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Mass Effect: Independence

Milky Way Galaxy

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a part of Mass Effect: Independence, by Screwface Romeo.

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Screwface Romeo holds sovereignty over Milky Way Galaxy, giving them the ability to make limited changes.

482 readers have been here.

Copyright: The creator of this roleplay has attributed some or all of its content to the following sources:

http://www.bioware.com/en/games/#mass-effect http://masseffect.wikia.com/wiki/mass_effect_wiki

Setting

Default Location for Mass Effect: Independence
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Milky Way Galaxy is a part of Mass Effect: Independence.

2 Places in Milky Way Galaxy:


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Character Portrait: Hatjan'Reegar vas Gerrel
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Hatjan fiddled with his cap, listening to the Human CO rumble on with gusto about everything this assignment will entail, a faint stir of echoes at the back Hatjans' consciousness said "Stupid monkey talk.", usually followed by the usual remark of "When do we get to kill more bluehided whores?". He quickly muttered "shutup, shutup, shutup." as one of members of this motley crew glared at the muttering Quarian. Finally, O'Tarin finished talking as Commander Marshall got up to the podium and said his spiel, Hatjan grumbled quietly to himself about a lack of "Choppable Blue-Hided Whores" as he marched off to his bunk as he nearly tripped into a Krogan and had to fight down every urge in his body to slowly disembowel the two Asari present whilst hauling his pack of equipment, and what was, due to the rather blatantly hollow clunking noises, a sack full of trophies from past battles. Looking at the officers herding everyone off to get their "shit stowed" as Tarchus bellowed so-well and appropriately just a few minutes prior, a slow feeling of joy at what lies ahead was brewing in his consciousness, slowly getting replaced by a building sense of anticipation and bloodlust in regard to potential fighting that he DEARLY hoped was right around the proverbial corner.

After chucking his kit and the rather blatant sack of trophies and nearly-tribal fetishes into his bunk he sprinted to the briefing room, muttering "yes, the killing time is nigh, good, good..................yes.........." getting odd stares from crewmen and squadmates alike due to what could only be perceived as enthusiasm. Hatjan took a spot near the door and waited patiently for the rest of the unit to haul ass and arrive in the briefing room.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Major Kyrinne Tarchus Character Portrait: Lieutenant Samuel Heuran Character Portrait: Alex T. Whitcomb Character Portrait: Caibus Ursilius Character Portrait: Seleria Rula Character Portrait: Char Galeko vas Grimoire Character Portrait: Commander John Marshall Character Portrait: Zaan'Shiro nar Mareh Character Portrait: Arintha Artese Character Portrait: Corporal Kosak Nor'amon Character Portrait: Trooper G-UT-IP-73 Character Portrait: Flight Lieutenant Kai'Saaya nar Fairstarr Character Portrait: Cormack Uhlan Character Portrait: Hatjan'Reegar vas Gerrel Character Portrait: Dara'Shal nar Kaddi Character Portrait: Akaya Sheol Character Portrait: Gy. Sgt. Rakanor "Gunny"  Karack
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After the brief speech by Xander O'Tarin himself, Caibus and the other members of the ground team of the USV Freedom's Blade wandered towards what would be their home for the forseeable future.

As they walked, Caibus couldn't help but examine his new team mates, he had worked with the majority of the spacefaring races since joining Black Star Trans-Galactic but that didnt mean he trusted them all from the get go. Being one of the tallest there allowed him to clearly see those who he would be working with over the months ahead, there were a multitude of Quarians, which, considering that they were one of the more common races that Black Star employed, didn't really surprise him, what did surprise him was the lone Batarian, Caibus had never really liked Batarians, but in a way had them to thank for his current position with Black Star (The pirates that attacked his shuttle just over a year ago had been mostly Batarians). He made a mental note to keep an eye on the Batarian before continuing his examination of the crew.

The three Humans present were, as predicted by Caibus, all much more attentive when Xander had been speaking. One of them, who was wearing the clothing of what was clearly a medical officer, matched his gaze, and looked away rapidly, obvioulsy intimidated by Caibus' sheer enormity. The other two, were simply walking with the group, neither of them paying significant attention to those around them beyond casual curiosity.

