[right][h3]Daro'Shuris nar Konesh
[/h3][/right]
[quote]“...you take them out quicker than you down those drinks that you and Daro are so fond of drinking when you are off duty.”[/quote]	
Daro couldn't help herself. Her translator (barely) picked up her quiet, low-pitched whine of electronics – a wordless noise of embarrassment. She was torn between, '[i]Damn it, Nik![/i]' and vehemently denying the teasing with an, '[i]I am [u]not[/u] fond of it![/i]' Like a filthy, filthy liar. Righteous indignation distracted her from the flicker of unease that crept up her spine, at least for a little while.

Anything useful had been picked clean, she was sure as she crushed scraps of stiff cloth that might once have been a part of an envirosuit underfoot. Thankfully, it wasn't an [i]actual[/i] corpse this time around, which Daro reckoned was a blessing itself. Still, the more she looked around at the stale devastation, the more she was sure there had been casualties – and probably quite a few of them. Prismatic patches of blood, levo mixing with dextro, orange, blue, red, stained the ground.

And then they found the bodies. Dead ones, desiccated husks that didn't matter anymore, set upon by vultures as surely as the merchandise itself had been. The cycle of life, one might say. One man's trash is another man – or beast's – dinner, says another. No stranger to the clinical side of death, Daro simply waited for Nik to lead on, murmuring, "Asari," under her breath. It didn't give her any comfort, knowing what they once were biologically and scientifically when all they had been as a person was erased like a drawing on a chalkboard.

The effect it seemed to have on Nik was a serious thing, leaching all good humour from his voice and replacing it with something else... Something that Daro couldn't quite place yet. Maybe it was nothing – and it was just a result of them approaching their destination. Maybe. As it was, it wouldn't affect her performance, her attempt at 'playing it cool' when everything was unquestionably [i]not[/i] cool.

The party there to greet her team consisted of a Quarian, an Asari and a Vorcha – the latter of which made Daro want to shiver in her boots just [i]knowing[/i] how many diseases it must have carried. She hadn't discriminated when helping and healing someone in her clinic (though she had one present only once and it was not as a patient) but she definitely had to re-sterilise the whole place. Vorcha made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Then there was the Quarian – Masf'Taalun vas Halazi – who was just [i]strange[/i], at least to Daro. A soldier, one of [i]her people's[/i] (though she really ought not to call them that anymore) who had already completed his Pilgrimage... and yet he was here, a mercenary lieutenant on a backwater space station riddle with crime. It was confounding, at complete odds with her image that all of the Marines of the Flotilla were faithful to the core, especially once they returned as an adult, her image of her father –

Sniper! The first gone was the Asari – dead, headshot, no amount of medigel could fix that – and then the Vorcha to a lethal shot. Spinal cord severed, and if it wasn't dead after that, it would surely wish to be.

Daro dived into cover, kneeling over the mortally wounded Quarian before Nik had even ordered her to. A shot missed her head by inches (thankfully not a sniper's shot) and she ducked further down behind the makeshift barricade. Olan had put the lights out, leaving her to illuminate the area with only the muted, sickly glow of her omnitool and the flickering neon signs scattered around the area. The thrum of biotics from nearby informed her that Raya was already getting started; the firm report of, 'Sniper down' being Hazan's work.

[i]This is bad.[/i]

Omnitool recordings stripped from Masf's envirosuit alerted Daro to his condition, teetering on the tightrope between life and immediate death. One lung was down, just down, not working, broken, shot... and shock was replacing it. Had Daro been shot in such a place herself, she had no doubt that she would have preferred death – the possible infection, worse in such a vital part of the body, would surely be as devastating as the bullet herself. Nevertheless, she had to try.

If only because Masf was meant to be their guide to Jek, and he was supposed to be fairly important in the gang. Daro liked to think that it was out of pure goodness, though. She reached around to the Quarian's back, her fingers returning slick with blood. It had gone through, then. Daro just hoped there was no foreign material lodged in the wound, because there was no chance for her being able to pick it out in the middle of a battlefield.

(She did, however, tug the most visible shard out using a delicate setting on her omnitool, managing to avoid nicking any of the already-damaged tissue.)

Antibiotics would be no doubt streaming through his bloodstream, but given where the wound was the seals wouldn't be able to do anything to prevent the spread of possible infection. Not to mention, it was still exposed to the open, dirty air of Omega. There were very few places equipped to allow a Quarian to remain unsuited and none of them involved a disused marketplace with [i]corpses[/i] around.

It was do or die. Every Quarian knew how to patch an envirosuit on the field, provided they were conscious enough to do it, which Masf certainly wasn't. The emergency sealing mechanism would burn, it stung and hurt like nothing Daro had ever experienced before when she first had to perform it back on the Konesh, but with any luck it would preserve the mercenary's life for just a little while longer. She activated it, quickly changing her tool to seal the wound together.

The suit's built in medigel would have to do when it came to repairing the tissue.

Daro looked around, somewhat disorientated and utterly confused as to what the situation was around her having just spend who knows how long focused solely on fixing and not on killing. [i]Back to the daily grind,[/i] she thought mournfully to herself as she held Masf's arm down with her left hand and aimed her pistol at a Vorcha with a death wish, not too bright as he approached from the front.

Had to go with headshots with them due to how quickly they regenerated. Fast buggers, weren't they? The doctor switched over to her shotgun, knowing full well that her aim (or lack thereof) was better with that, mostly because it wasn't necessary at all. It hissed and snarled in its red armor. Daro slammed down on her omnitool producing the faintest electronic beep and then it stopped in its tracks, seizing. Arms pinned behind its back – but it would surely be painless. The shotgun splattered its grey matter out across the marketplace's already gory floors. 

Now her work was just to provide suppressing fire and pray for the Quarian mercenary's life. To protect it as well as her teammates. Masf's survival was all up to fate. Perhaps with a better trained doctor, a proper medic with all the supplies of the Flotilla, he would have been better off. She shook her head, firing a few rounds into the main body of the group as she informed her team, "Mercenary friend stabilised for now!"