《Red Sun》 The Fox in the Snow For his lot in life, his situation wasn''t so bad. Least he had a place to stay, money for rent and the occasional BlastOh, a role in the community¡­ Static on his computer. "Goddamnit, man." He gets up and whacks the device once ¨C twice for good measure ¨C and as if it was never dead the news droned on once more. It was old-age tech, yes, but so long as the big companies still supported non-hardlight formatting he was all good. The video quality on the cheapest omni-tools was so bad he''d have to squint to get anything out of the picture. "I''ll be home at 11!" a shrill voice cried. "''Kayyyy!" "Love you!" "Bye." As the door groaned to a close, he slunk further into the leather. He was suddenly reminded he had work in an hour. "Shiiiiet." He savoured every last drop of beer before the can unceremoniously clattered into the metal bin, not that there was much left in it. People are so quick to judge him for his drinking habits, but a year ago he could probably take down a whole barrel of piss in the morning, no problem. Of course, his obligations sort of clashed with that lifestyle now, but can''t a man reminisce about his accomplishments once in a while? He stumbled into the bedroom and got out of his sweater, throwing a cursory glance to make sure his hi-vis was in at least a presentable condition. A folded uniform was already on his bed, bless his sister''s heart. She really was the better sibling among the two of them. More prospects for the future, all that shit.. If his old man was ever right about one thing, it was that she was going to go places. But he probably didn''t predict his vagrant son to be a functioning member of society, so he couldn''t be always right. What he wouldn''t give to dig up his grave and make him see where he was now. Yet,a curt knockon the door would interrupt his reminiscing. ¡­Huh? Oh, right. "Forgot your keys?" "Mr. Hillman?" He comes to an abrupt halt, his scowl deepening as he side-eyes the door. It couldn''t have been a month before rent was due. Dragging his feet across the metal grating floor, his hand gripped the door handle and braced himself for the bullshit that was about to come his way. What hegotinstead was a woman he''d never seen before in his life. Wherever she hailed from, it couldn''t have been the grimy and shit-stained tiles of Omega Station. Looked more like the kind of stuff you''d see in pin-up calendars from way back yore. She lookedtoogood for this life. Her judgemental eyes shut his internal dialogue up right quick. "Yeah, that''d be me. What can I do you for?" "I was wondering if you''d seen a rather prominent figure pass by lately. As I understand it, he turned many of the districts in the lower areas of Omega around. Almost single-handedly." "Am I in trouble?" "No, no trouble. I am just on a research assignment of my own, and I thought it wouldn''t hurt to get some first-hand accounts of his character." He whistled. "Must be one hell of an assignment." "You don''t know half of it." "Wanna come inside?" "I will only be here for a while, thanks. Wearetalking about the same person, right? Krogan." "Mm-hmm. Same page as ya." Crossing his arms and leaning on the doorway, his eyes glazed over the horizon of space just behind her. Say what you will about the lack of amenities and crime rate of this god-forsaken place, but at least he had akillerview. "Well, damn¡­ where do I even start? What specifically do you want to know about him?" "Particularly, the nature of his affiances with the Blue Suns, what role did he exactly play with the Blood Pack, his relationship with Aria¡ª" "Whoa, lady. We just met," he insisted. "Yeah, he''s involved with ''em, but you say that as if he''s in trouble or something. You gotta understand I am no snitch, yea?" This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "I am not part of any government body out to sic him if that''s what you are concerned about. Quite the opposite, actually." "Mm-hmm. Real comforting," he said with a wry grin. "The Blood Pack don''t have the most stellar track record, and I won''t lie: they have done some real shitty things in the past. But I think he''s done more than enough to turn them around. I''d be probably dead if he hadn''t come around when he did." "So, you really have no idea?" "Take a good look around." Almost as if to indulge him, she did as he told. He had hoped she took a good long look at how rusty the tiles of the boardwalk were. What good was body corporate in space when they were not beholden to fulfil their end of the bargain? "See what I mean? Hell no am I gonna know what they are up to. If I was half as smart as he is, you think I''d want to live in this shithole?" he exclaimed, wax lyrical. "I''m not going many places in life, so I gotno clueabout any business of his. And that''sfine. I am not built for that kind of life. But what I do know is that he saved my ass, got me a job, and I think I am a rather good judge of character for saying he''s a damn good citizen in spite of his criminal alignings!" "What makes you say that?" "Lady. Just think. When you done gone onto my doorsteps, what exactly did you see?" "Construction. But¡­" Then it seemed to hit her. The schools, the playgrounds, the clinics. Squeaky-clean, yet seeing constant use. Should be unheard of in the Terminus. So oddly out of place for a place as run-down as Omega. Not much development should be happening down here, ever. Not with the gangs, not with the violence. "¡­but what exactly would a Krogan like him stand to gain from all this?" "Maybe he''s a philanthropist." "Youjustsaid this place was¡­ unsavoury." "Shitholes don''t become good places to live in overnight. I am here for the long haul." She regarded him for a moment, nodding. "You really believe in what he''s doing. That he won''t bail." "It''s not like him. He doesn''t exactly stand to gain much from building infrastructure onOmega." With a deep exhale, the lady relents and takes a couple of steps backwards. Though she maintained a fixated and steely gaze, he could tell something in her eyes changed. "Thank you for being patient with me. I shouldn''t keep you any longer. That was¡­ insightful." "Anytime." With that, she turned tail and left, her high heels clanging on the steel grates of the rafts as her silhouette vanished into a backdrop of neon lights and debauchery. "Whew." He gently closed the door, and stood to contemplate how goddamnweirdshe was being about Kakmar. She couldn''t have been from Omega, seeing as how brazen she was being, asking questions like that in the open. No, she wouldn''t have been Eclipse. They don''t wear get-ups as awfully protected as that. And not one blemish on her baby-skin! Maybe she was sent from the Citadel? C-Sec? That would explain her ignorance and privilege. No way had she worked a day here in her life. Wait. Work¡­ work¡­? His eyes widened larger than saucers. "I am FUCKING LATE!"
