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Post by Maelstrom on Feb 26, 2017 1:48:57 GMT -6
[GM Post]
Three months have passed since the destruction of the Valiant.
Messages have been sent out to the very best mercenaries throughout the galaxy by The Shadow Broker. The messages are brief, giving only information the location of the meeting, the promise of considerable pay, a personal password, and the name of the contact- Feron. “Once in Afterlife,” it promises, “you will be shown to a private room by a personal aid of Aria T’Loak. Here, the mission of a lifetime will be discussed.”
The bass of the music blaring throughout Afterlife resonates deep within the chests of those who enter. A seedy but lively crowd populates the notorious bar. Upon entry, one of Aria’s more trusted aids approaches (either Grizz, Bray, or Garka) and leads the player up past Aria’s private booth to a private office concealed by a hidden wall.
Inside, the music is muted, though it still thrums through the walls and windows. The room is of the same construction as the rest of the club, though the perceptive observer will note anti-eavesdropping devices installed around the perimeter of the room. The lighting is also a bit brighter, if still dim. At the center of the room sits a massive desk of Thessian Rosewood, a swivel chair of soft leather positioned behind it. A few large couches sit in a semicircle around the desk. The walls are covered in an interesting array of items collected over the course of Aria’s life, ranging from a bloodstained krogan helmet, to an expressionist salarian painting, to a prothean sculpture, and a number of weapons, both advanced and mundane. There is little else of note.
Inside sits a single drell behind Aria’s desk. His coloration is slightly more blue than many members of his species, while at the same time having several swaths of rusty coloration around his face. He is unarmed, save for a M-11 Suppressor. He is flanked, however, by a pair of silent krogan bodyguards, standing still as statues. The drell is largely silent, giving one the impression that he is reserving his conversation for the arrival of more mercenaries, though he checks his omni-tool with the arrival of each new mercenary, before giving each a respectful nod of acknowledgement.
[Notes]
• Your character may arrive as you choose, with a short adventure on the way to the bar or not, as your preference dictates. If you do have any encounters on the way to the bar, they should not be anything that wildly upsets life on Omega.
• Your password will be custom-tailored to your character, and those who previously served on the Valiant may choose something only their employers would know, if they so wish.
• Rumors and the less-reliable news sources abound with stories of Batarian systems going dark. No one knows the cause, but it has many on-edge. Your post should include something about your character’s thoughts/feelings regarding this development.
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Post by Arcus on Mar 1, 2017 4:13:28 GMT -6
Arcus sat at the bar of the Afterlife, sliding his drink back and forth Idly between his hands, pondering his future. He knew this would be an interesting one, whatever it was. He had done missions for some high profile people, including Aria, in the past, but none had been for the Shadow Broker before.
The turian paused, his glass forgotten for the moment. At least, he didn’t think any of them had been for the Shadow Broker. Come to think of it, would he really have known if one of them had been? He frowned. Well, meeting in one of Aria’s rooms for the specifics, that would imply this was legitimate. No way Aria would be associated with a name drop like the Shadow Broker without it being true, and no fool would invite someone like him into Aria’s den under such a promise without her approval.
Anyway, Aria already knew his prefered taste in work, and the Shadow Broker certainly would too, so yes. . . Interesting.
Then there was the password. First off, who uses a password rather than an encryption key or some other sort of digital signature? Secondly, why “kris?” Well, he supposed it was appropriate in it’s own way. A kris is a knife. Arcus liked knives. A lot. But even he had to look up that word to find out what it was. I am going to assume that it is supposed to mean the ancient earth knife and NOT the volus pleasure device. He shuddered. Still, it was appropriate, short, obscure, yet easy to remember. Stupidly designed knife, though. What was the use in all those squiggles?
His thoughts broke off as he looked up. The face of a familiar turian was walking straight towards him from the stairs leading to Aria’s VIP lounge. As he approached, Arcus gave a friendly wave. “Hello, Asshole!”
Grizz scowled at him. “Fuck you.”
Arcus gave an exaggerated wince. “C’mon, Asshole, there’s no need to be rude. Have a seat, take a break and have a drink with me. I’m sure Aria won’t mind you drinking on the job.”
Grizz continued his scowl. “Look, we both know why you’re here, Madknife. Just give me the damn password so I can get rid your sorry ass. I’ve been having to deal with you in my line of sight for nearly an hour now and I’m getting sick of it.”
“Alright, alright. You win. “Kris.” The word you are looking for is, “kris.” Are you happy?” Arcus tipped his head back, downing the last of his drink, and stood up. He straightened his black, leather-over-ablative discrete armor as he rose. “Okay, you lead, I follow.”
As they made their way across the club, they passed a table where three Batarians sat. They were speaking in lowered voices, and all had worried expressions. Arcus had heard rumor of something serious happening in Batarian space and wondered for a passing moment if there was any truth to it. He also still couldn’t get the image of the volus version of a kris out of his head. Ick.
Neither turian spoke as they past the concealed door into Aria’s private office. Arcus had been there before, and confirming that this particular room was the one in question also confirmed to him that Aria had direct involvement in this matter rather than simply playing hostess.
Or. . . . Not. Arcus cocked his head slightly upon seeing a drell sitting at Aria’s desk, sitting in Aria’s chair, and no Aria to be seen. The drell nodded slightly before doing something with his omni-tool. Arcus looked at the krogans standing to either side of the drell, then back to the drell before opening his mouth in question. The drell cut him off with a gentle gesture towards one of several chairs, and Arcus sat. He heard the door open again behind him, and called after the other turian. “Thanks for the tour, Asshole!”
