DJAtomika

Arena Chat Thread

@Liseran Thistle I wouldn't mind sparring with you to get the rust out of my own joints.

Omega Serenade

"Tenus Domititus...hmm, don't have much information on him, other than what you already mentioned. I'm pretty sure his operation isn't too hard to get a handle for. Give me a little bit of time to dig up a little more and observe his work. I'll get back to you and we'll have something solid to go on."

---

"Tenus Domititus. Turian, ex-Fleet guy, used to be a lieutenant in the 43rd Scout Battalion, nicknamed 'Riskrunners'. He went AWOL a while back after a mission in the Terminus systems went awry and showed up here. Last I saw from Fleet comms, he was tagged as KIA for that mission. Some skirmish against some slavers, who knows. He's put his talent with people to good use though, strong-armed a lot of smaller merc companies into being in Perix's payroll. Even got himself his own retinue of soldiers, mostly turian, all ex-Fleet or ex-army. Dangerous sorts. I spent the last few days observing his routine, and he's a pretty simple guy."

Seated on a bench in one of Omega's many public spaces (a "park", if you could even call it that), Hazan idly observed his surroundings as he communicated with Daro over their private comms channel. From the outside, it seemed like the casually dressed turian was talking with someone over his omni-tool, synced with his visor, and on a station like this, no one paid casual conversation any mind. But the topic was anything except casual. In his talons was his datapad, a foldable device that fit into the back rigging of his armour or a pocket of his pants, and he scrolled through various documents he'd pulled up on their target during the time he'd spent studying him. With each piece of data he scrolled through, he flung it seamlessly to Daro's omni-tool to let her have a brief read.

"So here's what I know: his operation is contained within a big storage facility, some sort of abandoned warehouse, down by the eastern section of the Lower Slums, converted into a makeshift base. That's where his goons have set up shop. The man himself stays in an apartment complex nearby and is always escorted by two of his guard retinue. The other two are stationed at his base, and the four of them regularly swap shifts, either standing guard for Tenus or coordinating his operations in his base. The base itself is lightly guarded; no one would pay a warehouse that size any mind normally, so they don't have it under lock and key. One guard on the roof, two at the front door, one at the back, one on the side. Lightly armed, the most I've seen out of them are heavy pistols. No outside patrols and, thankfully, no drones. They do, however, have biometric scanners, handheld devices that match a person's genetic footprint to what they've got saved on a database. If you're registered as one of Tenus' goons, you gain access. If not, the scanner blares an alarm and the guards chase you out."

"As for his routine, being ex-military means a pretty readable schedule. He always rises early and leaves his apartment after spending exactly one hour in there doing who knows what. The route he takes to the warehouse changes every day but he seems to alternate between one of four different pre-planned routes through the district. After which, he arrives at his base and stays there for most of the day, leaving late in the evening to return to his apartment. His guard retinue switch duties every two days and shuffle at the end of the week. During the week, Tenus apparently sends out runners to coordinate his affairs with Perix twice a week. Today is one of the runner days, and he sends them out when he leaves the warehouse in the evening."

"Now, opportunities. I assume our goal here is to remove Tenus as Perix's middle man. The salarian loses a vital source of manpower recruitment and a chunk of his property out in the Slums. Without hired guns to harass his businesses, maybe they'll be a bit looser with their tongues for information about his other operations."

"So here's what I have in mind: we need to make sure that Tenus is no longer a threat to us, either by eliminating him, or by dismantling his own operation from the bottom up."

"To do the former, all we have to do is learn his pattern of travel to and from work. You tail him, distract his guards and I'll ambush him when he's vulnerable. Bit to-the-point and up to random chance if we get the right route, but it'll cut the head off the snake and we can topple over the rest of the pieces from there."

