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Mass Effect RP

Sick of real-life? Be your favorite anime character, super hero or even made up character and destroy your foes (or just have a chat)!

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Postby Coeur » June 28th, 2011, 3:46 pm

Jace idly watched from under his hood as the Batarian made a scene, leaving the bar occupants buzzing between themselves. A small grin slipped across his features before he stilled it, looking down at the small datapad in his hands.

This blackout hadn't been his own work, but he was never one to miss an opportunity like this. He watched as the credits in his account ticked higher, drawn directly from a closed bank nearby. What a glorious day for them, to have the chance to invest in Jace industries. Flipping a quick switch he ended the transfer at a hefty amount. Greed was a foible of the foolish... he knew when to back out.

It was how he'd kept alive so long.

"Speaking of which, maybe I should blow this station before the situation gets hot." They'd never be able to trace his intrusion. But if they put a lockdown on the station, that would really cramp his style.

"Hey Keep! Fetch a bottle of your finest and a dancer - human. I'm feeling pretty generous with the creds tonight."

Tomorrow he'd think about leaving. What harm would a day cause?
But of all Pain, the greatest Pain.
It is to love, but love in vain.
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Postby DanteSilver » June 29th, 2011, 1:35 pm

Jean kept her helmet visor darkened and followed Kaila towards the vault. Something about not watching what the rest of the team were doing, clearing her conscience of any misdeeds. Twice she had to stop civilians becoming collateral damage and the job was barely through its first half hour. Fragging Outlaw's Reach... she thought through gritted teeth as they stopped before the vault's blast doors. She backed into the room, her assault rifle trained on all the spots where security could crop up as Kaila walked forward waving her omni-tool like a magic wand as cameras and security systems powered down. The volus contractor waddled in a few minutes later. Kaila was on her knees in front of the blast doors and Jean cleared her helmet's visor in order to correctly discern something.

"I thought we agreed that no one was to be hurt," she pointed her gun at the blood staining the volus' Carnifex hand cannon, why he even needed to draw it here made her feel on edge.
"Sometimes, the workers need a little incentive when helping me Earth-clan. You wouldn't know, they'd happily let you make off with the loot, but not me," he said, the breath unit of his voice modulator distorting his words, giving it the machine-like quality that all volus had.
Jean spat, "I don't like it.. that complicates things." When all of a sudden, the lights went dead.
"Bosh'tet..." Kaila muttered under her breath, before the lights went back online again. She breathed a huge sigh of relief.
The volus fidgeted heavily, "What was that Quarian?"
"Needed to power down the security systems in order to..." she stood up to face the volus and planted a cute reverse kick on the blast doors, "open sesame." They started to open behind her.
"Nice going, Nael, remind me to buy you a round!" Jean said, using the code name.
"Provided you disinfect it first Leela, I don't want a repeat of last time," she responded as the volus waddled past her, flanked by heavily armoured humans. They came back out, holding the package between them.
"The whole sector powered down Quarian, was that part of the plan?" the volus said while examining his omni-tool.
Kaila squirmed under her envirosuit but they would not be able to see it, "I had to reroute a lot of systems for that small window, it's possible that there may have been an overload causing that power outage."
"Well, you've still done your job. I've seen to it that the credits have been transferred to the accounts you requested, you as well Earth-clan."
"I mean it this time Darlar, Nael and I are out, our debt to you has been paid twenty times over, and that's just fromthis job!" Jean said before Kaila responded.
"Perhaps... Earth-clan. We'll talk about your... indenture later," the volus laughed all the way out of the bank.

Now alone, Jean disengaged her assault rifle, holstered it and punched the wall, "I hate this!"
"Jean, calm down, this isn't the time or place for this, you heard, we need to get back to the safehouse," Kaila moved to comfort her partner but Jean stepped away.
"I want off this station Kaila, I feel like I'm turning into something I joined the Alliance military to prevent..."
Last edited by DanteSilver on July 7th, 2011, 7:59 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Postby Slannman » June 29th, 2011, 8:41 pm

(This is my second character who likes to do things old school, by which I mean with something long and pointy often ending in less bullet holes and more missing limbs. I always thought it strange that not many characters in ME had much in the way of melee training so this guy is a local celebrity when it comes to fisticuffs.)
Name: Stewart Dunnock
Age: 28
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Specialisation: Vanguard
Abilities: Cryo Ammo, Charge, Pull, Shockwave
Weapons: M-6 Carnifex, M-96 Mattock, deployable-kinetic barrier screen, claymore blade.
Bio: In the fast-paced technologically-advanced galaxy of 2183 there still exists a few remaining clansmen native to Earth’s once-untamed highlands in Scotland. Stewart of the Dunnock clan is one such man and a man who wears his heritage with pride. Dunnock began his career as a fresh-faced alliance officer but after a harrowing few years as a Blood Pack captive his hopeful ideals were scattered. In their place was a dour beast of a man rumoured to have slaughtered a vorcha recruiting station upon his escape with his family’s heirloom; a restored claymore longsword. Because of his seemingly inhuman willpower and unique fighting style Dunnock gathered a large following when he entered into the cage-fights on the lower levels of Outlaw’s Reach. No other occupation allows him such a steady stream of vorcha and krogan to slay and though his clan is unknown to the vast galaxy, the name ‘Dunnock’ is known by every gambler and fighter on Outlaw’s Reach.
Personality: Proud and does not take kindly to anti-human sentiments, officer training gives him a commanding presence but enjoys 'slaying' his foes a little too much for Alliance protocol.
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Postby HowlinJimmyJefferson » June 30th, 2011, 11:06 am

