(Omega) Smalltimers Anonymous [Closed]

Omega, Eastward Spire, Corner of Reytila Avenue and [Redacted] Street

Nassa D'Veyra was a stone-cold liar.

And, y'know, a killer, torturer, one-time slaver, hedonist, racist and a would-be genocidaire, but those aren't relevant at the moment.

No, D'Veyra is a liar. How could someone as proud as her let the extranet in on the secret that she'd been kicked out of the Eclipse Sisterhood? And that she is now, for all intents and purposes, a dirty, small-time freelancer?

Oh the asarity, etc.

---

She didn't have a friend running a piracy gig. No, what D'Veyra had was a habit of mouthing off in bars.

"Oh, you're hiring? Perfect! ... But you need a team of four? ... No problem, I know a few people, just give me a couple've days and I'll work something out, okay?"

And now here she was - an asari on the run from Eclipse, a krogan with an axe to grind against the Blue Suns, a self-taught guerrilla from the Neamean Abyss and an elcor with a fondness for volus and intoxicants.

Freelancing sucks.

---

The corner of Reytila Avenue and [Redacted] Street (fucking vorcha) was the only quiet part of the Eastward Spire arcology.

Not that the district was particularly dangerous, or embroiled in a gang war or anything - quite the opposite, actually. Today was the great salarian Latacunga Festival, practiced by all good lystheni bloodlines by dressing up in garish colours, drinking excessively and making as much noise as possible to scare away the demon bird goddess Innani. Alien visitors were few and far between, although a keen observer could make out a couple of humans wandering through the streets.

Nassa D'Veyra stepped over one, as a matter of fact, as he puked his guts up on the road.

There's always one.

She glanced at her omnitool anxiously. She'd never had the flair for espionage work, and making up a fake vmail address for her imaginary salarian friend, telling the three CDNers to meet here in a few minutes.

Spotting the contact, a tall salarian flanked by a pair of turian bodyguards, D'Veyra walked over.

"I'm Melia," she said, by way of greeting, "my acquaintances will be along shortly."

She hoped. It would help if she knew what any of them looked like, at least.

That smile plastered across the asari's face was getting smaller by the minute.

A rather short barefaced turian woman with a strikingly white carapace and outfitted in your standard issue turian armor (never hurts not to be prepared) walked the road. She was going to be a bit late of course, Styia knew that. And this was most definitely a strike against her attempts at being as professional as possible. Though picking this location on this specific day was the fault of the client after all.

The stupid fucking client who scheduled a meeting in migraine motherfucking central, the bright colors, the obnoxious loud noises... She could already imagine the throbbing in her skull later. Her mandibles started twitching in anger as she quickly shook her head to clear it.

Stay calm She thought to herself. Professionalism. Even if you are likely getting fucked over by another shithead that thinks you are just cannonfodder. Professionalism she repeated the word in her several times as her own personal mantra as she continued walking, trying her best now to block out the noise and colors without causing a second Entish.

Finally, she saw an asari and a salarian (the latter of whom she assumed was the contact) as she strolled up to them. "Styia, at your service", she said, trying to sound as professional as possible even though she gave no last name.

She was apparently one of the first there at least. So that was going for her.

Worag was gathering looks from the revelers and certainly not for good reasons. Lystheni or Sur'Keshian, animosity between krogan and salarians remained and this ugly mutt had the gall to intrude on the amphibian people's festival street.

The krogan with the shattered crest however was not looking for a fight today, but for work as promised by the ex-Eclipse (Exclipse?) trooper. He'd have to see if the gig with D'Veyra would eclipse the experience of working with the Suns. Speaking of that, in middle of the sea of salarians, lone asari stood out with pair of fringe-head escorts. She might be the contact. Worag pushed his way through the crowd towards the group. Yup, he could pick the promised scent of strong perfume.

"We got plenty of firepower here already. Your friends might be disappointed from lack of action." he said, gesturing at the turian bodyguards.

The salarian's lip curled at the sight of Worag, while one of his bodyguards muttered a joke in a dialect too uncommon for translators to pick up easily.

"All here? Good. To work."

There had barely been enough time for Nassa D'Veyra - sorry, Melia - to give a smile and a nod to Styia and a faint grimace at Worag. The asari had never liked krogan, let alone worked with one.

"Mission is simple. Ship is docked two blocks that way. Lots of guards - Blue Suns." The salarian coughed, a thin dribble of green peeping over the edge of his lips. "You three kill guards, clear ship, hold it. We come in, pilot it away to different arcology, pay you a quarter each of ship's value." He produced a handkerchief - real cotton, by the looks of it - and wiped away the blood. "Any questions?"

"Yeah, I've got one," D'Veyra said, speaking up. "How many Suns are we going to be up against? How far away are their reinforcements? And..." This one wasn't addressed to the frog, but to the two freelancers other two freelancers.

"What are your stories? What are your skillsets?"