CHATLOG #1995334990ba 23 October, 12:32 pm Scuttlebug:hey man, hows things? Been a minute Silverhand:honestly? Quite stuffed.VERYbusy. But thx for asking. Yourself? Scuttlebug:on break rn. But listen, I have smth to tell u. sensitive info type shit. I dont go around saying that kinda shit for no reason Silverhand: BNjeei8Kwkl199367773k
0000000xx_xx0000000 ENCRYPTED_CHATLOG RED SUNS¡ªSENSITIVE_INFORMATION 2168/10/23 12:32 Matt:shit just like that? im flattered. Feels like im in some type of spy movie or smth Kakmar:the matt I know wouldn''t go straight to business like that. That''s when I knew it was serious Matt:well itISserious business. so like, some spook came on omega, came asking and looking for u. no way she was eclipse, either. i would know. Kakmar:as if my ego couldn''t get any bigger¡­ Matt:nah but srsly tho.Said she was on a ''research assignment'', but I know better. Kakmar:was she some merc? Matt:nope. She doesn''t even look like shes from the terminus systems Kakmar:well shit lay it on me Matt:might come off like a creep but like¡­ but she had an ass bigger than the fucking moon man. like, huge badonkers. AND she had a white latex corset. it was unreal. personally wouldnt though. I felt like her eyes stared into my soul, like i was going to disintegrate on the spot. Kakmar:wow. Sounds like her. Matt:you KNOW her?! Leave some for the rest of us jesus Kakmar:Oops. Also why does everything have to devolve into talking bout chicks... besides... she''s probably out of your league Matt:what? U think she wouldnt like my bum ass jajajajajaja Kakmar:*GIF of Tom Cruise laughing* Kakmar:real talk tho. Thx for telling me. i know I never text but u guys are in my mind, always. Iwillbe back on Omega Matt:don''t worry about me. I''m taking good care of her. more worried about you... merc life aint a joke Kakmar:i know.. just way too busy with work. Matt:workin in what... you hit the jackpot man Kakmar:y''know me... nothing good... always chasing after things I probably shouldn''t Matt:hahahahaa Matt:well get back to work Mr business man... krogan... whatever Kakmar:Businesskroganman Matt:bb babygirl Kakmar:ew. ciao. Say hi to Sofia for me END CONVERSATION PURGING MESSAGES RED SUNS¨CSENSITIVE_INFORMATION
hallo this is a plot bunny thats been aching me for fking ages, needed to get it out my system just posting here to gauge the interest of a story like this any criticism on my style welcome i was thinking of doing a story from multiple POVs and media formats (regular story, chatlogs, news, etc.). should i focus on one story format or several. i prefer the latter if u take an interest in this kind of story, thx for sticking around :) Easy On Your Own? When you picture living in Omega, the smell would not be the first thing that comes to mind. The occasional stray bullet whizzing past your skull, sure. Everyone''s ready for that. But the smell? It was barely a passing thought, and it was something you were simply not prepared to come to terms with. Tatarum lived on Omega longer than most. Most would think nothing would phase the grizzled veteran. His tattered outer shell told countless tales of conflict, and even more still of survival. Experience, after all, was what truly separated battlemasters from other Krogan. Yet, what good was experience when something as trivial as smell still managed to smother his sense of reality? It made him tired, angry at what it represented. He was tired of the backstabbing, of the fake smiles of those who interacted with him before they pulled a gun behind his skull. Tatarum was a lone wolf. Many tried to take advantage of him, and many still ended up six feet under. He remembered a reality before this lawlessness, of this anomie. When he was younger, he took pride in completing contracts cleanly, of doing odd jobs only a single person could, and succeeding. But more than that ¨C there was honour. There was honour for the person you killed ¨C there was honour found in recognising the sanctity of life, and the gravity of taking them that would follow you to the day you died. But the merc groups got too big, too fast. It was the culmination of many little mistakes. The occasional dead civilian here, the ''ends justify the means'' approach there. Life soon felt as meaningful as the next fortnightly paycheck. Soon, he realised he was lying to himself. There was never any honour in his work, then and now. What he yearned for was a Krogan honour warped and corrupted completely into some monstrous amalgamation eating itself inside out. Age rarely mattered in merc work. It was just a number. He was born in an era where many Krogan remembered their former days of honour. It was within their sense of honour that they rebelled against a system that used them, tossed them aside, and soon feared them for daring to expand their territory. Now? Dead ghosts in a sea of floating, neutered corpses. He reckoned if Krogans had an actual expiry date, things would have turned out differently. He thought about it often nowadays: listlessness. Was listlessness the fate of every warrior Krogan? Krogan had no natural urgency to accomplish anything since they lived indefinitely. People hate to acknowledge it, but there was a reason why Krogan chose jobs that were hazardous in nature. Without mortality, without any biological or social legacy spurn on by the currency of time, what drives someone? There was no pride for being a Krogan merc, no one to admire you for being part of a culture long warped and corrupted. The only answer ¨C and to fulfil your calling as a Krogan warrior ¨C was to be walking, and talking, brutes. To become fodder and kill for faceless people too cowardly to do the deed themselves. Life in Omega represented everything he hated. Yet, Omega was really all he ever knew. Imagine his surprise when he received mail from someone over the HoloNet. His address? Surprised people still knew about it. He hasn''t used it in the last couple of centuries. At least. He wasn''t sure what compelled him ¨C some vague hope in one of these lines of text that something new in his life would rock his world, change it forever? He really was going senile. It was amusing at first, to see the e-mails dry up about a century ago. The rate of profanities dramatically increased as the years went by. As if he was obligated to accept any of their requests for his services. He simply had to settle that some of ''em mysteriously disappeared soon after these were sent. If they were right about one thing, he really was their only hope. It was the one that was sent four weeks ago that drew in his eyes. Expression of Interest From: Quash Kakmar Sent 2121 CE A fellow Krogan, eh? Using e-mail, no less. Normally, his kind saw fit to skip the pleasantries entirely and go straight to business, meet in-person. They were also the type of Krogan to have egos bigger than the size of their quads. But what did ''expression of interest'' even mean? He didn''t swing the other way, unfortunately. And a total stranger too? Last time he took a chance¡­ He wasn''t aware of the existence of an Asari cult that vied to breed an Asari master race. Now he knew. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. He shook himself off that line of thinking. No, it couldn''t have meant that. Honestly, he half-expected a virus to infect his sub-systems when he opened it¡­ not what amounted to a job application.