Spike watched the batarian stylishly make his exit. It certainly wasn't uncommon to see different races engaged in hot headed verbal fights here. That said, he wasn't about to find another bar, especially when he'd been coming here for years. He sighed deeply. Students. Students who don't want to learn. Why do they bother? Ugh, cripes I could use a break. He stared at the glass of Ryncol in front of him, ready to take in its glorious contents.
"Hehe, batarians...I've never liked 'em much, either."
Spike turned to the human who seemed to have materialised on the stool next to him. He innately growled, putting down his drink.
"Piss off, human. Quite frankly, I like you even less."
"Now now, hear me out," the human replied, trying to put on his most convincing smile.
"I don't want what you're selling."
"What if what I was "selling" could earn you lots of credits?"
Spike turned to the human, one hand on his glass, and stared at him with unreadable intensity. "If you don't cease this foolishness right now, I'll make you wish you were born an asari." Empty words flowed threateningly out of his mouth, for he knew deep down he'd never hurt anyone.
"Alright, Spike." The human's tone changed, and his ridiculous smile was gone. He matched Spike's level, only inches from his face. "I'll cut to the chase. We have reason to believe that an attack on Outlaw's Reach is imminent. Now, we know you don't fight, but we need a researcher. A good one. The best one, in fact."
Spike raised an eyebrow. "Like the "Geth" attack on the Citadel? What makes you so sure you know what you face?"
"Ha! We don't! That's why we need ya, Spike!" He went to pat Spike on the back, but retreated quickly.
"Professor."
"I'm-- what?"
"It's Professor Spike."
Realising he wasn't going to get to finish his drink in peace, Spike rose from his seat and downed his Ryncol. "I'll think about it," he said, giving a quick nod to the bartender on his way out.
Last edited by HowlinJimmyJefferson on July 10th, 2011, 4:19 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Well done. Here are the test results: You are a horrible person. I'm serious, that's what it says: A horrible person. We weren't even testing for that.
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Postby Slannman » June 30th, 2011, 5:25 pm

Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
They think he lives for the fame, the notoriety, the money.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
If they think he lives for the chance to kill every Blood Pack with enough guts and spare time to face him then they’d be close. But they’d still be wrong.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
Dunnock stays in the lower levels of Outlaw’s Reach; a place without windows or a view of the stars, because he doesn’t want to face what he’s become.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
‘Dun’, it started out as a nickname, nowadays it was a sound that thugs and wannabes died to.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
He lifted himself from the cold metal bench and looked down the grey corridor, the bright arena lights shining at the end. The cold dark lair he lived in offered protection from the leering faces of the scum that came to watch, but he stood up and faced the long walk to the cage. He thumbed a scrap of tartan pinned to his belt and closed his eyes in respect. Then he started walking.

-

20,000 credits for one fight? That can’t be right. Maybe this ‘Dun’ guy is just really good. Should make things more entertaining then.
Ogex looked up at the crowd roaring above him and wondered what they were expecting. Since he’d arrived on Outlaw’s Reach a few days ago he’d been spoiling for a fight and despite the station’s reputation he’d failed to find a single one, even the Blood Pack recruiter said there’d be a few more days until a job came up. So he’d wandered further into the bowels of the station until he found the cage fighting circuit.
But a human? Ha! 20,000 for a human? This ‘Dun’ was done for!
Ogex chuckled to himself over his little joke and that’s when he heard the sound of bare feet. Bare feet walking across the smooth metal floor of the corridor opposite him. Smooth. Ogex turned around and saw the tunnel he’d just come through, claw-marks and craters pitted the wall and floor all of them leading back into the cage.
A human did this?
Ogex turned back as the feet sounded closer, the crowd continuing their chant.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
Ogex’s eyes shifted from right to left. He held his ground looking into the darkness of the tunnel before him.
Dun! Dun! Dun! Dun!
Out stepped ‘Dun’, bare chested, shaved head, scarred face. Ogex just stared in disbelief.
An unarmoured human?! With no weapons?!!
Dun’s grey eyes met Ogex’s.
“Are ye Blood pack?” asked the man.
Ogex stepped forward and showed the red brand he’d received on initiation, “All the way!”
The man’s stone-cut brow furrowed.
“I can let m’self enjoy this then.”
The crowd hushed as the klaxons began to count down.
3.
2.
1.
Ogex lunged forward, his huge bulk powering forward in true traditional krogan style. But Dun was no longer there. Dun was crouched down at the side of the krogan.
“Ye Blood Pack scum,” he kicked out one of the krogan’s legs, “think ye are th’ only beasties,” he took the kneeling krogan’s arm, “to do things,” he knelt down upon the elbow-joint, “the nasty way!!?” With an audible crack the arm folded inwards. Ogex roared out in pain as the ends of the bones ground against each other beneath his scaly armour, the roar was cut short by the complete surprise of the human’s attack.
“But ah’no aboot you krogan types,” the Scotsman said with a steady tone, he moved around to behind the kneeling Ogex.
“Ah’no that ye can get up fro’ an injury like tha’, thanks to yer canny li’l krogan genes,” Dun’s hands pulled back on the plating on Ogex’s back. Ogex looked up into the eyes of the former officer.
“So ah’m goin ta go for the things yer not going ta grow back,” Dun’s hands thrust down into the face of the krogan and around the little eyes staring up at him. Ogex screamed as the human’s fingers worked their way under the eyeballs and then wrenched back, tearing them from the krogan’s heavily armoured head.
The crowd roared as Dun held the eyes above him. Ogex trembled as he used his good arm to paw at the empty sockets, no discernable words or phrases uttered from his mouth. Everything was black, he could only hear the cheers of the crowd and the slap of bare feet on the metal beside him. Then everyone else was plunged into darkness as the lights flickered off. The crowd began to get restless and started to shout complaints up to the betting vendor. Ogex heard a slightly smaller cheer and the hum of the lights as they powered back up. Dun squinted into the light and damned the cage owners’ for their shoddy operation. He began to walk back to the tunnel, stopping to kick the krogan.
“Ye tell yer Blood Pack sissies that ah’m done with this piecemeal crap!” Dun looked the krogan up and down and spat on the moaning gang member, “If ye can find the door.” Then Dun walked back.
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Postby DanteSilver » July 1st, 2011, 7:15 am

(No one's really explained what the Reach looks like, so I'm gonna go out on a limb and get some description in, hope that's okay with everybody?!)

How did I get drafted into patrol detail? Lee, a grizzled middle aged merc said as his fighter was one of three flying a V formation in a tight orbit around the station. Outlaw's Reach had no governing body - well an official one anyway - so credits put birds in the sky and even more credits made the pilots in the birds care about what they were defending.

Outlaw's Reach was Omega-lite.. though it was not built into an asteroid, the station grew out of decommissioned freighters and the odd dreadnought being pieced together to form a grander structure. The Reach's pirates would go out and snare ships, more often they had been targeting cruise liners in order to create finer living quarters and richer sections of the station, so it was a amalgamation of repurposed ships. If you looked out of a viewing port, you could still see the names on the ships' hulls. The station mirrored a tadpole, with a central planet like hub and a spire of smaller ships and platforms forming the 'tail' as it were of the station.

