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Post by Shala'Bekk vas Neema on Apr 19, 2015 10:35:53 GMT -6
Theraxos’ begrudging respect of the human increased somewhat.
I pity the detective who tries to interrogate him, he thought. He answers questions but doesn’t give anything away, then turns it around on the interrogator.
It was then he realized he was not going to get any more out of the man; he was far too skilled at resisting questioning, and he doubted the man would reveal any further even in an interrogation cell.
“I am done here,” he said, nodding slightly. “I would wish you success in your future endeavors, but…you operate outside the law. I certainly do not support Cerberus, given their agenda, but I have seen far too many incidents of innocent bystanders being caught up in the actions of two warring groups and suffering because of it. My duty is to protect the innocent, and I take my duties very seriously.”
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Post by Maelstrom on Apr 19, 2015 11:03:16 GMT -6
"My duty is to protect the innocent, and I take my duties very seriously," Theraxos said with a nod.
"Then it seems we have something besides Shala'Bekk in common, officer," Maelstrom said. He quickly transferred over a secure communications protocol to the turian. "If you or Shala wind up in any serious trouble, particularly with people coming after you, let me know. And thank you again for your help."
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Octis Kurius
N1
"Don't like it? Cry to your lawyer about it..."
Posts: 5
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Post by Octis Kurius on Apr 19, 2015 16:34:25 GMT -6
"Slow day, detective? You're acting like you have nothing better to do..", mused the secretary. A smartly dressed, and remarkably proportioned asari would reside behind the metallic desk, would find herself soon caught in conversation with the turian detective. She was a thing to behold, a set of vibrant blue eyes, soft skin, killer looks.. How she found herself in this job of all things, was a mystery to anyone within the station, but no one found themselves questioning why. Octis always found a small sweet spot for their charming pencil pusher, always making sure to flirt on the off chance he ever got, probably the only genuine reaction he's ever given to anyone, on a regular basis. Maybe his intentions were to humour himself with a more friendlier interaction, or maybe his loneliness made for a subtle way to talk to the less hardened members of staff, holding conversations with gun toting officers weren't always the easiest things to make, especially for someone as deep in inner workings of lower ward kingpins. Maybe their interaction was something of mutual interest, but nothing more then simple exchanges of compliments and pleasantries. Not so ironic, the tough guy and pretty girl couple always seemed to be a fairy tail dream to some. In their case, a more professional overtone takes precedence over minor desires. Today, however, it wasn't a case of friendly banter.
"You have all the keys to this place, sweetheart, I can't exactly wait around for the lab geeks here..", he exhales out, feigning a little annoyance.
"And I'm telling you, handsome, that I can't just give you the keys to something you're not authorized for.", she replies, a tinge of teasing to her tone. "And from the looks of it, you aren't a forensics expert, and definitely not a salarian."
"Come on.. I've got a problem and getting at some files is gonna' help me solve it a lot more faster. You don't want to make my life harder now, do you?", he exhales out, feigning a little whine to his tone.
The secretary simply exhales, tapping her desk in thought. Looking from her expression, it wasn't the first time he's asked for something out of her jurisdiction, all she had was spare keys to doors, in case the janitor ends up forgetting theirs. Though, she wasn't reluctant, the turians attitude for stepping out of bounds made her job a little more exciting. That, and she probably enjoyed someone who could break a few rules to get a job done right. "Alright, alright.. Just don't say I never do anything for you.", she giggled out, handing over a set of cards locked to a tag. "Just be a good boy and keep your hands off anything delicate..", she soon muttered.
"Oh believe me, I wouldn't dare to.", he states, leaning in for the keys. "Wouldn't want to upset my favourite girl here.", he chuckles out, before moving off with the key cards in hand. Humor aside, he had a little extra work to be doing. Making women giggle wasn't making his already tightening deadline loosen out.