Dear Tatarum, I hope this message finds you well. I am an aspiring Krogan mercenary eager to hone my skills in the field. In my pursuit of excellence, I have extensively researched renowned professionals, and your name consistently surfaced as one of Omega''s most reliable and professional solo mercenary. Your versatility, having worked under the Patriarch, the Blue Suns, and the Citadel, has intrigued me. From reconnaissance to bodyguarding, assassination to sabotage, and even heists, your breadth of experience is unparalleled. It is precisely this diversity that compelled me to reach out. I am not here to request a partnership or collaboration, as I fully understand the dynamics of our profession. Instead, I am seeking your permission to observe and shadow you during your missions. My intent is not to interfere but to gain insights into the methodology and mindset that have allowed you to undertake seemingly impossible assignments solo. As an inflexible thinker navigating a field that rewards creativity, witnessing a master at work would be invaluable. I assure you that my role would be purely observational, with utmost respect for your methods and discretion. The knowledge I hope to gain is aimed at enhancing my own capabilities and ensuring I approach contracts with the caution that the profession demands. I understand if I am asking too much of you in a random e-mail. Below, I''ve outlined my experiences to provide you with a glimpse of my background. Blood Pack Mercenary (2110-2117) - Completed 56 contracts (bodyguarding, foot soldier, engineer) - Worked collaboratively in a team environment for 5 years - Proficient in snipers and pistols - Experience using biotics Blue Sun Mercenary (2117-2119) - Completed 11 contracts (engineer, platoon leader, prison guard) - Repaired weapons and vehicles - Worked collaboratively in a team environment for 2 years I understand that this is an unconventional request, and I respect your time and boundaries. If you find my proposition intriguing, I am more than willing to discuss it further at your convenience. Thank you for considering my request. I look forward to the possibility of learning from a seasoned professional like yourself. Kind regards, Kakmar
The chair groaned as he inclined further into it, his fingers idly running through the texture of his shell. Talk about a kiss-ass¡­ He''s had a few requests from people seeking to become his krantt. Over e-mail. The audacity. A krantt is supposed to be your equal, someone you have come to know for decades. You know their greatest triumphs and their darkest secrets. They were your most trusted ally and your closest confidant. Although, he supposed the meaning of it became warped over the years. Nowadays, a krantt was a glorified meat shield. Sorry, second-in-command. At least the sender had the decency to realise they were not on a first-name basis yet. That¡­ was a breath of fresh air. Now, the years absent of any mention of work left him intrigued. This Kakmar character had to be aware of this flaw in an otherwise by-the-numbers e-mail. Was he gravely wounded in the years since this e-mail was sent? Then he wouldn''t have sent the message at all. Perhaps he saved up enough to afford an implant? "So, it''s come to this, eh?" Rarely did he open his work computer outside of completing contracts, but he''d make an exception for this Krogan unknown. Far as he knew, no Krogan typed in such a formal manner. In fact, this e-mail is atypical of the formal speech patterns taught by the shamans. Not even they were this rigid and flowery with words. Interesting. The pyjak wasn''t lying. The data entries came up in Blood Pack and Blue Sun databases the advertised number of times. The note at the end of the entries was where things got frustratingly interesting. Quash Kakmar retired from the Blue Suns group, citing "personal reasons" for his departure. Everyone''s got personal reasons, data entry guy. What made him so different from all the rest that you felt the need to only cite "personal reasons"? So, he expanded his search. He got as far as the ship ports before he saw Kakmar''s name attached to a vendor store. A vendor store¡­? Now that was baffling. He even double-checked the dates to ensure the timeline followed and made sense. He was the new owner of Noodle Haven, circa 2120 .
Noodle Haven: Where Flavour Meets the Stars! Embark on a culinary journey through the galaxy at Omega''s premier noodle soup destination! Our savoury, steaming bowls of perfection are a taste of comfort in the heart of chaos. Why Choose Noodle Haven? ? Cosmic Flavours: Each bowl is a flavour explosion, blending tradition with the exotic. From spicy Terminus Tom Yum to the rich Tuchanka miso, our soups cater to all taste adventurers. We Don''t Discriminate: Whether Levo or Dextro, our broths cater to both sides of the amino acid tree! ?? Urban Oasis: Escape the hustle of Omega''s streets and indulge in a cozy ambience. Whether solo or with fellow friends, our haven is the ideal spot to unwind. ?? Quick Service: We understand the pace of the Omega life. Our swift service ensures you savour every moment without missing a beat. ?? Daily Specials: Explore the universe of taste with our daily specials. From Asari-inspired broths to crustaceans plucked straight from Hanar''s warm waters, there''s always something new to discover. ?? Visit Us at Noodle Haven, Floor 4, Vendor Stall 27, Omega Commercial District ?? Contact Us Don''t just eat; embark on a gastronomic odyssey. Join us at Omega Noodle Haven, where every bowl is a sip from the stars!
