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Keyword: Shevchenko, Iosif
Location specific: Sol - Mars - Lowell City

Immediate Relatives: Father (File #M8178-C) - Vasily Shevchenko, current Director for Systems Alliance R&D Operations within the Lowell City Facility.
Mother - Nastasha Shevchenko (Maiden name Pavlychko), R&D Project Manager within the Lowell City Facility.
Brother - Artyom Shevchenko, currently Assistant Technician Supervisor for R&D within the Lowell City Facility.

Date of Birth: 20th February (Solar Calendar), 2145 CE
Place of Birth: Lowell City Medical Facility, Mars

Notes: Former Systems Alliance pilot, enlisted in 2163 CE - served in 21st Airborne Divsion. Medically discharged in 2170 CE following injury in service which necessitated amputation of Shevchenko's left arm at the shoulder, veteran's compensation covered cost of a replacement prosthetic.

Later served as freelance mercenary until altercation with colleague Jedrah Vargus (Refer to File #92348-KBE9), entered custody of Batarian slavery ring with ties to Hegemony. Sentenced to penal servitude under the Batarian Hegemonic Judiciary System as per standard procedure with Systems Alliance veterans.

Reported missing following rioting in Aratoht mining sector, suspected responsible for theft of cargo shuttle (NOTE: Reports confirm this following Sevchenko's re-emergence on Illium shortly after a vessel of the same description was reported abandoned in local salvage yard).

Possible point of leverage for assets currently operating within Lowell City and surrounding region?

Shadow Broker File 18ML-98124
Location: Mars, Lowell City, Residential Apartment A012
Timestamp: 2163CE - 03/03 (Earth standard) - 1421
Source: Personal Omni-Tool
Type: Audio Transcript
Subjects: V. Shevchenko, I. Shevchenko


Below is an audio transcript of a conversation between Vasily Shevchenko and his son, Iosif Shevchenko.

VS: "Iosif, it won't be long before the deadline for you to accept your invitation is here, I'd suggest you make the arrangements soon. Time is of the essence, here."

IS: "Dad, we spoke of this before... I'm not interested in the Academy, so why do you keep trying to push it on me?"

VS: "Iosif, this, again? Why do you torment yourself with such low aspirations, especially to become what's a glorified chauffeur - someone with your gifts, your intelligence shouldn't be squandering them so. Why do you think we've gone to all the effort to get you a place there?"

IS: "I didn't ask you to pull any strings for me, and besides, it won't be necessary any more."

VS: "Why do you say that, Iosif?"

IS: "Because, dad, I've decided that my future will be with the Alliance - and I've booked a shuttle for Armstrong Outpost in a few weeks' time to seal that. I was going to tell you and mom later, but I guess I should come clean now."

VS: "What?! Why, why, why-"

IS: "I've explained this before, yet you don't seem to ever listen."

VS: "Is that so?! Fine, explain away."

IS: "All my life, I've been staring at the spaceports, watching the shuttles arrive and depart, day after day - I remember, if only barely, when we first discovered the Charon Relay and the great expanse beyond it and I wondered. I remember all the talk of exploration and more, and I wondered. Even after the war with the aliens, I wondered. Perhaps only once in my life I've ever seen an alien face-to-face, and yet I wonder what else I'll find out there. More than what's here, there's nothing but sand and dust and old, dead ruins here and I feel like this place will suffocate me if I have to stay any longer. I am... I'm grateful for everything that you and mama have done, but I want to choose my own path in life, for a change."

There is a brief pause, along with a faint breathing sound as footsteps are heard with someone pacing around around the room.

VS: "I'm... I am-.... it's unfortunate that you feel that way, Iosif, but nontheless... you are just a boy, with a boy's understanding of the world and its harsh nature - you are blinded by these notions of yours. Myself and your mother have worked hard, all our lives, with the intent of raising you to take a greater place than us in society. If we had half of the opportunities that you have had, we would've shown our gratitude by using them to achieve our potential, not walking away from them. What of all the efforts we've made to gain you a place at the Academy, the people we've spoken to..."

An argument breaks out between the two. Some of the audio from this footage has been rendered indescernible but this commotion between Shevchenko and his elder son continues for several minutes. Eventually, they move back within range of the recording device.

