and ears. Trance music had bounced off the circular halls lit in orange light. An Asari dancer had beguiled the eyes and senses amidst a sea of smoke and stares on a central dance stage, while customers laughed, joked, and drank with one another. Some reached mutual decisions to leave together, while others had arrived intent on lingering.

Rebecca had found herself flanked by two Asari who had looked her up and down as though she were fresh meat. The women, scarred and muscular with skins respectively colored in shades of purple and light blue, wore faux-leather over slim, bodysuits with hardened plates on their vital parts. They were practically naked in the grand scheme of things. They had guided her surprisingly gently towards a side of the club.

As Rebecca walked, she had used the WhereWe@ app on her omni-tool to confirm that Lisa was sleeping, safe on the Citadel. This insight was provided by several months of back-and-forth conversations shared in their chat, dating from the time Lisa left to present. Their exchanges had occurred amidst periods of distance, but they had always managed to communicate consistently.

Group message with: Poly-Playhouse Doctor Girlfriend I love you too, I miss you. Just two more days, I'll have the vaccines ready.

The clinic had been struggling to contend with the plague. A new disease had been sweeping the streets of Omega, posing a tiresome, loathsome obstacle between her and her lover's rest and relaxation. Yet, the knowledge of an incoming vaccine, that would eliminate the disease, filled her with gratitude.

A year earlier, Aria's odd game would have made Rebecca lose her cool. Aria's secretary accepted the two hundred thousand credits Which seemed fine, until that was pushed up again, by two weeks, then pulled back by a week, then she had missed an important meeting waiting for a no show, and she was called again to reschedule. The way things kept lining up in ways that made her life frustrating had developed a pattern.

However, when Rebecca began to add layers of secrecy to her dealings and bolstered her security, a new appointment was scheduled. This time it felt different, as if she had passed some sort of test.

She had donned a business suit complete with a barrier underneath and armored plates within the sports coat. Her wild, red curls cascaded over her shoulders in untamed ringlets. Rebecca sported more metal additions; her eyes had been perfectly sculpted to capture and emit light. Strangely, her replacement eyes had made humans less apprehensive around her making them perhaps her best investment.

Decorative, gold emblems adorned the corners of her peach button-down collar, buttoned up to the neckline, and layered with a tailored, low-cut vest resembling a concealed bustier. Accompanying the open coat that matched her vest were her slick, gator-skin boots. Her ears, embellished with tiny spikes, peeked through her crimson curls.

Aria was easy to spot. She had an easy, yet intimidating allure to her, practically lounging on a throne flanked by guards. She preferred to lay on her side and watch with a white jacket thrown over a strappy corset, revealing her sides and hip bones. Her lower half was covered in tight synthetic pants that conformed perfectly to her divine body shape.

Her eyes were empty, purple, and organic, but far from alive. The smile on her face was a facade, a poor one at that. She made no effort to mimic the affectations of what could be considered polite society in her expressions. She was a purely honest and murderous predatory huntress, a Queen of criminals. She was someone a station full of traitors and killers couldn't imagine ever crossing, accepting a supplicant.

One of the Asari guards grabbed Rebecca's arm with a grin, lifting it up and around herself to get a scanner into the human's side. The scanner confirmed Rebecca was indeed who she said she was by genetic information, proving they had her genes on record somehow. "Prince or pauper, everyone gets scanned," the woman chuckled. She slid out from the self-imposed hold and let Rebecca stand before the silent T'loak.

Rebecca reached into her suit and pulled out a pocket flask containing what could only be described as "Fermented Maple Syrup." This foul cheap drink, with the consistency of prison wine, had become something she loved despite its quality. It was sugary, nearly eighty percent alcohol, and most importantly, anyone with good taste despised it. It was not the drink of socialites and rich suits.

 

[Princess Scribe]

"That's close enough," Aria stated with finality, freezing everyone who could hear her. No one was quite sure who she meant, save Rebecca, who felt the Asari's gaze bearing down with very real pressure. "Rebecca Dinozzo. Ghost in the records, ice cube, mercenary. What brings you here?" She was blunt, not yet playing games with words.

The flask was put away slowly, and Rebecca said, "I'm new-ish in town," she started, "I was told nothing happens in Omega without your say-so. The way we did it back then, you went to the Queen, or Don, or Boss." She led with 'Queen,' to make sure it was clear she recognized the title, "You paid respects, asked for a blessing so you wouldn't make their lives harder. Bend the knee, that sort of thing. I started a merc company."

"Pay respects? I like that," Aria said, still not moving from her position, resting her head on a hand, staring at Rebecca coldly. "Well?" Her free hand idly gestured, culminating the motion in a hang just in front of her, presenting a ring-less hand. "I'm waiting."

"I'm still adjusting, so if this is rude, that's... Well, it was nice meeting you," Rebecca said with a laugh, before gently taking the Asari's hand and tenderly kissing the ring finger. It was a stupid game; it didn't mean anything, just business.

"Your mercs. What's the name?" she casually asked, pulling her hand free from Rebecca's grip and letting it rest on her hip again, relaxed on the curve as music pulsed and a trickle of smoke from the stage crept down past her, giving the throne a mythic and ancient look beyond all the glinting technology in every corner.

Rebecca grinned at Aria, turning her translator off for a split second because it butchered the name every time. In practiced Krogan, she said, "Logh Mogr," then clicked it back on, "I'm pretty fond of it." The Asari guards to the left and right rolled their eyes in amusement, leaning on one leg or the other as they still kept an eye on the cybered human.

The Queen of Omega didn't look impressed, though perhaps a light trickle of life slipping into her eyes found Rebecca to be maybe an inch past forgettable. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, Dinozzo. Don't waste my time," she commanded, not warning, but ordering her to be entertaining, while the music shifted as if in tune with her mood, gaining a thrumming bass to it as the lights flickered blue and purple between the rays of orange.

"I've yet to disappoint, ma'am," Rebecca responded back, extremely pleased with herself. "Would it waste your time if I stayed?" She wasn't asking, 'Can we fuck,' or 'Am I dismissed?' but signaling that she heard the command and was ensuring to obey. She showed that she didn't assume and asked for information when needed. That was what she was trying, at least, but it was also an open invitation to be more involved.

It was the price to pay to be interesting.

"You're really trying, aren't you," Aria considered, observing the woman with a benign disconnection, a separation that only a ruler can manage. She started to make a circle with her fingertip on her thigh, circling in eye-catching, spine-tingling shapes that seemed to have a paranormal efficacy on everyone around her.

With a pre-programmed glint, Rebecca said, "I've been told I can be very trying, yes." She didn't take her gaze away from anyone in the room.

The glints were nearly completely ignored as Aria still considered, her purple lips and magenta skin intermingling with the black swirling Asari tattoos which marked her as a Matriarch, cataloging her mates of importance. All the things Lisyris taught Rebecca to read, several names on the list vaguely popped in her head as important—politicians or something.