Grizz paused in the doorway and muttered under his breath before exiting the room. “Freak.”
Arcus took in the silence of the room. The drell continued tapping away at his omni-tool. The krogan stood like statues, staring into nothing. He could have sworn he heard the faintest chuckle from one of them when he had addressed Grizz, but he hadn’t been looking in that direction to confirm.
Arcus crossed his legs. Then he uncrossed them. He looked at the desk. There was a small trinket on the edge nearest him. He wanted to do something with his hands, but thought better of picking up the object, considering who’s office this was. Man, he hated silence.
If we are in Aria’s office without Aria but with someone sitting at Aria’s desk, that definitely confirms Shadow Broker.
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Post by Maelstrom on Mar 1, 2017 4:22:24 GMT -6
The filters on his Collector armor’s helmet compensated for the low light levels on the dingy station. He found it amusing that what had started as a mining outpost had become one of the galaxy’s main hubs, much in the same way that the Citadel was. There were others throughout the galaxy, to be sure, but this one catered to those with his specific talents.
The walk had helped clear his mind, after the disturbing events of the past couple weeks but he still felt somewhat overwhelmed.
“I’m not sure I’m ready for this, Emily,” Maelstrom said to his VI, as he made his way toward Afterlife.
“You’ve asked me to remind you that the Shadow Broker is a vital resource to our efforts. If we have been requested by the Broker, we cannot afford to ignore the summons,” Emily replied.
He sighed. She was right. Still, he felt wrong. It did not feel like he had accomplished nearly enough against Cerberus lately. He had barely managed to get his parents out from their clutches… and then there was the matter of the new addition to his shuttle. Leaving her on the ship alone made him incredibly nervous, but he did not know that he could trust her with him either.
Again, he looked up at the small display of the young woman in the top left of his HUD. She was reclining in the co-pilot’s seat, watching a vid.
The flight to Omega would have been exceedingly uncomfortable for him, had Lysander not been present. Though he was grateful to each of his friends who had helped him escape, he had been ready for them to disembark, to allow for a return to quiet after the chaos of the past couple weeks. There was a need to quiet himself, to re-center, even if their company immediately after had helped him get his feet back under himself in the beginning. It heartened him the Lysander remained, though. Not only did it make him feel more comfortable about having the young woman on his ship, but it helped to have another presence there, when he woke from his nightmares.
He mostly ignored the rumors and news stories about batarian systems going dark, as he walked. The batarians were the furthest thing from his mind, given recent developments. If something serious was happening, he was sure he would know soon enough.
Maelstrom walked past the elcor bouncer and into the annoyingly-loud club. The constant thrumming penetrated into his suit, making him want nothing so much as to shoot out the speakers.
A batarian in medium armor walked up to him as soon as he entered. The man’s colonial markings were barely visible against his skin color. The man nodded at him, and Maelstrom nodded back. “Are you here for the meeting, sir?”
Maelstrom nodded at the turian’s question.
“Password?”
“Paranoid artillery,” Maelstrom said, not caring for the custom password any.
“Right this way,” the turian said, accepting the answer.
The batarian showed him in to a back room, accessed by a hidden panel in the wall. The room behind was decorated with a lifetime’s worth of art and trophies. A long lifetime’s worth. The lighting was good enough that his filters snapped off, leaving him to appraise the drell sitting behind the asari rosewood desk with his naked eyes. The man was a bit more of a bluish than the other members of the species Maelstrom had met. He looked comfortable, and Maelstrom guessed he had no need not to be, flanked as he was by two krogan guards.
Maelstrom took a seat on the couch directly in front of the man, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. The drell checked his omni-tool, seeming to make note of Maelstrom’s arrival, before returning the nod.
Looking to the side, Maelstrom found that he was not the first one present, for a change. A turian in ultralight armor and with strange face markings sat, staring at a trinket on the table. Maelstrom could not help but feel anxious at the though of working with a turian; after all, the past couple turians he had worked with had not been particularly pleasant to deal with. That said, he reminded himself that if they were all mentally unstable, they could never have held a place on the Citadel Council.
As such, Maelstrom gave the man a respectful nod, before deactivating the holographic display on his faceplate and removing his helmet.
[Note that circumstances surrounding the new NPC in Maelstrom’s shuttle and references to Lysander and others will be made clear when “Maelstrom: The Vise” is posted.]
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Mar 1, 2017 4:32:59 GMT -6
A small grunt of displeasure escaped his throat, as he handed the small sum of credits to the batarian who ran the locker storage area. He did not like parting with his hard-earned currency, but he always found it unprofessional to bring personal belongings to professional meetings. His helmet was held under the crook of his arm, as he made his way to Afterlife.
He was familiar with the club; he had been there often enough to take jobs in the past. It was never a favorite of his, though. His taste in bars ran more towards the seedier establishments, where fights were more likely to break out. Granted, plenty of fights started in Afterlife, but wrecking Aria’s favorite bar was a good way to end up on her shit-list. Though the krogan had been called crazy by plenty of people, he was not that insane.
“Hey, you interested in joining the Blood Pack?” a krogan in read heavy armor asked, as he stepped into Thrak’s path with a couple vorcha. The man’s headplates had not even solidified yet. “Looks like you can handle yourself.”