VS: "I simply don't understand!"

IS: "Then let me spell it for you, dad - I've tried to be calm, tried to be easy on this, because believe it or not, you're still family and there was a part of me that cared because of that, but I'm going to say it now. You're not in this for me, you're doing it for yourselves. You and mama are as bad as each other, you just want to raise up someone who's the mirror image of yourselves. Well, I won't have it! You had your chance to live your lives, I won't do it again for you - give your gifts to Art if you must, assuming he doesn't figure he's being played too."

VS: "Fine, then. Go. Squander your potential if you must, but know this - if this is your choice, I won't support this ridiculous endeavour of yours. Don't expect me to be there to dry your eyes and wipe your ass for you if things don't turn out how you expect. I wouldn't presume to try and go behind my back with this either, your mother would agree when I say that I speak for the both of us on this matter. I'm sure your brother would gladly take a spot in the Academy in just a few years' time."

IS: "Spasibo, dad. Proshchay."

The sound of a door opening, then closing rather firmly is heard. The elder Shevchenko male mutters a few indiscernible words beneath their breath.

God-damn, has it really been a year?
@DJAtomika Does Hazan play video games? Because if he's still sad and mopey Serena will probably invite him to good old fashioned false violence and mutually assured destruction in an attempt to make him feel less like trash.

For that matter, does anyone else? Serena would be totally down for some crew mate bonding through video game trash talking (to each other, to others, to the AI, whatever comes up).


Iosif would probably have been more of an FSX + Crusader Kings 2 type of guy.
Vellios continued to scoop the watery broth then chewed and swallowed it, the food sliding down into his gizzard. It warmed him but only filled him half way causing his figure to rise and move toward the makeshift stove. He scooped another round before he flopped upon the seat to continue eating. His head perked when he heard footsteps coming from the crew’s quarters and headed into his directions his eyes turned to spot Iosif.

Their co-pilot wearily ran a palm along his face, rubbing at his eyes - it didn’t take a genius to tell that the man had taken their shore leave as an opportunity to grab some shut-eye. Unlike the others, Iosif didn’t find any comfort in the notion of sharing sleeping space with the likes of Khosin, however much the others might’ve grown to trust the batarian by this point, so he’d instead found rest in the confines of the cockpit, if only for a few hours.

For a moment, he didn’t take any notice of the turian enjoying his broth, instead turning towards the sink unit and releasing a stream of lukewarm water which he began to splash across his face.

“Rough night?” Vellios asked as he paused on his eating, noting Iosif washing his face to wake up. His figure leaned back in his seat and studied the human.

”No,” Iosif grunted, ”Just needed some rest.”

After another moment of splashing water on his face, he tugged at the collar of his shirt and used it to dry himself off.

”You? Had a chance to visit the Alliance’s defining colony?” The tone he’d used was a dry one, not entirely endearing to his old life.

“Not really. Only colonies I've visited, aside from brief stops, were Turian and for supplies and men,” Vellios shot back easily.

”Guess the military culture does that to you. Don’t take this the wrong way, but eh... don’t you turians have some kind of equivalent of a tourist hotspot, or whatever?”

Vellios gave Iosif a look as he replied, amusement in his tone, “Likely but I've never been there honestly for a long time. I didn't do too well in those types of scenes some times and preferred more hostile ones.”
That earned him an amused snort from the slav. ”You ought to try my hometown. Nothing like a UV sun-tan to lighten up your day.”

Vellios tapped his hard carapace, reminding Iosif the UV rays would not get through it, as he continued, “I don't think I'll be getting a tan with this. However, I am curious about what type of place might've produced a hardened individual like yourself. Mind sharing?”

Yet another amused snort was produced through Iosif’s nostrils as he heard Vellios’ choice of language. ”Does Lowell City ring a bell with you?”
Vellios shook his head.