"Genuine query: anything look out of the ordinary Captain?" the Elcor pilots monotonous drone inhabited the comms. His fighter looked like a hump backed interceptor; probably to contain his bulk.
"Nothing, but keep your eyes open, we've got four more hours of nothing out of the ordinary to look forward," the Drell captain said, Lee did not even bother learning his name.
"Annoyance: they don't pay me near enough credits for this..."
Lee scowled, he did not receive a single credit for this. It all went to his contractor, his mercenary band were pretty totalitarian in their job payroll. It all went to them and only upon completion did percentages and commissions reach those in the job. He broke his radio silence, "Captain, I'm picking up something twenty parsecs from our position."
"My scanners show nothing, human."
"Agreement: I'm picking up nothing either, mercenary."
How could he say that of course they would not pick anything up, his fighter was modified beyond a normal mercenary's payroll, and so was technologically superior without sounding arrogant or not a team player? "It's nothing, or it's something Captain, but we gotta know which one..."

(Can I draft in one of you to patrol with me? Don't want to bring in the Geth too soon or anything :p)
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Postby Slannman » July 1st, 2011, 2:18 pm

(Who knew that dialogue could be so colourful? I decided to bring the geth into the mix but currently theta-3/Lee is the only one who knows they are here for sure. However faecal matter is about to hit the rotary blades.)

“It’s nothing, or it’s something Captain, but we gotta know which one…”
The human was likely growing tired of being dragged along for patrol duty again, they needed the support though. Gamma squadron had failed to report back in and they needed to know if it was desertion; which was highly likely with contract-mercs, or something else. They were already running off diminished manpower and losing a whole squadron would be a huge blow to Outlaw’s security team.
“Ok Theta-3, take point and Theta-2 cover right flank,”
“Curt reply: Affirmative, moving into position,”
The captain sighed and reminded himself it was best to keep these mercenaries busy before they harboured any thoughts of cutting out. How the human thought he’d picked something up that Theta-2 and himself hadn’t was beyond the captain but it kept them our of trouble at least.
“Informal request: Shall I give Control the heads up on our bearing?”
“Negative Theta-2, we’ll call in when or if we find something,”
“Theta-1 I’m getting IFFs from… Gamma,”
The V approached a small debris field suspended before them. Within it they could see a collection of fighter ships similar to theirs. Empty.
“Flippant remark: You would think that a deserter would at least take their ship with them,”
“Can it Theta-2! Get me a closed channel with Control!”
There was a long pause before the elcor pilot responded.
“Confused alarm: Unable to contact Control or Outlaw’s Reach auxiliary arrays,”
“Theta-1? We could be getting jammed by whatever did this to Gamma,”
The drell’s eyes picked through the damaged fighters. Clipped wings, shot engines, forced entry to cockpits.
“They wanted these ships intact, scan the wreckage and report any anomalies.”
The three craft nosed into the floating cloud of debris and began to analyse the metal coffins.
“Wary concern: Where is Gamma then? Slavers?”
“I doubt it; slavers would have taken the ships too.”
“Theta-1? I’m not sure if I’m reading this right but the IFFs I’m picking up-“
“Are Gamma, we understand 3!”
“No, they’re 20 parsecs away, and moving,”
“What? What’s their heading?”
“…Outlaw’s Reach,”
“Conclusive statement: scanners show no IFFs onboard the Gamma ships Theta-1.”
The drell’s mind put the pieces together. Someone was trying to get onto Reach and they weren’t slavers and they weren’t pirates. Which left only one answer.
“Theta squadron form up on my six! Divert non-essential power to engines! We need to get back to Reach!”
The three ships’ engines burst into life and nimbly exited the debris field, the V screamed back towards the station far in the distance. Inside Theta-3’s cockpit a warning began to sound.
“Theta-1! Unidentified ships moving in on our position! They look like-“
“Geth ships Theta-3! Do not engage! I repeat do not engage! Our priority is Reach, they need to know what’s coming.”
“Geth ships moving to intercept!”
The drell checked his sensors and sighed.
“Theta-3, stay on current course, your ship is the fastest we have, we will tie-up the Geth for as long as possible, just make sure Control knows about the Geth!”
“Startled objection:-“
“Can it ‘2’! You’re with me whether you like it or not, form up on my right and look alive!”
“Good luck Cap,”
The drell looked at the image of his daughter inside his cockpit.
“Tell Control I want paid leave after this,”
“…understood, Theta-3 out.”
Theta-1 and 2 looped back and faced the incoming geth ships. The fighters levelled out next to each other as the first wave of geth fighters raced ahead to meet them.
“Diverting power to shields and weapons, I am coming Kalahira.”
The first wave was torn apart as the two fighters scythed through their middle, cannons roaring. However a second and third wave were ready for the frontal assault and a brutal dog-fight soon enveloped what was left of Theta squadron. The elcor’s ship desperately tried to out manoeuvre the geth but the bulky craft was soon being tailed by a several enemy geth.
“Desperate alarm: I cannot shake them.”
“I can’t find you Theta-2! Damn it, there’s too many!”
A geth ship shredded through the casing around the elcor’s reactor.
“Morbid statem-“
Theta-2 exploded taking three of the following geth in the blast. The drell gritted his teeth as the geth re-directed towards his ship. The human had better make it.
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Postby DanteSilver » July 5th, 2011, 3:47 am

(Hey everyone, I've just moved into a new house but we haven't sorted the internet out here yet. so you'll have to bear with me whilst I try to post off my phone when I can.)
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Postby DanteSilver » July 10th, 2011, 5:23 am

Two and a half years ago

Fragging Outlaw's Reach... was Jean's first thought when she set foot on the station in glorious solitude with the rest of the Terminus systems. She had heard all about it. A superstructure of cannibalised, repurposed ships home to the worst kinds of refuse of the galaxy. Overcoming the stench of some of the areas, she thought that it could even be worse than Omega. But ends had to meet. No longer an operative with the Alliance after the N7 program, Jean had taken to freelance work - she would never call herself a mercenary because she still had loyalties that did not end with credits - and this particular job involved getting comprehensive data about the Reach from a source and getting it back to the Citadel. Double agents never worked, they always cracked under the pressure of undercover work, but her contractor assured her that this informant's cover was sound.

