[i]Omega, Riptide Safehouse[/i]

Tonner's alarm was harsh and sudden, with a sound like metal on metal that reminded him of clashing blades. It was enough to wake him from even the deepest sleep, but today he didn't need it. His sleep had been fitful, filled with dark dreams only half-remembered upon waking. Now, after lying still and watching the neon lights of Omega paint pictures on his ceiling for a quiet hour, he shut off the alarm with one quick smack of his fist before pushing himself out of bed with a tired sigh. 

His room was utilitarian, bare of decoration and occupied by only a few pieces of rusted furniture: A bed, a nightstand, a desk and chair, a wardrobe. It was to the wardrobe he went now, grabbing a handful of simple clothes and his usual set of light armor. He buttoned his buttons and tightened his straps with careful patience, gazing out the room's only window into the haze of the station as he did. A piece of fabric caught on his right arm, causing him to wince. The bend of his elbow was a mottled mess of scar tissue, synthetic muscle and grafted metal, all of it poorly masking the place where a bullet had torn through the muscle and bone a little over five years ago. Like always, the joint was sore, and Tonner did his best to knead some relief into the muscles as he exited the room. The nearest bathroom was down the hall to the left, a communal utility of rusted pipes and grimy tiled floor, but Tonner took a right out of his door. His relative lack of sleep was making him restless, and he figured the best way to blow off steam was to throw some weights around in one of the building's many training rooms. 

The building was filled with its usual bustle, and Tonner passed all sorts of people. Tired smugglers just looking for a bed to sleep in or a beer to drink, mechanics spattered with grease and oil, some of his own security forces in mismatched armor with guns at their sides; the Safehouse saw all types, and all who served the organization (knowingly or not) were welcome here. Tonner knew many of them, but those he didn't were quickly greeted and stopped. He knew Nadene was typically aloof towards the "lower" employees, and Vik was a solo flyer at heart, but Tonner preferred to get to know his workers. The more you knew about a person, the less likely they were to stab you in the back...and the more likely you were to catch the knife before it was lodged between your shoulders. 

A rickety elevator carried him to the bottom floor, and soon he was in the tower's lobby. There he found Jonus, eating breakfast while he flicked though a digital newspaper. "Uvar's about to murder someone," the Volus said in place of a greeting. "Just thought you should know." His lack of concern was evident. 

Tonner let go of a tired and familiar sigh. "Again? I'm going to save both of us some time and just assume he's been drinking."

"Since he got off his last shift." Jonus confirmed. "Some young, shithead Turian mechanic claimed he could beat him in a fight, and the big lunk took it personally. They're both outside right now. If you hurry, you might just be able to save the kid's life." Tonner could only answer with another sigh as he jogged out the front doors, Jonus waddling at his heels. It would seem his workout would have to wait. 

Riptide's "Safehouse" wasn't actually a single building, despite the name. Rather, this secret hideaway was composed of three old housing complexes, each of them tall and narrow, tucked directly into clefts of rock. A large set of converted warehouses nearby served as hangars. At first glance, these dilapidated buildings were sure to inspire some doubt about the base's reliability, but Tonner knew for a fact that each tower was sturdy, as well as perpetually stocked with supplies for both everyday use and for emergencies. He also knew they were in the best possible location: here, lost amidst the sprawling slums of Omega, they might as well be invisible. 

It was in the open courtyard between the three towers that a large crowd was gathering around the two would-be combatants. Uvar was reeling, shouting boasts as he paced around in circles, egged on by the excited crowd. His opponent, a cocky-looking son of a bitch who couldn't have been older than 21, just shouted right back at him, his arms crossed and a smug smile on his face. Tonner pushed his way through the mass of people towards the center. The crowd parted easily when the recognized him, and soon he was standing in the inner circle. 

"What's the meaning of this?" His voice was even, impartial, yet it carried over the crowd and swept them all into silence. 

Uvar turned to him, eyes wild. Tonner could smell the ryncol on his breath from meters away. "This little [i]pyjak[/i]," he shouted, pointing at his much smaller opponent, "Says he can take me in a fight. Me! A [i]Krogan[/i]!"

