Post by trippnbilliez on Sept 23, 2012 2:03:32 GMT 1
A few notes before we get started: I wrote this for fun and plan on keeping the story going. I spent too much time on what I have and am posting it to keep myself from editing it into oblivion. Any constructive criticism and thoughts are welcome once I get the review thread up (If you feel inclined to PM me, go for it). Thanks for reading!
The long hallways of the Cerberus station, Iron, felt empty to those who walked them. Pale grey, reflective floors and walls, with nothing but the yellow glow of monitors revealing the way. The towering height of the ceilings rendered the lights' attempt at luminescence futile. Every few minutes, the usual silence was disturbed by the patter of feet echoing through.
A young blonde, the newly employed secretary, scurried down the residential hallways where Cerberus housed their operatives, and 'other' employees, who needed somewhere to lay low. The secretary was delivering a message to Suite 351, a permanent residence for a veteran operative. Upon her arrival, the young woman knocked on the door, and waited. Feeling foolish, she brought up the orange monitor on the door, typed in her authorization, waited for it to turn green, and pressed the call button. The smooth, tired voice of a woman slowly came from the monitor, "Yes?"
"Operative Donnel? I have a message, a-at your request," the secretary cursed herself for her stammer.
"Be right there," said the monitor over rustled noises. A tall, older woman quickly answered the door; it was obvious she had not taken the time to spruce up: her short brown hair was sticking up in random places and her wrinkled grey top was stained with red. The woman slowly looked the girl over and noticed how her uniform complimented her lean frame. "What's the message," she asked with a conspicuous grin.
"O-oh," the secretary stammered again, averting her eyes to her datapad, "you, um, wanted to know when…Narc? Huh, that's a weird name," she furrowed her brow then looked back to the operative, who's eyes were elsewhere, and quickly continued, "You wanted to know when Narc was ready to leave the medical wing."
Operative Donnel indulged in the view before she cooly responded, "Thanks. He can leave whenever?"
"Yes, Ms. Donnel," the secretary answered, "whenever."
"Good," the operative continued, "and what's your name, hun?"
"Kayla, Ms. Donnel, m-my-"
"Please, it's Mara," the operative interrupted.
Cerberus Operative Mara Donnel, now washed and clothed in her usual street wear, arrived at the medical wing of Iron. Aside from the giant letters that read Medical, and the equipment inside, the area was not much different from the rest of the station. Mara approached the front desk and asked the stationed nurse where her partner was. She was told room H-38, one of the rooms used for surgical recovery; Mara was unaware her partner underwent a surgical procedure. Curious, she asked for Narc's medical records, "For some light reading," she told the nurse. Upon receiving proper authorization, the nurse sent her the records via omni-tool.
'Patient was admitted with severe cranial trauma. Biotic amp had shorted out, which created further issue, but was successfully replaced with an up to date model,' Mara read while she made for H-38. Oddly, she was unable to access the files dated before Narc's recruitment into Cerberus. Mara would have dismissed this, but became more intrigued after she saw the vast amounts of files on record. She attempted to hack through the security, a habit her boss did not always appreciate, but promptly stopped as she spotted her partner's quarters, and the already open door.
Mara peered inside. The first thing she noticed was the large window conveying only the empty void, providing a beautiful, yet humbling view of the stars. Aside from a bed, the recovery room was cold and empty, giving her the impression that not much recovering occurred within. Before she walked in, the operative rapped her discolored knuckles against the door way. The rushing noise of water, followed by "One sec!", pierced through a door to what Mara assumed was the bathroom. A tall young man strolled out of the bathroom and quickly welcomed his visitor. The man was unshaven but clean; his dark hair was damp from what Mara hoped was a shower.
"Didn't think I'd see you so soon," Narc greeted Mara, extending his hand.
"Please," She answered, shaking his hand, "I worked too hard keeping your ass alive to just let you rot here."
"So I've heard," he laughed, "but I think recall a certain someone pinned down by a YMIR…"
"Must be the meds," Mara said, crossing her arms, "I can't have my new partner hallucinating giant mechs."
"So, I'm in," he asked, not waiting for an answer, "when's our next outing?"
"How about we take some time off first," she suggested.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, disappointed.
"Ever been to Omega?" Mara asked.
"You thinkin' Afterlife?"
"Nope. Sheol."
"Never heard of it," he shrugged.
"Good."