Two things: What the fuck was a Tuchanka miso? Second: his day just got a whole lot more interesting. He was feeling a little peckish anyway. These ''noodles'' better make him spontaneously ejaculate in his armour. What I Want The pyjak certainly knew how to make an impression. You couldn''t go 200 metres without seeing the neon sign proclaiming in its rainbow puke glory: ''Noodle Haven ¨C an odyssey in the stars!'' Steam rose steadily from the humble shop, a respectable queue of patrons from all walks of life perched on stools he was certain couldn''t hold his weight. Garnering that many clientele in such short a timeframe wasn''t something to scoff at. Either the food was just that good, or he was a marketing savant. The stall stood out alright ¨C a deep scarlet hue flowed through a wooden imitation as the base, topped by a black canopy adorned with golden lizard creatures that posed proudly at the edges. He couldn''t part much from the steam, but he''d worked in dark enough environments to tell apart the silhouettes of different races. Many Krogan would scoff at the very idea of serving others, but the figure seemed¡­ surprisingly earnest in his work. Even with the hustle and bustle of the Commercial District, he could still hear genuine laughter emanating from the stall. However, that wasn''t what surprised him the most. It had been a good few centuries since he''d seen his sister''s kids, yet something he couldn''t shake was the absence of the crests on their shells. Or rather, the lack thereof. This runt displayed all the hallmarks of someone not even of age yet. Many clans forbade their young from even considering mercenary work before substantial aging. Urdnot Clan had the right idea ¨C a truly vicious rite of passage that would beat some sense into younglings with quads bigger than their heads. And if they succeeded... they were ready to deal with the consequences. Swear to Vaul, if his parents weren''t well and truly dead, a stern word would be the least they deserved. "Welcome, sir! Haven''t seen you around here before." That was quick. He just got here. Surprisingly, a Batarian kid was the one to greet him, a courteous smile adorning her lips. "Chef just finished a Lexo batch with stuff he got from Thessia this morning. Not exaggerating when I say it''s one of the best broths I''ve ever had. And if today''s special doesn''t suit your fancy, you can try our signature dish ¨C varren noodle soup!" "I will have the special." "14 credits, please!" As he watched his credits being transferred over his eyepiece, he threw a cursory glance toward his Krogan of interest. Steam billowed around his face as he lifted what appeared to be strands of yellow bands from the water. Almost as if it was one quick motion, the ''noodles'' transitioned into a bowl he carried, a sizzling broth pouring over and coating it in a delectable oily sheen. "Pyjak soup ready." "Yes, chef!" The girl meandered toward her boss, and when the two finally turned to face each other, Tatarum was treated to quite the spectacle. An unassuming face sporting an even more unassuming colour ¡ª the kind that could hide in a lineup of yellow paint swatches. Yet what drew in him the most were his¡­ eyebags. Just how much weight did they carry? And as quickly as their interaction began, they turned back to their respective tasks. He''d be lying if he said he envied them. Tatarum''s attention span was much too short for any service industry. But... it shouldn''t have to be like this. The whole situation. Kids shouldn''t be on their own, breaking their backs just to put food on the table. On Omega station, there were far too many than he''d care to admit. No matter how much he pleaded with the Patriarch or Aria for genuine change, they''d give half-assed attempts at best ¡ª a ''non-profit'' org that totally needed 75% of its own earnings to remain functioning did not count. No matter how many credits he sunk into ''charities'' outside of them, nothing changed. In his contemplation, he hadn''t realised that the bowl had already landed on his side of the counter. "Enjoy! Holler if you are in the mood for chilli." "You got it, little lady." Well, it didn''t exactly make him ejaculate on the spot. The noodles slapped and slathered on his chin before it was vacuumed into a never-ending abyss. But it got pretty fucking close.
"Please, for the love of all things, please take it easy tomorrow." "Creds won''t come in by themselves." "But you don''t need to be there every day we are open. You think you are so slick? It''s so, so obvious you are tired. Take a day off, at least." "That''s precisely what I don''t want." "Then what is it you want? What is it that''s so scary you can''t get a few more hours of sleep?" "I just can''t¡­" "Any more half-assed responses like that, and I will personally fucking suplex you, you piece of shit. You know what? I am taking it upon myself. You come into work tomorrow, and I will fucking kill you. I will kill you before you kill yourself. That''s a promise." She stormed off, a truly wicked grimace etched on her face. Not a care given to turning around, and certainly not an ounce of patience left for his antics. A crumpled smile formed on his lips, a hollow sigh escaping. His raised hand retracted, finding refuge in the folds of his work uniform. Sala always kept her promises. Kakmar slowly emerged from the alleyway, head down. The burn of neon lights pierced through his eyelids as he welded them shut.
An orange light flooded the dim hallway. Smart-locked, if you can believe it. Not many have been able to afford such entrances, but the abundance of malicious actors in this station made it more of a necessity. Not even the sounds of Omega''s eternal nightlife could penetrate these walls. So it wasn''t hard to confirm that the shuffling of footsteps behind him wasn''t actually a figment of his imagination. "I know you are following me." "So it seems, so it seems." The figure was decidedly Krogan, what with the hunched back and grave voice that rumbled through his mask. "So why haven''t you brandished your weapon yet?" "If you had actually wanted me dead, you''d have skipped the stalking." Kakmar couldn''t help but look bewildered when the Krogan in question held out his hand shortly after. Surely Krogans didn''t do handshakes, right? Handshakes were much too soft for their tastes ¨C they preferred bashing skulls together as a valid substitute for judging one''s strength of character. "Quash pleasantries fallen out of favour recently¡­?" Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. His eyes widened. "It''s you." "Whatever gave it away?" "No, it''s just¡­ can''t believe you actually read my e-mail." "When you get to this stage of your career, you tended to start giving less shits on how you found work. People tended to approach you in person rather than over text. Makes for a good first impression, makes it more likely I took the contract. I don''t do business with clients who don''t even make the effort of showing; killing someone shouldn''t be done over text. Besides, it provides a really convenient excuse, not having to comb through hundreds of messages per day. Sorry about that." "I get it." "I have built up the luxury of picking and choosing contracts, believe it or not," Tatarum flatly states. "Guess you didn''t have such luck." "No, never. Just grabbed whatever I could get." "Then¡­ I''m sure you know what I''m gonna ask about next." Kakmar begrudgingly nods. "Not judging you or anything, but you have to admit, from the outside looking in, you have transitioned from two completely different career paths." "I had a sudden change of heart, I guess." "Come on, I wasn''t hatched in an incubation tube yesterday. Something must have happened. What''s your story?" The colour faded from his face. "I, uh¡­ no offence, but I feel filthy right now. Not in the right headspace." "Of course," he relented. "I have all eternity to wait."