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Setting the keys onto the door lock, the lab section would soon be opened up, a cold breeze of cooled air slowly blew free, causing even a shiver in the hardened turian. The cold air soon subsides with the warm temperatures of the open corridor. He steps inside as the door slips closed, his view soon set upon an open console. Seeming as if one of the lab geeks left their station on before heading off for a late evening break, the detective takes his chance to use the computing device. Setting the keys down beside him as he sat himself down, he begins to type and scroll away, inspecting and searching the data banks for an archive of recent reports. Luck would befall upon an almost recent addition to a set of 'undisclosed' documents. Listed as a car crash, soon renamed to an "unknown cause of accident" situation, the turian inspects away through walls of archived text, before discovering something rather troubling. Where were the explosive devices listed in these documents? There was nothing about an engine, let alone anything about a sabotage. It seemed no one was willing to listen, even to him.. But this seemed off putting for the detective, even a salarian wouldn't be too stubborn to acknowledge this. Not what he'd describe as a common problem, the turian logs this discovery down, downloading the document to his omni-tool for later inspection.
He soon shifts his attention to the blood samples and DNA from the scene, reading through the documented logs for his mystery suspect. The match for a krogan was easily found, but the name was something unknown to him. A krogan under the name of.. Karn? The name rung around his brain like a set of obnoxious bells, but he still couldn't find an answer. Grunting off his annoyance, the turian shifts his attention to the databases for this said krogan. Their name came up, soon with a clan name. Within seconds, a list of things would appear on the database. It would seem their mystery krogan had plenty of things under his sleeve on the Citadel. Human trafficking, drug smuggling, first degree murder, extortion, a slight consistent list of different crimes, mistakes, problems. Even a ten year prison sentence for a few of his documented crimes, but how many more did this krogan even have? And how the hell wasn't he deported and barred from entry yet? Probably the same reason the detective wasn't out of a job, a stubborn ability to get out of problems quickly, and enough money to keep people's mouths shut. He needed to know what this krogan did before his crash, so inspecting the database, he found a large log of omni-tool uses, all finally listing to one before the interaction with the car itself. 12:04, Citadel Time. Club Prada. A club? A cat house, or a gentleman's lounge. Regardless, the detective had a small window to enter, a place before the accident would be a good area to start in. Logging from the documents, he sneaks out from the labs, locking the doors with a quick swipe. Setting the keys off on the secretaries vacant desk, he moves on out of the main office, and onwards to the station parking lot.
Setting off in his cruiser, the detective simply wondered what this krogan could've done to piss off someone to this extent. Why wouldn't they just remove him outright, instead of rigging the engine to short out? Why didn't they blow the whole thing up? Whoever was attempting to kill off this krogan, wanted it to look like an accident. His other suspicions was what officer, or officers, were being paid off to keep shut about the explosives in the car tonight.. Who was paying the money, and why? Many a question loomed in his mind, but each held an empty conclusion. The only thing Octis knew right now was simple;
It was just another night.
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Post by Weyrloc Karn on Apr 20, 2015 18:41:40 GMT -6
It still hurt. The pain still lingered, the irritation of his stitches, the numbed pain of his bruising. A krogan wasn't known to cry, but with this much pain tingling his system, it'd be enough to even make him sob like a whelp. Regardless, the krogan was pissed off to no end. Trudging down the now occupied streets of a mid-morning lower ward, civilians moving on by to their daily lives, some in the upper wards, some down in the metalic jungles of the lower wards. The streets weren't too crowded at this time, but they still had it's fill of people. It wasn't going to be easy, getting back inside, if his so-called employer hasn't kicked him out so quickly after his so-called timely demise. Punching his way inside, with this many people? It wasn't going to happen without someone calling the cops, and he wasn't spending time in another cell for battery charges. He would have to wait, for as long as that could take. Taking his place by a nearby alleyway, the krogan rests himself against the wall, sneering a stare to anyone dumb enough to notice, enough to scare them away from an angry krogan looking to pick a big fight. They weren't so wrong at that, and neither was anyone stupid enough to confront him. No one wanted to be dead that easily, definitely not now. Time would shamble on, for a good hour, or even two at best. Karn would have his answers, one way or another... As the area cleared, his time was clearly right, and soon moves over to the clubs entrance. It was empty, closed, seemingly 'locked' to the public eye this early in the morning. Not even the public bar found itself open, common for the morning routine, not many drunks try to squeeze in time before work. He moves to the door, inspecting it. It was locked. Typically, ofcourse. But without much hesitation, and with the area pretty empty, the krogan smashes his hand through the door window, gripping the manual lock, before yanking the locking