"To do the latter... I say we intercept his runner on one of his travel days. We tail the courier, drop him once he's a good distance away from Tenus' place and grab whatever data and funds he's carrying. We'll get access to his troop movements, recruitment rosters, hell maybe even a few credit chits. We can leak those onto the information black market, specifically to other organisations that are currently opposing Perix's gig, and then watch the ensuing fireworks. I'm willing to bet Perix will breathe down Tenus' neck a lot harder if he suffers an info leak, which will make him paranoid and more vulnerable to making mistakes of his own. Once that's done, we can strike. Use blackmail or even violence and Tenus will back off, maybe disappear. Or, and if this happens it'll be a miracle, we can get Tenus onto our side. But as long as Tenus stops being a middle man for Perix, our main goal will have been accomplished."

Hazan sat back in the bench and smiled to himself. As he looked up from his datapad, he watched Tenus and two of his guards cut through the plaza. Their target turian was a big man, taller than Hazan was, with a gun-metal gray carapace and all-too familiar blue face paint that tagged him as a Palaven turian of significant military rank. The two guards flanking him were armed and armoured; Avenger assault rifles sat in their talons and he could spy grenades hooked to the fronts of their armour. Tenus' pace was quick, and within the span of a few moments, he and his two guards vanished down a side street. Hazan closed his datapad and gave his talons a stretch.

"So, what'll it be, Daro? I've laid out the groundwork but I think it's more fitting that you choose our approach."

Omega Serenade

"Well I mean, inventing a new identity for yourself is an option. And if that's too expensive, well, have you ever considered trying to cap off the problem at the source? I mean, if your boss is hiring mercs to come after you, then I'm betting he's not a good boss to work for."

Hazan followed Daro into her clinic and sat down on one of the many chairs in her rudimentary waiting room. He'd been in here several times over the few months that he'd spent on Omega, one of Daro's regular customers filled with either bullet holes, stab wounds or anything of the sort that demanded pretty much the only honest doctor on the station that didn't overcharge him. Her boss, Perix Jonike, was a scoundrel though. A thorough asshole through and through, putting his genius-level intellect to control a healthcare and medical resource racket so huge that the only person that was bigger than him was Aria T'loak herself. Many had crossed his path; lots of third party mercenaries on Omega had worked for him in one way or another, and he had a few private wings of the real big merc groups like the Blue Suns and Eclipse in his pocket. His clinics and pharmacies overcharged for even the simplest of things like medi-gel or even bandages, his doctors gave cut-price remedies for twice the selling price and a lot of his customers eventually wound up dead from the things his doctors supposedly treated successfully. Daro was one of the doctors on his payroll that, thankfully, didn't subscribe to that whole dumb idea, but he didn't know what she'd done to earn his ire. Regardless, the monopoly on medicine in Omega had to end, one way or another. The station was a shithole, but people deserved to have affordable healthcare without the threat of mercs breathing down their necks if they didn't pay protection fees or overpriced band-aids.

With his background in intelligence and gathering information in the turian Navy, Hazan already had reasonably large dossiers on all the major players on Omega, if and when he returned to the waking world instead of bumming around the ass end of the galaxy. He knew, in general, what Perix's organisation was like, how it was structured and the handful of major players within. However, what information he did have was probably outdated by now; changes in the playing field happened on an almost day-to-day basis and without fresh intel, the thought of some kind of misguided revenge plot would fizzle and die before it could even begin. They had to start small, pick at the bottom feeders before moving up to the big guns. And he had just the idea.

"A salarian like Perix would have a lot of Omega's mercs under his thumb, wouldn't he? Through some sort of third party employer? I bet that's how he got those thugs to harass your clinic. I think we should start with them, see how he's hiring his mercs. If we can dismantle Perix's operation piece by piece, sooner or later he's going to have no where to run when we eventually out this monopoly of his to Aria. Then we can leave him and get out of this shithole while Aria has her way with his guts. Sound good?"

Streetlight Dragonflies

David Sawyer

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
"David. David Sawyer."

HOW ARE YOU BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
"I uh...always carry my camera on a strap around my neck. I've also got a brown leather satchel that has my other essentials, lenses and water and whatnot."

WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING YOU? HOW DO SEE YOURSELF?
"I... I'm not sure, I've never been asked this question before. I guess I'm a sort of...calm person? I like to socialise with others, y'know, talk about stuff we like and whatnot, but I'm not much of an outgoing type. I can talk for long hours about subjects we both like, but don't expect me to start the conversation myself. If a stranger first meets me, I guess they'll see the gruff, worn exterior and think I'm some sorta guy who's seen a lot, and frankly they wouldn't be wrong. But I'm just a man that did his job until the job made me quit."

WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? WHERE DO YOU FEEL AT HOME?
"I was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to a pair of loving, doting parents that never thought I'd grow up to be a journalist. I feel most at home behind the lens of my camera, capturing pictures and telling stories through still images. To be able to show someone the story of a life, or the emotions in a scene through pictures...that's the greatest pleasure."

WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE?
"Gee, I've never been asked that question before. Truth be told, there weren't a lot of people in my life after my folks passed on and I got into journalism as a career. I would probably say... Jeffrey Nolan, my editor. He was like a brother to me, up until I resigned. We still talk regularly and I like to send him the best snaps of my overseas trips from time to time."

WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE YOUR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
"I am a photographer. Former journalist and international correspondent for a big Boston news agency. I've been around the world, covering many different stories, about war, famine, pestilence and death, and of life, love, prosperity and glory. I spent the last twenty or so years of my life writing stories to go with the pictures I've taken and the things that I've seen and experienced for myself. My strengths, they probably lie in observation, analysis and creativity. I know how to handle a camera, how to frame a shot. How to read people, watching for their emotional tells, knowing when is the perfect moment to push the shutter and capture a frame for eternity. I know how to write well enough to encapsulate a story, to tell the reader what is going on with a specific picture, yet leaving enough gaps for them to fill in the blanks."

"After I resigned as a professional journalist, I took up photography as the next best thing. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."

WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
"I have many. Years in the life as a journalist covering the worst that humanity has to offer has left me rather emotionally traumatised. Some therapists I've seen have diagnosed it as a milder form of PTSD, and I believe them. After all the work I've done in documenting the human story, how much can one mind take? I balk at loud noises, don't feel much pain or revulsion at viewing particularly gruesome things...saddening as it may be, I've had to fortify my mind against my own emotion at times purely so I could capture those of others. To show to the world what suffering exists."

"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."

WHAT DO YOU WANT MOST? WHAT DO YOU ACTUALLY NEED?
"I... I'm not sure. I honestly just want some rest. Being a photographer and not a journalist has done a lot to help ease my troubled mind, taking pictures of plants and animals and trees and the like. The creative mind in me desires the perfect shot with every photograph I take and that also helps me concentrate on the now, preventing my mind from drifting to the 'what ifs' and the things in my past that haunt me."

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
"Out of the blue, huh? Well, maybe the ability to freeze time? To be able to catch every shot, in the millisecond that it happens, without missing a single heartbeat or movement. To be able to frame the perfect shot without having to compromise on quality or be constrained by time."

WHY ARE YOU HERE IN DUSKWICK? WHAT IS YOUR OPINION OF THE STRANGE RUMORS?
"The rumours are the whole reason why I'm here. Ever since I took up photography, my natural curiosity drew me towards the supernatural alongside the perfectly natural and beautiful world we live in. The fact that the natural order of things is being disrupted in this town is the reason why I'm here. I want to document whatever it is that's causing these problems and make sure it's remembered in human history."

"Plus...I also have a personal reason. Jeffrey, my friend? I last heard from him here, in this town, investigating a lead regarding the rumours and the recent disappearances of townsfolk and visitors alike. His last call to me was two weeks ago, and frankly speaking, I don't think he'd go that long without at least sending me a text message. I have to find him, set the record straight, and make sure whatever forces took him are exposed to the world."

HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE YOURSELF CHANGE AND DEVELOP?
"That's a...weird question to ask me. I guess what I'd like to see in myself is...the ability to feel? All these years haven't been the best on my psyche, but honestly I just wish I could feel again. To empathise and to actually be able to help the people I see. Being helpless behind the lens isn't something I take lightly, and for every missed opportunity and feeling of helplessness, I lose a bit of myself. I want to help people, not just with my pictures. I want to be able to take up something and actually help for once, not just by bringing stories to the light of day."