The Drell was also an odd sight, at least to him, one of the only races he had not had the opportunity to work with yet. He knew from the old stories of Thane Krios that Drell had a certain affinity for steal and infiltration, and her equipment certainly displayed that this was the role she had been chosen for.

Next were the two Asari, obviously they would be valuable assets to the team, with both their Biotics and centuries of experience with combat, at least he was assuming centuries, he also noticed that one of the Asari was walking with a much more purposeful stride, indicating to him at least, that this asari had more actual combat experience.

The Krogan that was present being the only one there that was taller that him, left Caibus a bit nervous, he didn't exactly trust Krogans as he felt that they were too short fused to be reliable on a battlefield. Of course that didn't mean that he wasn't glad they had a Krogan on their side, 'No team would be complete without a bullet sponge' he thought. However, Caibus decided that he would keep his interactions with that Krogan at a minimum, for now.

The Volus was... different, from the look of his envirosuit, he was clearly some sort of engineer, but one would think he would at least have made an effort to clean up before meeting his new commander, 'Then again' Caibus thought, 'The envirosuit surely would limit mobility, surely he just couldnt reach those spots on the suit'. Still, any engineer can look the part, just slather some oil and grime on their clothing and you couldnt tell one from the other, Caibus would have to see how the Volus performs in his role before passing further judgement.

Finally, the potentially strangest member of their group, was a single Geth platform, Caibus had heard old Pre-Reaper stories about the geth, about how they were more effective the more of them there were in a certain location, surely with just the one platform present, there would be little benefit to having it here, but, at the same time, he knew from various rumors and stories about Legion, the prototype Geth platform that had housed multiple Geth programs, that there were geth that were significantly more effective than numbers alone would indicate. Again, he would have to wait and see before making any further judgements on the Geths effectiveness.

Overall, some would say that the group was little more that a ragtag bunch of soldiers who had nothing in common, but they all knew that they had been selected for a very significant reason, they were some of the best at what they do, and Xander O'Tarin knew this very well, he wouldn't have chosen them otherwise.

As the group approached the docking bay where the Freedom's Blade was docked, Caibus felt anticipation growing inside him, he hadn't seen the Freedom's Blade at all, he had specifically avoided any information about the ships capabilities beyond that it was designed as a stealth frigate, and as the passed through the final bulkhead into the bay, Caibus heard a collective gasp as the group caught sight of their new home for the first time, black and white, sleek, shaped similarly to the Normandy, the legendary ship that spearheaded the final battle of the reaper war.

At that moment, Caibus knew for a fact that this was where he belonged, and couldn't help but have one single thought pass through his head, “This should be fun.”.

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Character Portrait: Seleria Rula
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It had been a long journey for Seleria, only arriving on the Skyllian Queen a few hours ago when others had been waiting for days. When the ship had docked she was told to make her way to Docking Slip 1/13, of course without another word she had picked up her bags (she basically bought her home with her) and headed to the part of the colossal vessel. It was a strange experience walking around in a mainly Quarian dominated environment, she could still feel the cold looks that she was given while walking along the decks. Although she couldn't actually see their faces due to their environmental suits but it was that presence that made her shiver. But she did have to remain strong, she needs to show everyone that not every Asari are evil. Well...She wouldn't say that the Asari Councilwoman is evil but...misguided from the path of Athame. Seleria believed that everyone was capable of redemption, well except the Reapers of course. The Reapers are gone from the galaxy, well they are not gone in her dreams. They say that the Asari are supposed to be clear of mind, yet she still replays the moment when her sister was ripped apart. But she must remember that it is in the past, Mina would want her to move on and do what is right. That is why she came here, to accept the Unions offer to help them and their struggle against the Council. She does hate the fact that she would have to fight against her own people at one point but that time can wait. But could you look your own family in the eye and pull the trigger Seleria? She thinks to herself, sighing. More thoughts about the future came and went as she finally arrived at the docking tube, where 17 beings were waiting. She had approached in silence, soon will be the time to socialize and make friends but now is the time to gather impressions and act upon them. She wasn't surprised to see the amount of Quarians, this is there reign of space. The appearance of the Turians however, was a surprise to her. They were supposed to be the loyal backbone of the Council, can Turian space be as bad as her own? She had seen a familiar sight to her that caused her to take a breath of relief. Another Asari. She looked nice enough, she would have to befriend her first.