"You might not walk out of here, Dinozzo," Aria stated, her eyes searching for a trickle of fear. She still hadn't answered the question originally posed, instead opting to dance around each other in a dark game of words and glances. Emotions were both the way to win and the nails in the coffin simultaneously.

"You're holding the key," she continued. "Too scared to use it?" The Queen didn't clarify anything as her fingers continued their hypnotic swirl, forcing Rebecca to wrack her mind about something.

Rebecca took a moment, looked around the room making sure to make eye contact with a few of the people there, slowly looking back to Aria. "I think I'll be fine, unless you stopped me."

"She doesn't see the lock," Aria chuckled darkly, the light in her eyes darkening back to dead as she stopped moving her hand. The Queen then gave a ray of hope, gifting it to a supplicant, "Earn my time, Dinozzo. Come back with someone important's head. We can try again."

"I didn't know there were other important people in Omega," Rebecca said, "I uh, brought a head with me already though. I thought I was supposed to bring a gift." That caught her interest.

The light sparked back to life as Aria returned her attention like a weighted blanket whose absence was being noted, searching for the head with a sharp eye. "I don't seem to see it," she said as the lights flared purple, casting her in long, dark shadows that made her biotically charged eyes look like orbs of dark energy.

Rebecca pulled out her omnitool, displaying a picture. "It was a little hard to wrap." The image showed the inside of an Eezo shipping container with a struggling human, gagged and bound. "This is Benethin Marcos. Benethin approached me with an offer to sell me all sorts of secrets to get in here."

She sent a request to share files to Aria's multi-tool, transferring over documents, pictures, and even hypothetical connections—an entire vault of notes, highlighted, tagged, and connected with easy searching. "These are who else Benethin has sold to. Green is confirmed, yellow is something he said but I couldn't confirm, red was something he said and we confirmed wasn't true. I wasn't going to dig too deep into things that aren't my business."

"Hmm," Aria hummed her appreciation at the images. Instead of accepting the omnitool request, she reached out and grabbed Rebecca's arm, showing it to herself. She wasn't stronger than the steel and wire that made up Rebecca, but the high gravity origin of her species and her practiced physique allowed her to handle the metal limb easily enough.

Rebecca gently leaned in, pressing her palm on the small of Aria's back. It wasn't forceful, not even trying to show it was entirely intentional. Then she spoke low, not quietly because the speakers were loud, but performatively, attempting to be a showman. "I'm rarely a waste of time."

"You think you've earned my attention?" It was an idle question, the menace implied if Rebecca got it wrong as the lights flared to blue, casting everything in long shadows and a blue light, with the touch on her lower back doubling back with sensation up her arm.

Rebecca froze for a half-second. "I…" She steeled herself, "I think if I back down now, I'm eating a bullet." The lights flickered purple with orange as the music transitioned to something techno, heavy, and powerful.

"Going forward might get you the same," Aria murmured in an oddly soft voice, like a siren luring prey, the rocks visible but the wind forcing the ship towards them anyway. "How brave are you, Dinozzo?" she asked coyly, or threateningly, letting the menace linger as she was cast in smoke and light in the ways of myth and monsters.

"I'd rather be shot in the chest than in the back," Rebecca realized she had started to hyperventilate, just a little. She could kill everyone here, but she couldn't kill Aria. That was a powerful matriarch. Half of the killers here scared Rebecca about as much as the vorcha she commanded.

Rebecca leaned her head in, touching it against Aria's. Though she wondered if that was a bad play. She was scared, her skin a bit clammy, and every nerve screamed to run. "I'm brave, but not very confident."

There was a press of something cold and metallic just underneath Rebecca's chest, against a rib, as she froze. "Now, you're wondering where you messed up," Aria idly breathed out into the human's ear, letting her voice drag fear out like a feast.

"I'm thinking," Rebecca said out loud, not pulling away, completely locked in place. "If my GI Tract gets mag-dumped, I maybe make it over the railing. Maybe. It's fifty-fifty if I get out."

"If I don't let you go, your chances drop to zero," Aria smiled cruelly as the heavy Carnifex pistol in her hand, a model Rebecca had seen punch holes in combat mechs, much less civilian kinetic barriers and synthetic coats, pressed in, angling up. "Could let the round rip through your heart, get a nice pop of human red on my hand, maybe get a few seconds of time with just us." She let the threat linger longer and longer. The guards were tense, the music aggressive, some sort of alien rock, the lights permanently shifted to a dark and consuming purple.

"I can be brave and scared, ma'am," Rebecca said with a weak laugh. "But if you shoot my heart, it does prove I was worth the time." The Carnifex pistol began to whine as its electromagnetic rails charged, Aria feathering the trigger, any more pressure could send the slug into Rebecca. Running, trying to disarm her, or even breathing too hard could trigger it.

Aria leaned up, inch by inch, and gave a kiss, letting her lips press into Rebecca's as the gun didn't move, the trigger still feathered. Tiny scars on the bottom lip gave the whiskey-sweet taste of Aria a textured background while her tongue slipped into the human woman's mouth, taking charge in a delightfully soft and kind way that was at odds with the hum of a lethal weapon. In front of a club full of the most powerful people in Omega, in crime, Rebecca was allowed to break the most important rule of Omega, at least in part.

Separating with a heady mist about her, shudders of sensation passing through Rebecca, she found touching a Matriarch in truth almost divine. Someone who hadn't let an ounce of ability fade in any respect, Aria unfeathered the trigger, allowing the whine to die down, and a painful background anxiety to fade. "Don't fuck with me, Rebecca," the Queen warned, a courtesy, a luxury, a gift beyond gifts as she allowed the other woman to catch her breath and exist.

"Yes ma'am. Thank you, ma'am," Rebecca gasped. She considered asking whether she had given that impression. She had come in stating she was new, her cockiness could have implied a simple unawareness of the danger. Rebecca needed a slap for that, but she had proven she wasn't worth killing. It was a working theory; it was really hard to remember Larmus' lessons while having a panic attack.

At least the meds helped keep it an inside panic attack. While Aria let the gun hang, not dismissing Rebecca yet, just watching the woman experience her presence in the softening orange light and pulsing dance music with a cruel smile, enjoying the fear as much as she enjoyed giving a reward for facing it.

"I won't mess with you. I want to be a name, not the name, ma'am," Rebecca felt like she needed to sit down, and quickly squeezed her palm with the forefinger and thumb of her other hand, an old human trick to quickly kill anxiety. Then, she was back in place, recollected and put together.

"Good. You're learning," Aria teased with a tinge of venom in her voice, and a light in her eyes that seemed determined to stay now—a blessing bestowed, or maybe a curse. "Now the question still stands. Do I let you leave?" She placed a cool hand on the back of Rebecca's neck, letting her fingers interlace through the ringlets nearby and idly tighten there, giving it a half-second's thought of whether or not to allow this.