Thrak laughed at the young man. That the Blood Pack, founded by Clan Weyrloc, would be asking him to join them seemed too amusing for words. The young mercenary obviously didn’t know the history of the clans well. “If you knew who I was, you wouldn’t e asking.”
“The old rivalries don’t matter to the Blood Pack,” the young man insisted.
Thrak pushed him in the center of his chest, shoving him out of his way, but the younger krogan headbutted him back. That brought a big smile to his face. Thrak reared back and head-butted the man as hard as he could. The other krogan collapsed in a heap, knocked unconscious. The vorcha started to raise their guns uncertainly, but Thrak ignored them, simply going on his way.
As he walked throughout the station, he heard groups of batarians talking nervously about how they had not heard from their families back home. It was rare to see members of the race visibly shaken, but it seemed widespread. Thrak was not sure what to think. There were any number of things which could have caused it, from a coup on the homeworld to a previously-unknown species declaring war to a possibility that, while farfetched, actually scared him. Maybe the Reapers, the enemy Wrex once told him about when he had gotten drunk with the leader, were coming.
In Afterlife, a batarian walked up to him. Thrak was almost ready to get into another scrape, when the batarian asked, “Are you here for the meeting, sir?”
Thrak nodded.
“Password?”
The krogan growled a little, not caring for the password once Wrex had explained the joke to him. “Tyrannosaurus Urdnot.”
The batarian led him up, into a private room behind Aria’s usual seating area. It was an interesting room full of trophies, but Thrak found himself more captivated by the drell flanked by krogan guards. The bluish drell checked its omni-tool on Thrak’s arrival, only to give him a slight nod in response.
Taking the hint that the meeting’s organizer was not yet ready to talk, the massive krogan flopped down onto a couch, causing its springs and supports to creak in protest. Already sitting at the meeting was human in black collector armor. He raised his eyebrows at the sight. It was rare to see armor of that sort in use, and it typically spoke volumes regarding the ones wearing it.
Then he noticed the turian sitting across from him. He nearly burst out laughing. "Madknife? You've got to stop following me around everywhere I go, you damned crazy pyjak! This is my job."
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Post by Arcus on Mar 1, 2017 6:26:18 GMT -6
The door opened and a batarian, that Arcus half-recognised as another one of Aria's bodyguards, entered, escorting a human wearing black armor. What armor is that? Arcus thought for a moment. Collector? That's unusual.
After being acknowledged by the drell, the human sat down without a word. More silence. Arcus studied the mysterious trinket on the desk, pondering if it was supposed to be some sort of art piece or a religious symbol of some forgotten origin. It had three eyes on it. They began boring into his soul.
An awkward minute or two passed when the door opened a second time. Son of a. . .
The couch screamed in anguish as the krogan flopped onto it.
"Madknife? You've got to stop following me around everywhere I go, you damned crazy pyjak! This is my job."
Arcus gave a wry grin. "My being here first makes you the stalker, Thrak, and also the pyjak."
Thrak's presence meant that whatever this "opportunity" was, it was going to be very. . . violent. Arcus's eyes darkened, but his smile widened.
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Mar 1, 2017 6:40:30 GMT -6
"My being here first make you the stalker, Thrak, and also the pyjak," Arcus replied.
Thrak let out a belly-laugh. He had encountered the turian on a few jobs before, and they had all been suitably bloody for his tastes. The turian knew how to handle himself, and he did not seem to have quite the same stick up his ass as the rest of the species.
The krogan thought up a good reply, but he stifled it, not wanting the man in Collector armor or their employer to get the wrong idea about him. What those two needed to know is that he was a killer, not a joker. Besides, he had a feeling he would have plenty of time to take his jabs at the turian during the job.
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Post by Eric Lysander on Mar 1, 2017 19:40:29 GMT -6
Assured that the Vengeance’s other passenger would be safe and adequately entertained in the meantime, he tilted two fingers at her in a farewell salute before heading out the airlock door and into Omega.
Ever since joining up with Maelstrom and Nathan Bridges, Eric’s life over the past couple of years became a roller coaster of triumph and tragedy and as of late it was a downward spiral into tragedy. The assassination attempt on his life, the loss of the Valiant and the torture of Jonathan Hunt at the hands of Cerberus. The Valiant provided a needed stable center in addition to a base of operations. That flag had now transferred to the Vengeance, Jonathan – Maelstrom- having to sacrifice a good deal of secrecy and privilege in order to effect the recovery of both himself and his parents. And just when it appeared that all was settled and one could catch their breath, a message arrived from the Shadow Broker recruiting Eric and other mercenaries for “the mission of a lifetime.”
I thought that’s what our last two missions were, thought Eric as he made his way through the bustle of the station’s population. Unless it’s Reapers… it’s gotta be Reapers… lessee who’ll be taggin’ along for this ride. The Merc in Silver rounded a bend and encountered a line before a domed structure, an elcor at the front serving as bouncer.
Club AfterLife.
Near the line of hopeful entrants a group of batarians were half-huddled talking amongst themselves. Eric wondered at first if they were scheming to somehow cut the line but their somber expressions ruled out that theory. One of them seemed a bit familiar. It could not possibly be the batarian who had accosted him back on the Citadel years ago before his first mission with Bridges and company… or could it?
