The usual chaotic sounds of Omega filled the air, only adding to the despicableness of the mining station turned city to any newcomers unlucky enough to find themselves stuck on its seemingly never-ending rough streets. Gunshots echoed in the short distance, followed by an almost symmetrical burst of return fire. Small time gangs clashed, spilling and splattering each other's blood on the steel streets. Yet, the denizens went about their usual business, only keep enough mindfulness to avoid the area where shots scattered and flew free. Such people wandered into the clinic of Dr. Jayce Loring's. The good doctor stood busily at an exam table, his hands gloved with plastic, black hair slicked back with a rough stubble dotting his jawline. His short hair was tinted with dots of grey, the man having been through quite a bit of stress in his years on Omega. He was handed a datapad displaying medical information by an asari nurse. All was peaceful within the clinic, it was a refuge for the poorest of the poor, the most unlucky of the unlucky.
An air of kindness seemed to fill the clinic, nurses busily helping patients, peaceful music playing over the speakers in the quaint waiting room. One almost forgot they were on Omega when they were in Dr. Loring's clinic. Then one swift glance at the ceiling mounted machine gun turrets were all it took to remember where they actually were. The guns were carefully hidden, but obvious to those who knew exactly what they were. A necessary precaution against the gangster scum that liked to wander in to every establishment on they could and try to shake it down, or worse, rob it. No such thing occurred anymore. A seemingly constant peacefulness filled the clinic, apart from the occasional drunkard patient but even then they'd be calmed down.
A short distance away the streets were full of small talk, crowds of denizens going to and for wherever they needed to be. Many were heavily armed and armored, displaying brutal looking firearms. Surprisingly there was no violence occurring at that moment, other than the pushing of impatient people. A crowd of vorchas moved with a swagger, snickering among themselves. Their hyena like voices cackling as they discussed their latest killings. They were branded heavily with the Blood Pack insignia, as many were on Omega. The obnoxious laughing took a pause as all of their eyes narrowed on a fellow member of their kind walking towards them, but not giving them much more than a passing glance.
Zaash Gakkez had little time for these Blood Pack aligned vorcha. At the sight of the insignia branded upon their flesh he groaned, balling his hands into fists as he attempted to shelve his anger. Fear sparked in the back of his mind, but was overtaken by the intense, nearly overwhelming lust for vengeance. As he recalled much of the pain they had inflicted in them. Still, he let out a deep breath. Calming himself down. His day was already bad enough. These vorcha were no more than brainwashed foot soldiers. He remembered that he was once like them, in his younger years, well younger by his species very short lived standards. Even though he pitied them deeply and had no doubt they were routinely mistreated and thrown onto the front-lines like chosen sacrificial lambs. As they passed by him their heads turned, but they continued on their way. Zaash let out another deep breath. The armored lone vorcha was on his way to meet an old friend. It had been some time since he had spoken to the man who saved his life. It may end up being the final time he saw the man, the final time he could thank him once again.
As the clinic doors came open Dr. Loring paused in his work, blinking slowly. He shook off the curiosity as nothing, then resumed typing into a datapad. Outlining a proper dosage for a downtrodden young man, scars marking the beaten human's face. He couldn't have been older than nineteen, yet this poor soul had been beaten to a pulp and left to die. A cast placed around his left arm by Loring for a minuscule fee. His patients payed whatever they could, he was a well off man, successful in his own right. He did not come here to rob from the poor. There were plenty that were already doing that despicable bit of business. As he set the datapad down he reached to shook the young man's one good hand, finding himself on the receiving end of a seemingly endless amount of gratitude.
"Dr. Loring's great. Too nice for this fucked up station." A familiar voice to the doctor spoke from behind, followed by a set of long fingers landing on his right shoulder. A smirk came onto the doctor's face as the recovering patient next to him looked on with confusion, as to why a vorcha had seemingly walked into the clinic.
"You're the one whose too nice, Zaash," Dr. Loring replied as Zaash went in for a hug, the good doctor patting his old friend on the back. "What brings you back here? Don't you have somewhere dangerous and fun to be?"
"Omega is that ain't it?" The vorcha replied with a smile.
"It is, but not here, I made damn sure of it." The doctor replied, speaking a few words to his patient as the young human left with a nod. Having received his treatment. Then Loring subtly pointed upwards as he turned towards Zaash once more.
"Really, most people don't."
"You learn pretty well to check every place for possible danger."
"Smart of you. But really, how've things been? Can't be easy out there even if the moneys good." Dr. Loring asked with a nod.
"Honestly, not good, roped into a bad job with others. Ended up framed for a bombing. That doesn't concern me much though." Zaash stated, his expression turning sour. Dr. Loring placed a comforting hand on the vorcha's back and nodded reassuringly.
"It shouldn't. You're damn good at what you do. I know there's no chance that you'd bomb innocent people, that isn't you. So you're a wanted man?" He asked.
"Technically. Had to flee here."
"Couldn't pick a better place. It'd be next to impossible for them to find you here. You'll be just fine." Dr. Loring replied, crossing his arms and thinking. Omega was the perfect place for wanted people to hide.
"I hope so." Zaash stated, briefly considering elaborating to the good doctor about the internal crisis he'd been going through.
The thoughts that seemingly haunted his mind every walking moment. That hounded his sleeping hours. He could push them back and cover them, but they'd always be there until the day he died. The fact that that day could be so soon. Zaash blinked, then slightly shook his head. He didn't need to ruin the doctor's cheerful mood with his existential struggle. Bring down the man's happiness when he had so much endless, selfless work to do.
"You will be. You're a good one Zaash, you're always welcome here." Loring stated, kindness evident in the human's aged features. Then he reached to shake Zaash's hand, the hardened vorcha returning the gesture. He was momentarily lost in his thoughts, though felt a strong tinge of happiness at the doctor's words. The good doctor was perhaps his only real friend, someone that gave a shit about him. He smiled widely, feeling the ravaging thoughts of doom fade briefly.
"You're the greatest." It was all Zaash could mutter as he shook the man's hand, then turned to leave.
"Goodbye Zaash, take it easy out there. Don't be a stranger now." Dr. Loring added with a wave.
The Vorcha didn't respond, he simply paused in his stride, turned his head slightly and nodded with another smile. Then moved to depart the clinic, heading for the penthouse. He was roped in with this group of strangers now, he had to work at that the best he could. As usual he needed to show zero fear and do what he did best. It was a piece of cake.