"I think I will, Dinozzo. Good luck. Make sure I don't bury you." The Asari Matriarch gave a shove that forced Rebecca to her feet and to take three steps off the stairway. It was as clear a sign of being dismissed as anything.

Rebecca couldn't help but smile slightly as she left. She hadn't been killed, she proved her worth, and she got the attention she was looking for. The sex would have been nice, but that was never on the table. Though she was aware that she had announced to a room full of hired killers that she would be able to defeat them as a group, it still wasn't the worst boast she could have made.

She was going to ruin Camlos later, though. Then Krat, then Camlos again. They all earned it.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Lisa's spacious condo had two rooms: one for Lisa and one for Camlos, while Rebecca had a very plush roll-out futon, an over-stuffed blanket in most regards, that she dragged to either room to sleep on. She had always hated beds; to her, beds truly only had one purpose, something soft to roll around or play in, then left to be cleaned while sleep was done somewhere in a corner, quiet, comfortable, and safe.

Camlos's room had fit almost everything from his old apartment. Though there were a few additions, mostly tokens of appreciation from Rebecca as she tried to show love in her own special way. It was still a confusing thing, even years later, but she could tell that Camlos and Lisa enjoyed when she tried, and she enjoyed their company more than being alone. Which seemed to work for everyone involved.

A sweet scent filled the air as Kratt lay on the floor, pools of blood forming beneath the sleeping Krogan from a half dozen non-lethal bullet wounds as Rebecca smoked a cigarillo. The misty cloud of grape-scented smoke rose and flavored the room, while Camlos stared forward in a mix of aftershocks from pain, ecstasy, and experience, his head on Rebecca's chest, underneath one of her arms, embraced and held.

Rebecca gave him a light kiss on the head. It had taken a day and a half, but she had finally gotten rid of the pit of anxiety that talking to Aria had given her. She won, she realized; she had pushed very far forward but showed she was brave but not stupid. They'd need to tip the cleaning service, though. Everything in the room was covered in the essences of life.

"You did so well, baby," Rebecca whispered quietly into the back of the Turian's head, "You're so brave, and you saved my life." She gave him a gentle, tender kiss on the back of the head, making a trill escape him, sinking into the earned love with murmured Turian the translator couldn't quite manage to pick up.

"You... feeling better?" Camlos found some language that worked with his state, his tongue idly flicking out to lick at Rebecca's chest, still not quite over the last day of activities, moving on guided instinct at this point.

He was stroked absentmindedly by Rebecca, her hands gently manipulating his scalp. "Yeah, I'm just nervous without Lisa," Camlos confessed.

"Yeah, it's kinda weird when she's not around," he admitted with a rumbling trill.

"We both behave better because we know no one will break it up," Rebecca said. "The weirdest little ceasefire." The joke made Camlos hiss-chuckle, a familiar noise, a welcome sign that he was enjoying Rebecca's company as always.

"Mhmm, haven't even shot at me this week. Gotta thank Kratt for being a bullet sponge," Camlos looked over to the still-sleeping Krogan, not particularly caring where he had decided to take his nap, leaving Camlos as the sole partner to Rebecca for six hours. "Could you shoot him some more? Makes me happy."

"No," Rebecca said, gently bapping him on the head. "He's pretending to sleep to give you alone time, you dingus."

"Oh. Thanks." Camlos pivoted his perspective before settling, untensing into Rebecca. "Hey, Becky," he trilled in a constant undertone, just beneath the surface of every word and phrase now. "You wanna know something?"

"Yeah, tell me."

"I love you, like, a lot," Camlos calmly admitted in Rebecca's arms. "I think about you all the time. Want you all the time. I dunno if I can like..." He considered exactly what he was saying, how far into truth he was really willing to go, to admit, "Live without you anymore." His eyes, reptilian slits wide, nervous, looked up at Rebecca.

Rebecca looked down at Camlos. She paused for a moment to think about it, could she live without Calmos anymore? What good would admitting that do? There seemed like a right and wrong answer, and it must have been so hard to admit. "That's good, I feel the same way," her eyes swelled with tears, and she nodded, touched by his sudden vulnerability. "I can't exist without my family. I'd die, be something completely different."

Rebecca made a small groan as her omnitool beeped. "Oh no," she said quietly, under her breath.

"What's wrong?" Camlos asked, looking up at her.

Absentmindedly, she replied, "I think Lisa might have found the tracker I tried to sneak under her skin." Rebecca showed the Turian the app, which displayed the names Lisa, Vro, Kratt, and Camlos. Lisa's signal was missing, showing her last known position on the Citadel.

Camlos frowned at the signal. "Check that band; that's not... that's jamming, not breaking," he commented, leaning towards the omnitool, briefly forgetting to react to his name being on the list. "Look at the frequency shuddering; something's blacking out signals across the Citadel. Like, a fleet's E-War battalion." The digital display of a band of signal, which might as well have been magic to Rebecca, did indeed seem to shudder.

It didn't matter; she had to get to the Citadel. "Kratt, get up; we're going. Camlos, get your gear; I'll call Vro." The Krogan grumbled to his feet upon being called, stomping over to his equipment as an emergency alert appeared on the television—a C-News broadcast from what appeared to be the deck of the Destiny Ascension, the Asari Dreadnought.

Direct Message to Quadzilla Rebecca Check the news. We're going to the Citadel. Quadzilla Just saw it, someone's hitting the Citadel with a fleet. Look like Geth ships. Rebecca I don't care if it's The Buddha himself, I'm killing everything between me and Lisa.

Direct Message to Secretary of Aria Rebecca I don't know who to call. I need an ID so I can get to the citadel. I want to ask Aria for help. Please. [Credits sent 200,000] Secretary of Aria Of course, Miss T'Loak will see you in the next fifteen minutes. Don't be late!

Why are all the women in her life like this? Why are Asari matriarchs like this? Rebecca muttered to herself. "You guys get the ship going."

She didn't bother with dressing up, opting instead for cargo pants, a tank top, and a heavy assault rifle slung across her back. Both men looked at her slightly confused as she opened fire on the bedroom window and jumped out, landing on the heavy traffic of flying cars below. It was shocking that people still drove past this apartment building.

From the room, they could hear her yelling, though her voice was quickly moving away. "Give me your fucking car or I paint the insides of it with you!"

"Ag-ag-again!?" a scared Salarian voice cried out from inside.

 

[Princess Scribe]

Afterlife was less intimidating the second time through, at least. Two guards, the same ones as before, moved Rebecca into the club with fewer games than last time, though the one who seemed to enjoy touching her was conversational on the way up. "You like Asari? Who am I kidding, everyone likes Asari." She chuckled as her eyes went up and down the tall, cybernetically enhanced woman, with orange light gleaming off her metallic eyes, mixing in with the blue of omnitools.

"I like everyone, but the real barrier to entry is being Lohgr er... Worthy? Strong." Rebecca pulled up a video on her terminal, showing a group photo of her with her family. "That's my family, the matriarch and Krogan fought in the Krogan Rebellion, the green Krogan is the second in command in my mercenary troop. The twink is one of the most decorated snipers Omega might have seen. I love them so much," she said with glee.