PITCH A SMALL SUBPLOT THAT WOULD BE PERSONALLY MEANINGFUL TO YOU.
"I, uh...that's an even weirder question to ask me. But, uh, I wouldn't mind finding a companion on my quest to set things straight. I've spent all my life alone, and the isolation's been getting to me lately. If I had someone by my side to lean on...that would be great, I imagine."

Streetlight Dragonflies

@Mokley I did actually fill in those questions from my own perspective, but with his words. If you insist, I want to see David heal from his past experiences and become stronger emotionally as a result.

And yes, you can control Jeffrey. He's a down-to-earth soul, best friends with David.

Streetlight Dragonflies

David Sawyer

WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
"David. David Sawyer."

HOW ARE YOU BEST RECOGNIZED IN A CROWD?
"I uh...always carry my camera on a strap around my neck. I've also got a brown leather satchel that has my other essentials, lenses and water and whatnot."

WHAT IS A STRANGER'S FIRST IMPRESSION UPON MEETING YOU? HOW DO SEE YOURSELF?
"I... I'm not sure, I've never been asked this question before. I guess I'm a sort of...calm person? I like to socialise with others, y'know, talk about stuff we like and whatnot, but I'm not much of an outgoing type. I can talk for long hours about subjects we both like, but don't expect me to start the conversation myself. If a stranger first meets me, I guess they'll see the gruff, worn exterior and think I'm some sorta guy who's seen a lot, and frankly they wouldn't be wrong. But I'm just a man that did his job until the job made me quit."

WHERE DID YOU GROW UP? WHERE DO YOU FEEL AT HOME?
"I was born in Boston, Massachusetts, to a pair of loving, doting parents that never thought I'd grow up to be a journalist. I feel most at home behind the lens of my camera, capturing pictures and telling stories through still images. To be able to show someone the story of a life, or the emotions in a scene through pictures...that's the greatest pleasure."

WHO ARE THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN YOUR LIFE?
"Gee, I've never been asked that question before. Truth be told, there weren't a lot of people in my life after my folks passed on and I got into journalism as a career. I would probably say... Jeffrey Nolan, my editor. He was like a brother to me, up until I resigned. We still talk regularly and I like to send him the best snaps of my overseas trips from time to time."

WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION, SKILL OR LIFESTYLE? WHAT DO YOU THINK YOUR STRENGTHS ARE? WHAT ARE YOUR ACTUAL STRENGTHS?
"I am a photographer. Former journalist and international correspondent for a big Boston news agency. I've been around the world, covering many different stories, about war, famine, pestilence and death, and of life, love, prosperity and glory. I spent the last twenty or so years of my life writing stories to go with the pictures I've taken and the things that I've seen and experienced for myself. My strengths, they probably lie in observation, analysis and creativity. I know how to handle a camera, how to frame a shot. How to read people, watching for their emotional tells, knowing when is the perfect moment to push the shutter and capture a frame for eternity. I know how to write well enough to encapsulate a story, to tell the reader what is going on with a specific picture, yet leaving enough gaps for them to fill in the blanks."

"After I resigned as a professional journalist, I took up photography as the next best thing. Nowadays I don't write stories for my pictures; I let them tell their own tales. My curiosity and drive to see and document the unknown has led me to many places in search of the unreal, the mysterious and the supernatural. I let my camera speak for me and capture the moments that words fail to describe. I've traveled the country over this last year or so, letting my curiosity guide me as I document the United States of America in pictures. It's been rather relaxing, really."

WHAT ARE YOUR FEARS, FLAWS AND SECRETS?
"I have many. Years in the life as a journalist covering the worst that humanity has to offer has left me rather emotionally traumatised. Some therapists I've seen have diagnosed it as a milder form of PTSD, and I believe them. After all the work I've done in documenting the human story, how much can one mind take? I balk at loud noises, don't feel much pain or revulsion at viewing particularly gruesome things...saddening as it may be, I've had to fortify my mind against my own emotion at times purely so I could capture those of others. To show to the world what suffering exists."