Above the docking tube sat the ship that she had been waiting to see. The Freedoms Blade which was said to be a vessel much like the Alliance's Normandy, the legendary ship that Shepard had flown in. It was a sleek vessel and she was itching to get aboard. Then the docking tube opened and everyone shuffled into the tube, still holding their belongings. She had remained silent in the tight space. It was like everyone had the same idea as her, trying to get into the ship first. A few words were exchanged but no one really talked. Then the CIC came into view. Standing with a defined pose it was the man whose face had been all over the Union News, Xander O'Tarin. She had to gasp, she was going to be meeting the head honcho himself. She was so young (well by Asari standards) and she is doing this. Is she ready to serve a rebellion for the greater good?

After a brief speech, O'Tarin dismisses the crew including herself. Walking silently with a smile on her face, she follows the rest of the group to their quarters. This is the place that she would spend her time. Until the day that she would be embraced into the arms of the Goddess Athame and be fully welcomed as a disciple she would serve. Serve for the greater good, for what is right.

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Major Kyrinne Tarchus Character Portrait: Lieutenant Samuel Heuran Character Portrait: Alex T. Whitcomb Character Portrait: Caibus Ursilius Character Portrait: Seleria Rula Character Portrait: Char Galeko vas Grimoire Character Portrait: Commander John Marshall Character Portrait: Zaan'Shiro nar Mareh Character Portrait: Layla Marie Character Portrait: Arintha Artese Character Portrait: Corporal Kosak Nor'amon Character Portrait: Trooper G-UT-IP-73 Character Portrait: Flight Lieutenant Kai'Saaya nar Fairstarr Character Portrait: Cormack Uhlan Character Portrait: Hatjan'Reegar vas Gerrel Character Portrait: Dara'Shal nar Kaddi Character Portrait: Akaya Sheol Character Portrait: Gy. Sgt. Rakanor "Gunny"  Karack
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Standing in the line of the new S.O.D. unit, Zaan's mind was wandering. He had arrived second and was so mixed up in his own thoughts that the other's gathered near him had not registered with him yet. He was replaying his last conversation with his foster father Hawthorne from two hours previous, the usual affair when Zaan set off on a new mission. Be dutiful, be efficient, andabove all, survive. That was always the bottom line with his chats with Hawthorne, and what he had learned to do since the pirate attack that ended a whole stage of his life. Survive. That was the word that defined his existence to this point. Every mission, every exercise, he always made sure that he came home. He never showed it outright, but through the years the connection between him and his foster father had deepened, and under the gruff military ways in which they interacted, there was a love there that only happen between a father and son. Zaan remembered his family clearly. His father, mother and sister, but that was a different life. he did not regret any of it, and the memories were dear to him. On the day they were taken from him though, that Zaan had perished along with them as he should have. The Zaan that lived and breathed today was a new Quarian, a expert marksman and when the need arises, a silent assassin in the distance. That was who he was, and in the end he would do as he had learned to live by and survive. If not for his own sake, then for the peace of mind of the father who took him in and raised him as his own.

It was not til the din died down and single powerful voice cut through the silence did Zaan snap back to reality. His senses awoke, and he took in his surroundings in a glance, his senses immediately registering every nook and cranny of the room. A mixed array of races stood shoulder to shoulder next to him. Human, Drell, Krogan, Turian, Asari, Geth, Volus, Batarian and a handful of his Quarians. Zaan didn't find it strange how when he referred to his own kind by name instead of 'His People'. By this time, he had lived the majority of his life with a human. Granted, the military life made you interact with all sorts of races, but he had ceased to identify himself a just a Quarian. He was nar Mareth, a Quarian with no ship to his name. Since the retaking of their home world the stigma of being a shipless had seeped away. Some still saw it as dishonorable to not affiliated oneself to a ship to call home when among the stars, but that fact had never bothered Zaan before. It was another reminder of a life gone by, but it made him remember who he was and where he came from, a fact he made sure he never forgot.