"Oh wow. Your twink looks breakable," the guard stated, standing on her toes to look into the omnitool as she walked along, the five-foot-three woman having some difficulty making the distance.

"Snipers are like that, yeah," Rebecca nodded, leaning low. "The fucking Citadel just exploded, so I've got to go find her."

"You've not been keeping up, have you?" the Asari said as they reached a turn.

"No?" Rebecca said suddenly, a little frightened. "No, I had fifteen minutes. I stole a car."

"Yeah, the Asari dreadnought, Alliance fleet, and some big robot spaceship are still slugging it out." After one more turn and a set of stairs, Aria was lounging in a wide spread, her legs left to sprawl down her throne as she relaxed for one more night of rulership.

"Yeah, I need an Alliance IFF tag so I don't get blown up when we slip out there," Rebecca had been saying loudly to anyone who would listen, clearly frazzled. She made panicked, anxious movements, and repeatedly toyed with now sweaty unkempt hair. She was no longer in suit, and when someone tried to check her for a gun, her instinct had to be fought as she slapped the hand down and reached for her knife.

Then she remembered where she was, backed up, and undid a buckle, throwing a bandolier of grenades, knives, and an assault rifle on the floor. Instead of bothering with anything else, she asked, "Can I start begging now?" Aria had a quirk to her lip at that, staring at Rebecca with the same light in her gaze, the interest that spelled safety and opportunity as much as it did doom and gloom.

"Any time you want, really," the Queen of Omega shrugged, starting to tap at her leg idly.

"Please, I do not have the contacts necessary to jump into space with the Alliance and not get shot out of the sky," Rebecca said quickly, moving past and actually sitting beneath Aria. "I need a ship with an Alliance IFF, an ID, and a Callsign. I can pay, I can work, it's my family. My family is on the Citadel."

Aria chuckled, rolling her eyes at the brazen show of a connected weakness. "Your family's gonna be the reason you work for me," she declared. One of her hands reached down to cup Rebecca's cheek, the scars on the palm from a lifetime of conflict making, for once, Rebecca feel like the soft one. "You agree to that? Now, till I let you go? If ever," she added, the threat in her offer apparent, testing how far Rebecca would fold on this matter, assessing how much of a weak point it truly was.

"They come first, their parties, their birthdays, their safety, their doctor appointments. Them first, other than that, anything," Rebecca said, and in her eyes was a fire that she had clearly been hiding last time. She would stare death in the face and slice at gods to keep what she had.

The Queen in front of her impassively met her gaze and considered, holding fate in the grip of word and command alone. She let her mind roil and rumble, letting Rebecca panic, control herself, and then panic anew as smoke billowed past her.

Don't open fire. Don't open fire. Don't open fire. Rebecca knew this was the quickest way, but her panic was that she'd get in a firefight, and waste time. There was no sense of danger or death. She had to control herself or time would be wasted.

Discipline. It was time for discipline. "One caveat," Aria murmured, letting her hand support Rebecca's jaw by sliding it underneath. "Just the one." She let the suspense drag on further, teasing with panic and looking for fear in the human's eyes, delighting in finding none here. "My birthday comes first." The sudden shift in tone was followed by a glimmer of lights turning to pink as she let go of Rebecca's jaw.

"It's gonna be weird now if I ask what position I'd be filling, but I don't know the polite way to say what's the work," Rebecca grumbled, a little upset that she hadn't figured that out yet. "Etiquette classes fucking suck."

"I haven't decided. It'll be in flux 'till I see what you're good at," Aria assured Rebecca as she pressed three buttons on her omnitool, a chit starting to print off piece by piece. "I'll take care of you, Rebecca," she promised, somehow making those words spine-chilling.

"Thank you, thank you," Rebecca said. She wasn't thinking and gave Aria a peck on the cheek before running to get her things. She quickly dressed, and instead of wasting time with the hallways and bullshit, she leapt off the side of Aria's balcony. It was clear she intended to put all of her weight on her knee, as the plate shattered.

A medigel hypo was injected that quickly reset the damage. She hadn't stopped sprinting, though she did limp for a moment as the medigel rebuilt the knee, and the assault rifle was already in her hands.

A few moments later, local news across Omega received notes of massive grand theft auto as Krogan and Turians, with cabins full of Vorcha, snatched every available transport vehicle and descended toward a single docking bay. Nearly a hundred cars were stolen in less than ten minutes.

---

The ship Aria offered was a cutter, a ten-man corvette that looked blazingly fast, with Asari curves throughout. Rushing in with a tide of Vorcha and Krogan, Turians followed behind the stampede as intelligence dictated. The hardbitten Asari Commando crew started eyeing the Krogan and Turians, not reacting to them except to clarify things like, "Get the fuck off the controls," or "I'll twist your quads into pretzels if you don't fuck off." They were incredibly nice otherwise.

"Hi, Rebecca Dinozzo, leader of the Mighty Fists, and the dumbest, craziest human on Omega. By far," Rebecca shot a winning smile as she slid in. "We're going to the Citadel, and we're going to fuck some people up."

"Gotcha. Through the active fleet battle? You're cool," the commander or pilot, a smirking, middle-aged Asari with an eye that glowed purple, the scar over it looking suspiciously like a Turian claw mark, kicked the antimatter-pumped fusion drive into gear, screaming out of the dockyard to the terrified screams of workers.

"Yes!" Rebecca said with a big grin. "The only sad part about all of this is that Geth are robots. So no blood probably."

Rebecca opened the comm line to every mercenary in her band, "If you didn't make it to the ship, you didn't get the job. That's how it works. Better luck next time." To much distaste from the Krogan who were half-clothed and annoyed at the outside of the dockyard.

Vorcha crooned in victory while the Krogan who were ready chuckled at their coworkers' slowness. The Turians, on the other hand, started talking amongst themselves about scheduling and how this was getting annoying, "I'd like to be able to plan family time better, you know?" one said to a female, who rolled her eyes, "You're the only merc with a kid I've ever seen, jackass."

Rebecca walked over to the two. "You, with the kid," she referred to a tall, shockingly broad Turian wearing a heavy hard-suit with dual-layered kinetic barriers. Veratiria was her name, yeah. From the hiring documents, anyways.

"You're promoted," she said quickly. "You run shit in Omega, here's two hundred thousand credits. Go back to your family, make some money. Take an escape pod."

She hopped on the comm line, "You all answer to Veratiria for a bit, she's first until I get back." Then back to her, "The fuck is wrong with you. Get to an escape pod. I didn't ask."

"This is what I'm complaining about!" Veratiria threw her hands up as she walked to the pod, "Scheduling! I hired a babysitter!" The pod clasped shut around the Turian before dumping her in Omega orbit.

Rebecca rolled her eyes and sent her a private message.