After all, just because D'Veyra had read their files, it wouldn't do to have anyone associate Nassa D'Veyra with 'Melia'. Not with the size of the bounties on D'Veyra's head.

"Docks are well-guarded but reinforcements are a few blocks away. Plenty of time to secure vessel. Any other questions?" Their new contact turned to the other two.

---

It should be pretty clear what D'Veyra's Melia's skillset was. The light suit of armour, coupled with a very visible amp, suggested a biotic specialist, while her very heavy musculature, coupled with the stolen Graal on her back, screamed Vanguard.

The two pistols hung from her belt didn't exactly dispel the image, either.

Styia nodded in turn to 'Melia' and even gave one to Worag. She had only worked with one of those very rarely. So this would be interesting.

She saw the salarian cough and dab back... something. But didn't bother to say anything. He was the client. And she didn't care about his affliction so long as he actually paid her and explained what he wanted her to do. The latter of which he had done well enough.

Then the asari spoke, asking for 'stories' and 'skill sets'

"There is no story, dear. None that are important to this anyway. I'm a freelancer. I need credits. That's it", She chuckled before she pointed to her head. "Biotic." then she pointed to the (really battered) Pheaston on her back.

Her rather lithe form compared to 'Melia's' pointed not to the vanguard style of biotic combat. But to the more refined, well, 'adept' side of it all.

The krogan paid little attention to unsavoury reactions. After centuries, it was hardly new thing for him. However getting to really drive in the point to Suns that he wasn't working with them did elicit a deep guffaw from Worag.

"Guarded by blues? Maybe I'll get to nail few old friends while at it." he cracked his knuckles together. Then Melia asked about their backgrounds and skills. Worag adjusted his grenade belt to a better position.

"My story? About the same you'd get from any other Omegan krogan. Irregular warfare, regular warfare, pirating, mercing, bouncing, private security...anything where you need muscle and menacing looks and guarantee of your own guys coming on top." he shrugged.

As for Worag's kit, he had two belts of explosives, grenade belt running over chest and what looked like to be belt of mines on the waist. His armor, as far as sets for krogan went, looked to be on the medium-side, patched here and there. Worag's assault rifle didn't look like anything from the popular brands. It had a long barrel, large heatsink clip and dedicated launcher under the barrel for grenades and such, and the thing didn't look like it had much to fold into.

"Heavy hitter here. Incendiary grenades, mines and this mean mother ready to unleash hail of death. Comes with disruptor mode too."

"Biotic, hey? Like a Cabalist?" Given the secrecy surrounding turian biotics, D'Veyra had never worked with one before. She'd heard the stories, though.

She doesn't look much like one of those N-types, or whatever the furheads call 'em. Still, never rule someone out 'less you've got reason to.

At least, with a turian, she could count on someone having her back if Worag blood raged or anything. Freelancing, not trusting those around you, was like an itch between her shoulder blades.

Better that than working with a krogan, though. That cut somewhere deep, deep inside. D'Veyra just hoped she'd be professional enough to cover it up. Once a Commando, always a Commando. Get the job done, then get out.

Worag got a nod, at least. No smile, but that was something, and D'Veyra's eyes lit up at the sight of the gun.

"Tides, man, that looks pretty fuckin' sweet. Custom job?"

Their contact coughed again.

"If team-building is finished, please hurry. Navpoint has been uploaded to omnitools, along with comm details for when ship is secure. Will see you on the other side, no?" Another dribble of green was wiped away as the salarian turned away, his turian bodyguards following.

One of them made a 'gun' with his talons at Worag and 'fired' it, laughing. Maybe a CDEM vet in another life, that one.

The trio's omnitools beeped as the data downloaded. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. Two blocks widdershins, then we're at the docks. Their target was a big, cargo-hauling freighter - a turian one, judging by the name - neatly positioned in the main docking bay.

"So..." D'Veyra drawled, unsure who'd be taking the lead. "Did anyone have any preparations they needed to make, or should we get on with it? And how do we want to do this, sneak in and scout or just go with violence of fucking action?"

Tides. I hate freelancing/

Styia chuckled. "Yes. Like a cabalist you could say. Though I have never set foot on a Hierarchy owned world myself. Abyss born you see." She felt her migraine that was building earlier subside, but not fade completely. Good. Maybe if this mission paid out well she could finally replace the amps her gracious 'hosts' had given her. The power was great, thrilling even. But the near constant throb in her head made it just as much a curse.

What point was having power when it caused you pain? She was really envying 'Melia' because of that.

Professionalism.

She shook her head, 'snapping out of it' just in time to see the salarians walk away and 'Melia' to start talking.

"Let's got on with it", she said. Barely hiding her excitement (and chanting Professionalism in her head like a mantra once more) finally, what she was here for. "I would say that stealth would normally be ideal since," she looked at the krogan and asari again. "We have a krogan and an asari who looks like she can kick some major ass. But still..." she paused, calming herself a little. " But still I think it would be good to scout ahead first."