Zaan shifted on his feet uncomfortably as the speech wore on. He never liked being this close to people he didn't know. He was lethal from a distance, not up close. The sight of the massive Krogan and what he took as his human look-alike made him nervous. Sure, he knew he could outrun these behemoths, but Zaan never forgot how thin he was. He was lean with hard packed muscle from his marathons and training, but he held no doubt that if some of these people got a good hold on him, they could rip him in half. The other Quarians are what really took his interest though. Even though he couldn't really identify himself with them anymore, he always felt a soft comfort from being around them. They felt like his original home, of memory. He studied them more then the others. One instantly set him off. He twitched and mumbled incoherently from Zaan's position, but something about him rubbed him wrong. The next was an older Quarian at full attention. A quick glance over told him he was an older man, and from the way his suit fit around his person, past his prime. It seemed like they had pulled some old solider out of retirement or something for this mission, which struck Zaan as odd. The next was a young female who seemed to quiver in excitement. Funny, Zaan thought, since he was probably slightly trembling with apprehension of all the people so close to him. The last gave no telling signs, and seemed lost in his own thoughts. Zaan was reminded that the nice thing about the environment suits helmets was that it concealed facial expression, something he was constantly thankful for.

Other then the larger people and his fellow Quarians, he only spared the briefest of glances. He would get to know this people slowly over the mission, but for now they were just nameless people, and in his head were just referred to by race. He felt someone's gaze on him though, and in his peripheral vision he noticed the average human taking a long glance at him. His garb and the pre-documentation of the group make Zaan realize he was probably the ships medic. The stare made him uncomfortable though, and he tapped his thumb and middle finger together, a nervous habit he had not seemed to break.

The female Turian then barked out the next command, Zaan barely realizing he had really listened to anything the human before him had said. In fact, he was so absorbed in taking in his new squad-mates he only just caught the back of him. Just the man's profile mad him realize it was O'Tarin himself. Feeling ashamed at his carelessness, he listened more closely to the Turian as she explained what to do next. "Alright, drop my stuff off and meet in the briefing room. Zaan thought as he reached down and picked up his two dufflebags. One he threw over his shoulder, its contents shifting only slightly. The other he clenched in his right hand, making a slight rattle. He fell in line and moved at an easy pace, hoping his slight tremble from the almost claustrophobic closeness he felt being around these people made him feel.

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Character Portrait: Trooper G-UT-IP-73
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The Geth of the Freedom’s blade put forward a compelling argument. The consensus of G-UT-IP-73 agreed that it was a better course of action to inspect it’s personally assigned weaponry before attending the meeting. The platform was already going to wait until after the meeting to address one of it’s commanding officers about certain topics. They had also determined that the platform should wait until after other crew members had the chance to bring up their own personal interaction with the commander.

As far as the Geth of G-UT-IP-73 were concerned, the conversations they needed to have with the their overseers held a relatively low priority. Since the G-UT-IP-73 Geth didn’t have enough information to gauge the potential priority of the other crewmembers concerns, they placed themselves last on the list in terms of efficiency.

When G-UT-IP-73 arrived at the armory it didn’t take long for the platform to located its assigned weaponry. With the communications link established to the Freedom’s Blade’s Geth core, there was little the trooper platform would have trouble locating on the ship.

After claiming an unmanned table and unpacking the weapon from its shipping container, G-UT-IP-73 dismantled and inspected the stock L95 assault rifle it had been assigned. As far as the Geth of the platform were concerned, the weapon was well designed to suit its purpose and would be adequate equipment. After double checking that everything was in working order, the platform reassembled the rifle and went to store it. The Geth determined presence of the platform’s own personal locker seemed necessary, given that many of its shipmates weapons were modified.

What did not seem necessary for G-UT-IP-73 to have was personal quarters. The Geth inhabiting the platform determined that the assignment was either an oversight, or some sort of unnecessary courtesy. G-UT-IP-73 did not visit its personal quarters. They had already determined that this would be one of the topics they would speak with their commanding officer about. Just one step in proving the platform’s usefulness to the commander and those who determined if this model would be slated for mass production.

On the way to the conference room, the ship pulled out of port and began its voyage. Though it had been given a head’s up by the ship’s Geth core at the same time, the pilot had used the ship’s comms to relay it to the rest of the crew. The Geth of the trooper platform noted that, due to the phrasing of the message, the efficiency of its delivery could be improved dramatically. Yet another topic was catalogued for discussion with the commander.

When G-UT-IP-73 arrived in the conference room it elected to stand for a moment instead of sitting down. The Geth were unsure of the seat preference of the remaining members that had yet arrived to the meeting. So they decided to wait and take the last seat available, assuming there were any left.