Private Message to Veratiria Horalus /change "Verartiria Horalus" "Momma Bird" Rebecca You just got Promoted. I'll cover babysitting as part of your compensation package. School too I guess? I don't know, fucking negotiate. Need to wHine less however it's unseemly. Momma Bird This is still very unprofessional. Rebecca I have only taken six months of etiquette training I *have* learned to stop biting however small steps. Momma Bird I'm writing up a contract for the child care and education benefits of my compensation. ⚠ [FILE TRANSFER FAILED] ⚠

The file transfer came to an end as a flickering blue energy grabbed hold of the corvette, and the pilot chuckled, resting in her seat. "Hold onto something, we don't have inertial dampeners worth shit on this thing."

"Why does that matter? I've never flown in space," Rebecca asked. The answer became evident as her stomach, throat, and heart all tried to exit through her spine.

The Mass Relay flung the corvette far beyond light speed. Everyone not holding onto something or sitting was taken off their feet as the Asari pilot, one Nir'likah according to her name tag, laughed uproariously at the slipping and sliding mercs, the rest of her crew joining her in an almost crystal symphony of gorgeous women laughing at people.

Rebecca slammed into the back wall and couldn't help but laugh. "God fucking damnit." She touched the back of her head; her curls were now wet and sticky near her scalp, and she stabbed it with Medigel.

"Two more of those, we're an hour out if we do this right. Here's the battle feed," Nir'likah brought the feed up of the fleet battle. The Destiny Ascension was sending slugs the size of people at chunks of lightspeed into the hull of the enemy ship, a cuttlefish-shaped doom hull as it appeared to be, slicing cruisers in half with a ray of molten orange energy.

"Is there a riskier, faster way?" Rebecca asked as she watched the feed, now tapping the side of the ship like it was a horse. Whispering to the hull, "Come on baby, you got this."

"No, we're already doing the riskiest, fastest one!" Nir'likah laughed dangerously as the acceleration kicked back in with the force of an elephant settling down on everyone's chest.

"Awesome, have fun then," Rebecca learned to brace herself this time, and mass effect fields in her hands stuck her to the ship where she touched. The metal arm acted very stiff against the G-forces.

Group Chat with: Poly-Palace Rebecca Who made it on the ship? Birdy Barely did had to hear from a merc we moved to an asari ship Quadzilla Ship? I took a ride on a frigate going there. Kratt Name Here I'm here, made sure everyone heard of the change of plans. Rebecca Wait are you already at the Citadel Vro? How is that possible!? Quadzilla I left fifteen minutes ago. Halfway there. These military drives are awesome. Fifteen light years in a day unassisted. Rebecca What I had to take a job from Aria to get an alliance ship! A very *vague* job. Quadzilla That's cause you don't know Asari Matriarchs who run pirate frigates. Rebecca I KNOW YOU! Quadzilla If I let her and you meet, you'd either be in her dungeon for a month, or she'd be in yours. Nothing'd get done. Rebecca I mean... One of us would it sounds like Ugh Whhy am I like this Okay OH, Kratt, coordinate with Veratiria she's our third now She has a kid I'm not letting her fucking die We're all probably going to die. Kratt Name Here Its cause she's tall and has a kid isn't it. Rebecca Yes. She also was willing to complain in front of me. Kratt Name Here Its a Turian, of course they'll complain. Camlos complains when you have a gag in his mouth. Rebecca Well, technically we don't know if he's complaining. We just assume because of all the kicking. Birdy I'm feeling objectified Rebecca Honey. Objects can be traded. They have inherent worth We're finding something far worse here. Can Geth feel pain? Quadzilla They can fear death. Birdy That's the hardest thing I've ever seen someone type Rebecca YAY!~ Here's Lisa's last location. It's from a grain of sand GPS, it's live feed You can see all of you on the link Me too https://sand.gps.com/12114415/ Quadzilla You aren't going to enjoy me getting that out of me. Birdy Wait i'm on there too you said it was just a degradable shocker! Kat name here huh, surprised its survived. Rebecca Vro, you don't know where it is Krat, yes I spent a *lot of money* on those Cam, I lied, I'm sorry. Quadzilla I'm going to touch a live wire for a half hour. Then take it out on you. See you in a bit. Rebecca He's going to be really mad when he find out that doesn't work. Like so mad. Birdy Oh he's gonna fuck you all the way up Rebecca Yeah. Yeah.

 

[Princess Scribe]

It had been an hour of gut-wrenching Mass Relay jumps at the behest of a maddeningly dangerous pilot until, finally, the corvette stopped outside the Citadel. By god, the citadel was huge, making Omega look like a speck. It stretched on for so long, its four clamped-shut limbs protecting it from the ruined remnants of a giant space cuttlefish that had holes the size of city blocks punched through it, floating idly in the void.

Alliance ships swarmed like bees, while the Turian Fleet was in full force. The Destiny Ascension, a massive dreadnought in purple with smooth oceanic lines and a vast open center hull, looked beaten to pieces, with fires across its hull and actinic arcs of lightning leaving opened circuitry—a sign of a battle that far outweighed any Earth naval slugfest.

"Check, check Hegemony One, this is the Swan Song, we're transporting some passengers to the Citadel, is the AO clear to fly?" Nir'likah smoothly, with a classically pilot voice, spoke onto the communication link.

Rebecca raised a hand. "We're transporting passengers? We're here to help."

Muting the communication link, Nir'likah smiled, looking back. "Yeah, show me your paramedic licenses, jackass." The smile was evidently cruel as she turned back to the comm link, annoyed, and unmuting it.

"The fuck is a Paramedic lice— Oh shit, you're on the phone." Rebecca put a hand to her mouth.

"Roger, Hegemony One, go ahead with the scan, everyone aboard is armed 'cause this is a warzone," Nir'likah lied smoothly as the hull heated up with a scan. Seconds passed of small anxieties as a cruiser pointed its guns at the tiny little cutter.

"What the actual fuck is going on?" Rebecca whispered to Camlos, who was on the bridge. "Why do they give a fuck?"

"You know that nine-eleven thing you never stop bitching about? This is the twin towers. That's a plane," Camlos pointed at the cuttlefish bleeding electric black fuel into the void from a dozen wounds from mass accelerator cannons. He looked more than a little disturbed at the raw damage visible inside the Citadel. "Except, you know, people will care after a few years."

"Oh. So uh. Lots of people are going to die from cancer from helping, I guess," Rebecca said with a quiet, weak chuckle. Though when she saw Camlos, she gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder. "Don't worry, recruitment rates and the economy sky-rocketed after that happened. We shorted most citadel business, it's going to be great for our portfolio."

The corvette flew in as Nir'likah thanked Hegemony One. "Appreciate it, Hegemony One. Can always trust a Turian to be discerning. See you at the officers' bar later?" She flirted with a grin as the Citadel came into full detail, the cityscape torn to pieces with mile-long trenches dug through neighborhoods and firefights still taking place against what, for all the world, looked like techno zombies.