Mara led her partner to Iron's small hangar bay. Several vessels filled the bay, along with a good number of fighters, and a couple shuttles. Narc was quickly taken to The Heap, Mara's personnel ship. Its condition was brought into question: scores of plasma burns coated the silver hull, wires were exposed from missing plates, and its arms were laughable at best. The owner said nothing to dismiss the concerns; Narc naively assumed the damage was cosmetic.
The Heap's interior, contrary to it's scarred hull, was rather lavish, if not decadent. "It's what's on the inside that counts," Mara commented, making her way to the cockpit. Narc followed, slightly repulsed by the unnecessary luxury.
Mara stood in the cockpit while she entered commands for the ship's VI to leave Iron, and take the pair to Omega. The process was relatively easy, mainly to the fact that Mara programmed the VI to recognize her, and automatically boot all systems upon her arrival. A few beeps rang from the ship's console and it rose for departure. Mara stepped away from the console and asked Narc if he would want to join her in the lounge. He nodded and she led the way.
The Heap's bar, fully stocked with rare liquors and wines, was the only thing Narc bothered to notice once he walked into the lounge. He decided to make himself comfortable and rummaged through the liquor cabinet. Once he found a liquor he fancied, a high volume Asari vodka, Narc grabbed a couple glasses. He placed one in front of Mara, who was relaxing on a worn armchair, sat down across from her, and filled their glasses. A silence filled the lounge as they indulged in a shower of spirits.
"So, I'm curious," Mara eventually broke the ice, pouring herself a different drink from the bar, "who exactly are you?"
"What?" Narc asked, inebriated.
"I wanna know a bit about you," she continued, sauntering back to her seat.
"Like? I'm sure my life story is all in some file," he responded, swirling his drink.
"Well, it isn't," Mara said in a matter-of-fact tone, "so, indulge me."
Narc glared at her in silence, still swirling his drink, contemplating how the conversation could go, "What do you want to know?" He asked after forcing the vodka down.
"I'll be gentle," She teased, "For starters, why did you join Cerberus?"
He hesitated before adjusting himself, "Mainly the Alliance's political crap. There were more than a few missions where my team let monsters escape because his brother's, wife's, cousin had a hand in a couple back room deals."
"I've heard that same story a million times," Mara said while rubbing her temple," What really made you leave?"
"Nothin' gets passed you, eh," Narc answered, hiding his displeasure, "What do you want me to say: My see-oh was a prick, or I didn't make enough money? That I got injured? Or that I killed someone in cold blood?"
"Just the truth," she calmly answered, maintaining eye contact.
"I was bored."
"Bored?" she scoffed.
"Not much of an answer, huh?" He began," Well, you wanted the truth, and there it is; the Alliance was boring. After a few years of service, they promoted me to lieutenant commander, and, along with a ton of paper work, all I did was sit on a fuckin' ship. I was losing it."
Mara thought for a moment before saying, "Fair enough. Look, we'll save the twenty questions for later."
"Good."
"In the mean time…" Mara declared, "We've got a long way to Omega, what would you say to a little drinking contest?"
"I'd say we're in for a long night."
Unable to recollect the hours before he lost consciousness, Narc, vainly rubbing his temples for relief, followed an unfazed Mara along the streets of Omega. They passed by almost every sentient species in the galaxy, some of which Narc had never seen in person: Quarians and Vorcha were new for him. He was particularly fascinated with a Drell female, whom he visibly ogled in admiration. He found the cobalt tint of her skin alluring but the darkness of her sclera was what captivated him. They briefly made eye contact. Narc gave her an awkward smile and she looked away, ignoring his gaze. His rubber neck snapped back once his survey was through.
Eventually, Mara led her companion through a maze of dark alleys, disregarding the unsavory Vorcha that snarled through yellow fangs, the Batarians muttering obscenities about humans, and the few Krogan who taunted others for fights. The deeper they went, the stronger the stench of death and exhaust became. Narc had no desire to find the source.
A faint pounding slowly filled the air around the pair; the thumps' rhythm matched their footsteps. The farther down the alley, the louder the pounding became, subtly vibrating its listeners mind. The shadows of the alley enveloped Narc, Mara, and everything else, so much so, he hardly noticed her stop in front of a group of two Elcor and a Batarian. The aliens crowded around the humans in an attempt to display dominance. Narc envisioned a fight with the two unarmed Elcor and snickered under his breath.
"I heard there was a fire," Mara said to the arm crossed Batarian, just loud enough to be heard over the muffled music.