***

Nineteen hours later, Jean found herself in the middle of a gunfight. Fragging Outlaw's Reach she gritted her teeth and signalled her makeshift squad to form up on her. The drop had gone badly. Someone, somehow, recognised Jean's Alliance background and got to the truth via the wrong deduction. The source, a Quarian, had locked herself inside a container - the jokes about Quarians loving tight spaces started as soon as she made lockdown - with Jean and her 'squad' were at one end of the plaza. The gangs the Quarian had offended, were at the two opposite ends of the triangular plaza of this level; both with the higher ground and numbers. The two Salarians moved to the stairs either side of their position and began making their way up to try and cancel out the higher ground advantage. One of them was a sniper which Jean was very grateful for.
"What do you see?" she asked the sniper.
"Lemme just-" he poked his head out for a moment and there it stayed until a blue haze surrounded it. His head collapsed on itself and purple blood sprayed as he collapsed, dead.
Biotics, great, just great... "Sitrep on shields?"
No answer.
Without the military jargon this time, "how much shields does everyone have left?" Jean's kinetic shields were down to 73% but that would be enough to repel a few strong biotic attacks.
"30% skipper."
"0% for me."
"100% right here!"
"Okay, 0% stay back and lay suppressive fire as we move, 30% you flank left, pick off any stragglers that leave cover and watch us. 100% you're with me, we're going straight for the Quarian," Jean moved forward, low and fast, holstering her Predator pistol for the Spectre specialised HMWA assault rifle (she never explained where she got it). 0% fired a few rounds at anything that moved, giving Jean and 100% an eventless twenty metres or so.

With the Quarian's container in sight, the real fighting happened. The gangs had deployed cover, the container inside a pincer shape. But it struck Jean that they were not trying to get to the Quarian but just stopping her from doing so. Jean took cover behind a fountain as 100% lay down beside her.
"I can see feet, lots of feet..." he said. 30%'s position was being pinned down, presumably by the shooters that owned the feet 100% had spotted. Jean could not move to provide support as it would put her directly in the sight of the biotic.
"Skipper, HELP!" his voice wailed as his cover was decimated by the biotics and gunfire. The rounds were toxic, eating their way through the wall he hid behind. He probably only had - more of those chemical rounds punctured the walls and beat through his weakened shields. Jean turned away as he fell to the ground, armour decaying with the payload of those mercs.
"100%, can you hit them?" she asked, reassessing the position they needed to hold. The left was left wide open. She would need to go that way in order to prevent a counter flanking. Three shots fired and she heard very audible and creative curses. "Keep them there," she ordered as she spun from cover to flank left, firing defensive bursts to counteract any offensive moves. This way, the biotic would not be able to target her. She threw a flashbang and slammed hard into a wall in a sideways move. The flashbang exploded stunning two mercs and her assault rifle tore through their shields effortlessly.
"8 o'clock," 100% said over the intercom as Jean turned to see the wounded attempting to deploy heavy weapons against her, Jean's left hand left the rifle barrel and found her pistol to headshot that threat. In that brief silence of fire, Jean heard 0% choking and she turned to see his body thrown from his vantage point, landing with a sickening crunch near her. The distraction proved costly as a growling Turian charged at her. He punched her assault rifle loose and stepped forward to kick her flush in the stomach. Her armour absorbed some of the force but it still drove the wind out of her. He stepped forward, punching her in the gut and delivered a forearm smash into the side of her face. Instead of doubling over with the pain, Jean's hands quickly snapped into motion and blocked the Turian's follow up knee. She pushed it back down and brought her head up fast, hearing a crunch as it connected with his chin. She rammed an elbow into his exposed neck and spun around him to grab the protruding horn at the back of carapace and wrench it down, pulling his neck onto her knee, severing his spine.

Leaving the immobilised threat, Jean ran to the container and knocked twice, three times, one, three times. The Quarian opened the container and nodded in thanks to Jean. 100% came from his cover and stood behind Jean, she turned to acknowledge him. As she did, her head was snapped the other way quickly as he rifle butted her hard. She fell to her knees and put her hands behind her head as more mercs appeared to secure the area. The Quarian was brought to kneel beside her.
"And you are?" the Quarian spoke first.
"Here to rescue you."
"...Good job."
"Thanks, Jean, Jean Hausman."
"Kaila'Nael, I get the feeling that you and I will have the time to get to know each other Jean Hausman."
"...that's if we survive..."

(Sorry this is so long, it's what 5 days without the internet can do to me!)
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Postby peachBox » July 13th, 2011, 10:18 am

Hello again :) I'm sorry this is so long :3

Name: Petra T’Rune
Age: 512 (Matron phase)
Race: Asari
Gender: N/A
Specialisation: Justicar
Abilities: Warp, Throw, Singularity, Shockwave
Weapons: M-96 Mattock Assault Rifle (equipped with High Impact rounds), Karpov X Pistol
Background: Petra is a pureblood Asari in the Matron phase of her life. As a Maiden, she followed her standard military training with the typically-observed exploration of the galaxy her species often engaged in. It is during this time that she met her sole meldmate, a young Turian with whom she spent almost a decade. At the time, Petra had intended to make a life with her meldmate, but a grave injustice claimed his life, and with it, their future. Wrought with sorrow, Petra redefined her life as one of retribution and returned to her home planet of Thessia where she resumed her training from earlier years with the intention of entering Asari law enforcement, only later choosing to follow the path of the Justicar. Petra, as a skilled Biotic, used this time to hone her abilities, resulting in a particularly potent aptitude for offensive Biotics, rather than defensive. Presently, Petra finds herself following up a series of crimes committed by the most unexpected of culprits, deep in the Terminus systems, which may, once and for all, lead her to the retribution she so desires.
Appearance:
Image

(Note: I’m going to use the Salarian tech in my story, if that’s okay.)
__

The system’s red dwarf star bathed her suit in its warm, rosy hue. She floated effortlessly in the vast and endless nothingness that was space, clutching a small, golden canister to her breast. An slight, unassuming engraving ran along its surface.

A faulty lighting unit flickered impetuously above the technician’s desk, casting erratic and eerie shadows across the room. Petra crouched over the body of the dead Salarian. The exit wound was substantial. The vacant look on his face suggested that he had been completely oblivious to his fate at the time. She uncurled his hands and searched his pockets in search of anything that might direct her to the perpetrator of this hideous crime. Finding nothing, she stood, holstering her pistol. The Salarian’s office was a bleak reminder of the conditions the inhabitants of Outlaw’s Reach survived in. Everything in the room had once belonged to someone, or something, else. Everything had been repurposed, perhaps many times over, and now every scrap of metal, be it a piece of his table, bed, or even the walls, had rusted or discoloured in some way. Even those of some vague importance in Outlaw’s Reach seemed to live in squalor, she mused.

Forever and Always,’ it read. The quiet of space penetrated her thoughts. Its stillness seemed fitting. She glanced across the system; at this distance, the red dwarf’s harsh light appeared soft, comforting even, through her darkened visor. She held her free hand to her helmet, peering between fingers at the dull light, masking the enormity of the star with mere fingertips.