”Didn’t think so. It’s a population center on Mars. Y’know, the dustbowl planet where my species first discovered Prothean tech - nothing particularly interesting unless you’re a fan of low gravity, endless dust storms and a freezing, red desert which stretches out for hundreds of kilometers in every direction. Unless you’re wearing a suit, you’re gonna be freeze dried in seconds. Not exactly the most hospitable homeworld, I guess, but it wasn’t so much dangerous as it was boring.”
“Better than hopping from ship to ship with no ground under your feet, or plundering for living. It explains why you left, but not why you joined up here,” Vellios pointed out and continued, “I'm sure there's likely something you miss back home? I know I do.”

”Yeah, there are shittier places to start.” Iosif conceded, before continuing to address the turian’s subsequent question, ”Back there? Nothing especially, I’ve made a life out here for myself.”
“You still could've went anywhere and done anything. Now, I got a reason to want violence and thrive in it, but as far as I see… You don't,” Vellios commented and leaned into his table, his arm toyed with his spoon in his stew. His head still studied his crew mate for another answer.

”At the time, I wanted the Alliance. Or, if you’re interested in the specifics, I wanted to be a pilot. Remember, when I left home, aliens were wholly new to our species. I’d never even met a turian in the... flesh, until just after I’d been given my first posting in the Terminus Systems. Enlisting was a means to the end, really...” Iosif gave pause for a moment and shot a glance towards his own prosthetic arm, his fingers gently twitching, ”I suppose the violence came with the territory.”

“It's usually the ground troopers, not the pilot, that often suffers the physical evidence. What happened to cause that if you don't mind me asking?” Vellios asked and pointed to the slav’s cybernetic prosthesis.

”Story I’ve told enough times.” Iosif flexed his wrist for just a moment, [color=steelblue]”Shot down, arm pinned down by the fuselage. From what I was told by the medical staff who treated me, I was lucky to leave just that behind.”[/color=steelblue] Sniffing, he pointed his artificial index finger at the turian. ”Your guardian angel, Serena, would probably have a thing or two to say about misuse, but it turns out having a cybernetic limb is helpful when you need to apply a little extra force.”

“More like that human story, Beauty to the Beast, without the love interest. And you're right about that. She has a passion for machines of any variety so I suggest bring earplugs for that conversation,” Vellios confirmed and smirked at the thought, “I can't disagree that that cybernetics pack a hell of a punch when used by the right people.”
”Speaking of Beauty and the Beast.... how’d you two wind up working together?” Iosif hunched forwards with a quizzical gaze, stretching his neck as he turned a question towards his turian crewmate.

“As I told Khosin earlier before he went off to do an extranet call, we met when we both were assigned to the same job. She had been the only other none female Asari, so being my normal and charming self. I flirted with her. She went redder than that fruit called a tomato and I busted out into a fit of giggles. It was adorable.”

Vellios smiled at the memory, one of his few he cherished, as he scooped up another mouthful and swallowed quickly. His eyes drifted to note the barcode on Iosif’s neck and tightened his brow in his attempt to place it. Between chews, he then asked something he hope he wouldn’t result in a fight, “I didn't realise humans branded their military personnel.”

For a moment, the slav’s face seemed to harden, like stone. ”They don’t.” Then, after yet another pause, Iosif’s expression softened. He reached around to the back of his neck, then gave it a scratch, like some kind of phantom itch. ”I got this when the batarians put me to work in the mines.”

“That explains the tension around Khosin,” Vellios said then downed his glass of brandy, something he hadn't touched yet. Mainly since he wanted to see how long he could go before he needed it and drained it in one swallow, “They made some crude and cruel devices for that shit, but at least a brand could be burned off. However, you didn't.”

”You’re observant,” Iosif remarked, with a grim expression. ”It keeps me on my toes, reminds me of how I wound up in that situation. As for our batarian colleague, it’ll also be a good reminder for him to stay in line.”

“I figured as much, through honestly you're best putting that behind you and moving on. Just my opinion, but I also know it's easier said than done,” Vellios stated and poured himself another drink, his bottle about a fifth empty. He sat there, ignoring his stew and thinking a bit, before he reconsidered his next question, “Part of me wants to ask you how you got away but I think I already know the answer. So I'll just let it rest and change the topic. Your choice on what we talk about.”

Part of that was appreciated on the slav’s part, to which he gave the turian an affirming nod. ”So, you ever visit Earth?” He asked, with genuine curiosity.