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Zaan shuffled along with the rest of the crew into the ship. He quirked his head side to side, taking it all in. The Quarian part of him couldn't help but admire the architecture of the ship. Sleek and in many ways efficient, Zaan was momentarily lost in his own memories and thoughts as they made their way to the armory. Every time he got into a vessel bigger then a shuttle, pleasant memories of his early childhood caressed his thoughts. Looking down the hallways, he could almost see the young him running all around, back and forth from front to back, up and down, every crevasse of any ship was his to explore and map out. In his head, he was already laying out a blueprint of what the layout of the ship might be, at least, what it might be if it was a Quarian vessel. No doubt this new breed of ship did things differently, and again, the Quarian part of him was somewhat eager to plunge its depths. It was strange that after spending most of his life with Hawthorne he still regressed into the Quarian man he really way.

Suddenly, Zaan remembered what he was doing. He had been standing looking around at all the doors leading to different sections of the ship, with the elevator in front of him. Shaking his head, he quickly stepped in and punched the dial for the armory. A quick and silent ride later, the doors swished open and Zaan stepped out, his feet light on the armory floor. He caught the backs of a few of his comrades as they left towards the crew quarters. Zaan increased his pace as he made his way to the end of the row for the locker allocated to him. He pressed the code in quickly and the locker clicked open. Zaan dropped the duffelbag he had in his hand and bent down, unzipping it.

Inside was his sniper rifle, a few light containers filled with different ammo types. A few armor-piercing, a few incendiary, and few others with different colored tips. Zaan methodically pulled the rifle out and plugged it into the locker. It was nothing special, It was just a standard L338 "Lance" sniper he had been sent for this mission. Under that, was a L2311 "Stalwart" Pistol and a bundle of black. Placing the pistol next to the sniper, Zaan then placed all the ammo containers gently along the locker door in the various pockets. The last item, the black bundle, was carefully lifted and placed on the floor of the locker. It was his Quarian Special Ops suit, a skin tight black suit with matching helmet, meant to conceal the sniper from every range. It seemed nowadays, Zaan was recruited more for covert assassinations of profile targets then helping in any real scale battle. The suit was like his second skin at this point, and he always felt a little safer when wearing it.

Locking up, he made his way to his alotted room. A nice little name plate next to the door reading Zaan'Shiro nar Mareh indicated he was in the right place. Another code later, and Zaan stepped into his new home for however long this new mission would take. Quaint was a good word for it. A small bed nestled in the left corner, and a few spans across was a work desk, with a attached shelving for clothes. Zaan swung the second duffelbag off his back onto his bed, and quickly unzipped it. Two spare environment suits that matched his current one, which he stowed away. Next was one of the few framed photos he had of him and sister. Both were outside their suits, their bright purple eyes seemed to glow still even in the faded picture. It was a strange technology that humans had preserved, it had a way of making things seems older and more important then they were, but Zaan liked it. he placed the photo on the desk, then went to retrieve his last items.

He only ever brought two of them with him per mission. His bobble-head collection was extensive and among collectors was worth a small fortune. This time, he brought his limited edition Battle Shepard one. It had the hero in his full N7 battle attire, a old avenger model in his arms. The second he brought was one of his older ones. It was a unnamed Quarian male in full environment suit. They were very common, but this was one of his first bobble-heads and the scuffs in the paint proved that. He placed them next to the photo, and quickly tapped both of them. Their heads bobbed up and down, rattling and echoing in the mostly empty room. For some reason, that sound make him relax slightly, and take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

He exited his room and padded his way to the conference room. When the door swung open, he was embarrassed to find he was the last to arrive. He scanned the room and, of course, the only seat left was to the left of the commander, with one of the Asari to his right. He quickly shuffled his way along and took a seat, feeling a flush under his mask for holding up the meeting.

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Slowly, gradually, the rest of the crew trickled in. Akaya watched them filter one-by-one through the door, inwardly grateful for this latest chance to subtly appraise the crew. The interesting quarian had come first. Still as twitchy as ever, and in the relative silence of the conference room his hushed humming was just barely audible, a tic that made her head cant just a bit to the right in bemusement. There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, though; next came the batarian, looking distinctly uncomfortable, and in his wake, the geth. Akaya raked her dark gaze across its form, momentarily studying it as it stood idle just inside the room. There hadn’t been many — any, actually — geth on Omega, but she’d heard enough about them, seen so many pictures and vids, that she understood, in a rudimentary sense, what they were; and that at the end of the day, that it was ultimately a machine bereft of motivation and personality. A tool. And probably nothing to be concerned about.