A short circuit surveillance band ran along the perimeter of the room, just below the join of the ceiling. Could he have been so careless? Petra thought. She ignited her Omni-tool and waved it at the surveillance band, the tool automatically extracting, decrypting and downloading all recently archived data from the multi-directional cameras. The tool condensed all the downloaded parcels of data into a single vid, which Petra then played backwards. She watched as reality was reversed, and the image of herself examining the Salarian worked backwards, eventually, and awkwardly, walking backwards through the doorway. The tape continued to reverse, but showed only the erratic flickering of the faulty lighting unit across the corpse of the Salarian.

The tether to her ship went taut, slackened, then went taut once more, causing her to bob in the emptiness like some discarded piece of flotsam. She flexed her fingers along the tether, reflecting upon its fragility, and her own by proxy. She hated it, the fragility of life, its brevity and impermanence. The globules of her tears, unbound by gravity, floated freely, momentarily, before colliding together or into her visor.

A number of hours passed in reverse. Petra remained motionless, the light cast across her suit illuminating the sleek, black and red material, catching on the metal belt. She watched the vid intently, her reaction invisible as a figure emerged on the screen, gun in hand, defiantly standing over the corpse of the station’s technician. The murder played backwards, and the figure backed out of the room, leaving an oblivious Salarian to the last few minutes of his life. Petra paused the vid and played it forwards, pausing when the cameras caught a clear shot of his face. Her Omni-tool automatically began running its inbuilt facial recognition software, comparing the image onscreen with the limited Outlaw’s Reach database. Of course, being a colony in the Terminus systems, only a fraction of Reach’s inhabitants will have been ID tagged. Petra had already begun to plan her next move in the event no matches were found, but, as luck would have it, the Omni-tool beeped triumphantly, displaying both the full identification of the murderer, and his living quarters in Reach. Petra smiled an invisible smile, turned and exited the room, leaving the corpse to its own fate.

She’d lingered for too long. Her oxygen steadily depleted with each shaky breath, and by now it had declined well below what the console considered safe levels. She held the golden canister in one hand, firmly gripping its lid with the other. As she twisted, the trapped atmosphere burst forth from the broken seal with a hiss made silent by the vacuum of space.

Petra stood at the door of the make-shift apartment, unlatching the safety on her pistol. She knocked twice and awaited a response. After some time, a dilapidated intercom on the side of the door burst into life, spewing static at her, followed by a voice. “Yes?” the voice answered, piercing the garbled static.
“Chau Arlafene?”
“Yes? What do you want?”
“Please open the door.”
“For what reason, exactly?”
“I shall explain once you have opened the door.” There was a brief silence, interrupted only by the obtrusive static of the intercom. Petra held her free hand behind her back, gathering a small amount of biotic energy in her palm. She did not appreciate this waste of time, and prepared to rip the door from its makeshift hinges. However, to her surprise, the door opened. A pale, shaggy-haired Human stood before her in nothing more than scraps of clothing. Clearly, his ID tag was some years out of date; once a clean-shaven, well-dressed Human, what now stood before her was a shadow of his former self. His mottled beard covered the vast majority of his face, and his sullen, red eyes suggested that he was a duster. Content that this was the man she was looking for, Petra withdrew her pistol and brought it up to his face, her finger inching the trigger towards its destination. “I am here to absolve you for the murder of the Salarian Kies Palendra. May the Goddess take pity upon you.” She squeezed the trigger.

Small specks of gray accompanied the escaped atmosphere, suddenly freed from their year-long prison. Even now, his stubbornness eclipsed everything else. With a simple press of a button, the canister ejected its contents into the black abyss. She watched with renewed faith as the miniature nebula she had created hung effortlessly in the same space she had, illuminated by the dark glow of the red dwarf.

In the same instant that she had pulled the trigger, the Human’s red eyes discoloured, becoming a steely gray. His expression dissolved, his face suddenly becoming utterly devoid of emotion. He dropped to the ground in time for the mass effected bullet to whisk past his head. The man spun on his heel, kicking out at the Justicar who deftly side-stepped the attack and holstered her pistol at the same time. Petra, desiring a rapid climax to this engagement, began to gather the energy for a biotic attack, but was forced to find cover as the man, with inhuman strength, tore enormous sheets of metal from the corridor and hurled them at her. She dodged the first sheet, thrown at her with deadly force and precision, nimbly avoiding the second and shredding the third with an exceptionally placed Warp. She had no time to recover however, as the Human sped off in the opposite direction with inhuman speed. Petra yanked the Mattock rifle from her back and set off after him.

The man continued to hurl anything that wasn’t nailed down, and some things that were, in the direction of the Justicar, who deflected it all with a few well-placed Throws. Petra ground to a sudden halt, dropped to one knee and brought her Mattock up. She squared the man in her sights and fired two shots, the first impacting into the enormous blast doors, the high impact round leaving a crater in the dense metal. The second shot found its mark, tearing through the muscle tissue of the man’s left thigh. However, this did not seem to stop him, nor did he cry out in pain. Slightly perturbed by this, Petra rose and continued after the man, holstering her rifle. If her bullets had no effect, then she would simply have to disable him entirely. She managed to close the gap between herself and the man as he struggled to rip open the huge blast doors. To her surprise, the man had made some progress, but not enough to squeeze himself through. In an instant, Petra’s body was ablaze with biotic energy. Wisps of dark blue energy spiralled off of her body, dissipating into the air around her. Clasping her hands together, she channelled all of her energy into her hands and slammed them decisively into the ground. An enormous chain of biotic shockwaves erupted from the ground beneath her, lifting the man and crushing him against the blast doors. He turned, counter-attack at the ready, but Petra had already decided this particular engagement.

In one deft motion, she hurled a singularity at the man, planting it directly behind his back. The intense gravity clawed and pulled at his every muscle, pinning him awkwardly in place. Petra, still ablaze with biotic fire, sauntered over to the man, pistol in hand. She held it to his temple, the singularity binding his body, as effective as any conventional restraint, if not more. The Asari paused; in light of recent events, she had wished to interrogate the man, but the Code prevented her from doing so. Instead, she posed a single question. “What are you?” The man remained still, his contorted body clearly in pain, and yet still he uttered no sound and made no attempt to escape or reason his way out of the situation. Petra, satisfied that she would receive no answer, pulled the trigger. The man’s gray eyes rolled back into his skull, and his body went limp. Petra collapsed the singularity, allowing the corpse to fall to the floor. She holstered her pistol and examined the man’s damaged thigh. Beneath the skin, where there would normally be flesh, muscle and bone, was a network of synthetic wires, implants and other synthetic material grafted directly onto the organic tissue. This unsettled her; she had never seen or heard of anything like it before. Standing back up, she stared at the gap the man had been able to make in the blast doors. No ordinary being could manage such a thing: the blast doors were specifically designed to be impossible to override by strength alone. She glanced back at the body. There was more to this than she had previously thought. Balancing the corpse on one shoulder, she set off back along the corridor, away from the devastation she had caused.