The door shuttered shut behind him. Like a zombie, he staggered into his bedroom and buried his face between the plushies and pillows, letting out a guttural scream.
"Took your sweet time." "Needed a change in clothes." The old man regarded him for a moment, before giving a curt nod. "Walk with me." It wasn''t long before they reached the streets of Omega. The stench was dreadful, like days-old piss on carpet. Vents were out, it seemed. Yet there seemed to be enough budget left in Omega''s pockets to power the neon signs that blared on your face. It was hard not to brush past someone in a crowd of pedestrians when you were this big. Rule one of meetings you don''t want overhearing¡­ go where the crowd goes. Privacy was a thing of the past in a galactic civilisation as advanced as this. Yet no civilisation so far possessed sonar technology that sorted through a sea of a thousand conversations happening at once. "How many of Quash clan did you know?" Tatarum was shaken out of his stupor. "None recently. Last I heard of the clan was four centuries ago. But they were good people, if a bit soft. But they never abandoned their own, even at times of adversity." "My parents aren''t dead, if that''s what you are implying." Gods, this kid was quick on the upkeep. "Good old-fashioned parental bereavement." "Have you considered rejoining Quash clan on Tuchanka?" "Got no money." The old man rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap, kid. You have enough money to open a business, you certainly have enough money to stow away on some tacky courier service heading to the DMZ." "What''s with all this judging?" "Not judging. Evaluating. You are an anomaly among our kind, kid. You gotta be aware of that. Can''t blame a merc like me for being cautious." "Nothing to be cautious about, unfortunately." "Yet you survived a decade being a freelancer before you settled." "As I said, had a change of heart." "C''mon, kid," he said, stopping in his tracks, "Help me out here. I''m just trying to understand the mentality behind that e-mail. You seemed to be doing fine-" "Major difference going into personal experience and personal information." "Then why send the e-mail at all? Wouldn''t you be leaving your Batarian friend behind if you came back from retirement?" There was a lull in the air. A million thoughts seemed to stream from the kid''s head at once, all of them much too loud for coherent thought. "Can we¡­ can we go somewhere more quiet? Please." Tatarum''s expression softened. "Sure, kid." The path toward the alleyway was wet and putrid. The occasional sideway glares from the local bums did little to assuage his feelings. But he got what he wanted. Soon the noise around him died out slowly, and he felt for the first time in the night that he had space to breathe. Like an ever-watching sentinel, Tatarum stood by. "You don''t have to tell me if you aren''t ready to." "No¡­ I have to get through this¡ª" "GET DOWN!" He barely processed getting tackled into the ground before a bullet screamed in the air and hit the ground beside him, dust dancing in the aftermath. His hearts dropped instantly. Instinctively, his feet propelled him towards the nearest dumpster. Another bullet flew through the air, this time spearing the metal container. "You got a gun on you?!" He was taking cover on the other side of the alleyway. Panic surged through Kakmar''s veins as he realised he''d left it back home. He''d been so caught up in the rush to get ready¡­ "NO!" "Catch!" His eyes darted to the pistol swirling toward the metal grating beside his feet, its sleek metallic form gleaming under the dim alleyway lights. A bemused thought crossed his mind briefly, a fleeting realisation that the make was probably worth more than his life. Another bullet ricocheting off the dumpster brought him back to reality, bits of shrapnel scattering in the air. "What¡­ what do I do? I can''t see!" "Cover fire! I need a clean shot!" "Fuck me¡­" Knowing doing nothing would spell disaster, he was just about to move his hand above the dumpster and fire in a vague direction before he heard multiple footsteps surging behind them. "FLANK!" Belonged to three guys, masks obscured their faces, and it was too dark to fucking see anything, but there were lights from their visors ¨C he needed to only aim between them¡ª *click* The air crackled as the shot hit square between one guy''s face, cleanly rippling past his spaghettified brain and out the other side. The guy barely hit the ground before his friends returned the favour. A bullet something fierce must have lodged into his gut, and a searing pain came from within, yet he didn''t have time to think, to glower in the agony, only time to simply do. His arm shot out, his brain straining at the immense force ¨C a crackling singularity the radius of a basketball manifested. The assailants stumbled at the sudden pull, sending them reeling off balance, just enough time for a torrent of bullets to sail. Screams pierced the air as the bullets found their mark. But they couldn''t have been dead yet! Not yet, they can''t be ¨C but no matter how many times his finger pulled the trigger, the weapon only sputtered in response, the barrel glowing red-hot. FUCK! His arms shot up instinctively, as if they could shield him. Yet¡­ the bullets never came. He cracked open his eyes. The alleyway was empty, save for the two figures sprawled on the metal grating, their bodies contorted. A crimson puddle pooled around them. He pulled his legs closer before the blood could reach him. "Tatarum, the sniper-" "Already dead." "What?" "Singularities are light shows at the best of times¡­" he said. "And enough for me to shoot back." He only realised in his stupor that Tatarum was standing straight up. The old man offered a hand, stowing his rifle. Kakmar gladly took it. His breaths heavy, he dusted himself off of the Omega''s grime. Yet, Kakmar''s eyes couldn''t help but trail back to the corpses. "W-who were they they?" "People who wanted me dead." The old man sighed. "Finding the fuckers who sent them is gonna be a headache." "You are going after them?" "If I don''t, what''s stopping them from sending another bunch of sorry mercenaries after me? Swear, if it is Eclipse again¡­" "Didn''t know you were that much of a headache for them." "I took a significant chunk of their richer clientele, people who preferred a defter touch." Kakmar drew the weapon out, clipping back the safety. "Your gun back." Tatarum looked at it contemplatively for a moment, before waving him off. "Nah, keep it." That threw him for a loop. An Elkoss Edge Mk. X, and he''s telling him¡­ "What?" "Don''t lie to me, kid. You were practically begging for a gun that can easily penetrate through kinetic barriers, can see it in your eyes," he said, grinning ear to ear. "Besides, you will probably need it more than I do." "You''ve seen how I fared against only three guys. I belong in the kitchen, not..." "This is how I see things turning out, kid," he interrupted. "You have been seen with me fighting back. Don''t forget they weren''t only aiming for me. Which means you are an accomplice." The weight of his words pressed down upon him. At that, Kakmar solemnly had to concede. "Aria may be all-knowing, but sudden violence against a random street vendor after work? Not on her list of significant events." "Then, w-what do I do?" He chuckled, earning a raised brow from Kakmar. "You really are the antithesis of a Krogan," he commented. "But you have potential. You are willing to suck up your pride and have the skill to push far past your current boundaries, even if you don''t want to admit it." Getting all this praise so suddenly from who amounted to a mercenary idol felt oddly fulfilling. "But¡­ your decision-making could use some work. You panic too easily when things go haywire. By all accounts, you are a liability." "Yeah¡­" he said solemnly. He knew it. "I am not cut out for merc life." "On the contrary, this was just what I needed!" Kakmar underwent a mental double-take. "What? H-how?" "Just as you have your own reasons for becoming a chef, I have my own for taking you on," the old Krogan said. "You don''t have to say anything if you aren''t ready, but I have to admit, I am curious. Let that hang over your head for a bit; and when you feel like you are ready to tell me your reasons¡­ I''ll spill. So, are we in agreement?" Kakmar swallowed hard and closed his eyes. This was what he wanted, right? Being able to fight back when a future Armageddon would descend on every living being on every solar system in a very near future. "I¡­ I need to call Sala."