"Okay. Someone smarter than me tell me what I'm looking at," Rebecca said, incredibly confused. "Is that a corpse? A robot? What the fuck."

"Techno zombie," Camlos nodded, very sure of himself as one had an arm blown off, bled, screamed, and bit someone's throat out before being shot to death. "Techno zombie," he repeated.

She looked at the pilots. "Three questions: are you on my payroll now, are you waiting for us, and have you ever seen those things before?"

"No, yes, no. You wanna sit on my lap?" Nir'likah offered, seeing Rebecca obviously discomforted and already going to automatic flight. She was a light blue Asari with a cocky look, her green eyes shining—a rarity among her kind—and an otherwise slim, trim build.

"You're the one who's been flying this whole time, right?" Rebecca asked, it was important to her. She didn't want to reward the wrong Asari with her presence.

"Well yeah, someone else was on the engine, two of my gals were on the guns, another one was on my barriers, etcetera," Nir'likah explained, rolling her chair back to open up space.

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, I have a thing. It's... I dunno, I've started to get more and more into it." She climbed into the woman's lap; she was six-four, towering over the Asari. She had to kick her legs over the arm of the chair to climb in. "It's like... An ego thing? Gotta be worthy. I'm getting more and more picky about it too."

"I think flying on one heat capacitor through five relays is pretty sexy," Nir'likah said confidently, doing nothing more than softly petting and rubbing at Rebecca's hair, seemingly, at least initially, uninterested in much more. "We were this close to the heat cap's failing and everyone boiling," she whispered with a grin.

"You can play with my curls then," Rebecca nodded confidently, though she leaned in for comfort. It seemed like as good a time as any to steal some cuddles before battle.

"I'm careful with hair, don't worry, have two girlfriends," the Asari assured as she took her time and care with the hair. "Love curls," she smiled with keen interest.

Rebecca's smile widened. "Oh my god, show me pictures of yours and I'll show you mine," she said, opening her omnitool. "This is my family." It was the same picture she had shown the Asari at the door. "The twink? That's Camlos; you know him, he's standing right there. One of the most decorated snipers on Omega."

The Asari's omnitool opened up as she started swiping to a specific image, taking her time to find it.

"Vro, the red krogan? He fought in the Krogan Rebellions, so did Lisa the matriarch, who we're here to save," Rebecca said, grinning ear to ear. "The green one is Krat, he's my second in command. He's loyal, smart, and was able to keep the blood pack in line when we split off to form our own band."

She nodded as she showed two women, both humans and dark-skinned, with gorgeous long black curls that dangled low. They were hugging, and in the background, the tall towers of Thessia loomed, fireworks filling the sky. "These two are my loves! That's Cassandrea," she pointed to the one on the left, "And she's Senedrea!" She moved her finger to the other one. "We met on Thessia, they were tourists looking for local culture, I'm local culture, funny that." Nir'likah chuckled with a tiny, tiny blush.

Rebecca cooed, "Oh, they're so beautiful, you're so lucky." Her body relaxed quite a bit. For some reason, she knew things would be better now.

"Cassandrea is an Alliance Marine reservist now, Senedrea is a voice actress, I'm funding her career a little. It's really cute, you know? And it'll give me something to keep once, you know," she shrugged at the idea of time passing.

"Yeah," Rebecca said, a little sad, "I think that's how Lisa and Vro see me. It's special, I think, because the sad part is inevitable it means they're willing to face it."

Nir'likah nodded, pressing her head into Rebecca's shoulder, both women practically ensconcing one another at this point as the omnitools fell. "Means you're worth a lot. That's a hell of a thing," she complimented with an easy grin as the Presidium beneath them was flown over, the dockyard difficult for the autopilot to easily find a spot in, buying a few minutes of semi-isolation in the pilot's segment.

Her omnitool buzzed, and Rebecca checked it with a groan. A notification request for seven hundred and fifty credits for 'Intranet Bot Services.' She said, "Damnit, they found another cache of videos. I don't know if I should keep paying this."

Then she thought about it. "Hey, you seem normal. Do you think I should keep paying to get this vid removed from the intranet?"

She played the video for Nir'likah.

Rebecca is naked, riding Kratt in the middle of a destroyed bar, moaning. A Vorcha sneaks up on them, and she shoots it in the head, causing blood to fall on them. Then there's a squeak, and she looks into the camera and fires. The video goes dead.

"I've got worse out there. At least you've mostly not turned into the camera," Nir'likah shrugged at the video, "It's fine, no one will actually see it, it'll go to the bottom of some big porn-site and be replaced with the newest and sexiest in Krogan/Asari airtight or whatever."

She clicked no on the notification, then grimaced. The service was far more predatory than she realized as it threatened.

Cancelling our service will revoke all simultaneous Privacy Requests

This may cause a bump in algorithm placement outside the statistical norm

Are you sure you would like to continue REBECCA DINOZZO?
yes → NO! ←
​

"Mother... Fucker," she muttered, clicking yes with a tight hiss of breath.

"Yeah, asshole shit. Don't worry, you can go to their house later, I'm on retainer for you," Nir patted Rebecca on the back as the cutter finally docked, extending its tunnel and allowing everyone off in a semi-violent tide of Krogans and Vorcha.

"I'll bring you back a treat then," Rebecca said with a laugh. "And then maybe something from the Citadel."

"Well yeah. 'Course you're bringing a treat," Nir grinned as Rebecca looked into her eyes, the Asari leaning back to manage it. "You're coming back, yeah?" Her grin widened as she let loose her verbal trap.

Rebecca gave her a quick kiss on the mouth, then leaped off. "You're tough; most people bitch about being smothered by a girl in a hard-suit." Her assault rifle was in her hand.

"I really can't say no to human curls. Just has me all sorts of fucked up," Nir admitted with a smirk as Rebecca got ready to leave, letting her tongue lick her own lips in a slow tasting as the rest of the bridge crew tittered and gossiped about this.

 

[Princess Scribe]

The Citadel, an astronomical prothean marvel that once glimmered like a beacon of unity in the galaxy, now flickered with the shadows of devastation and intermittent chaos. As the heart of galactic civilization, its gleaming spires and sweeping arcs had been symbols of prosperity and cooperation among various species. But now, as Rebecca and her Worthy Fists made their way through the scarred sections, the Citadel took on a starkly different tone, marked by the trials recent battles had inscribed upon its structure.

Smoke rose in winding tendrils from fractured districts, melding with the ionized stench of burnt metal and singed circuitry. Emergency lights painted the corridors in stark red and white flashes, casting long, severe shadows that flickered ominously. Husks of what were once bustling marketplaces lay in quiet desolation, shops boarded up and hastily abandoned, some still showing signs of hasty escape attempts. Yet, life persisted stubbornly, with emergency shelters and aid stations sporadically set up, guarded by wary C-Sec officers and hastily assembled defense turrets.