"I keep many secrets. Stories that I cannot bear to tell because of how horrible they are. Whatever you imagine is the worst of humankind, I've seen it. Locked away behind closed doors, covered by tarpaulins and buried in the ground. And no matter how much I wish to share them with the rest of the waking world, to tell someone that these things exist and something needs to be done about them...I keep quiet. I know that, if these stories are told, the men behind them will come after me and the people I know and care about. They will stop at nothing to ensure that their private lives remain a secret."

WHAT DO YOU WANT MOST? WHAT DO YOU ACTUALLY NEED?
"I... I'm not sure. I honestly just want some rest. Being a photographer and not a journalist has done a lot to help ease my troubled mind, taking pictures of plants and animals and trees and the like. The creative mind in me desires the perfect shot with every photograph I take and that also helps me concentrate on the now, preventing my mind from drifting to the 'what ifs' and the things in my past that haunt me."

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY SUPERNATURAL ABILITY, WHAT WOULD IT BE?
"Out of the blue, huh? Well, maybe the ability to freeze time? To be able to catch every shot, in the millisecond that it happens, without missing a single heartbeat or movement. To be able to frame the perfect shot without having to compromise on quality or be constrained by time."

WHY ARE YOU HERE IN DUSKWICK? WHAT IS YOUR OPINION OF THE STRANGE RUMORS?
"The rumours are the whole reason why I'm here. Ever since I took up photography, my natural curiosity drew me towards the supernatural alongside the perfectly natural and beautiful world we live in. The fact that the natural order of things is being disrupted in this town is the reason why I'm here. I want to document whatever it is that's causing these problems and make sure it's remembered in human history."

"Plus...I also have a personal reason. Jeffrey, my friend? I last heard from him here, in this town, investigating a lead regarding the rumours and the recent disappearances of townsfolk and visitors alike. His last call to me was two weeks ago, and frankly speaking, I don't think he'd go that long without at least sending me a text message. I have to find him, set the record straight, and make sure whatever forces took him are exposed to the world."

HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE YOURSELF CHANGE AND DEVELOP?
"That's a...weird question to ask me. I guess what I'd like to see in myself is...the ability to feel? All these years haven't been the best on my psyche, but honestly I just wish I could feel again. To empathise and to actually be able to help the people I see. Being helpless behind the lens isn't something I take lightly, and for every missed opportunity and feeling of helplessness, I lose a bit of myself. I want to help people, not just with my pictures. I want to be able to take up something and actually help for once, not just by bringing stories to the light of day."

PITCH A SMALL SUBPLOT THAT WOULD BE PERSONALLY MEANINGFUL TO YOU.
"I, uh...that's an even weirder question to ask me. But, uh, I wouldn't mind finding a companion on my quest to set things straight. I've spent all my life alone, and the isolation's been getting to me lately. If I had someone by my side to lean on...that would be great, I imagine."

@Mokley Here's my guy. I pulled him from another supernatural type RP that died recently.

Streetlight Dragonflies

@Mokley Is it okay if I made my investigator guy a former cop? Or a former journalist?

Omega Serenade

Present Day

Hazan ducked behind a low wall, bullets and slugs pinging off the plas-steel as he changed position. He and the rest of his crew were pinned down by massive gun positions on the other side of a bridge. Even with smoke grenades and their own explosives people returning fire, they were still in a world of hurt. His shields were down, he'd gotten a bullet in his left side, and their medic was stuck on the other side of a veritable no-mans-land. As the slender turian moved around his cover and kept low to avoid the machine gun fire above his head, he searched his visor for the one green diamond amidst the sea of friendly blue squares, hissing softly in paid as he held a talon to his side to try and stop the bleeding, even as he looked around desperately for the quarian medic.

"I'm not going to make it much longer like this..."