Hope the fight scene was good enough :) Pressed When things get quiet, the contracts ease up, mercs wise enough acknowledge that, like chef''s knives, they need to be constantly sharpened. There was always room for improvement. The Arena was a reductive name for what amounted to the Terminus'' unofficial freelance mercenary guild. Rumours say that behind those peeling metal doors lay a gathering of the galaxy''s most talented mercenaries. The worst kept secret in the entire galaxy too, considering rabble from any creed no matter how small or irrelevant walked in as if they could call it their second home. It didn''t make much difference to Tatarum. Anyone had the potential to become the Terminus'' new top merc, given sufficient luck. Depends on their work ethic, and a lack of temptation to compensate for competence with ego. It didn''t always use to be a glorified networking facility ¨C hotshots teaming up with other hotshots under the false assumption their union would be sufficient fruit for the whole team. If mercenary life was one thing, it was that you took what you could get since you weren''t even a name in the ledger books of potential clients. Used to be where fellow mercenaries could learn from one another, share in the camaraderie of a fickle life where one well-placed bullet could spell the end for them, and vouch for one another for enlistment in future jobs. The freelance system was fundamentally hostile to new blood, so many opted for one of the major mercenary syndicates. His fellow companion was no such exception. But say what you will about the current state of the Arena¡­ Niara T''zeze knew how to run a tight ship. Sure, she had to report to Aria first and foremost, but she''d done such a commendable job of keeping people from shooting each other that Aria didn''t mind her antics. For instance, there was a limit to how many mercenaries could be bottlenecked in the Arena, so she decided to let nature run its course. A rather fancy way of saying that no one would stand up for you if you were being bullied by the bigger-name mercenaries in the vicinity. Then she let them sort it out, usually ending in one''s boot up another''s ass out the door. Tatarum scowled. His favourite corner table was occupied by an armoured Asari and a very affluent gentleman posing with both elbows on the table, as if he were the villain of a trashy holo-flick. He didn''t mind, though; his latest obsession was currently walking beside him, whose eyes darted everywhere like he was a pyjak in varren territory. It wasn''t just that the boy had a keen eye for business at such a young age ¨C he had this aura that radiated honesty. Like he couldn''t lie to anyone if he tried. Probably a bad thing for mercenary life, but a millennium of constant deceit made even his stomach churn. If anyone were to snuff out that light, the Krogan as he remembered them were well and truly dead. "Do you have family?" His eyes slowly turned to Kakmar. "Odd question to ask in a crowded place." "S-sorry! I just had to ask. You must have had some relatives from your clutch, at least?" "All dead. Killed by Rachni." "Oh, fuck. I¡­ I am sorry." "Stop with the apologising, young one. It''s driving me madder than a varren in rut! It was a long, long time ago," he admitted. "Besides, not all of my ''significant'' others are dead, if I can call them that." "You took a mate?" "Asari. I had an obsession with spreading my legacy when I was younger, whatever that meant. I was brash, and we bred. Didn''t think to not see past the crazy though." "And¡­ and your children?" He huffed. "They are very much alive¡­ and we are very much estranged." "That sucks." "When it comes to someone as pious as their mother, they tend to hold choice views about my line of work." "Wait, that doesn''t make any sense ¨C you mated anyway." "It''s better not knowing the full story." A stretch of silence permeated between them as they ventured deeper into the Arena''s belly, past the sleazy bars and past the whispers and condemnations of faceless people in a galaxy too vast to care for. What vaguely sounded like techno music set the scene and painted a grim picture indeed. What was once dark now glaringly blared in his face ¨C streaks of neon white overshone the people below the mezzanine they now stood on. Beside them, onlookers screaming the names of their champions. Of course this place played host to what amounted to cockfights. "Tatarum, respectfully, I am going to get my ass beat. I can''t do CQC." "The back wall. Spot them?" He squinted and scanned. It wasn''t long before Kakmar spotted individuals coloured in the iconic red sheen that belonged to the galaxy''s most neurotic mercenary syndicate. "Holy shit." "Ganar Yulaz," Tatarum affirmed. "You might ask to yourself what in the hells a former leader of the Blood Pack is doing here in freelance territory? I frankly have no clue either. Been asking that myself for the better part of a century." "So that explains why I never saw her around." Kakmar stopped in his tracks. "You¡­ never did explain to me why we are here beyond some vague ''conditioning''." It was telling how Tatarum immediately grinned at the cogs turning in the boy''s head. Kakmar''s eyes widened like saucers, mouth slightly agape. "Holy shit, man. I am actually going to die. Not hypothetically or rhetorically. I am dead. Back snapped in four places." The old man emitted something between a grunt and a laugh. "She won''t be that rough on you. You are still a runt." "I am 28, Tatarum. And how the hell do you even know these people?" "Boy, you are 2% of my age. I reserve the right to call you whatever I want," he retorted. "It is also not too unreasonable that I worked with other people from other merc groups." Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. "First-name basis? Oh, I am FUCKED." "She''ll go easy on you. Now come." As he watched his mentor come down the stairs with an almost off-kilter spring in his steps, he ruminated over the steps he took to land himself in this position.
