[color=6ecff6][right][i]Afterlife, Omega — present day[/i][/right][/color]
“What does one call this game, again?” said the quarian, regarding the two paper cards grasped in his three digits. He struggled to be heard over the pumping electronic music on the other side of the wall invading his ear-canals. He found it difficult to think in a place like this.
“Poker… well, this is Texas Hold ‘Em” replied the man sitting next to him; a slim, blonde-haired human, gently swaying in his chair. His third glass of [i]Akantha[/i] sat untouched in front of him, the condensation gently dripping down its outside.
The only [i]Texas[/i] Vaan’Hadaal knew of was an Alliance frigate; he was fairly sure it had been present in the battle against [i]Sovereign[/i], though he was halfway through his second glass of turian brandy, and so he couldn’t vouch for his own memory.
“Why would a game involving cards be named after an Alliance vessel?” The human to his left dropped his hand onto the table, peering over at the quarian in disbelief.
“No, Texas… it’s a place, it’s on Earth.” he said incredulously.
“I see.” came the curt reply. Vaan was struggling to understand the mechanics of this game. He had gleaned that the main objective was to lie as well as one could, and that for some reason the cards with crude pictures of human men and women on were the most valuable, though strangely a card with one pictogram on it was more valuable than the one with ten on it. He couldn’t understand why.
“Hmm. I have played this game for nearly thirty minutes and yet I have still not discovered why one calls it ‘Poker’. There does not appear to be any ‘poking’ involved.” across from him, a hefty krogan laughed into a glass of ryncol. The man to his left did not join him.
“Will you just bet already?” he shot, irritatedly.
Vaan carefully placed a plastic coin into the centre of the table.
“No, you idiot! You have to match his bet!” the human gestured wildly to the turian to Vaan’s right.
“Let him be, Harold. You invited him to play.” the turian responded. “You humans are always in such a rush.” the human fell silent. The turian regarded Vaan for a moment.
“Here, you just need to put two more of those red ones in.” he pushed two chips from Vaan’s pile into the middle. 
“Are we all done?” he addressed the table. No one said anything for a few seconds. “Very well.” he said, and laid his two cards down. “Two pairs, aces over sixes.” The krogan threw his cards down with a small grunt of frustration and emptied his glass. Vaan followed suit, laying his cards down.
“I have a lady, and a two.” he said calmly. “I have less pairs than Paius, so I suppose he wins?”
“No, you’ve got…” with an annoyed grunt, Harold jabbed his finger at the five other cards in the middle. “Look, you’ve got a flush!” Vaan regarded the seemingly random selection of cards on the table. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be looking at, and he didn’t get much of a chance to make any sense of it as they were quickly gathered and the chips pushed towards him.
Paius, the turian stood.
“Well, thank you gentlemen but I think my luck has run out for tonight.” he looked down at Vaan. “Are you continuing or would care to join me?” Paius had been something of a contact of Vaan’s on Omega since he returned. Vaan suspected he had some involvement with the Blue Suns, but Paius kept his mouth shut about any such dealings. Vaan raised himself from the table and followed, collecting his winnings from the batarian at a smaller table just off to the side.

Afterlife was abuzz. It wasn’t normally the kind of place that Vaan’Hadaal tended to frequent, even in his younger days, but Paius had wanted to, to ‘celebrate’ Vaan leaving the station.
“Tell me more about this asari you’re serving under, Vaan.” Paius said, shooting Vaan a smile and a sideways look.
“Your tone suggests you would like to know about more than just her credentials.” Paius laughed. Vaan did not. “I haven’t met her yet, but from the dossier I pulled up she seems a formidable Captain.”
Paius held up both of his fingers to the bartender, who swiftly placed down two glasses of turian brandy, along with an emergency induction port.
“I’ve been on ships with plenty of formidable captains, what makes this one so special?” Vaan didn’t have a good answer to that question. The truth was, he was afraid to stay on Omega for too long. He didn’t know if the Talons would still hold a grudge, or if his former captors on [i]Illium[/i] were on his tail, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. On Omega, your life was in your own hands —or the hands of those who you could pay enough to keep it safe— there was no C-Sec to maintain order, no Admiralty to keep you safe, and he was no fighter; if someone arrived looking for retribution, he was in no position to deny them. Vaan couldn’t articulate that feeling to Paius, especially if his suspicions were true, and Paius had links to organised crime on Omega, so he was left to meekly reply:
“I don’t know. I suppose I just have a good feeling about her.”

[hr][indent]
[right][color=6ecff6][i]On board the Marduk, the outskirts of the Sahrabarik system — some time ago[/i][/color][/right]
[i]Gunshots. That was what woke him. The ship had been quiet for days, even with the lumbering Elcor moving around. The cold darkness of the small cargo pushed in on him, suffocating him even more than the toxic air that wormed its way through his respiratory system. He struggled to breathe, or even to sit upright. The bloodthirsty mercenaries had stripped him of his life force, pulling him indelicately out of his enviro-suit, knowing full well what the experience would do to him. It was punishment. His work had been paid for by the Talons, and they wanted their cut. Fortunately for him, he had managed to secrete it on his person, although he didn’t know what good it would do him now.