The batarian looked away from his friends momentarily and caught the N7 staring back at him. His eyes bugged from all four of their sockets. He quickly excused himself and ran off, leaving the others to confront the interloper.
“No trouble, fellas. He was just following some advice I gave him a while back,” Eric explained. “Lil’ case o’ mistaken identity that I helped him straighten out.”
“We have enough troubles of our own without your involvement, hue-mon,” one spoke up.
“I know. And I’ll tell ya th’ same thing I told him: I’m not involved. And for what it’s worth… it’s pretty messed up what’s been happening to your people. Your government should jus’ swallow its pride and reach out for help instead of keepin’ to itself. They’re half the reason for your troubles as it is.”
Eric’s show of understanding had the batarians dazed, at first believing he was spoiling for a fight.
“We,” one of them managed “… we don’t know what we can do… or what will happen next…”
“Take it from me: jus’ hold out for as long as ya can,” said the N7 as he started to back away towards the club. “Keep in touch with family and friends.” He pointed to the line. “And there’s no shame in a lil’ healthy distraction now and again…”
The club’s denizens drank and caroused in the dim purple and red lights without a care in the galaxy. Or they did so because there was simply too much to care about. Credit chits plunked, dancers gyrated and inebriates sloshed as Eric approached one of the stairwells leading to the office of Aria T’Loak, Afterlife’s owner and unofficial queen of Omega Station. One of her lieutenants, a batarian named Garka, met him halfway up the flight with a halting palm held up beside his chest.
“Are you here for the meeting, sir?” he asked.
“Why yes, I am,” returned Eric, his mouth askew.
“Password?”
The skew disappeared. Eric blinked twice.
“…pass-word?”
Eric’s head dropped as he gripped the bridge of his nose, blasting a draft of exasperation through his nostrils at the memory of where his password came from. Damn vorcha gargoyle…
“Well?”
“haaaah… Mr. Boom…” Eric moaned.
Garka smirked and made a path for the Merc in Silver to proceed with a hand wave. “There! That wasn’t hard now, was it?”
Eric moved swiftly past him with “Said your girlfriend-“
“What-?!”
“Nuthin!” Eric’s voice echoed from around the bend of the stairway.
Eric entered Aria’s office where Maelstrom and two other, unfamiliar mercenaries had situated themselves.
“Gentlemen?” he announced to everyone present. He glanced over to the main desk where a drell was seated flanked by two krogan bodyguards. Aria was asari so this had to be Feron, the contact mention in the Shadow Broker’s message. No response from anyone at the desk.
The other two mercs, another krogan and a turian, had an air about them as though this was not their first meeting. He acknowledged his friend Maelstrom with a nod as he sat by him; inwardly still hoping that the merc in Collector armor was as held together as he claimed to tackle yet another mission.
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Post by Maelstrom on Mar 1, 2017 20:25:49 GMT -6
Maelstrom nodded at Lysander by way of greeting, as the other man took a seat. Given the oppressive silence of the room, broken only by the brief banter between the krogan and turian, Maelstrom was hesitant to talk. Had it been longer since he saw Lysander, that would not have stopped him, but, at the moment, it seemed appropriate to just wait.
Not at all like the meetings with Bridges, he thought, a bit bitterly. Good or bad, there was always chatting, jostling for position, and at least a bit of drinking.
Looking back to the drell, he allowed himself to wonder what the man's game was and what was so important.
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 2, 2017 15:25:30 GMT -6
The shuttle docked in one of the many bays to be found on Omega, and Joe and Naetilia stepped out, as well as her FENRIS mech which she had named Purius. As soon as their feet touched the floor, the shuttle left.
Joe looked back at the departing ship, then turned back to the turian doctor.
“Was it something I said?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I think it was when you said ‘Hello’.”
He studied her, trying to see if there any indication she was joking, but he couldn’t get anything off of her.
If turians ever learn to play poker, the galaxy is in big trouble.
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Mar 2, 2017 15:32:52 GMT -6
“We’re on final approach,” said the shuttle pilot, a human female. “Last chance to back out.”
“Please land the shuttle,” said the asari sitting in the co-pilot’s seat. “And remember I paid you to stay until I say otherwise.”
“Yes ma’am,” the pilot said, and the asari wondered if the pilot was calculating if her life was worth what she had been paid.
The asari’s name was Geneenh T’Loris, and she shared the pilot’s concern.
Omega.
The undisputed center of extralegal activity in the Terminus Systems and ruled with an iron fist by Aria T’Loak.
Had she any other choice, she would not have accepted the offer sent to her. But it was the highest-paying offer out of the ones that had come in, and as expected, the level of danger matched the pay.
She had heard of the Shadow Broker, but still had a hard time believing he would contact her. However, she had no problem believing the sizable amount of money that had suddenly appeared in her account--a token of his sincerity, he had said.
What I do for family, she thought.
*****
After disembarking and paying an exorbitant docking fee to a volus protected by a pair of krogan, she started making her way to the meeting.
Less than a hundred meters in to her trip she was confronted by a trio of humans, all armed and armored but not wearing helmets.
“Evening, miss,” one of them said, a smirk on his face. “You must have some important business to be coming here. But I’m sure you’re aware this isn’t the safest of places in the galaxy. But for the low price of just fifteen thousand credits, me and my friends can make sure no one else on this station will bother you.”
She supposed it was her equipment that made them think she was easy prey: light armor, a Locust SMG and a Scorpion heavy pistol, not to mention she was alone.