This was all she could do for him now. The console on her oxygen tank beeped intermittently at her, a reluctant reminder of the frailty of her organic body in the alien environment of space. She bid him a last, silent farewell and tugged on her tether, engaging its attached motor which quietly reeled her back towards her ship. Its thrusters ignited with but a whisper, the only evidence she had ever been there the golden ion trail that painted the sky and, of course, him.
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Postby DanteSilver » July 18th, 2011, 9:05 am

Dusters. No matter the standard of refuse a world had, dusters were always worse, more pathetic, a waste of oxygen and life. Away from Omega and Aria's tight rein over the red sand trade, Outlaw's Reach had multiple markets and no overarching threat keeping them in check. You met dealers in the slums almost everywhere, undercutting by the credit, bartering in human trafficking, trading sand for some things as trivial as catching a ride from one section to another. The economy of the sand trade suffered, but it did mean that it was everywhere.
As long as you had money.

Patterson, a human approaching his thirties, had been aged horrendously by his addiction. His fellow turian duster, Wolk, lay beside him fidgety and irritable. It had been almost five days without so much as a drop of sand and instead of feeling cleaner, they felt worse, the withdrawal ushering in all manner of physical and mental maladies that non-dusters called real life. They could not be any less ready for real life. Though addled, Patterson had a plan, it was no use begging for credits under the pretence of hunger, his red eyes and rosy hued skin and teeth gave his duster status away.. instead, he'd play street vagabond with no fear of law enforcement clamping down on his efforts. First, Wolk would tackle people, his turian anatomy capable of absorbing more damage than the squishier human. They'd requisitioned two seven inch serrated blades and a very low on ammo Kessler pistol for their armoury. The pistol had been rarely fired but its presence was enough to get wallets singing the songs of credits.

They lay 'motionless' in blankets and the only notable landmark was a cantina several hundred metres away. The patrons ignored them and the bouncers thought even less. Patterson was waiting for wealthy quarry today. The economy was bad but their financial was worse still that they needed a lot to make even on the amounts they needed.
"There," Wolk rasped.
"Where?" Patterson also croaked, throat dry from withdrawal.
"Technician, by the maintenance hub, weak looking human."
Patterson did not have a response to the turian's dig, he was a weak looking human himself, "let's do it." He lurched to his feet and pulled the blanket around tight, hiding the pistol. Wolk kept the blades tucked into the sleeves of his ill-fitting coat. The technician was buried in his work that he did not see them approach him.
"Nice night human," Wolk began with the pretence of idle chatter, he positioned himself on the right hand side of the technician, Patterson standing directly behind.
No response. The technician just continued his work, his head bobbing this way and that as he looked fully engrossed in his task. Patterson took a step forward, "okay, if you don't wanna be disturbed just point us to your creds," he let the whir of his assembling pistol punctuate the non-negotiable request. Again, no response. Patterson turned to Wolk and he shrugged his shoulders. Patterson grunted and looked for the technician's kit bag. It lay open perhaps a metre between them. His feet scraped forward as he took a grip of the handle -- the technician whirled around, motion almost too quick for the eye could see, and let out a high pitched sound of alarm. His omni tool disappeared as his hands planted a vice grip on the hand Patterson had on the bag. He was caught off guard and reflexively fired a round from the Kessler, sailing woefully wide of the technician.
"Shit, shit, shit," he said, engaged in a tug of war. Wolk moved as fast as his addled limbs could muster. His arms locked the technician from behind as he tried to engage a full nelson hold, but the tech's arms were strong. "Let go if you want to live!" Patterson warned, as his arm brought the Kessler under control and aimed at the gut of the tech. His eyes registered no alarm, or even any recognition and they moved aimlessly within his head. There was something odd, mechanical, about his movements. Wolk released one arm and aimed a punch at the tech's kidney. The crunch of the impact was very audible but his grip did not loosen nor did he flinch. Another happened, and there was nothing. The tech shrugged Wolk's bulk off and wrenched the bag free from Patterson, tearing it in half, its contents spewing everywhere.

"Frag this!" and Patterson shot the tech in the gut. He flinched, stumbling backwards and his eyes... flashed? No, it must have been withdrawal, hallucinations or something. Patterson shot again and again, pushing the tech back. Blood began staining his uniform but he remained standing. Wolk locked his fingers and delivered a firm double handed horizontal blow to the tech's head and he lurched with the impact, knocked completely off balance to the floor. The dusters panted. Why was that so hard? The tech twitched as Wolk began scavenging the credits from the floor, Patterson walked to him and looked at the wounds. The blood congealing was black and thick, no doubt a consequence of repeated firing and he spat on the technician before shooting him in the head. The hole split his forehead apart and... again Patterson saw the eyes flash before glazing over.

"I need a hit after that," Wolk declared, rolling his shoulders, the credits tucked away in his pockets, before picking up the arms of the dead technician. Patterson grunted his agreement and followed his turian pal in picking up the feet. Maybe someone would want to know about this body, maybe somebody would pay good money for it.
"The body first." Then I'm gonna talk to Darlar about this...
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Postby Slannman » August 9th, 2011, 8:56 pm

Sender — Kies Palendra ID700745262
Recipient — Tarakth ID********
Subject — New Interests

Gragatnk Tarakth, the company on Reach has achieved exactly what I’d hoped for; things are boring. I know you’ll chastise me for leaving the STG and yes, I clearly stated that I was done with their conspiracies and government secrets but Reach is far more shallow than even I thought was possible. Of course there are your drug runners, your crime lords and corrupt officials but we both know that this is frivolous compared to what *********** showed us. So yes you were right I should have stayed where my skills were being put to their best use but there is this delightful human phrase ‘that ship has sailed’ which I think applies rather nicely. The best thing I can find to peak my interest is something I stumbled on down by a maintenance duct in the lower levels; which as this station’s new Head Engineer I have full access to. So far all I’ve been able to figure out is that there’s some sort of unknown electronic signal somewhere within the slum district but it’s a little pet project for now at least. I’ll let you know if things pick up at all and I’ll prepare myself for whatever brow beating you have in store for me.