Every time his eyes closed for the respite of sleep, he thought, even hoped, that it might be the last time. Every cell in his body was crying out to him in agony. His lungs burned, his skin blistered and blackened. If he wanted to call out for help, he couldn’t; his oesophagus was so swollen that he could barely make a sound.
Now, at last, something interrupted his quiet shamble to the grave. More than just gunshots; raised voices and stomping footsteps. He wondered perhaps if the Elcor had managed to re-arm themselves and take back control of the ship. Unlikely.

He passed out.

He was awoken by the sound of the door mechanism sliding open, and a hard boot to the stomach. 
“Quarian. Wake up.” came the voice, calm, but with a layer of threatening menace. He opened his eyes. A turian. He recognised him, barely. He wore a simple set of armour, emblazoned with the red logo of the Talons, a rifle slung over his shoulder. Behind him, two batarians, similarly armed. Vaan’s hands went instinctively to the sight of the pain. He would bruise badly.
“I’m awake,” he said quietly.
“Good.” came the curt reply. “Listen. I’ve taken command of this ship.” the turian crouched down beside him. “Could I take a look at your research?” the turian phrased it like a request, but Vaan knew it was a command, and he understood the veiled threat beneath it.
His hand reached behind his back, and pulled the dataclip from its hiding place, before he threw it onto the ground at the turian’s feet. Even that movement took almost all of his strength.
The turian smiled, or at least the closest approximation the turian anatomy could muster.
“Get him back in his suit.” he said, with a commanding finality, before picking up the dataclip and leaving the room.

The two batarians were rough with him, contorting his battered frame this way and that, feeding every appendage into every slot with the grace that he had come to expect from batarians. It bruised him further, and the two mercenaries took a while to figure out where everything was supposed to go, but eventually, mercifully, his air filter re-engaged and his breaths began to feel less like burning sulphur and more how they had used to. Even so, he didn’t have the strength to sit upright. It would be a week before he could walk, but he wasn’t going to die.
Probably. [/i][/indent][hr]
The streets were littered with drunks and wretches. Omega really was a hellhole. He had come to realise that in the two months he had been back. The wonder he had felt when he was young had fallen away and been replaced by something bordering on disgust. In truth, he would be happy to be off this station, at least until its lawless allure called him back. The draw of Omega was freedom. It was why so many scientists, mercenaries, engineers and people from every background flocked here. 
But when the mission was over, where then? Back to the Migrant Fleet, where his existence mattered not one iota? The Citadel, where every ambassador’s desk was scrubbed of any personality? He supposed that decision didn’t have to be made yet. He hadn’t been given a precise end date for the expedition, probably because Captain Kesir didn’t know herself. It mattered not.

Paius was an odd turian. Usually, they said only what they had to, yet Paius was clearly the exception, droning on and on, very rarely needing a response.
“...are you even listening to me?” Paius had stopped some ten feet back. Vaan hadn’t even noticed. Maybe it was the brandy. He turned back to his turian counterpart. 
“No.” came the brusque reply.
“You’re a charmer.” they had been making their way to the spaceport, to board the [i]Caelestis[/i], but Vaan suspected Paius had taken him via the scenic route.
“Why have we come this way?” he asked.
“Well, I thought you might just want to see some of Omega’s sights for the last time before you set off.”
“We’ve been to Afterlife. Where else did you want to go, the eezo processing plant?” came Vaan’s drole reply. Paius laughed boisterously. Vaan did not. There was a brief silence between the two.
“...Fine. Come on then.” the turian said as he stomped past Vaan.

The [i]Caelestis[/i] looked to be a well-built ship, salarian by design, meaning its interior would no doubt be immaculately built, and crushingly functional. Vaan thrived on ships that were a little older, a little dirtier and a little less well put together. The Migrant Fleet should have been the perfect place for him, by that logic; half the ships in the flotilla were held together by suspect welding and omni-gel adhesive. They juddered through space, threatening to lose integrity and jettison their crew out into the icy death of space. There looked to be no fear of that on board the [i]Caelestis[/i]. He could hear voices emanating out from inside already, no doubt some of the crew had already embarked. He turned to Paius, also admiring the craftsmanship.
“I suppose I’d better get on.”
“You sure?” Paius said, keeping his gaze fixed on the ship. “Looks like it might fall apart at any moment.” he smiled again, and chuckled to himself. He turned to Vaan. “You think they’ve got room for another old hand?” 
“You should have responded to the advertisement.” Vaan said tersely. Paius laughed again.
“Ha… no, I still have things to attend to here. She looks a good vessel though, you could do worse.”
“Much worse.” Vaan replied. The two shared a moment of content quiet.

“Well, farewell, friend. Safe travels.” the turian said quietly.
“And to you.”
Paius took another moment to regard the ship, before turning on his heel and walking back into the steely streets of Omega, leaving Vaan’Hadaal alone.
Vaan too, waited for a moment, letting Paius get out of sight before taking his first steps up the gangplank.