Or maybe it was her age. Even though she looked young—perhaps in her twenties—she was in fact 242 years old and had been around long enough to know a scam when she saw one. She would pay the credits, they would lead her down a “shortcut” and then rob her if she was lucky.
If she wasn’t they might try to take more and then murder her when they were done with her.
“You’re so helpful, thank you,” she said, playing the role they expected of her. “I thought places like this were filled with nothing but criminals.”
“For the most part they are,” the leader said. “I lost a sister to people like that and I was determined to never let it happen again.”
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she said as she pulled out a credit chit and checked its balance, idly wondering if the speaker’s story was true.
“Oh, this one has only ten thousand on it, let me add in another five,” she said as she activated her omnitool and began typing commands into it.
A few seconds later, their weapons exploded in their hands and she sprang into action.
She lashed out with her foot, catching the speaker in the temple, knocking him out, and in the same motion swung her leg back, knocking out the second.
The third one raised his injured hands.
“Please—“
She silenced him with a flying knee to his head.
“Humans and their guns,” she said, shaking her head as she made her way deeper into the station.
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Post by dargene on Mar 2, 2017 16:26:54 GMT -6
Meldom arrived on Omega with no issue, he looked around the docks, his eyes scrutinizing everything "Has not got much better since last here" he mumbled to himself, taking a sigh he pushed on, making his way with haste to afterlife "secret passwords, shadow broker..Aria.." he pondered, he had met her once before, though not under the best of circumstances he shook his head and looked around, the visor on his head scanning around for anything particularly that stood out. He made his way to the bar and ordered a drink, easily chugging it down with little issue.
Soon after a Batarian approached him, looking him up and down with all his eyes "Salarian" he gruffly said
"Batarian" Meldom responded, lifting his empty glass somewhat
The Batarian lifted up his omnitool, pointing it at Meldom "You fit the profile of someone we are expecting, though they said you might try to sneak in, with a cloak ?"
Meldom mocked offense "Me ?, cloaking ? can't you tell, i'm actually a Krogan battlemaster"
The batarian gave a huff as all his eyes rolled "Password or stop wasting.. our time" he sighed Meldom cocked a small smile.
"Shrouded in silence" he responded, almost stiffly, the Batarian nodded "Come"
Garka then lead him towards the private area and room, on the way Meldom thought about some of the latest news, Batarian systems going dark Wonder if he knows he thought to himself as the door opened, stepping through he looked around the room, looking at the Turian and Krogan he squinted and nodded, then looked to the other two taken seats, seeing both Maelstrom and Eric he nodded to both of them, without a noise he made his way to a seat and sat down without a word, another respectful nod thrown to the drell as he checked his omnitool, Meldom pulled off his visor and eyed the room himself, seemingly impressed with the assortment of collected items.
"Old crew ? new faces, wonder if more will join, silly password, means the broker knows.. of course they do.." he lifted his arm to check his omnitool for something but resisted and rested it back down, leaning back in his chair. "Walked in without a cloak, loosing my opening move, Drell controls the floor" he looked to the two Krogan bodyguards "And more"
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Post by Eric Lysander on Mar 2, 2017 20:05:24 GMT -6
Eric looked towards the office doorway as Garka entered with another mercenary.
None other than stealthy, dependable Meldom.
Months ago on the mission to the Collector base, he had admitted that he was suffering the effects of indoctrination. At one point he had lost control momentarily and made an attempt on Esteban Bridges' life, Eric diverting accusation and blame from him as best he could. Likely the former STG operative was as stealthy as ever. But was he still as dependable?
Meldom nodded in acknowledgement of his veteran teammates and seated himself, removing his visor and contemplating his surroundings. After a moment, Eric spoke up.
"Heya, Mel - good seeing ya again...! Lively bunch, aren't they?" he arched his head at the others in the room.
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Post by Corwin Havens on Mar 3, 2017 2:00:47 GMT -6
*CRACK*
The snap of her neck was music to the assassin's ears. Her hair whipped around, hiding her surprised face as her lithe body crumpled to the cold, unforgiving floor. Corwin spent over a decade with Benewan, his Drell best friend, systematically killing the worst in the galaxy. Hunting down scum like this woman was nothing for him. Corwin looked down at her twitching, her ruby lips still trying to form words. Maybe to plead for mercy. Corwin didn't know. More importantly, he didn't care.
Anger flashed in his eyes as he stepped back from her. Since the woman prided herself as one of the greatest thieves in the galaxy, she took special care to delete her identity so she could not be tracked. Now, it worked for the assassin's benefit. She was a non-entity.
Corwin turned away from her and toward the explosive he planted in her chambers. It would emit a special fire that burned over 30,000 Fahrenheit, burning away any evidence he may have left behind. The entire room... her entire life... taken away.
So before he left, he wasted one moment to say goodbye to her. Corwin carefully lowered himself to his knees, brushing her fine blonde hair away from her face. Her green eyes already stared blankly forward. He knew she was still conscious, that she can still perceive what was happening for a couple more minutes. "Goodbye," he whispered softly to her as he kissed her forehead. Though she did something truly unforgivable... she was still a woman he once loved.
Once.