He slumped up against a wall and pumped his last charge of medi-gel into his side, groaning as he gritted his teeth and tried to power through the pain, even as the cooling gel numbed his injury. But as a rocket tore open a wall next to him, he grabbed his sniper rifle and made sure the clip was a fresh one before he swung out of cover, sighted a machine gun post and blew open the gunner's head like a melon.

"Spirits guide my hand..."

Without waiting, he swung his scope to the left and popped another man trying to rush to a new piece of cover. Almost immediately his fire was returned by another set of troopers to his right, forcing him back into cover with an angry hiss. Hazan racked the slide of his rifle, popping the heat sink, as he slapped a new one in and chambered it.

"The things I do for you, Daro..."

---

A few weeks ago...

Counting the credit chits in his talons, Hazan walked down the steps to the Lower Wards. His armour still on him in case of an ambush, with his sidearm clipped to his thigh, the mercenary was quite content with himself. Another contract finished with minimal damage to himself and another substantial payout. Enough to get his medi-gel restocked and his old wounds looked over at his favourite clinic on Omega. And, of course, a chance to talk to Daro. One of the few friends he had on Omega, the clinic's only nurse and doctor, all in one quarian package.

Unfortunately for Hazan, there were no elevators at Daro's block so he climbed the several flights of stairs to the top floor, where her clinic was. In doing so, he did a quick scan of the area with his omnitool, idly noting the single friendly signature on his HUD; that of Daro herself, who was at the bottom of the building, quaintly marked by a blue square.

Huh. Must be running an errand. Or taking out the trash.

He also noted, as his omnitool connected to hers via private network, that her vitals were normal. So no real danger. However, the banging noise coming from her floor drew his attention and he powered down his omnitool while he went into danger mode. He crouched and kept to the sides of the metal staircase, easing his footsteps and progress up to the sixth floor as he peeked round the corner. Sure enough, there stood a gaggle of men, dirty looking mercenaries probably hired by some third-rate scoundrel looking for an extra credit chit. One of them was pounding on the clinic door with enough force to rattle the metal security grate.

"Hey! Open up in there! Daro'Shuris nar Konesh! Your boss wants to talk to you! If you don't open up and come quietly, I'm going to blow open this door!"

Hazan took stock of the situation. There was one man, a burly human, at the door itself. Flanking him were a turian and another human, both armed with heavy pistols and behind them stood one more merc, a batarian, armed with a shotgun. In the relative darkness of the stairwell, he knew that even ol' four-eyes over there wouldn't see him, much less if he had his tactical cloak on. He tapped a talon onto his omnitool and waited for the short moment it took for his cloaking software to engage. His shields bent and refracted the light around himself, effectively turning the slender turian invisible. Then he searched the ground for something to distract the guards with, found a small pebble, and then chucked it at the back of the second human's head. The man with a pistol yelped and swung around.

" 'Ey man! What the hell?!"

The batarian turned around and gave the man a glance, unsure if he was being referred to or not, and shrugged his shoulders.

"What? What the hell did I do?"

Hazan crept forward, keeping low as he attempted to get near the batarian without getting caught. As the two argued, Hazan stood and turned off his cloak.

"Boo."

The slender turian shoved the batarian forwards, making sure he was between himself and the other armed men, even as the guards balked and tried to ready their weapons. Hazan moved forward behind his makeshift meat shield, running with enough force to sandwich all four goons between himself and the metal security grate covering the door. All the confusion and chaos elicited many noises of pain from the mercs in front of him, but the turian guard was smart enough to raise his pistol at him. Hazan responded by blocking the action with his left hand, grabbing onto both the pistol and the other turian's hand as he raised it up above his head. A deafening gunshot tore through the cramped hallway, the slug burying itself in the ceiling and leaving him with a ringing in his ears.

Undeterred, Hazan pressed forward, roughly shoving the batarian against his two companions as he twisted the turian's wrist just slightly upwards and then snapped his elbow with a palm strike to the hyper-extended joint. As the other turian screamed in pain, Hazan kept his grip tight on his pistol as the human extricated his gun arm and swung his pistol up at him. The grey turian responded by spinning around counterclockwise, taking the other turian's broken arm with him and causing more pain by bending it round the broken joint around his right side as he turned around.