“Hell no, according the hierarchy humans are a disorganized, crazy race,” Vellios teased then got serious, “Seriously though, I haven't and for good reason. I served during the 314 incident and I highly doubt my kind are accepted with open arms.”

Iosif couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle. ”Honestly? With the history of war in our species, I think you’d be more a point of fascination than anything.”

“I doubt that. I just sort of focused on the individuals rather than what race they are. If I wanted to be bitter, I would be pretty lonely myself and likely dead,” the dark carapace Turian pointed out as he couldn't name a race he wasn't wronged by in some fashion.

”I guess you’re right, to a point. Iosif conceded yet again, though his thoughts on their four-eyed crewmate remained the same.

“Besides, I'm fucked up mentally as it is. Why do I want more shit to deal?” Vellios took another sip and stared at his glass for another moment.

”For what it’s worth,” Iosif began, treading cautiously as he ventured onto what could’ve potentially been thin ice, ”Relying on those non-prescription meds of yours won’t help. Trust me there, I know.”
“Armis would agree with you on that but she understood my condition. One of the few females willing to put with up my baggage and still love the shit out of me for all my flaws,” Vellios’ tone had a wishful and loving tone in it. Not one of mourning or regret, but fondness over a memory he held close.

He straightened up, then looked Iosif over with an approach that he knew Serena would've smacked him for later, “You're how old Iosif? Have you ever considered finding a mate or someone to share your time with? I'm pretty sure that cybernetic arm doesn't get the job done or talks back.”

”Thirty-one.” He answered, albeit he’d been caught unprepared for such a question as that, at least from someone like Vellios. ”And... well, I’ve had my share of relationships, I guess. Nothing that would’ve been called serious, guess I never had time for it.”

“I was curious was all. I'm surprised no one tried to snatch you up since. My wife didn't hesitate to tie the knot when I explained things,” Vellios chuckled, swirling the brandy in his glass bottom, “I often wonder what my mother would've thought of and if she would've been proud of me.”

His eyes shifted over to Iosif and added, “I don't suppose you have thoughts like that time to time, do ya?”
”Sometimes, maybe. I’ve had other things on my mind, in truth.”

“It seems like that's something common with everyone on ship. Even Serena,” Vellios said, letting the topic fall flat for the moment. His eyes stared at this stew a bit longer then slid it away, half eaten, and focused on his drink. Part of him wondered what Serena was likely doing and if she was getting into mischief or keeping the other girls out of it.
He chuckled softly, “I hope Serena isn't running herself ragged looking after Dex and Tanya.”

”If she can babysit you, I’m sure she’ll be fine.” Iosif pointed out.
“Doesn't mean I can't worry about her. She does have a knack for getting into trouble or rather, it finds her.”

”Perhaps, perhaps not - this is Elysium, nothing like Omega or Illium - with all due respect, our batarian crewmate is more likely to be found by trouble here.”

“I thought the same thing when we were anchored on a planet with a human colony. All I know, for sure, is one moment I'm sipping brandy and next she comes running up saying she needs my help. It seems one of her bots exploded near their drilling machines and I needed to climb down the vent to haul up individuals from the wreck,” Vellios mentioned as he recalled the incident in his mind, his mandibles wiggled in amusement followed by a low hum in his throat, “Still think I worry too much?”

The slav couldn’t help but crack a thin smile. ”Maybe so, though you’ve given me a better understanding of your perspective.”

Vellios downed the last of his Turian Brandy in his cup and slid it to the side with his bowl. He sat upright then glanced at his quarters door, mentally debating on retreating back to the confines of his room or stretching his legs. The slight pain in his ribs decided it for him. Twisting his legs to the other side and hopping off, he excused himself, “I better get my ribs checked out and make sure I didn't break something when I toppled out of bed. If you'll excuse me Iosif, I need to go to the medical bay. It was nice talking to you and I wouldn't mind doing it again soon.”

Iosif gave his turian crewmate a nod, but seemed content to remain in the mess for a little while longer. ”Agreed, you make good conversation when you’re not trying to commit suicide by proxy.”
-snip-
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