"PUT SOME MUSCLE TO IT! FIGHT BACK!" Kakmar didn''t exactly know how to convey the extent to which everything hurt, choosing instead opting for the universal language of small pain-induced grunts. "I-I am." He pressed forward with almost desperate determination, only to be swiftly knocked to the ground by a deft dash to the left and a strategically placed foot that sent him tumbling. He was on his ass, numbly processing what just happened amidst the bass that echoed around the Arena, when she decided to give him a piece of her mind. "Where did you learn to fight, youngling?" He rubbed his sore area, which felt like¡­ everywhere. "Didn''t. Only know how to¡­ shoot." "You''ve been a mercenary for however many years, and you still haven''t been in any CQC scenarios? Highly doubt it." "Left that to the rest of my squad¡­ they didn''t mind cos¡­ I shot straight." "You say that, and yet you wish to shadow Tatarum, alone? You wouldn''t survive a day against someone with half a brain cell to rush a sniper." "Got cloaking tech¡­ and¡­ my biotics?" "You want to become a freelancer? You need to be good at everything. Everything. You sound to me like an Infiltrator with a little bit of Sentinel on the side, but the best of the best freelancers are those mixes of everything. I won''t like a pyjak like you shadow him, not on my conscience," she quickly rebutted, then sighed. "You are the first youngling in a long while that I see potential in. Your biotic-infused punches nearly knocked me on my ass. Problem is, plenty have done so before. Only way of fixing this is coming out of ''retirement''." "You saying I need to start from the ground up¡­?" "Believe it or not, Blood Pack still has me in their systems. Getting you work shouldn''t be a problem. Shaking off the rust is. And until you can consistently go toe to toe with me in the Arena this is what you will be doing. No ifs or buts." She reached out an arm for him to grab. "Am I understood?" "Un¡­" he grunted, gladly taking it. "Understood." "Now¡­" She stepped back a few paces, a raised hand daring him to approach once more. "AGAIN!"
2230 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time KAKMAR: Sala what are 2000 credits doing in my bank account? SALA: Isn''t it obvious? Your cut. KAKMAR: I didn''t even do anything. SALA: wellllll¡­. If you count leaving me all your recipes "not doing anything", then ive become a celebrity overnight. KAKMAR: bruh SALA: Learn to accept gifts for once in your life you overgrown lizard! KAKMAR: I could decline the transaction SALA: Consider this! I know where you live! 2301 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time KAKMAR: fair enough
?? LOG 1 ?? 2205 hrs I haven''t bothered with journals in a while. Thought it was a tad narcissistic for my tastes, but now¡­ journals are a good way of turning all the thoughts jumbled in my brain into something legible in case I forget. All too often the case nowadays. The year is 2121. Good amount of time before the world as we know it ends. I may be living on the shit side of the galaxy, but the world elsewhere is surely boundless and endless. I still want to someday visit those mountains in Palaven that Liara talked about in ME3. Not to mention the body count at the tail end of the Reaper war was less than ideal. Ignoring the ''I have a friend from X species, so I know what I am talking about'' rhetoric, Sala is proof alone that the indiscriminate wiping of an entire species is not something we should allow. Dealing with the slavers can come later. Regardless, I need to assemble a political body (lofty at this stage, I know) that is sympathetic to one: the Reaper threat, and two: the actual unionisation of species currently marginalised so we can stand together when the time comes. Save Shepard the work. Problem is, I am basically starting from ground zero. I doubt Tatarum has much political sway in the grand scheme of things. He may be able to pull a few politicians'' balls given his history. But the client base is too small for any real change to happen on a grand scale. No, this is something I have to start on my own. It''s going to take a reinstatement of a certain apex species ¨C biologically, I mean ¨C into the political world. Problem two: I am also not cut out to become a politician. Don''t have the balls to be able to do what''s necessary, make the rational calls, not keel over to pressure ¨C especially in high-stakes situations. So that leaves me with the truly awful task of figuring out how to course-correct my own species behind-the-scenes. People can''t tell me the current survivalist mentality of the Krogan people is nothing short of self-inflicted masochism. There is a root cause of all the listlessness and melancholy among us¡­ our political clan system. Fuck traditionalism. We can''t get anything meaningful outside of Tuchanka done, especially one as non-united as this. The Genophage fucked us, but our pride fucked us even more. ME3 basically instilled a central government in the form of Urdnot clan so we can finally mobilise ourselves to become useful assets in the galaxy. That leads to my sole point: Urdnot Wrex. Now he is a leader. He has the experience and the political drive to get shit done. If I can somehow get him to notice me, he won''t think I am some upstart runt who wants to change something that by rights should be impossible. As much as I truly feel awful about taking a cut of Sala''s pay, a steady stream of income will definitely help get things started. It''s going to take a lot more credits than this to get one of my end-goal objectives¡­ creating the galaxy''s new Linux. What do I mean by this? A Reaper can infiltrate our current omni-tool systems since it was based on Reaper software from eons ago ¨C barely an inconvenience! A new OS running on omni-tools/other tech that they cannot hack? A major roadblock. It will be hard, but I think I have the right people for the job. Our friends are on a planet called Rannoch. If our systems can be a viable, more secure alternative to current mainstream offerings, we will make bank, and more importantly, get more people to adopt our OS. Don''t know how I am going to get the Geth to not shoot some rando on sight, so baby steps first: get capital. So far, my objectives are as follows: 1. Get to know Wrex, for real, maybe thru Tatarum if necessary, though I want it to be an organic relationship, first and foremost. (Family heirloom time?) 2. Base future businesses and business dealings as identifiably Krogan. Currently, individual Krogans are getting their foot in the door with foreign, off-shore businesses. I want to establish Krogan goods made by ourselves, give us a point of pride beyond being seen as mere bodies in violence-adjacent scenarios. (COULD BE KINETIC BULLETS (NO COOLDOWNS AS THE MAIN SELLING POINT?), NEW OMNI-TOOL OS, NEW BIOTIC AMPS?)) 3. MONEY! GET JOBS! GAME/INSIDE TRADE THE STOCK MARKET! HACKING CREDITS FROM RANDOM TERMINALS LIKE IN THE GAMES AS IF IT WAS AN EVERYDAY OCCURRENCE! My head is a mess right now. I should be sleeping. 