"Uh huh," the alien apathetically replied in a gnarly bravado, "what district?"
"District five-twenty-eight," she answered, "word is Ruuza had a few too many."
The Batarian motioned for Mara to follow him around the corner. In front of a small door, he activated his omni-tool and said, "Ruuza's started a fire." The door slid open and the Batarian moved out of the way and motioned for the pair to enter. The pounding had become much louder and was unmistakably coming from inside. "Welcome to Sheol," the Batarian called before the door slammed behind them.
The deep purple light at the end of the black hallway barely seemed to glow. Flashing greens and blues revealed silhouettes of dancing and drinking patrons. Bass wobbled the walls and throbbed Narc's skull. Once the pair passed through the archway, the music exploded with treble that partially concealed the bass. The melody coursed through Sheol's high ceilings and platforms.
Sheol, while an underground location, was tremendous in scale: multiple levels expanded in all directions, and the ceiling was sky high. Sheol's size kept crowds low and ensured Mara's easy passage to her favorite bartender: a Turian she introduced to her partner as Hekwin. Though he was not used to Turian hospitality, Narc shook Hekwin's hand when he offered it.
The Turian swiftly poured two glasses of red liquor, evidently Mara's usual, and left the bottle. He excused himself to tend to another customer, and walked off. Mara and Narc downed the drinks which instantly cured the latter's hangover; he thought the concoction tasted like child's medicine mixed with mint and rust. Mara poured them each another.
Narc quickly accustomed himself to the flashing lights and music, allowing the music and it's rhythms to freely flow through him, quivering the atoms of his soul. He regained focus when an Asari came up behind Mara and whispered in her ear. Mara nodded, whispered something back, and turned to a suspicious Narc.
"Hey," Mara was abrupt, and easily heard over the music, "I gotta go. Business."
She stood up and left, leaving Narc confused but drunkenly indifferent. He turned to Hekwin and they began talking. The Turian, clearly a seasoned veteran, shared his stories of war, losses and victories, and his old work as a mercenary. He shared a few tricks, as well; both useful and silly. After Narc shared a few of his Alliance tales, Hekwin declared the human's tab on the house.
Hekwin encouraged his new friend to go out and dance, maybe pick up a girl to keep him up that night. "The dancer's will love you," he exclaimed, "I can put in a good word." Between mouthfuls of liquor, the human explained he would not want to embarrass himself. As he slammed his glass down, feeling the syrup like drink slide down his throat, another Asari took Mara's seat and ordered something. She turned to Narc, smiled and sparked a conversation, "So, you come here often?"
"Do all species use that line?" he answered after looking her over; the Asari had a longer crest than most, with a dye that shown purple in the lights. Her short black dress was unrevealing, showing she had some respect for herself, unlike most of the scantily clad patrons.
"You got anything better?" she asked with a cocked brow. He answered by pouring her what was left of his bottle.
On a private section of Sheol, Mara sat across a shady Salarian and his equally disreputable Asari companion. The Salarian spoke in a condescending tone, likely due to the prejudice many aliens had against humans, while spelling out the assignment for Mara, who was looking elsewhere.
"Did you get all that," shrieked the slouching Salarian.
"Yeah," Mara slowly answered with a scowl, "you want me to take care of this murderer of yours. Tell me, why couldn't your all knowing STG locate this one girl?"
"We know she's here," the distressed Asari answered before her Salarian partner could, "We've given you all the information on her that we have; even the credits up front. Please."
Mara locked eyes with the Asari for a moment before asking, "What is your relationship to the killer? Sister? Lover, maybe?"
"T-that's none of your business," exclaimed the Asari.
"I disagree, in fact-"
"Are you taking the job, or not," the Salarian retorted, meeting Mara's gaze head on. The human could feel a rage coming from within the alien.
"Yeah," Mara answered after a pause, and waved them off, "I'll take care of it."
As they walked towards the exit, the human watched the once irate Salarian comfort the trembling Asari. The blue girl, clearly in agony, turned to the Salarian and embraced him; he held her tightly and consoled her, whispering words of reassurance. He kissed his companion on the forehead, and led her out of the cacophony that is Sheol.
Mara got up from the table, and strolled to the balcony overlooking the rest of the club. She leaned her head on her hand and stared at Narc, who was just across from her. She watched him flirt with the Asari next to him, laughing and smiling, blissful in his drunken state. Mara looked back at the photo the Salarian gave her and absorbed each detail of the blue huntress. On a hunch, she looked back towards Narc. A laugh escaped her.