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A few weeks passed since. The woman's death was reported as a malfunction within her room. C-Sec gave up the search and fed a faux-story to the media, covering up another unexplained death in their hallowed halls. Corwin was no longer on the Citadel. Now, he exited a passenger freighter onto Omega. Corwin brushed some dirt from his skin-tight Alliance branded casual shirt, looking down at his dark blue military grade slacks and boots. At his side was an unassuming firearm. It was important to look professional. The docks were crowded as always, oceans of humans and aliens flowed...churning like a chaotic ocean. He sighed, pushing his way into the masses... weaving his way through them all to avoid attention. It was instinct for him at this point. Never call attention to yourself if you can avoid it.
Corwin wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. The docking bay was hotter than he expected. The ventilation of the place was sorely lacking. The air smelled stale, like sweat and regret. He flung the bead away as he disappeared into the masses, emerging close to Afterlife. He entered, ignoring the writhing Asari. He was there for one reason and one reason only. To hear what the Shadow Broker wanted. It wasn't every day that the galaxy's greatest information broker called on you.
His steely blue eyes scanned the area until he saw what he was looking for. A lone Batarian guarding the meeting room. With an internal sigh, he made his way towards the alien. Corwin wasn't wearing his armor nor carrying any of his usual weapons. A man of his skills didn't need to. He had copies of them delivered and stored here at this nightclub in case things went to hell.
The Batarian looked the assassin up and down.
"The devil has come," Corwin said with a slight smirk. He liked his nickname.
The Batarian moved to the side without any trouble and Corwin walked by, entering the meeting room. He did not make eye contact with anyone, rather subtly scanning the area as only a trained killer could. He recognized a few of them from the missions he personally funded. These were the ones who got his ship destroyed.... Lysander, Meldom, and Maelstrom. He hid his surprise, keeping a mask of polite indifference as he finally nodded toward everyone.
"Gentlemen," he said as a means of hello with a wry grin. "I believe some of you owe me a ship."
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 3, 2017 2:42:08 GMT -6
The trip to Afterlife was uneventful. Several krogan looked at him appraisingly but looked away when he looked back. He was wearing the Destroyer armor with the missile launcher active and carrying his usual complement of weapons—a powerful argument to be made for leaving them alone.
He saw batarians grouped together as well, talking. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tones were worried and stressful. He upped the level of his audio receptors, but inevitably a member of the group would notice him, then they would stop talking and glare at him.
He imagined it had something to do with reports of their homeworld going dark—as in going completely radio silent. He expected if it had been Earth he would’ve been a little wound up too.
*****
They reached Afterlife, unofficial base of operations of Aria T’Loak, the undisputed ruler of the station and if not of the entire Terminus Systems, then definitely one of its major players. There was quite the lengthy line to get in, and it didn’t surprise him. He suspected that being able to enter the nightclub earned someone some credibility with the movers and shakers on the station.
Naetilia joined the line, but he just shook his head.
“Come on, Doc,” he said as he strode past the desperate wannabes.
“Should we not wait at the end of the line?” she asked.
“Remember the invitation?” he said. “The meeting is in a VIP room in the heart of Aria’s operations, and that didn’t happen without her say-so, which means she told her people to expect us. We’ll get in, trust me.”
She stepped out of line—reluctantly, it seemed—and joined him.
As they reached the door, a batarian stepped forward, and Joe was pleasantly surprised to see it was Brask, the batarian he had saved from the attentions of a gang of drugged-out turians during a covert operation on the station back in his N7 days.
He wanted to greet the batarian and ask about his daughter—who he had also saved from the turians—but kept his mouth shut; he was already getting in, no need to call in that particular marker.
“You’re expected,” Brask said. “I need passwords from both of you.”
Joe smiled as he thought of the word given to him. Anyone who knew him could probably guess it, as it was directly related to his personality.
“Juggernaut,” he said.
The batarian nodded and looked over at Naetilia.
“Iron monkey,” she said.
She had been quite confused at the phrase given to her, but when he explained it was the title of a martial arts vid from the 20th century about a righteous doctor who battled against corrupt rulers, she seemed pleased—he hoped.
*****
Once inside, he stopped and took it all in, finding himself to be slightly disappointed—it looked like almost any other nightclub. He supposed it was the notoriety of its owner that made it such an attraction.
He had heard sometimes she would hang out in her private office overlooking the main floor and glanced up at it, but it was empty; apparently she had business elsewhere.
A turian approached them and said, “This way for the meeting.”
The trio followed the turian into a hallway that was cordoned off from the rest of the club and led them in the general direction of Aria’s office, but then stopped at a corner and pushed against it.
With the briefest whisper of a sound, a door slid open and the turian gestured for them to enter.
*****
He stepped into a lavishly furnished room, clearly designed to impress visitors with its opulence, but such things held little interest for him; at the end of the day, they were just that—things.
Sitting behind a desk was a drell who looked at them and nodded in greeting but said nothing.
Looking around, he saw a new face: a turian male with face paint in a design he had never seen sitting on a couch.
He looked over at Naetilia, who was staring intently at the turian.
“Odd,” she said in a low voice. “His markings are not that of any of the 13 colonies.”
“Maybe he wanted to do something a little different?” he asked, and the look she gave him was not friendly.
Sitting on the opposite end of the couch was a krogan with a hammer.
He almost called out “Karn!” but then noticed the krogan had markings which identified him as a member of Urdnot and kept his mouth shut.