Until next time you old hoarder.

Sender — Kies Palendra ID700745262
Recipient — Tarakth ID********
Subject — Curioser and Curioser…

Well a lot has changed since my last message to you Tarakth and many thanks for those beta-stage bionic implants that you sent last month; took me more than a few hours to crack those new Citadel encryptions, but this is not why I send this message. I have had a breakthrough regarding my mysterious signal. I think I have found a code that even I cannot crack; yes an STG cryptologist cannot break the silhouette coding surrounding a lowly maintenance duct! I should be ashamed but I’m thrilled about it! At last a challenge on this rust bucket of a station (I realise I must sound a little desperate)! So I look into the schematics of this duct, what it connects, what should be in there, what shouldn’t, and I find nothing. Literally a blank space on the schematics, radiation scans, energy signatures. It is like some sort of black box within the station that cannot be opened which as you understand as a collector yourself I cannot simply pass by. Tonight I am going to install a temporary security feed and keep an eye on any visitors; if of course the constant repairs on Reach don’t keep me from this mystery.

I look forward to hearing from you Tarakth.

P.S. I heard of an abandoned asari freighter plummeting into a thresher nest a week back. That wasn’t you I hope. It sounds like the kind of ridiculous stunt you’d pull when you want something.

Sender — Kies Palendra ID700745262
Recipient — Tarakth ID********
Subject — A Code That’s Not A Code

I think I know now why I chose Reach. This ‘hidden duct’ isn’t the only one of its kind; Reach has a secret chamber behind every wall it seems! The way the station was put together; ship welded to ship, bulkheads screwed over the gaps, air supply squirted into every room, it leaves entire corridors contorted but hidden within the station that no-one has set foot in since the station was still a bunch of space craft. So imagine my delight when I find the medical bay of a small fuel tanker sitting right beneath my own quarters with storage and equipment simply waiting to be used! I’m no surgeon but an aging salarian can have a hobby can he not? But moving on from my new annex I almost forgot to mention the interesting twist in the tale of the unbreakable code. It isn’t a code. It’s a brain. The brain fires electronic signals to and from node to node this we know but this is a brain with readings akin to most VI interfaces or AI systems, what’s more I think I know who built it. My security feeds have picked up a haggard looking human male making infrequent visits to the duct I mentioned before, I followed him to the slum district where I’d tracked the signal to way back when I first stumbled on it and his apartment matches the signal’s exact location.
Now this is where you come in Tarakth, I alone do not have the knowledge on cybernetics needed to understand this clearly synthetic brain structure so I would like to extend an invitation to Reach, along with a share of whatever we can find regarding this encoded brain.

Reply as soon as you can and I will have the docking information sent to you.

Sender — Kies Palendra ID700745262
Recipient — Tarakth ID********
Subject — A Fool Rushing In

First of all I would like to apologize Tarakth, I received your reply and was anticipating your arrival in the next few weeks but my curiosity got the better of me and I took another look at the mysterious duct again. By chance I happened to have the implants you sent me inside my case and as I approached the wall they began to stream data to my omni-tool right from within my case! Whatever was inside the duct was showing up on their sensors as a target. Tarakth, those implants were engineered to target Geth troops trying to infiltrate the Citadel. I have to open that duct and I can’t trust the station security to mess something like this up so I’m on my own until you arrive.

Get here quick.

Sender — Kies Palendra ID700745262
Recipient — Tarakth ID********
Subject — No Subject

Tarakth I need you here. I got inside. You need to see what was in there. This channel isn’t secure enough for me to say what I found but, well this could be huge. Or’shadn speed you Tarakth.

-

Tarakth stared down at the body. Kies’ body. The body surrounded by a dried pool of blood. The body of a friend.
“You should have waited Kies! You should have waited for me.”
Tarakth closed his messages history as he sat on the side of Kies’ bed. He’d scanned the room on entering and had found his friend’s body surrounded by a dried pool of blood. A large dent in the bulkhead wall showed where the bullet had impacted after exiting Kies’ frame yet there was no bullet. It soon became apparent why; Tarakth had not been the first to arrive at Kies’ murder scene, an Asari had searched the room and checked the security feed as Tarakth had done but she’d taken the bullet before leaving as evidence. There was no legitimate law enforcement on Reach so she must have had an agenda, what that was remained a mystery.
With his large forehead in his hands Tarakth let out a long breath and thought back through the messages. Kies had mentioned a new found annex, a lab or med bay of some kind right beneath his quarters a room that the asari couldn’t have known about. Tarakth looked around for a console to open up a door but nothing seemed obvious. Then he noticed something odd about Kies’ personal items by the bed, in a case were three medals of service in the STG but Kies had only ever earned two. Tarakth pressed down on the unfamiliar medal and was rewarded with the hiss of an airtight door unlocking itself, the bed slid back to reveal a ladder descending into the dark.
“What are you hiding Kies?” he murmured with a sidelong glance at his friend’s body.

The annex was lit by only a few cold blue lights and the screens that flickered across the walls but even in the darkness Tarakth could see that Kies had been busy. The modified omni-tool gave a quick analysis of the scene, highlighting medical equipment and supplies but more surprisingly it reported that an operating table was currently occupied. Tarakth pushed aside hanging wires and scattered readouts and stepped into the harsh light of the operating space at the centre of the lab and recalled Kies’ last message.
I got inside. You need to see what was in there. This channel isn’t secure enough for me to say what I found but, well this could be huge.
Tarakth removed his helmet and gaped. On the table lay a body in various states of dissection showing not flesh and bone and blood and muscle but wiring and battery cells. A portion of the thing’s cranium had been removed to analyse the ‘brain’ inside but just below it was a face as human as Tarakth had seen anywhere else. Tarakth had studied wiring like this, parts of it were stored on his ship; this was Geth technology right to the core he thought as the hybrid’s head slowly turned to face Tarakth. The pallid flesh stretched taut across the jawline as a grating sound was forced through a synthetic layrnx.
“You are too late…”
Last edited by Slannman on August 13th, 2011, 1:53 pm, edited 3 times in total.
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Postby DanteSilver » August 13th, 2011, 9:20 am

Theta-3 continued its spiral, shedding pieces of hardware with every painfully slow revolution. The exterior circuits powering the kinetic barriers beneath the shields spluttered pathetically and every now and then caused a short in the cockpit, making the lights flicker. Its pilot, Lee, slumped motionless in his seat, the harness being the only thing holding his unconscious body in its place. He bled from various cuts and a much larger gash on his forehead that was inflicted by the shattered viewing ports. The automated depressurising kinetic barrier kicked in not long after Lee lost consciousness from the head trauma.