The long hallways of the Cerberus station, Iron, felt empty to those who walked them. Pale grey, reflective floors and walls, with nothing but the yellow glow of monitors revealing the way. The towering height of the ceilings rendered the lights' attempt at luminescence futile. Every few minutes, the usual silence was disturbed by the patter of feet echoing through.
A young blonde, the newly employed secretary, scurried down the residential hallways where Cerberus housed their operatives, and 'other' employees, who needed somewhere to lay low. The secretary was delivering a message to Suite 351, a permanent residence for a veteran operative. Upon her arrival, the young woman knocked on the door, and waited. Feeling foolish, she brought up the orange monitor on the door, typed in her authorization, waited for it to turn green, and pressed the call button. The smooth, tired voice of a woman slowly came from the monitor, "Yes?"
"Operative Donnel? I have a message, a-at your request," the secretary cursed herself for her stammer.
"Be right there," said the monitor over rustled noises. A tall, older woman quickly answered the door; it was obvious she had not taken the time to spruce up: her short brown hair was sticking up in random places and her wrinkled grey top was stained with red. The woman slowly looked the girl over and noticed how her uniform complimented her lean frame. "What's the message," she asked with a conspicuous grin.
"O-oh," the secretary stammered again, averting her eyes to her datapad, "you, um, wanted to know when…Narc? Huh, that's a weird name," she furrowed her brow then looked back to the operative, who's eyes were elsewhere, and quickly continued, "You wanted to know when Narc was ready to leave the medical wing."
Operative Donnel indulged in the view before she cooly responded, "Thanks. He can leave whenever?"
"Yes, Ms. Donnel," the secretary answered, "whenever."
"Good," the operative continued, "and what's your name, hun?"
"Kayla, Ms. Donnel, m-my-"
"Please, it's Mara," the operative interrupted.
Cerberus Operative Mara Donnel, now washed and clothed in her usual street wear, arrived at the medical wing of Iron. Aside from the giant letters that read Medical, and the equipment inside, the area was not much different from the rest of the station. Mara approached the front desk and asked the stationed nurse where her partner was. She was told room H-38, one of the rooms used for surgical recovery; Mara was unaware her partner underwent a surgical procedure. Curious, she asked for Narc's medical records, "For some light reading," she told the nurse. Upon receiving proper authorization, the nurse sent her the records via omni-tool.
'Patient was admitted with severe cranial trauma. Biotic amp had shorted out, which created further issue, but was successfully replaced with an up to date model,' Mara read while she made for H-38. Oddly, she was unable to access the files dated before Narc's recruitment into Cerberus. Mara would have dismissed this, but became more intrigued after she saw the vast amounts of files on record. She attempted to hack through the security, a habit her boss did not always appreciate, but promptly stopped as she spotted her partner's quarters, and the already open door.
Mara peered inside. The first thing she noticed was the large window conveying only the empty void, providing a beautiful, yet humbling view of the stars. Aside from a bed, the recovery room was cold and empty, giving her the impression that not much recovering occurred within. Before she walked in, the operative rapped her discolored knuckles against the door way. The rushing noise of water, followed by "One sec!", pierced through a door to what Mara assumed was the bathroom. A tall young man strolled out of the bathroom and quickly welcomed his visitor. The man was unshaven but clean; his dark hair was damp from what Mara hoped was a shower.
"Didn't think I'd see you so soon," Narc greeted Mara, extending his hand.
"Please," She answered, shaking his hand, "I worked too hard keeping your ass alive to just let you rot here."
"So I've heard," he laughed, "but I think recall a certain someone pinned down by a YMIR…"
"Must be the meds," Mara said, crossing her arms, "I can't have my new partner hallucinating giant mechs."
"So, I'm in," he asked, not waiting for an answer, "when's our next outing?"
"How about we take some time off first," she suggested.
"What did you have in mind?" he asked, disappointed.
"Ever been to Omega?" Mara asked.
"You thinkin' Afterlife?"
"Nope. Sheol."
"Never heard of it," he shrugged.
"Good."
Mara led her partner to Iron's small hangar bay. Several vessels filled the bay, along with a good number of fighters, and a couple shuttles. Narc was quickly taken to The Heap, Mara's personnel ship. Its condition was brought into question: scores of plasma burns coated the silver hull, wires were exposed from missing plates, and its arms were laughable at best. The owner said nothing to dismiss the concerns; Narc naively assumed the damage was cosmetic.
