[I]Cape Town, South Africa[/I]

“What is this… [i]thing?[/i]”
Earth was still a smoldering wreckage of a planet after the Reapers had rolled through. It had been scarcely a month since the Battle of London and the decisive victory over the Reaper threat. Crews worked across the globe in clean-up efforts as well as trying to establish what might as well be permanent residences for the alien coalition that was trapped on the human homeworld and the Sol System in general. For Urdnot Karnoc, the post-war weeks were a strange sense of emptiness; he’d been fighting for as long as he could remember and he’d survived the most important war in galactic history, but now there was nothing to fight and krogan and aliens alike had to figure out what exactly came next. 

For many, it was a humbling experience being brought to the same level of listlessness and lack of authority as former rivals and enemies, and there were no shortage of stories of people turning to banditry or trying to stake a claim on this rock. Karnoc wasn’t much interested in staying on Earth, however. Someone would figure out how to make the relays work again and he’d be able to return to Tuchanka as a celebrated hero, undergo his Rite of Honour to sire children, and bring forth the next generation of krogan.

But for now, he was in no hurry. Krogan could live for centuries and he was astonished that Earth was so gentle and not at all dangerous. Lush green fields and trees seemed like mirages until he ran his hands through their foliage. Animals  scattered and ran when they saw him instead of trying to feast upon him, and the air was disturbingly pure. No wonder why humans were so small and squishy; they didn’t have to fight to live. It was a mystery of why it was a human named Shepard who seemed to single-handedly restore order and peace to the galaxy, including cure the Genophage and bring the krogan redemption. The savior of Karnoc’s people wouldn’t have been human if Karnoc had to wager a guess, but the galaxy was full of mysteries and wonder… including the strange four-legged, shaggy-furred creature wagging its tail at him and looking at him with dumb, vacant brown eyes and floppy ears that weren’t at all suited for listening for predators.

One of the human engineers stopped welding, lifting his visor from the girder he was perched upon. “What, the dog? It’s a pet.”

The krogan stared at the ‘dog’, who barked excitedly. “What, it doesn’t try to rip out your throat or attack you if you show any signs of submission?” he asked.

The human laughed. “Oh, no. They’re friendly and love to be around people, for the most part. Occasionally you get a bad owner who abuses it and it acts out, but by and large they’re just loving companions that humans have domesticated tens of thousands of years ago.” 
The dog was sniffing at Karnoc’s armour. “Go away! You’re uglier than a varren. Where is your grit, [i]dog?[/i]”

“I think he wants one of the bones on your armour.” The human pointed out, now focused entirely on the scene before him.

“My bones…” Karnoc repeated, looking down at the dog, which was now making a grab for one of the lower hanging trophies. He shooed the thing off with a meaty hand. “I admire your spirit, little warrior, but you need to [i]earn[/i] your trophies, you can’t simply take them!” 

The dog just wagged its tail and barked excitedly.

The sound of a Kodiac shuttle filled the air before it was seen and it touched down not far from the work site. A man in Systems Alliance uniform stepped out of the gull-wing door and walked over to the workers. “I’m told that Urdnot Karnoc is present and currently assigned to this work group?” he asked. Karnoc studied the man; scarred face, several days’ worth of facial stubble, no-nonsense gaze. Didn’t look like the kind of person who pushed around a datapad for hours and pretended they were a soldier.

“Who’s asking?” Karnoc demanded.

“Lieutenant Janzen, Sol Restoration Network. My superiors are interested in your credentials and record and think you would be an ideal candidate for our crisis reaction teams.  Your profile suggests you aren’t the kind of man who appreciates throwing around rubble for hours a day; you’re a fighter. We could use that.”
Karnoc tilted his heavy-crested head curiously. “War’s over. This means some of the survivors are fighting over the scraps?”

“Something like that.”

“Let me grab my kit. At least it’ll get me away from this… dog.” The krogan grumbled. He felt something small tap up against him and he turned around to see the dog laying nearby, one of the low-laying bones in his mouth, chewing on it contentedly. 

Karnoc strode over and picked the animal up with one hand, which the dog didn’t seem to mind. It chewed defiantly in front of his face. The krogan noticed a collar about his neck and a bone-shaped tag with the word [I]Ranger[/I] on it.  He starred at the dog. 

The dog wagged its tail.

“Hrmm.” Karnoc grunted.

[hr]

[i]Nambia[/I]

The Kodiac landed in the designated landing zone for the SRN’s encampment and Karnoc eagerly hopped out; he was not a fan of being stuck in a tight metal box with people who were all too happy to indulge in idle banter. The two marines escorting Karnoc and Janzen were talking excitedly about things returning to normal, like some stupid game called football, or standing in a crowd with a bunch of idiots listening to people who decided instruments were how they wanted to be immortalized rather than martial prowess. More than once, he eyed the door latch and considered if he could take the fall. He was a krogan; of course he could. He just didn’t feel much like walking for weeks across grasslands or deserts to get to the same place a few hours of travel could accomplish with these yapping pyjaks. Krogan were resilient, but they had limits. The trip was testing Karnoc’s. 

One of the ground crew that was unloading the cargo compartment came around with a hauler. “Here you are, sir. Your equipment. I always wanted to shoot a Striker, but local zoning limits on explosive munitions… is this a dog collar around the grip?” the man asked incredulously.

“It took one of my trophies, so I took one of his. It seemed fair.” Karnoc replied, grabbing the weapon and his crate to walk to the designated registration tent.

“Please don’t tell me you killed it!” The marine shouted back.

“Relax, you whining pyjak; the dog had a warrior’s spirit and I was informed that the collar was a form of indentured servitude. No brave and free soul deserves to live its days in shackles, even if it’s repulsive and obnoxious.” Karnoc replied. “That thing around your neck is called a dog tag for a reason!”

“Son of a bitch.” The marine grunted, turning back to the other crew. 

Karnoc arrived to the clerk, who looked at him and his impressive assortment of trophies. “Urdnot Karnoc, I presume?” she asked, a dark-hided woman with short hair and a pleasant accent that he learned was from the region.

“Yup. Heard you needed someone to break stuff.” He replied.

“Head down the main ‘street’, there’s a pre-fab with the name Serova. That’s your new quarters. We understand krogan have more private space requirements than other species, and we did the best to accommodate that, but you will be up with a variety of other specialists from different species. From your profile, it suggests that won’t be an issue.”

The krogan shrugged. “Let me guess, janitor’s closet?”

The woman nodded back. “Janitor’s closet.”

“I’ve slept in worse.” He said, proceeding to find his new home for the next few days. In the distance, he heard something barking. His eyes narrowed, the Ranger tag jingling next to his ear. 

“Shit.”