[indent]It was after she had finished the unfortunate task of garbage disposal that her omnitool began to play a tinny tune in an attempt to get her attention –– the first few lines of a song from [i]Fleet and Flotilla[/i], sans all the lyrics about pining. [color=E6CEC1]"Aha! I was right after all,"[/color] Daro crowed triumphantly to an audience solely consisting of her drone. It didn't phase her, but perhaps it should have. She had been right in that it was Hazan who had turned up in her neck of the Lower Wards, as the melody was attached to his signal moving into reach of their short-range communications. The cameras going dark over the main entrance was probably just a mistake, a momentary blip on the radar.

Then she heard the first gunshot from the direction of her clinic. Daro held her breath as she counted them. [i]One.[/i] Pause. [i]Two.[/i] As the seconds ticked on without a further incident, at least none that was audible from outside the building, she summoned one of her security drones to her, activating its defensive protocols. It was better safe than sorry. Anyone who lived in the Lower Wards, no, anyone who lived on [i]Omega[/i] grew accustomed to the gunshots over time, and it was easy to just ignore them right up until it was a bullet with her own name on it.

Giving her volus patient's earlier warning, Daro didn't think for a second it was for some other sad soul.  But it wasn't until Hazan's message came through that she had those fears confirmed.

[indent][color=dodgerblue][i]"Daro? Hazan here, listen: I found some thugs trying to cause a ruckus at your clinic. I sent 'em packing, but you might want to come up here quick before more of 'em show up."[/i][/color][/indent]
Suspecting was different from knowing, and knowing that she was going to have to run away from mercenaries again did not make the prospect any less daunting. With a wary glance at the upper floors of the building, she replied to Hazan's message. [color=E6CEC1]"Thugs? Batnor Cal said I was on the Blue Suns' radar again, but I didn't think they'd be after me so soon."[/color] She sighed, wiping at her mask with the back of her hand, but it was relief that filled her rather than all-consuming fear of having to escape out the back window. [color=E6CEC1]"Thank you for letting me know – and for handling it. I'm on my way up."[/color]

It didn't take Daro long to reach her floor, given that it was a borderline emergency, an amber alert if not a red one. Still, the welcome arrival of one of her few friends on this rotten hunk of an asteroid, just in time to alleviate her little merc problem, left her comfortable enough to dismiss her drone beck to its usual station.

She turned the corner after leaving the stairwell to survey the destruction the turian had caused in her absence. Three bodies: one writhing, one breathing, one all too still. A lump formed in her throat at the sight, but she persevered through it with forced lightheartedness. [color=E6CEC1]"Aw, Hazan, I [i]just[/i] got back from taking out the garbage,"[/color] Daro chimed, gaze settling upon the cooling corpse that was, quite literally, left on her doorstep. Even without closer inspection, the human's vitals were nil, according to the internal HUD of her mask. Common sense could have also led to that conclusion, as no human had that much blood left in them. 

She swallowed, but that lump ([i]what was it––fear? disappointment? horror at her own apathy?[/i]) remained. At least she didn't have to clean up the body or the blood, given she intended to break her lease tonight. It wasn't like she could stay there.

The turian cradling his brutally snapped limb was no threat yet, but his mumbling and groaning was unhelpful. Daro reached to her utility belt for a thin syringe, the contents of which were sheathed in a metal casing. Ignoring the mercenary's protests and frantic attempts to flee through the crippling pain, she slipped it in through a gap in his plates, piercing through the leathery hide. Turians were a pain to work with, medically, if only because their whole biology was [i]tough[/i]: a radiation-resistant carapace that made surgery... problematic.

But she didn't intend to perform surgery to fix this turian's arm, though it sorely needed it if he was ever to retain full functionality (without cybernetics). In fact, Daro was avoiding doing anything more than the bare minimum, which in this case amounted to shutting him up. He'd live either way.

Now, the batarian, though––there was a patient who needed immediate medical attention. Daro was feeling unsympathetic, but it was a well-known fact that Omega's quarian doctor of dubious morality didn't like death. She could count on one hand the amount of people she had actively, purposefully killed, and didn't require the extra digits that humans had to do so, either. A quick reading under the dim orange glow of her omnitool predicted his chances of survival without treatment at 50% and dropping by the minute.

That would be the fault of the knife stuck in him. [i]A real knife[/i]. Considering everyone and their mothers used cheap omniblades these days, Daro was relatively impressed. (But of course Hazan would have a knife. He was ever-prepared for any eventuality.)

With little care, she pulled it out, careful not to twist the blade and deepen the wound no matter how satisfying it might have been. As his lifeblood began to pour out, a quick tap with the side of her glove caused an omnigel seal to form over it that would, by her best estimations, hold for a few hours. More than long enough for him to wake up and get to a clinic––well, a different clinic––and for her to decide on the next course of action.

Daro pressed her hand against the console next to the door (scratched up, probably by the mercs), which unlocked the security mesh and allowed them entrance, although she turned back to Hazan as soon as they were in the door. The inside of Daro's clinic-slash-home was drab, and save for some lace curtains and soft, pastel-coloured lights and a Blasto poster (that came free with the flat and practically affixed to the wall), it was still marked by an impersonal, steely tone. A cold metal operating table, a frozen box of medigel hooked up to the wall and numerous scattered mechanical bits and bobs filled the main living area.

[color=E6CEC1]"One last patient in this old place. Fess up, it was three-on-one. You've got to be a [i]little[/i] bit injured."[/color] she said cheerfully, a level more genuine than it had been previously. She winked, albeit behind the safety of her mask, and in a flash, she was running diagnostics to ensure there were no hidden knife wounds, or anything more serious than a bruise. There was a secret stash of good stuff hidden in one of her cupboards, and pain relief for the bonafide action-hero that was Hazan Volintis with it seemed to be as good a use as any. Thankfully, he didn't need it, or so her omnitool seemed to say.

[color=E6CEC1]"I don't think there's an apartment in the city that will take me while the Blue Suns after me."[/color] The Blood Pack might have, but for various reasons, primarily the lack of proper sanitation, Daro vetoed that option before it was more than an errant thought. The salarian that was her former employer, with his exorbitant prices and unethical business practices, would just buy them all out. He had that luxury. Short of leaving the station, which Daro was not willing to do while her heart still remained with the good (or mostly good) people of Omega, there was nothing left to do.

[color=E6CEC1]"...which of course means, I'm out of options. If you've got any outside-of-the-box suggestions, Haze, I could really use them right now. How do I get mercs off my back?"[/color]
[/indent]