As Rebecca's crew tread cautiously through this wounded colossus of civilization, the sounds of ongoing repairs and recovery efforts echoed off the high durasteel walls—drills whirring, hammers clanging, and the occasional directive shouted through a megaphone. The tram systems were sporadically operational, with some lines running purely to facilitate military and emergency traffic.

Despite the bedlam, the architectural beauty of the Citadel still whispered its tales. Its towering edifices and sweeping bridges over the Presidium's artificial lake spoke of a better time, now reflected only in the murky waters stirred by repair bots. The transition from the usually vibrant cultural exchange hubs to the current militarized zones was stark; now, armed patrols moved where tourists once strolled.

Orders were given, and Rebecca announced their coming like the knights of yore. "This is Chieftain Dinozzo of Mercenary group Worthy Fists." The Krogan's on comm hearing their native tongue, now practiced enough for any translator to pick up, "I'm giving the alliance a free sample of my services. Where can I help in sector A1-00-34."

"This is C-Sec, any helps appreciated. The Alliance military has turned back over the evacuation to us. A1-00-34 has a collapsed emergency shelter, see if you can help there." A turian voice on the other end of the comms gives instruction.

As Rebecca and her platoon of the Worthy Fists surged through Zakera Ward, they navigated a labyrinthine network of broad tiers that descended into more confined, shadow-laden levels. The main thoroughfares, expansive and usually thronged with a cosmopolitan crowd, now lay eerily desolate, bordered by scaffoldings and hastily erected barricades hinting at haphazard, ongoing repairs. The higher tiers offered a sweeping vista of the city's layered complexity, showcasing the Citadel's architectural ambition to blend organic flow with rigid synthetics, though now marred by the scars of conflict.

"Alright, tell CSEC to be on the lookout for about... eighty vorcha, thirty krogan, and ten turians all wearing Dark Red hard-suits. Tiny pink rose on them." Rebecca said with a small twitch of the lip, "Kind of hard to miss, not normal fashion for these types."

"Understood. Don't cause any trouble, we've got enough already." The C-Sec radioman sighs, tiredly, as the evacuation efforts continue. On Rebecca's omnitool, locations on a live feed map of possibly endangered people pop up as the Citadel's panopticon comes into good use, every angle, every possible perspective and sensor type already deployed in here, watching from the very heat of every living creature aboard to their autonomic signs and even micro-expressions.

Rebecca balks, and thinks about saying something about the surveillance state the citadel had created.

Group Chat: Poly-Palace Rebecca What the fuck is this surveillance state shit The entire city is wired with tracking stuff It's gross. Birdy Citadel came prebuilt with it. We didn't make it, we found it. Rebecca Still seems like a gross invasion of privacy. Kratt Name Here Yeah, but its a useful one. Rebecca So we're in agreement, everyone's tracker stays inside. Kratt Name Here I don't really care. If I don't want you to find me I'll just go inside a metal box. Rebecca S u r e Quadzilla The tracker isn't off after thirty minutes Rebecca. Rebecca It's like *deep,* and works on your blood, not electricity Quadzilla I'm going to get a doctor to handle this. Then I'm going to make the walls sweat with you.

As she typed in her comm she kept a watchful eye out, they were still a mile off from the fighting, but they started to hear the sounds of gunfire, and the screams of fucking techno zombies.

In order to get to the clinic, the troop was forced to turn into narrower corridors, the pathways constricted, forcing them to move in a more compressed formation. The walls, lined with exposed cables and blown-out panels, gave evidence of recent heavy combat. Every few meters, they passed under archways and through security checkpoints, unmanned and standing agape, which once controlled the bustling flow of daily commuters. They regularly had to climb, or change path due to entire buildings being sliced in twain by huge glowing chasms, the powerful beam weapons of the reapers slicing through the commerce district like butter.

Group Chat: Poly-Palace Rebecca You said if I wanted to find you, I needed to look! Now I can just look! Quadzilla Very funny. By the way, techno zombies. Rebecca Is that the *actual name* everyone is going with Quadzilla These Alliance spec ops assholes I ran past were saying 'Husk'. Rebecca Yeah it causes less of a panic then hearing grown ass men screaming "Zombie! ZOMBIES!"

"Zombies! ZOMBIES!" a C-Sec officer screamed as he turned the corner, with roughly three dozen Asari and Turian husks following him in a terrifying sprint.

"Alright, sic'em," she looked at the Vorcha who appeared confused. "That means go." They still stared at her.

She shot one, then pointed at the zombies, and the rest got the idea. Omni-claws and flamers made reasonably short work of actual zombies, with Vorcha proving their technical superiority in combat as they stabbed out their legs, ripped off their heads, and generally burned them afterward to make sure, as one Vorcha had watched too many old Earth zombie movies.

"So," Camlos stated, moving towards a ruined clinic about twenty feet away from the edge of one of the giant cuttle ship gun trenches. It had heat slagging on one side of the building and shrapnel all throughout the steel. "This is her last known?" he said, trying to figure out how to get in.

"Yeah," Rebecca gritted her teeth as they approached. Even twenty Krogan wouldn't— "Even twenty Krogan couldn't get through this rubble, unfortunately," she said to Camlos shaking her head. Her ears craned towards the whelps. Sometimes they got ideas when they were being stupid. Good ideas.

"It's like three feet of steel," one whelp stated to another, starting to tap their three brain cells together, "We can't get through unless we had some high explosive," he said.

"Nah, 'cause there's a cute Asari in there, and if we blow her up, we can't be heroes and get the girl," another sagely explained, receiving a baffled look from his kin, a Krogan shaman in the making judging from their expressions. "So, I say, we do a little trick I learned in an Omega bar." He pulled out a welding torch from somewhere on his uniform.

"All we gotta do is weaken it, make sure no one sees, then grab the door, rip it off, and we'll look awesome," he explained, connivingly intelligent, albeit a bit loud in his planning.

Rebecca loved her job sometimes, nodding, "Camlos and I can't figure out how to get in there so if you," she pointed to the shaman-kin who she recognized as Pex, "Pex, I think it is, can hold things down here. Message me if you think of anything or get the doors open, alright?"

"Uh yeah, boss," Pex said, while the other Krogans punched each other in the shoulders and started laughing.

Whelps, she thought internally, before looking to Camlos and jerking her head. "Hey, more zombies to kill," she said to the Vorcha. Everyone moved just out of view enough to be believable and then helped push the wave of zombies back.

Behind them, they heard the sounds of welding and steel being torn. Grunting and swearing echoed as a dozen Krogan worked together to start tearing apart a three-foot-thick piece of slagged steel to create a hole big enough for a Krogan. There was more laughter from those exerting themselves less, while many of the older Krogan helped but let the younger ones do the work, far more aware of Bucket's ploy than the "assigned leader" Pex.

Swarms of zombies fell apart under the Vorcha's assault, and they gained enough territory to push them past a choke point that CSEC arrived at. It was about a block away; an overturned turbo lift had created an electrical field that fried Husks attempting to push forward. The road was open-air on the left, leading into the violent Citadel. The entire floor of the city created a platform that couldn't be scaled by Husks. It was a very defensible point.