The sensors were caught in a soup of electrical interference and the damage to the ship's primary systems. The interceptor had lost its primary drive core hence the drifting, stabilisers hence the slow spiral and the AI interface was reduced to a sonic warble that Lee's human ears would not be able to pick up. The ship bumped against something and its trajectory had swiftly changed, the shift in motion causing Lee to lull to the left, his head hitting the remains of his ship's targeting system panel. He moaned but made no progress with regaining consciousness.

The alteration was caused by his ship being caught in a tractor beam and dragged towards the shipyard of wreckage that were the previous Reach patrol squadrons. Their ships were had drones and slightly larger almost spidery machines all over them, stripping and repurposing. The shipyard was a graveyard that was growing. Theta-1 and 2, the drell and elcor, had just joined but in a far less intact condition. The drones assessed the wrecks and their lights flashed intermittently before the main guns of the dropship turned to the wrecks and turned them to dust. Soon the drones and spiders were informed of Theta-3's immobilised status. Systems were ripe for picking, if only Lee would wake up before they got to him...
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Postby DanteSilver » August 22nd, 2011, 11:47 am

"...short range comms..."
"...only systems ....ational..."
"...cking machines... got us... ort... curlies..."
"..eak... self human... kro... ...air on our..."
"...ay... frosty..."
"Never under... ...uman phrase, dates ba... ...centuries. Military?"
"Fu..ing... ...th... taunting us with... ...nge comms..."
"They're all over my ship, ah no, no, goddess no! Agghhhhhhhhhhh! Krrrrrsssssshhhhttttttttt!"
"...ld've... our best... ...ot."
"Reti... ...servation:... ...bably right salar..."
"Guess we're just ...ting... to die..."


More lights flickered and died inside Lee's cockpit. What was left of his AI scavenged power from somewhere to give life support more of a boost. Lee had attached communications to his life support in the ultimate validation of paranoia before flying out patrol detail. His operational short range communication array meant that they were deemed non-essential systems that the drones and spidery things had not stripped away and repurposed.

Now if only he could (wake up and) make use of that...
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Postby Slannman » August 23rd, 2011, 1:02 am

“Jesus doctor, ye diggen a lettle deep thar! I got a fractured femur not a feckin’ tape worm!”
The asari physician continued to slide the scalpel into the cage fighter’s left leg slicing down through the soft muscle tissue, the organic material pulling apart beneath the cold sharpened edge of the blade. She pushed through a knot in the leg’s ligament with unfeeling precision.
“AAAARRRRGH! Get off me! Are you insane?!” Dunnock roared slamming his palm into the physician’s nose. A tried and tested face-busting move that tended to get people’s attention when Dunnock wanted it. This time it fractured his wrist.
“EEEARRGH! Ma’ hand!”
A flicker, a flash passed behind the physician’s eyes.
“What ar’ ye?”
The asari’s features seemed to return from a daze, as if the blow to the face had affected something deeper inside.
I’m sorry sir what seems to be the problem? Shall I dress your leg wound?” the asari’s smile a perfect imitation of that which had spread across her face when Dunnock had entered the clinic. She seemed unaware of the blood; or at least the black blood-like substance, trickling down her face through her nostrils.
“Are ye crazy?! Where’s the mole-man, the lettle volus doctor?”
He is sick and will not be returning to his rounds.” The smile was unmoving and unyielding.
“Tha’s a real shame cos’ HE knew how to fix a leg! Not cut the damn theng off!”
I assure you sir, this is the cutting edge in med-
“CUTTING EDGE?! You can say tha’ agen! Ma leg is BROKEN! Not a block o’ cheese!”
Dunnock swung off the gurney and grimaced as his left foot hit the floor.
Sir, I need you to calm down and sit back on the gurney,
“Get away from me. Ah’m leavin’!”
No sir. You can’t go back there, that is a quarantine area!
Dunnock stumbled backwards through a doorway at the rear of the clinic. The bright sterile lights of the Pit’s clinic suddenly fell away as Dunnock slipped on his own blood and into what was once the clinic’s operating theatre; into what was now its morgue. The bodies of all the deceased fighters over the past few weeks lay in rows all across the tiled floor; a few vorcha stacked together with their chests peeled back and their cruel eyes squinting in terror; a human male screamed an endless cry with what was left of his lower jaw; a volus in medical garments stood by a storage cabinet, a number of organs arrayed on a board beside him. The Pit doctor!
“Doc? Doc ya got to get out of here, she’s gone cra-,” blood dripped from an opening in the volus’ suit. She got him too…
“You sick bitch,”
This was an eventuality that you were not to encounter…yet,
“YET?! You plannen on cutten mee up too?!!”
Incorrect. You were a prime specimen for our study,
“Specimen?”
With blood slick feet he pushed back from where the asari had appeared in the doorway. A bulk slumped across into his lap, staring up at him with empty sockets was the krogan he’d fought not a few hours earlier it’s face lined with surgical incisions. For the second time that night he pushed the krogan’s body away from him.
You are an anomaly with regards to your species’ physiology. You are not as pliable as they are. Your platform would be very welcome.
“Ma platform?”
Stewart Dunnock should correct his platform and submit to re-configuring,
Stewart Dunnock? The names echoed inside the cage fighter’s head. Dun. Brood-pet. Lt. Dunnock. Stewart Caerdraed Dunnock.
“Ay, Dunnock, that’s ma name,” he muttered under his breath.
The asari crouched down and stretched out a hand, “Submit.” The flash passed past the eyes.
The injured man reached for his bleeding leg, “And a Dunnock does’na submit t’no-one!!!”
In a fluid motion Dunnock pulled the scalpel from the folds of his muscle tissue and staked the blade into the side of the asari’s cranium. The shifting eyes looked into his as the black liquid snaked down between them.
You- you are too late. They are here now.
Dunnock pulled his hand back and brought his fist down again on the scalpel making an inhuman squeal of metal, the bleeding fighter placed his right foot on the asari’s chest and kicked it back across the door’s threshold. He grabbed some medi-gel from the shelves and decided to forgo any surgery and patched himself up as best he could; Dunnock turned around to look down at the dead Asari. Dunnock ran a hand over his shaved head.
These thengs are som’n else, som’n that doesn’t dent when ah hit em, som’n that needs a bigger heyd than maine t’understand. Someone like Darlar would pay well for information like this an he’s gowt the brayns f’it too.
Dunnock walked off to the cages to get his belongings.
Well at least is’not Bloodpack.
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