"I [i]can[/i] take you!" The Turian shouted back, just as hotly. "Krogan or not, you're drunk off your ass. You can barely stand, let alone throw a punch."

Tonner just shook his head, weary. "Kid, didn't anyone ever tell you not to pick fights with Krogan? [i]Especially[/i] when they're drunk?"

The kid seemed like he was about to shout something else, but caught himself as he remembered who he was talking to. "Sorry...sir. We'll break this up."

"Why? So Uvar can just beat the shit out of you later when I'm not watching? He's got an issue with holding grudges." The Krogan nodded, unashamed. Tonner continued. "No, we'll settle this fair and square. You want a fight so bad? Fine then, [b]fight![/b] Tonner thrust a fist in the air to punctuate his declaration. The surrounding crowd let out a massive cheer, happy to find out that today's "fun" wasn't about to be cancelled. 

Tonner stood off to one side, acting as officiator as the two men squared off. He knew most people in his position would work towards a quicker and cleaner resolution, but he, like the Turians, believed a good scrap every now and again was necessary to keep his people stress free and focused. He didn't have any illusions about what direction this fight would take, but as long as Uvar didn't hurt the kid too badly the little punk might actually learn a lesson or two about the dangers of talking smack to a Krogan. The two fighters circled each other for a moment, getting worked up by the roaring crowd. Tonner raised his fist again, giving the signal for the fight to start, and the two of them ran together, clashing at the center. 

The kid deserved some credit, at least: he lasted almost a whole minute. He was fast, quick to dodge and quick to let loose with a flurry of quick jabs that bounced harmlessly off of Uvar's thick hide. He'd been right about his opponent's inebriation, too. Uvar was still roaring insuslts and curses, but his attacks were wild and predictable, and his feet were always shifting, as if he was constantly fighting just to maintain his balance. Still, all it took was one good hit to end the contest. Uvar's forearm connected solidly with the kid's stomach, sending him flying across the circle. When he landed, he didn't get back up, instead opting to just lie there, sprawled out and trying to catch his breath. 

The crowd cheered in approval, but Uvar didn't seem to hear them. His eyes were still wild, filled with a fiery rage that didn't leave his opponent. He lumbered forward into a charge, screaming unintelligibly, racing forward with one fist raised, ready to smash it into the Turian's face. But suddenly Tonner was there, stepping into his path. His right arm arced out, catching Uvar with a punch beneath the nose that caused the Krogan's entire body to jolt and stumble. Tonner ducked, driving his shoulder into the Krogan's chest as his left arm caught one of Uvar's own, pulling downwards and sending the Krogan's heavy frame flying over his back and onto the cement on the other side. Uvar's body hit with an insanely loud [i]thud[/i], and for a tense second Tonner moved to tower over him, ready to jump into action if the drunk tried anything else. 

But Uvar only looked mildly confused, until a smile leapt across his face. All traces of blood rage in his eyes were gone now, and he began to laugh, the mountain of his body shaking even as he laid there, making no attempt to get back up. Tonner couldn't help but laugh too, feeling is body begin to relax. His arm was killing him, and he rubbed the sore tissue grafts there absentmindedly as he walked over to help the kid regain his feet. The crowd was roaring their approval, many of his own men reaching out to clap him on the back as he passed. Tonner took all of their adoration with easy graciousness, finally convincing the majority of them to get back to their work after several minutes. 

When the courtyard cleared, only Tonner, the kid, Jonus and Uvar were left, the latter still on the ground, snoring now. Tonner brushed the kid off and sent him away to the Safehouse's makeshift infirmirary to get his chest looked at. He was pretty sure the kid was going to be fine, maybe even a bit smarter after his ordeal, but it wouldn't hurt to check for broken ribs. Tonner knew from experience, Uvar hit like a motherfucker. 

When all was said and done, he finally noticed that his omnitool was blinking with an unread message. He opened it, eyes tracing the words as his mouth settled into a grim line. "Jonus," he called out to the Volus pilot, "Get the [i]Domitus[/i] fired up. We need to make a trip.[/i]

The Volus stared back at him, unimpressed despite the events of the last half hour. "Can it wait? I was going to go finish lunch."

Tonner pushed past him, already moving towards the hangars. "No. It can't."