switch, unlocking the doors. Stepping inside, wasn't that pleasing on his eyes. If it wasn't the messy floor, the torn leather seats, or the holes cluttering the walls? The bodies made for a more depressing sight. Those poor dancers.. How the hell did no one notice, or even hear it? This wasn't something easily organized, and if no one had ever heard, or even seen what happened here, who would organize something like this? The thermal casings on the ground were empty, the marks of boots across the floors showed something more massive, organized. Someone came in that club last night after he went down, someone knew he wasn't dead. Someone wanted the evidence gone. And the only weak link dead. Even at the cost of some of the lives here tonight... As the krogan stepped further into the club, a thud hit across his firm crest. Whatever hit him, wasn't that strong to begin with, though the bottle cracked across his head still gave quite a blow. Without thinking, he grabbed whoever struck him, soon gripping a terrified dancer. Human, make-up slowly fading, mascara ruined from tears. This poor girl had one hell of a bad night, surviving such a damn massacre. She looked terrified at the krogan, and rightly so. Before long, she stops, lowering her hands as he does the same, the krogan exhaling out as he looks around for a moment still, before back to the dancer. "Th' hell happened to you, girl? Th' hell happened to fuckin' everythin'?", the krogan questions, a sense of demand in his tone. Was he that desperate to know? Or just too stubborn to leave without an answer... "T-These guys, they j-just.. They fucking came in, with a load of rifles. Few of them dragged the boss up to his office, then they just.. Started locking the doors, closed down all the lights, everything.. T-Then they just started shooting!", she exclaims, panting out tears as she recalls such a dire situation. "Some of the girls, patrons and the bodyguards locked themselves down in the basement.. I got stuck up here, hiding under the damn tables.." "Shootin'? Why the hell would someone shoot up this place? Agh, fuck it, I don't need to keep you stuck here..", he mutters. "Just, go check the basement in case if they got out, a'ight? Then get your ass outta' here and call for the cops, ya' hear me?", the krogan barks out, almost close to an order. The dancer complied with a nod, before running along past him. Karn moves his attention to the stairs, and soon moves himself up them quickly, his big hands shifting to the door. Even if it was locked, what would stop him from busting it down? In his case, nothing. The door came down with a crash, the krogan tearing out the damn locks before shoving it open. He soon comes across another... Peculiar scene. In his leather seat, fancy desk and other appliances to make a pimps paradise look professional, sat the remains of the batarian kingpin, the sugar daddy of the club. Vibroblade in his chest, eyes rolled back, skin paler then anything... And the look of someone whose had a shittier night then the rest of his employees. Remains of torture, it seemed. Someone made a big mistake, and clearly they were dealt with accordingly. The batarian failed to do a simple thing, something he had no control over, yet whoever he took money from to get Karn out of a bigger picture, was insane. They wanted the krogan dead, accidentally, and they still messed that up. The batarian took the biggest price from their mistake. Seeming like a paid gang hit, something interested the krogan. The blade sunk in the owners chest. Not much for simple inspections, the krogan tugs the blade from his chest, with not even a single spurt of blood in sight. Upon inspection, he noticed a symbol. A planet of sorts, then a rose. Thorns wrapped around the sphere, then back to the rose itself. It was a syndicate mark, and something he knew too well. Voniferus Blue. An asari made syndicate of drug pushers, mercenaries and political figureheads. A group stuck deep within biotic circles, holding a few dozen of their own for dangerous tasks. Connected to Eclipse contacts, and clearly full of crazies, the group made a name for itself in the Terminus and other systems alike. Who would buy them out to do a task like this? It left a bad taste in his mouth. It seemed old ghosts were coming back to haunt him once again. This ghost, however? It was their last time. The krogan was vengeful, and blood was to be spilt. Removing a former employer, would prove to be his ultimate goal. A small section of the problem, would make it easier for him to hide quicker. He knew exactly who to go to. Enough names ran through the criminal underworld, a few brokers wouldn't be too much of a problem for him right now. Snagging the credit chit from the desk, the krogan grunted out a bitter chuckle. Maybe the batarians account would suit well to pay off a broker for a little information. Moving back down the staircase, the krogan peered out from the doorway. A C-Sec cruiser? Looks like someone called in for the cops.. But it seemed odd, his omni-tool was pretty much scrambled and out of service in the club. Was it a scrambling device? Or was it a simple bug in the systems? He didn't care now, and not right at that point in time either. The krogan shifted through the back, and out through the broken back door. He quickly moves away, his heavy feet thumping against the ground as he jogs on out, and away. He had to be known to C-Sec by now, and probably now either a suspect, or a victim to the crash. And he knew full well he wasn't walking out of that station if they caught him. Too much racist blood mixed between them, and probably a dirty cop or two with some dirty money to make a lot of faked, dirtier evidence... He needed to know who did this. He needed to put an end to it all. Now was the only time to do it.