Then there were some familiar faces: Meldom, lounging back in a chair, probably thinking about a dozen things at once; Maelstrom, sitting back and watching the entire room at once, showing no sign of his recent ordeal, with Naetilia sitting down next to him and asking him how he was doing; and—
“Pops!” he called out jovially as he spotted the senior N7. “You made it! And you remembered to wear pants this time!”
He gave the man a thumbs up, then turned to the krogan, extended his hand and said, “Hi there, I’m Joe Fischer. I kill people and break things.”
Purius, for its part, stood just inside the doorway, slowly scanning the room before recognizing an occupant with a configuration it remembered.
With a joyful bark, it ran up to Lysander.
[NOTE: See character story “A Friend in Need” for more details on Joe’s encounter with Brask.]
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Post by Geneenh T'Loris on Mar 3, 2017 4:01:02 GMT -6
She reached Afterlife without further incident, and she stopped for a moment to take in the pirate queen’s base of operations.
There was a line of people, all hopeful they would get in, waiting patiently to be allowed in by an elcor bouncer. Several other bouncers, armed with assault rifles, stood by the door in case the elcor wasn’t enough to dissuade people from trying to get in without permission.
Figuring an invitation from the Shadow Broker was sufficient, she bypassed the line and made her way to the door, but a batarian bouncer stepped forward and pointed his rifle at her.
“Back of the line,” he snarled.
“Annoyed,” said the elcor, turning towards them. “She is on the list.”
It lumbered over to her, and one of the other bouncers stepped forward to relieve him.
“Slightly angry,” it said to the batarian. “Return to your post.”
It then turned towards her.
“Apologetic,” it said to her. “He is new.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “Don’t be too rough with him.”
“Questioningly,” it said. “What is the password you have been given?”
“Q,” she said.
She had been more than a little mystified as to the significance of the letter, and her research provided two possibilities, both from human popular culture: either a nearly omnipotent being who interacted with a group a of space explorers or a supporting character in a series of spy vids who provided the hero with a number of useful gadgets.
She wanted to believe it was the first possibility, but suspected it was the second.
“Courteously,” it said. “Enjoy your time in Afterlife.”
*****
She made her way through a short passageway before entering the club proper and as she stepped through the doors, she heard the driving beat blasting throughout.
It was loud, almost bordering on painful, making conversation almost impossible unless the participants were shouting in each other’s ears.
And easier to negotiate illicit deals without being overheard, she thought.
The music stopped for a second and then a new song came on, one she recognized and liked.
It was well-known that asari were the longest-lived race in the galaxy, rivaled only by krogan. A thousand years or more was the common lifespan for her race, and as a result many of her people took a long-term view in things.
She was already older than the oldest member of any other race, but she was still in the stage of her life where passionate exploration was very much a driving force, so she stepped onto the dance floor and let herself move to the rhythms pulsing through the air.
*****
It wasn’t long before she drew some attention.
A human male, a lustful look in his eye, came up and joined her.
She rolled her eyes.
She knew that dancing, for the most part, was an activity done with two people, but she preferred dancing alone; she had her own way of moving to the music, a way that most people didn’t properly understand.
She turned away from him and started dancing again, but he was not easily put off.
He stepped up to her, leaned in and yelled, “HOW MUCH FOR A PRIVATE DANCE?!”
Now she was really annoyed.
While she didn’t begrudge members of her race who were dancers, they were so prevalent that most other races seemed to think all asari were, and this one was clearly no different.
She considered just kneeing him in the groin and leaving, but he had interrupted her enjoyment of a song she liked, so that merited a little something extra.
She turned around to face him, looking him over and saw the means by which she would respond. She stepped back, smiling at him, and brought up her omnitool.
What she wanted to do was a little outside the usual parameters of her sabotage application, but it took only a few seconds to manually enter her target.
A few seconds later, the buckle on the human’s belt exploded, causing his pants to fall down.
He was not wearing underwear, and she laughed at was revealed.
His plight quickly drew the attention of those around them, and they picked up in the merriment at his situation.
The human, for his part, tried to cover himself while pulling up his pants and exiting the dance floor with some dignity, but failed miserably. He tripped over his fallen pants, causing the other dancers to laugh even harder.
A krogan bouncer came up to him, unceremoniously slung him over his shoulder and took him away, saying something about how amazing it was humans had managed to last so long with such minimal equipment.
Her mood brightened, she left the dance floor, where she was approached by a turian bouncer.
She tensed a little, wondering if he was going to throw her out as well, but he said, “Follow me to the meeting.”
*****
He led her into a private section of the club, leading her down a hallway and activating a secret door.
He gestured for her to step through and she did, curious to meet her employer.
She was instead surprised to see she was not the only one: several humans, a couple of turians, as well as a krogan and a salarian were present. Sitting behind a desk was a drell, who nodded at her in greeting but said nothing.
She then saw a FENRIS mech standing at the feet of one of the humans and went over to the pair.
“I love these things!” she said, and looked up at the human. “What’s his name?”
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Post by Maelstrom on Mar 3, 2017 4:05:16 GMT -6
"Gentlemen, I believe some of you owe me a ship," the newcomer, not wearing armor or weapons, announced. Maelstrom wondered who the man was talking to, before considering the possibility that he was referring to the loss of the Valiant. If that was the case, he considered the accusation beneath responding to; the crew that had been hired for the vessel's operation, while they had done their best, were the only ones who could be faulted. Certainly, no blame could realistically be placed on the ground assault team for an ambush in space.