His back now to the goons, he pushed his weight against the pile, keeping them pinned as he brought the guard's pistol to bear against the one that was being raised at him, their barrels almost touching as Hazan shoved a talon into the trigger guard of the pistol he was holding onto and squeezed. Another round bellowed from the heavy pistol, shearing into the raised gun at close range and knocking it out of the hand of the human guard. He shouted in surprised as he recoiled back from the impact while Hazan let go of the gun and swung around briefly to bury his right elbow into the other turian's face, feeling cartilage break from the impact.

The batarian whose back was against his struggled to get free as Hazan slapped the pistol from the turian's grip. The slender turian responded by swinging his left elbow into the back of his head, followed by him briefly moving away as he spun on his left foot and punched his lower back, making him grunt in pain. He followed it up by grabbing onto the back collar of his jacket and pulled, tripping the bigger man over his outstretched right foot and sending him away through his momentum.

The human guard yelled as he drew a knife from his belt and lunged at Hazan, the intent clear in his eyes. He countered the lunge by moving two steps back and bending his body into a C shape, bringing both his hands in towards his gut to grab onto the man's wrist. As he backed up, he twisted his body to the right, letting the blade pass him by. His left hand thumped into the crook of his elbow and his right hand, still gripped firmly onto the man's hand and the knife, pushed and redirected the lunge back into his chest. The serrated blade sunk deep into him and he screamed in pain, blood seeping from around the blade buried inside his front.

Hazan's attention turned lastly to the batarian, who was struggling to get up. He heard the telltale racking of his shotgun's slide and responded in kind by pulling his buddy's knife, once lodged in his chest, from its resting place and flung it at his last opponent. The blade flew through the air and embedded itself in the batarian's shoulder and, with a shout of pain, he went down too. As he made sure his last opponent was down for the count, he could feel the human guard sag in his grip, the life fading from his body as he bled all over himself and the floor.

The turian let go of the bleeding human, watching him crumple to the floor as blood now gushed from the open wound, creating a dark puddle on the plas-steel floor. Next to him, his turian buddy laid on the floor, groaning in pain as he held his arm, now broken in two places and at an awkward angle. Their boss, presumably, stood against the door to Daro's clinic, arms and hands up in a gesture of surrender. Hazan walked slowly towards him, a familiar glint in his eye as he drew his own knife and pressed the blade against the goon's neck.

"Heard something about a boss. Who's he? Quick now, I'm pretty sure you want to get out of here alive, rather than in a body bag."

"I- I- I don't know! All I know is that he's some big shot who works with the Blue Suns! He's just paying for this, I don't know what's going on, I swear!"

"Huh. Interesting. Well you go back to your boss and you tell him that unless he wants to be haunted by a Ghost, he lays off the quarian and her clinic, got it?"

"O- okay! Just let me leave! Please!"

Hazan withdrew the knife blade from the man's neck and watched as he ran, gibbering, away from the scene, leaving his men behind. He just shrugged and walked over to the batarian, who was out cold but still alive on the floor. Without removing the knife, he took his shotgun from him and stowed it on a piece of spare rigging strap on his armour. No room for extras, but he didn't want him to wake up and shoot at them while their guards were down. As for the turian with the broken arm...well he was in too much pain to do anything, but Hazan kicked his pistol away just in case. There was no saving the other human; he'd long since stopped moving, his blood creating a big, messy halo around his chest and head.

The turian sighed as he got up against the door to Daro's clinic and hailed her privately on their secure omnitool comms channel.

"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."

Streetlight Dragonflies

@Briza Actually if you wanted to go either the YouTube vlogger or paranormal investigator, I was thinking I wanted to make a younger detective who's got friends in the force that went missing after they went on holiday to Duskwick. You think these two misfits would team up before actually entering the town?

Streetlight Dragonflies (surreal modern fantasy)

Subscribed. You have my interest. And a soundtrack tune.