Quarian, human, turian, asari — in the span of a few moments, the room became a lot fuller. Akaya scooted her chair further away from the table, extricating herself slightly from the press of unfamiliar bodies on either side. It was a subconscious gesture, one she barely realized that she was doing until she’d already done it. The slight radiations of body heat, the closeness — paranoia briefly sparking in the deep reaches of her subconscious, compelling her to edge backward, before being smothered again as Marshall stood, his voice seizing the attention of those present.

The formalities were mercifully brief. What came after them made Akaya’s posture shift in an instant — legs uncrossing, leaning forward, her body language in vivid affirmation of the first thought that sprang unbidden into her head: Finally. She’d assumed, as Marshall had just confirmed, that the first few days of residency aboard the ship would have been occupied by training and other mundanities. This was entirely unexpected… and more than welcome. This was what she’d been waiting for.

Tarchus stood now, taking over the exposition as her omnitool’s holoprojector flashed the accompanying visualizations for all to see. Then back to Marshall. Radio silence from an important manufacturing plant, so someone needed to go and check it out. A simple scouting mission, or so it sounded, but Akaya knew all too well that these kinds of situations so very often ended up in the worst possible outcomes — Occam’s Razor be damned. The universe, she’d learned, thrived on conflict. Akaya clasped her hands together, intrigued now, as Tarchus extrapolated on the mission procedures if worst did come to worst.

Two teams. One to scout; one to hold the line and warn the others if shit hit the fan. Akaya was familiar with the strategy, albeit on a smaller scale. Some of her work had necessitated temporary partnerships, brief stints of teamwork. In the mercenary world, of course, appointing someone to cover you was an extremely risky move; some ‘comrades’ were more apt to stab your back than to watch it, which was why she’d developed a distinct preference for going it solo — but she knew the approach. Nothing groundbreaking there.

Marshall, again, picking up where Tarchus had left off, and Akaya was pleased to hear her name called first. Alpha team, then, the scouts — the infiltrators. She cast a glance around the table as the other names were called in succession: a quarian male, one of the two asari, a human… the geth... and Marshall himself. Akaya lifted a brow at that, but didn’t question it. She was mostly relieved that she’d be under the command of the comparatively inoffensive human, instead of his dextro-amino right hand.

Arrival in under three hours. Akaya exhaled, a whooshing sigh of breath as she inwardly steeled herself. The communications malfunction might very well be a fluke, true, a simple malfunction of systems. Privately, the drell hoped that it wasn’t. She’d gone, in her opinion, too long without the thrill of deadly combat, the surge of blessed adrenaline that propagated from the savage dance of life and death. And an opportunity to exact the vengeance she’d suspired for all this time wasn’t one she’d ever pass up.

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Hatjan cracked a feral, if not absolutely predatory grin at what Marshall had stated. That all-too-familiar stir of echoes boiling away at the back of his consciousness bellowed "THE MOST GLORIOUS OF RED HARVESTS IS NIGH!" loud enough for an extremely short, almost electrical-shock-like pain to tear it's way through his head, with his vision blurring in tandem. Still grinning through the agony, he chuckled under a harshly halted intake a of breath.

Two or thee of the individuals in the briefing room, mostly the Batarian and one of the Asari (BLUEHIDED WHORES!) cast a glare, glance or flicker of attention (Most-likely expressing something along the lines of 'The fuck is wrong him?') to what was rather blatantly an extension of Hatjan's neurological 'affliction' crackling through what little was left of the Reegar dynasty's famous discipline & self-control that remained in Hatjan's tainted Hide.

In what could be described as what were most certainly levels of manic joy, Hatjan's rhythmic tapping of the axe tucked to his hip seemed to gain a seemingly tribal drumbeat, echoing that of a warband making rites and offerings unto ancient, forgotten and bloodthirsty gods in preparation for a mighty raid or even greater amounts of conquest.