As the CSEC started to spread out, Rebecca called out, "Srumar, bring the rat-a-tat." A Krogan came forward with a giant rotary mass accelerator, consisting of three metal blocks with three heat sinks, that fired in offset timings, spinning rapidly to help air cool the weapon. It unfolded after a button clicked, and the barrel rose as legs extended from the block to create a stationary firing emplacement.

Srumar took shots at random waves of Zombies, having carried enough ammo to fire for a solid day, uninterrupted.

Rebecca approached the CSEC as she outstretched her hand. It would be a test of her attempts at learning how to act like a normal human, towards another human. She had purposefully had her eyes replaced with cybernetic ones just to stop them from panicking at what were, apparently, cold dead orbs. The new ones seemed far more comforting and full of life, for whatever that was worth.

"I'm President Dinozzo of the Mighty Fists; I have a team cutting into that clinic behind me. How are you doing, and how can I help?" she asked, holding out a hand and shaking the one in front of her. He wore the most bars and rank insignia, which probably denoted a leader of some sort.

"Been better, been worse, you know how it is," the officer shrugged, putting a medigel injector into his right arm, the red blood soaking into a police hard suit.

What the fuck does that mean? "Haha yeah," Rebecca replied, though she was very pleased with Srumar, who seemed to have some interest in conserving ammo despite having plenty for days. Though, it had been said that Rebecca babied her mercenaries. Well, one Turian said it.

Once.

Shortly after saying that, his parts were found scattered around Omega, each with a pacifier attached. It hadn't come up again since.

She quickly gave the Krogans a point bonus, along with Pex for his idea and leadership, in their odd, game-based algorithm they used for looting. Though she realized, looting might be less acceptable on the Citadel.

"We're trying to help get a better defensive net up. This is the first really good chokepoint that could be used as a FOB in A-00, I've got two more turrets, are there any other good places like this?" Rebecca asked as she keenly listened to the steel tearing.

"We'll be getting some Turian Legions landing soon. About sixteen thousand marines of theirs," the officer, nameplate of 'Sorensen' on his hard-suit chest, said idly, "Until then, we've got too many wounded. You got here a little late, used to be Geth around here, they shot back," he described idly, sounding tired by the fighting.

Rebecca looked at him, and gave him a small squeeze on the shoulder, "You're saving lives. With the clinic behind you open, we can move more wounded here where there's medical facilities. We're going to bleed them a gallon for every drop spilled, alright?"

Sorensen snorted, finding the inspiration fun, "You're just like that other redhead, at least you're not on the speakers."

Then on her comms, she said over the CSEC line, "Hey, the clinic's open in AA-00-34." Though she noted that her voice now came through the speaker on the officer's shirt. That probably wasn't what he meant.

"Apparently, the Geth fear death. Are there any around I can pin up on a cross or something?" Rebecca had been excellent at keeping spirits up on Omega.

"No ma'am. No, you won't be crucifying anyone," Officer Sorensen clearly and loudly stated, looking vaguely disappointed at the suggestion. "We don't do that on the Citadel. Or anywhere else civilized."

"Oh," she said, then very quickly into the Merc comms, "Hey, tell the Vorcha to stop eating the bodies; it freaks the normies out. Just squish a couple until they behave."

"Sorry about that, Officer Sorensen!" She said, not realizing she was on both lines now. She had unwittingly merged the two, the radio officer now hearing Vorcha and Krogan bicker over looting the bodies. Camlos and Kratt screaming at them, shooing them away and demanding them to behave.

Also, some odd point/demerit system that seemed to be based on murder and "good behaviors."

The man nods, pulls a cigarette from an old-style carton, lights it up with an omnitool flame, and puffs at the unflavored tobacco to settle his nerves, breathing the smoke out his nose with a sigh. "It's just another day, just another day," Sorensen started repeating as a mantra as a Vorcha screamed on the radio, "THE EYE TASTES GOOD!"

"STOP EATING THE FUCKING EYES. We've TALKED ABOUT THIS!" Rebecca screamed into the mic.

"But miss miss, you— *AGGG*" The Vorcha tried to argue back but had clearly been smacked, hard.

"No, but miss miss me," she snapped back. "Miss miss mad. Boss boss lady much mad. No eat eyes! We have plenty of eyes to eat back home." The cigarette is vanishing at an exceptional rate the more Rebecca talks.

Rebecca pulls out her cigarillo, though noted that hers are... Rougher, thicker, and longer than his. Trying to be polite, she cut it in half, so as not to seem like she's trying to compare, and then chomps on the plastic. The air fills with purple flavored smoke. "Well, I'm here now! So don't worry, I can be a better part of your day-to-day."

She was still covered in blood on one side from where she sprayed down her own troop. Her reassuring cyber eyes now making the ensemble unsettling in a different manner. Trading dead-eyed freak, for manic psychopath. The Krogan cheer behind her as the clinic seems to be almost open.

"So... What flavor is that?" Rebecca asked, "Mine's grape."

"Tobacco," Sorensen lights another one up, puffing its acrid scent into the air, powerful nicotine making even contact-highs hazy.

"Like..." She smells the air, "Like? Just the tobacco part? No sugar, or spices or anything? Menthol?"

"Tobacco," Sorensen repeats, the smell obviously backing him up. "You want some? It tastes like shit but it relaxes you."

Rebecca nods, takes one. She finds the drag incredibly easy, and the thin cigarette very weak. Without realizing it, she sucked the entire thing down in three puffs. "Oh, they're like chips, but for smoking," she offers him one of her cigarillos, the noxious synthetic grape sweetener the only smell capable of cutting through cigarette smoke.

Sorensen grabs it and takes a puff, coughing lightly. "Yeah, not looking to get cancer that fast," he chuckles through the coughs, handing it back.

"Uh," Rebecca realizes as she hears a particularly gruesome Krogan war story in stereo, "Are my guys coming over your walkie?"

"Mhmm," Sorensen nods, staring across the ruined Citadel with a grimace.

"Shit," Rebecca says, "Camlos, Camlos, do NOT let Sakson and Catarog finish that story. We don't need the Citadel to learn about felching."

"I am gone for a week," the voice of Lisyris, a little weak, a little shaky, and a lot tired, comes out of the clinic as a Krogan, Pax, helps her out. She's got a smile on her face even as a trail of blue blood falls down the front of her face from a cut across her forehead. "And you're talking about felching in front of a police officer?"

"Wait, who's a cop? I thought he was like a rent-a-cop?" She looked back at Officer Sorensen, "CSEC Citadel Security."

"I'm Citadel Security. Funded and operated by the Citadel Council's tax dollars," he answers with another puff of a more normal cigarette.

"Oh, well congratulations on the promotion. Uh, like. In my eyes, I guess," she says nodding, but the nod is a bit jerky and unpracticed. "I'm not one for criming."