Omega Downtown

On streets of downtown Omega, young Korlu Prayal picks himself up off of the ground.
“HEY! *gasp* WATCH WHERE THE FUCK *gasp* YOU’RE… *gasp* forget it.”
It was too late. The cyclist that knocked him over was already out of earshot. The respirator he needed to survive always made efficient communication impossible. It was as though he didn’t see Korlu in the first place. …Or was it she? It happened quickly and Korlu always found it difficult to tell the Turian sexes apart. It was even more difficult due to the worm’s-eye-view he tended to have in the claustrophobic streets of Omega. Not many Vol people actually took up residence on the station and Korlu could think of many reasons why. Alas, he lived here with his uncle, for reasons he could never quite describe.
Korlu brushed himself off and patted down his pockets to make sure nothing was missing. Though young, he was rapidly learning the ways of Omega street life. Like most young residents of the station, he was schooled at home and on the street. Seeing as how the only established educational facility is clear on the other side of the station, it was the only sound option. There were others before, but, well… It’s Omega. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Today, Korlu has come further downtown than he usually does. He was summoned by an email he received. It was addressed to him, personally and it was received between comm-buoy bursts so it must have been sent from someone on the station, but all that was in there the sender field was a long string of numbers. Korlu tried running a search on the sender, but nothing came up. The body of the message contained a precisely worded request. The sender, whoever it may be, wanted Korlu to pick up a package and to bring it to the docks. It was the second time he was asked to do something like this in the last month. Last time he was supposed to pick up a package from the docks and deliver it to a club in this part of town. Korlu wondered if it could be the same package. Wasn’t likely. Payment for this service had been wirelessly transferred to his account as soon as he opened the email. It was more than fair, but not suspiciously ridiculous. Korlu was always suspicious around large amounts of money. Probably had something to do with his uncle being a loan-shark.
There it is, the club he had last made the delivery to. Sure enough, the directions in the email led him down that same alleyway to the backdoor of the club. He came to a stop in front of the doorway and reached behind him to retrieve a plastic rod about thirty centimeters in length and four-and-a-half in diameter. He twisted the base and the rod extended, telescopically, to about a meter and a half. Korlu used the rod to ring the buzzer, otherwise out of his reach. It wasn’t long before a man answered the door. The man’s voice was deep and impatient, but not unkind, despite having to shout over the music inside. “You here about the package?” Korlu didn’t have to answer. His respirator continued to gasp. The man’s lower eyes narrowed and he disappeared from view for just a moment. When he returned, he was dragging a trolley behind him. As he approached the doorstep, he kicked a makeshift loading ramp into place. Korlu, jumped back a little, having not expected it and standing too close. The man at the door swung the trolley around in front of him and carefully wheeled it down the ramp. He positioned the trolley facing out of the alley, stood back and wiped his hands on his apron. There was a moment’s pause as both men stared at the brown tarp, covering the indescribable lump sitting on the cart. The man from the club put his hands on his hips and sighed. The moment went on a second-too-long. Both of them were wondering about the package. Neither of them knew what it was. Too secret to be picked up in person. Too small to be any sufficient supply of drugs or weapons. Too much money paid to be any other sort of contraband (not that anything is ACTUALLY illegal on Omega). It passed the docks’ bioscans with no life signs or organic components at all, for that matter. It could be a bomb, but that doesn’t explain all of the moving around and the odd destinations. There was a moment where each of them felt the urge to ask each other what the package was, but here, on Omega, they both knew it was smarter to keep their curiosity in check.
Korlu approached the cart and lowered the push-bar to a comfortable height. The man from the club turned and went back inside, closing the door behind him. This was the same cart Korlu used before, and presumably, the same package. It looked like it had not been touched. He cart had that same wobbly wheel that gave Korlu trouble when he had moved the package the first time. Well worth the money.
`This is money is going straight to my fund for a top-of-the-line respirator that will let me yell all I want.’