Biotics...Worag had seen one honest-to-gods battlemaster in his clan back on Tuchanka, ages ago. That man had been truly a fright for young whelp like him, when he had hoisted a big block of broken pillar and then crumbled it with a warp. The powers that blue poisonous powder held when the body knew to use it right. A power denied to krogan for so long, but perhaps the cure would spare the eezo-saturated youth now, and let them grow into new battlemasters. Then the Cabals, commandos, N7s and STG would get their match.

Their handler's query about his gun brought Worag back from his wonderings. He blinked. "This? Yeah, I had a mechanic tweak it a little bit. Faster ammo shearing and custom twin sink slots for uninterrupted fire rate. The launcher is outta the store though, but you won't find it on any cannon fodder issued guns, salarians like their infantry cheap." he grinned, giving an eye to the ill-looking contact. The finger-gun shooting turian merely got a flash of his teeth back.

"Ain't no time when recon hasn't shown any good. Let's scope out the site, see if we've any options besides run and gun." he offered his opinion on the approach.

D'Veyra raised her brow at the mention of Abyss born. Sure, she knew already, but it was better to play along, wasn't it?

"Alright, stealth it is. What're your comm frequencies?"

---

Eastward Spire was a mostly salarian arcology, and mostly lystheni at that (hence the booming popularity of migraine central Latacunga). The crowds were tight, everyone covered in colours bright enough to make a raver quit the scene, and the stench of alcohol was everywhere.

The docks themselves were a different story - here, the parties ebbed away and left this space to the hard-working men and women who kept Omega turning. Eezo, drugs and slaves out; precious metals, slaves and weapons in. Such was life in the arsehole of the galaxy.

Their target was dead ahead, a stocky turian freighter, unarmed but packing a nice set of GARDIAN defensive lasers.

The only problem was between the freelancers and the ship - the docks were full of dockworkers going about their business, along with a menagerie of mechs, all loading and unloading. Two pockets of Blue Suns stood about - one in a tight huddle, watching something on one of their omnitools and laughing; the other spread out and weapons-ready.

A pair of Suns walked up, into the ship's loading bay, while another pair walked out. So they're inside, too. Tides.

---

At least there was plenty of cover. D'Veyra had hidden herself in between a couple of packing crates perched perilously close together (Omega Workplace Health and Safety, ladies and gentlemen), about halfway between the edge of the docks and the vessel.

"Testing, testing, one two three," she whispered, squinting through the haze toward their target. "I'm in position and can see two pockets of hostiles - one by that big mech with the broken leg and the other in a skirmish line over by the left side of the vessel's loading bay. I'm hidden in those two big crates just right of the centre.

"Where are you both? What can you see?"

Unlike Nassa or Styia, he did not have the luxury of moving discreetly. Krogan always stood out from a crowd, unless it was one on Tuchanka. Worag's position of vantage was where the streets proper ended and dockside began. He could stand there and keep an eye on the ship and any possible reinforcements that could come from the Eastward Spire's way.

"Worag here. I'm by the archway leading to the main street. No Suns over here, will inform if more decide to come."

His position wasn't just for staying out of sight either. If he opened fire from over here, he'd direct the guards' attention away from Nassa's position enabling her to flank them. Establishing a machinegun nest would be easy with all the tables, crates and other assorted large items nearby.

Styia would have honestly never thought she would have been glad to see an Omegan docking bay. No bright colors, no screaming salarians crowding the streets, just the smell of metal and cargo (living and non-living)and probably a hint of self-loathing from your average dockworker.

There was also the adrenaline pumping through her as she surveyed the area from her little hideyhole behind some slightly rusted machinery that served who knows what purpose. But it gave her a nice enough hiding spot to see what was going on at least. And in the event of any 'incidents' she could flank the Suns along with Nassa.

"Styia here. I'm hidden between some machinery to the right probably not too far from you. I see no other Suns in the area"

The stationary group of Suns were all now bringing out their omni-tools. Maybe sharing whatever they had been laughing up earlier? Whatever it was, their source of amusement wasn't the only thing going to be shared soon. Closely huddled together guards were a perfect target for carefully applied biotics.

D'Veyra readied her gun. She had formulated a plan to eliminate the opposition, and it was time to put it into action. "Styia, lay a singularity on the group. Worag, shoot them with your grenades while they're up." The asari vanguard quickly radioed the orders and set her sights on the guard at the end of skirmish line. This batarian would serve as her meat shield for dispatching the rest of the Blue Suns.

---

Worag took the gun off his back and with a nimble motion, brought it forwards and loaded up the launcher with a HE grenade in the same go, much to the bystanding salarians' horror.

"You better scatter now, shit's gonna fly in a second." he grumbled to make sure the message got in. He wasn't out to kill pedestrians today, there were Suns to be shot!

He aimed at the group of guards. As soon as they were enveloped in the field, he'd open fire.

"Ready. Get to it, turian."