The Heap's interior, contrary to it's scarred hull, was rather lavish, if not decadent. "It's what's on the inside that counts," Mara commented, making her way to the cockpit. Narc followed, slightly repulsed by the unnecessary luxury.
Mara stood in the cockpit while she entered commands for the ship's VI to leave Iron, and take the pair to Omega. The process was relatively easy, mainly to the fact that Mara programmed the VI to recognize her, and automatically boot all systems upon her arrival. A few beeps rang from the ship's console and it rose for departure. Mara stepped away from the console and asked Narc if he would want to join her in the lounge. He nodded and she led the way.
The Heap's bar, fully stocked with rare liquors and wines, was the only thing Narc bothered to notice once he walked into the lounge. He decided to make himself comfortable and rummaged through the liquor cabinet. Once he found a liquor he fancied, a high volume Asari vodka, Narc grabbed a couple glasses. He placed one in front of Mara, who was relaxing on a worn armchair, sat down across from her, and filled their glasses. A silence filled the lounge as they indulged in a shower of spirits.
"So, I'm curious," Mara eventually broke the ice, pouring herself a different drink from the bar, "who exactly are you?"
"What?" Narc asked, inebriated.
"I wanna know a bit about you," she continued, sauntering back to her seat.
"Like? I'm sure my life story is all in some file," he responded, swirling his drink.
"Well, it isn't," Mara said in a matter-of-fact tone, "so, indulge me."
Narc glared at her in silence, still swirling his drink, contemplating how the conversation could go, "What do you want to know?" He asked after forcing the vodka down.
"I'll be gentle," She teased, "For starters, why did you join Cerberus?"
He hesitated before adjusting himself, "Mainly the Alliance's political crap. There were more than a few missions where my team let monsters escape because his brother's, wife's, cousin had a hand in a couple back room deals."
"I've heard that same story a million times," Mara said while rubbing her temple," What really made you leave?"
"Nothin' gets passed you, eh," Narc answered, hiding his displeasure, "What do you want me to say: My see-oh was a prick, or I didn't make enough money? That I got injured? Or that I killed someone in cold blood?"
"Just the truth," she calmly answered, maintaining eye contact.
"I was bored."
"Bored?" she scoffed.
"Not much of an answer, huh?" He began," Well, you wanted the truth, and there it is; the Alliance was boring. After a few years of service, they promoted me to lieutenant commander, and, along with a ton of paper work, all I did was sit on a fuckin' ship. I was losing it."
Mara thought for a moment before saying, "Fair enough. Look, we'll save the twenty questions for later."
"Good."
"In the mean time…" Mara declared, "We've got a long way to Omega, what would you say to a little drinking contest?"
"I'd say we're in for a long night."
Unable to recollect the hours before he lost consciousness, Narc, vainly rubbing his temples for relief, followed an unfazed Mara along the streets of Omega. They passed by almost every sentient species in the galaxy, some of which Narc had never seen in person: Quarians and Vorcha were new for him. He was particularly fascinated with a Drell female, whom he visibly ogled in admiration. He found the cobalt tint of her skin alluring but the darkness of her sclera was what captivated him. They briefly made eye contact. Narc gave her an awkward smile and she looked away, ignoring his gaze. His rubber neck snapped back once his survey was through.
Eventually, Mara led her companion through a maze of dark alleys, disregarding the unsavory Vorcha that snarled through yellow fangs, the Batarians muttering obscenities about humans, and the few Krogan who taunted others for fights. The deeper they went, the stronger the stench of death and exhaust became. Narc had no desire to find the source.
A faint pounding slowly filled the air around the pair; the thumps' rhythm matched their footsteps. The farther down the alley, the louder the pounding became, subtly vibrating its listeners mind. The shadows of the alley enveloped Narc, Mara, and everything else, so much so, he hardly noticed her stop in front of a group of two Elcor and a Batarian. The aliens crowded around the humans in an attempt to display dominance. Narc envisioned a fight with the two unarmed Elcor and snickered under his breath.
"I heard there was a fire," Mara said to the arm crossed Batarian, just loud enough to be heard over the muffled music.
"Uh huh," the alien apathetically replied in a gnarly bravado, "what district?"