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Octis Kurius
N1
"Don't like it? Cry to your lawyer about it..."
Posts: 5
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Post by Octis Kurius on Apr 25, 2015 16:28:32 GMT -6
Shifting between the slow glowing neon lights, the C-Sec cruiser made it's lengthy journey back down the bowls of the lower wards. The flashy neon district seemed to be slowly waking up, the slow waking morning of it's working occupants still tugging themselves out of bed for the daily routine. Some places more of a night attraction, other not entirely. For the detective today, it wasn't a simple check up on a few shady places, to find a suspect in a simple crime? Or to sate that indefinable feeling that something is up with this case. Clearly, he was out of protocol for this job. Not on duty, well out of his work hours, working with equipment after hours as well, didn't spell a great report to his superior after the day was done. But, not something a little elbow grease couldn't fix, a little money on the side and some well placed bribes could keep him in place for now. Though even he knew money couldn't keep him safe forever, especially around these streets, around those people. At times like this, it was a good idea to keep a weapon on hand. His heavy pistol would be his comforting piece. For his own sake, he hoped he wouldn't need to use it.
Pulling up alongside an empty street, the cruiser sets down quietly by the closed row of clubs. Beside his cruiser, was the last ping address from the krogan's Omni-Tool. Nothing else after that. If this krogan was as smart as he looked, he was keeping his activity scarce and unknown. If anything could give him a positive lead, this would be it. Stepping up the flight of metal steps, the turian soon comes across the front door, the front glass smashed open, the door pried open by a set of bigger hands. It was clear enough who was here, but why break in? Was there something important in there, or something dangerous? Only one real way to find out, as he sets his hand on the door, hand settled on the weapon connected against his armour's thigh plate. Shifting inside, the turian glances around the entrance hall, before shuffling inside. Like the previous invader before, the turian stumbled upon the same scene prior, the sad row of bodies lay around the area. Did this krogan cause this? No.. If it was by their actions, there would've been a call, something talking about violence in a nearby club, something... But nothing. This seemed to delve deeper into something dangerous. Hitmen dangerous, or drugged up nutcase dangerous? Not much evidence he could get, maybe calling this one in would be best. Maybe that would get him off the hook for now...
Opening up his omni-tool, however, static soon appeared. A garbled mess of transmissions, screeches and broken code. A jamming device, here? But why here.. It was odd, for sure, but not much for him to fix, given his lack of understanding to the situation. The only real area he could think to check, was the top floor, with the obvious set of open double doors. The office, it seemed, was in the same state as the bottom floor. The manager tied to his chair, burnt and beaten, probably bled to death before he could even mutter his final breath. It seemed brutal, even the smell of blood became rancid by the coming seconds. Inspecting the desk, the turian seemed to find a lack of suspicious items, but nothing he could analyse properly until he got a set of forensics geeks in the area. Though in terms of DNA, the only thing he was bound to find was the krogan's, further decreasing a chance of finding them without half the force bearing down on him. Upon further inspection however, the turian gently tugs the batarian back by his chair, before the small sounding 'snap' of a wire was heard. Underneath the desk, in the small compartment underneath, lay a device. Black, bleeping and spewing out a garbled mess of static. It was the jammer, alright. But it wasn't the common kind of scrambling device.