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Character Portrait: Corporal Kosak Nor'amon
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Kosak kept his facial expression stoic, ensuring every twitch and reaction was minute. There were no other batarians here, he reminded himself, so there was no need to maintain such careful body language--the subtlest reaction could speak volumes in batarian culture-- but even so, he always got some small degree of satisfaction from it. There was power in being able toany rhetorical opponent with simple nonverbal communication. His head was, almost instinctively, cocked ever so slightly to the left, a sign of nominal respect.

Marshall’s briefing was intriguing, to be certain. Skipping basic exercises made Kosak uneasy—it was best to be prepared for any contingency, he’d found, dull as preparing could be--but any chance to have his feet back on solid ground, out of the enclosed tightness of ship, was promising.

He heard the turian executive officer call his name out, feeling flutters quivering in his stomach. Assigned as a member of the reinforcing team, evidently. Certainly not the most prestigious of jobs, but, he would need to begin building his quid somewhere. There was a part of him that almost hoped something would be amiss at the facility, but the instinct was quickly reared in by the older, more cynical functions of his mind. Being caught in a firefight, surrounded by people he didn't know and couldn't trust, couldn't be good for anybody.

The quarian he’d spoken to (Dara’shal, he recalled) wasn’t accompanying the field team, Kosak noted absently. It was likely because of his physical impairments, though he suspected the old alien could hold his own in a fight. He felt a slight disappointment; the quarian had been one of the few levelheaded crewmembers he’d been able to interact with. Stealing a glance at the drell and the other, Paladin-suited quarian, Kosak had the sinking suspicion that level-headed allies would be hard to come by.

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Char had been among the last of those that filed into the room. He had looked around the room for a seat to take, unfortunately the last seat not to be taken was right beside the savage looking quarian he had seen aboard the ship earlier. He calmly took his seat, trying his best not to make eye contact with him.

"Last thing I'd want is to get decapitated by this guy for moving my arm the wrong way or something. He already took off some guy's hand earlier. Seems like the slightest gesture would piss this madman off." He thought.

Char couldnt help but scoot his chair slightly to the right after seeing the sickening grin on his face.

As Marshall spoke, Char began to type out his words on an omni tool. Char prefered to keep track of debriefs by making notes on his omni-tool, that way he would always remember what his mission was if by chance he needed to remind himself or his team. He smiled to himself as he typed out the plan for this mission. His mind began to wonder again. "A scouting team and a team watching the scouts' back. A tried and true strategy indeed."

He listened closely for the names of his squadmates. "A good selection for a scouting team. Our powers will synergise well hopefully, especially my powers with the geth unit. Tech bursts galore!" He chuckled quietly to himself. He flicked his finger over the omni tool's screen to open a new note file. This time its an equipment and modules list for the misson. It was mostly his standard equipement, with a single addition made to his list.

He typed into the screen "Omni-tool flare launcher application"

"Having this will make dark areas much easier to deal with if we get caught in a firefight in pitch black darkness."

The debriefing end as quickky as it began. Char got up from his chair and headed straight for the armory to get ready for the the mission

Char says out loud, "Time to get to work." He says calmly

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No shakedowns implied urgency. A lack of communications was never a malfunction. They were headed to the fire and Dr Heuran knew it.

As Marshall spoke the doctor looked at the faces of his crew mates each was attentively listening - some even betrayed a smirk suggesting they were keen to return to fighting.

Heuran's thoughts drifted back to a similar mission he'd been on in the past, while working on a Black Star freighter the colony of Ferris Fields dropped out of communications in a similar matter to that. The injuries and destruction he'd seen and treated that day had left a scar on Heuran's psyche that had never fully healed. Heuran was drifting back into the screams of those he couldn't help when Marshall said his name.

Shit.

He was going to face his demons head on - as part of the infiltration team no less. He couldn't show weakness in front of the crew, but the thought of putting himself in another similar situation filled him with dread. Heuran started running through the likely injuries he'd see: gunshot, blast, concussive waves, shock, collapsed lungs, burns. As he did this he built and equipment list on his omni-tool, he could see the Quarian Galeko doing the same. Heuran paused to smile - it was good to see another person who prepared in advance. With his inventory of drugs, medi-gel, bandages and other equipment was complete Heuran paused for a second.

He could do this, he had to look through the fear and focus on the mission at hand. The crew depended on him, and so did the victims of this attack. The Council had played their hand, and now it was time for Dr Heuran to play his.

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#, as written by Gazelem
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