"District five-twenty-eight," she answered, "word is Ruuza had a few too many."
The Batarian motioned for Mara to follow him around the corner. In front of a small door, he activated his omni-tool and said, "Ruuza's started a fire." The door slid open and the Batarian moved out of the way and motioned for the pair to enter. The pounding had become much louder and was unmistakably coming from inside. "Welcome to Sheol," the Batarian called before the door slammed behind them.
The deep purple light at the end of the black hallway barely seemed to glow. Flashing greens and blues revealed silhouettes of dancing and drinking patrons. Bass wobbled the walls and throbbed Narc's skull. Once the pair passed through the archway, the music exploded with treble that partially concealed the bass. The melody coursed through Sheol's high ceilings and platforms.
Sheol, while an underground location, was tremendous in scale: multiple levels expanded in all directions, and the ceiling was sky high. Sheol's size kept crowds low and ensured Mara's easy passage to her favorite bartender: a Turian she introduced to her partner as Hekwin. Though he was not used to Turian hospitality, Narc shook Hekwin's hand when he offered it.
The Turian swiftly poured two glasses of red liquor, evidently Mara's usual, and left the bottle. He excused himself to tend to another customer, and walked off. Mara and Narc downed the drinks which instantly cured the latter's hangover; he thought the concoction tasted like child's medicine mixed with mint and rust. Mara poured them each another.
Narc quickly accustomed himself to the flashing lights and music, allowing the music and it's rhythms to freely flow through him, quivering the atoms of his soul. He regained focus when an Asari came up behind Mara and whispered in her ear. Mara nodded, whispered something back, and turned to a suspicious Narc.
"Hey," Mara was abrupt, and easily heard over the music, "I gotta go. Business."
She stood up and left, leaving Narc confused but drunkenly indifferent. He turned to Hekwin and they began talking. The Turian, clearly a seasoned veteran, shared his stories of war, losses and victories, and his old work as a mercenary. He shared a few tricks, as well; both useful and silly. After Narc shared a few of his Alliance tales, Hekwin declared the human's tab on the house.
Hekwin encouraged his new friend to go out and dance, maybe pick up a girl to keep him up that night. "The dancer's will love you," he exclaimed, "I can put in a good word." Between mouthfuls of liquor, the human explained he would not want to embarrass himself. As he slammed his glass down, feeling the syrup like drink slide down his throat, another Asari took Mara's seat and ordered something. She turned to Narc, smiled and sparked a conversation, "So, you come here often?"
"Do all species use that line?" he answered after looking her over; the Asari had a longer crest than most, with a dye that shown purple in the lights. Her short black dress was unrevealing, showing she had some respect for herself, unlike most of the scantily clad patrons.
"You got anything better?" she asked with a cocked brow. He answered by pouring her what was left of his bottle.
On a private section of Sheol, Mara sat across a shady Salarian and his equally disreputable Asari companion. The Salarian spoke in a condescending tone, likely due to the prejudice many aliens had against humans, while spelling out the assignment for Mara, who was looking elsewhere.
"Did you get all that," shrieked the slouching Salarian.
"Yeah," Mara slowly answered with a scowl, "you want me to take care of this murderer of yours. Tell me, why couldn't your all knowing STG locate this one girl?"
"We know she's here," the distressed Asari answered before her Salarian partner could, "We've given you all the information on her that we have; even the credits up front. Please."
Mara locked eyes with the Asari for a moment before asking, "What is your relationship to the killer? Sister? Lover, maybe?"
"T-that's none of your business," exclaimed the Asari.
"I disagree, in fact-"
"Are you taking the job, or not," the Salarian retorted, meeting Mara's gaze head on. The human could feel a rage coming from within the alien.
"Yeah," Mara answered after a pause, and waved them off, "I'll take care of it."
As they walked towards the exit, the human watched the once irate Salarian comfort the trembling Asari. The blue girl, clearly in agony, turned to the Salarian and embraced him; he held her tightly and consoled her, whispering words of reassurance. He kissed his companion on the forehead, and led her out of the cacophony that is Sheol.
Mara got up from the table, and strolled to the balcony overlooking the rest of the club. She leaned her head on her hand and stared at Narc, who was just across from her. She watched him flirt with the Asari next to him, laughing and smiling, blissful in his drunken state. Mara looked back at the photo the Salarian gave her and absorbed each detail of the blue huntress. On a hunch, she looked back towards Narc. A laugh escaped her.