It was an explosive. A full sized explosive, upon inspection, it seemed to be something you see someone strap to a building for demolitions purposes. It was a stiffening sight, even enough to cause the hardened detective to blink with a somewhat surprised, unexpected look. He noticed a white logo marked on the top left of the device, one that seemed to hold a familiar resemblance to an item he found a few months back, on a previous case. Could it be the same people? He didn't even have that much time to mull it over, as his eyes set upon the timer. The damn thing was a trap! If not for the krogan, probably a distraction for C-Sec. Thirty seconds truck the holographic timer. Octis took no time in reacting swiftly, rolling over the desk rapidly, speeding through the doorway! Running his way down the staircase, the detective exhales rapidly to each step, the sheer shock value adrenaline kicking through his system, a desire to escape the mess of a building picking up as he ran along. Twenty seconds, fifteen, ten.. He made his way out from the building, further down the steps to head to his cruiser. Soon, past five seconds, the device detonates furiously. The building bursts open, glass, metal, molten shards bursting free from the destructive mess...
Thrown to the ground from the force, the detective, and now his vehicle, soon found a comfortable spot against the floor. Disorientated, exhausted and in a small state of pain, the detective grasps his arm as he opens his omni-tool, proceeding to a radio device. "Ten-zero zero..", he barks into the device. "O-Officer down! Need assistance on my coordinates!", he shouts out as he pushes himself onto his feet, now dirtied and bruised, minor cuts across his carapace and skin. Looks like he too, managed to avoid a certain death. Who the hell would do such a insane thing, just to remove some evidence? Just when things seemed to be getting better, they already hit another heavy low...
Sirens in the distance loom ever so closer, backup slowly arriving. A couple cruisers pull up to the blaze, all shocked and confused. Barking over the radio, the officers demand and request even more backup, fire services, even a medical team to stand on by for any causalities. Standing in the background, before finding himself soon approached by one of the arriving teams, asked the same question he himself was screaming in his head.
"What the hell happened?"
He lacked an answer. Let alone had anything to retort in explanation. He almost got himself killed by this explosive, luckily inspecting the spot as soon as he could. Whoever did this, whoever tried to kill off someone tonight, they were going to pay.
"No one tries to kill me...", he growled. Why did this case matter to him?
He only had a single answer, it was personal.
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Post by Maelstrom on Apr 29, 2015 21:16:31 GMT -6
Maelstrom felt uneasy, being out in public without the protection of real armor. The fabricators on the Vengeance had created a useless shell that looked formidable enough, but he knew it would do little. At least he had a shield generator and guns with him.
The trip from the Citadel to Omega had taken just under than a week, as he traveled. Though he normally avoided the place, it was the best option for what he had in mind.
His thoughts turned again to his parting with Shala'Bekk. He full-well expected to see her again, but there was a strange feeling of finality in their parting, as though they knew things would never be the same again. Part of him wondered if she had listened to his conversation with Theraxos, but he wanted to believe she trusted him more than that. It was funny how, in retrospect, such a simple and generic "goodbye" could have him wondering so much.
Just then, Maelstrom saw the shop he was looking for. From the outside, it seemed to be little more than a missing bulkhead, but he knew its reputation as one of the most respectable establishments for military-grade tech out there. He had to walk through several meters of what appeared to be exposed conduits and tech, but he suspected that was merely a means of disguising numerous security and defensive devices.
"What can I do for you, human?" a batarian wielding a sizable custom shotgun asked as he cleared the security devices.
"Looking for some armor and armaments," Maelstrom replied.
"Hmph. That stupid looking paperweight you're wearing won't do, huh?"
"I'm looking for two sets," Maelstrom explained. "One of them needs to be as generic as you can get while still offering decent protection. The other should be a custom unit designed for maximum combat utility and meeting some very specific requirements I have."
"Not cheap. Got creds?"
Maelstrom held up a credit chit with a more than reasonable sum.
The batarian glared skeptically. "Good chunk, but not enough."
"I have more," Maelstrom said, "but there's no way in hell I'm telling you how much so you can demand it all."
"Hmph," he said, before turning and walking towards a back room. "This way. I need to get some measurements."
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