As such, he turned his attention back to Meldom, who had arrived shortly before. He seemed better than when Maelstrom had last seen him, though he could still not feel completely comfortable around the salarian who had taken a shot at the group's previous employer.
Fischer entered with all of his characteristic subtlety, and Maelstrom pushed down his urge to laugh at the man's exuberance. He was glad to see the man seemed to be moving easily and without any pain. Naetilia was with him, and Maelstrom found himself equally reassured to see the team's medic returning as well.
"Good to see you two," he said to the two of them.
An asari entered a moment later, and Maelstrom found himself wondering what her role would be on the mission. Then again, he wondered what the mission even was.
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Post by Urdnot Thrak on Mar 3, 2017 4:11:59 GMT -6
“Hi there, I’m Joe Fischer. I kill people and break things,” the human in N7 Destroyer armor said.
Thrak tried to control his tongue but could not help but slip a flippant remark, "Trying to be a krogan, kid?" Reminding himself that other races tended to take offense more easily than krogan, he added, "Urdnot Thrak. Nice missile launcher."
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 3, 2017 5:00:21 GMT -6
Joe smiled at the krogan, not the least bit offended by the remark about wanting to be krogan. Of all the other races in the galaxy, they were the ones he felt most comfortable with, most likely due to their similar outlooks.
"Thanks," he said, and deactivated it. "Nice hammer you got there. There was a krogan on my last team who had a hammer as well, but he was from Weyrloc. So what's with that, is it the new must-have accessory for krogan?"
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Post by Feron on Mar 3, 2017 5:05:01 GMT -6
[GM Post]
Feron checked his omni-tool again after Geneenh T'Loris entered. The drell had been told to expect one or two more people, but it was not uncommon for people to face delays on Omega. He could have one of his bodyguards remain at the club after the meeting was concluded and bring any of the stragglers to him to be filled in on whatever they ad missed. There was also the possibility that they could show up in the middle of the meeting.
He cleared his throat, trying to get the attention of the gathered professionals. "The Shadow Broker has sent me to meet you as a direct representative. There are two reasons for this. The first is to impress upon you the importance with which the Shadow Broker views this. The second is because the Shadow Broker trusts no one else with this task."
He paused for a moment to let his words sink in.
"Our messages to you were deliberately vague. The Shadow Broker did not wish to leave anything to chance regarding possible interception of the transmission. Now that you're here, I can relay to you the specifics of the offer," Feron said. "In short, an urgent threat has come to the attention of the Shadow Broker, one which threatens everything we know. It is the Shadow Broker's intention to put together a small but elite team which can be deployed in short order to deal with the most dangerous and sensitive missions regarding this threat. This team needs to be trusted, and, therefore, the Shadow Broker intends it report directly to myself, just as I report directly to the Shadow Broker. A retainer will be offered, to keep you in the exclusive employ of the Shadow Broker for the duration of your employment as a member of this team, and the Broker will pay handsomely for each mission completed as well."
Typing into his omni-tool, he said, "This leads us to the first assignment the Shadow Broker has in mind, that of securing appropriate transportation for this new team."
A hologram popped up in the center of the desk of a freighter.
"Three days ago, the Shadow Broker was able to secure possession of this ship- a Cerberus freighter loaded with construction components and due to make a jump through the Omega-4 relay to a shipyard located on the other side. In addition to the ship, the Broker was able to obtain its security codes, itinerary, and the voiceprints of several key members of the crew. Cerberus does not know that the vessel has been hijacked, and it is not expected to disembark through the Omega-4 relay for another twenty four hours. It will arrive in twelve hours, and it is the Broker's intention for you to be on it."
Keying in another series of commands, another image popped up, this one of prototype frigate.
"This is the Okinawa, a prototype vessel equipped with stealth technology, respectable defenses and armaments, as well as a propulsion system rivaled by few other military vessels. It is being built in a Cerberus-controlled shipyard, which we are led to believe is constructing an entire fleet of craft. Cerberus was recently responsible for destroying a valuable vessel belonging to the Shadow Broker; it is the Broker's intention to make a point by commandeering the Okinawa for our own use," Feron said. Almost laughing, he said, "Of course, it will need a paint job and a new name once it's in our possession."
Another series of commands. A prototype dreadnought came up, alongside a display of a massive shipyard.
"The secondary objectives. The dreadnought is slated to be the command vessel for the director of Cerberus. The Broker feels that destroying this vessel would further clarify the message we wish to send. Additionally, we would like to cripple as much as possible of this shipyard, to prevent the organization from increasing its fleets any further... at least with craft provided by this location."
He extinguished the holographic displays and leaned forward on the table. "Any questions?"
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Post by Joe Fischer on Mar 3, 2017 5:24:07 GMT -6
Whatever the krogan was going to say was cut off by the drell, who laid out the details of what he wanted them to do.
A slight smile crossed his face as his eyes flicked over to Maelstrom. Given the biotic's history with the pro-human group, he figured the man would've taken the job for free; he might have even paid the Broker for the opportunity.
His eyes flicked back to the drell, his joking demeanor cast aside.
"Okay, so we're going to hijack a Cerberus freighter, use the Omega-4 relay to go to one of their shipyards, steal a prototype frigate, destroy a dreadnought and anything else we can get our hands on," he said. "Fair enough. How many personnel are on-site at the shipyard? And do you have information on the shipyard's layout and defenses, or are we going to have to wing it?"
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