2345 hrs Got a hit on a slaver who kidnapped the wrong kid tomorrow. Heavy stuff. 0021 hrs Fuck¡­ me¡­ 0057 hrs I can''t sleep, and I need to get up in 5 hours. Not great. I miss Christmas. Didn''t care about the gifts, and the company''s nice. Sorta. But what I missed was having an excuse to spending more time with you guys. I miss you, mom and dad. I miss you lots. I hadn''t forgotten the promise I made you. Didn''t even get to say goodbye. You all are probably worried sick. I just want you to move on, forget about me. I made new friends just by virtue of my work, and lost most of them in the span of a year. I killed people, bad people, I hope. But I killed them still. Taking a life fucks you up. It could have been me at the end of the barrel. But I also made true friends, friends for life ¨C Sala, Lucitus, Yosi. Tatarum''s off on a 2-month-long contract so I am alone with my thoughts all the time. I guess I am scared of telling them about this, even when I know they probably care. I am scared they will think I am fucking nuts. Some days, this doesn''t feel real at all, like some part of my subconscious mind making up all this shit in my head. But dreams didn''t have food that you could taste, friends to pour your heart out to, and get back genuine advice. There isn''t a day I don''t think of you. I am trying to make Tatarum and the others proud, but I hope I have made you proud too. I love you. Not a Lot, Just Forever
Short chapter this time guys, had many things going on the past few days. It is a little fluffy but sets the groundwork for his first business venture! The end-goal is to introduce kinetic magazines earlier in canon, of course. Let me know what you guys want to be addressed that you may feel this MC could address in the future.
GALACTIC SPECTACLE: The Worldbuilder''s Forum SergioLeoneStan Roleplay time! You have found yourself in the body of some random merc from the Terminus Systems! What would you do when, let''s say hypothetically as well, there will be an apocalyptic event in the next 60 years which will systematically wipe out the entirety of galactic civilisation as we know it. And only you know about it. What steps would you take to build enough capital to do something about it? Shit, right? we are just some schmuck in the Terminus, alone, with no connections ¨C big bummer. but in the terminus, only what Aria says goes right? So with no regulations, no nothing¡­ a semi-free market, I can acquire a patent relatively easily¡­ Finally, let''s say, in this wild hypothetical, you also find yourself as the co-owner of a never-seen-before hawker concept ¨C noodles in soup, served with chopsticks. Palavoneon The fuck are chopsticks? SergioLeoneStan Attached: IMG-OdysseyNoods5 Palavoneon Stop advertising your business on a public forum! Also, what the fuck am I supposed to do with two small sticks anyway? Moonlightlily Well that could be the main point of it all. I for one think they could pounce on this idea. Yea, it maybe be gimmicky, but it is an easily brandable and reproducible gimmick. Some carbs in broth are not an innovative idea, but the presentation is what counts. Something as weird as TWO sticks for utensils I feel along with the minimalistic and frankly plain aesthetics can really take off! A viral challenge maybe? Palavoneon Holy optimism. I got 3 fingers. How can I control two sticks with three fingers? Moonlightlily Again that''s the point¡­. It could be a fun challenge for Quarians, krogan, turians, etc. Palavoneon You are loonier than a vorcha. Moonlightlily That''s so racist? Palavoneon But I am right ?? ?? ?? User299923592 has been banned! Cooldown: 72 hours MODERATOR VI: RULE 8.2: No unsavoury comments regarding any species by virtue of that species'' nature! Moonlightlily There has to be a racist euphemism in that rule too¡­ SergioLeoneStan As you were saying about the use of the sticks? Moonlightlily oops Moonlightlily I was just thinking: the Citadel had all but displaced nature with artificialness. As much as I love my walled garden ¨C it''s still walled. The use of two wooden sticks ¨C something that is inherently natural ¨C could call back to all of our roots. How we used to live in the waters and caves. This might be a stretch. SergioLeoneStan Probably a bit. But you are on to something. It could go viral. As you said it is certainly unique. Interest would be grassroots, too. Moonlightlily It could make reference to engaging with your primal ancestry. U are krogan right? Maybe something like: "Eat like the Tuchankans of old!" The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. SergioLeoneStan That''s such a cornball catchphrase that I think it might work. Thanks a lot! Moonlightlily Wait what do u mean thanks. It was simply a thought experiment, right? Moonlightlily Helloooooooooooo Bbballbuster get fuckeddd
2253 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time SALA: Kak I better not open my holo to see you transferring back those creds or so help me your house WILL burn down KAKMAR: NOPE! Just had a genius idea. SALA: here we go! KAKMAR: we should expand ¡­ SALA: wat KAKMAR: im being serious! SALA: dunno what u think im made of but its not whatever u r thinking clearly KAKMAR: cmonnn u are a master at handling clientele, whats the difference between that and dipping ur toes into marketing SALA: dipping what in WHAT? KAKMAR: forget it. But what I mean is u always thought that we had a good enough broth that we could expand into more locations right + we have the money to alr do that SALA: that was meant to be a joke u stupid fuckin shellperson! but we have the money to theoretically do that, yes SALA: but that requires location planning, hiring, ads, making sure the franchisees don''t fk up the original recipe + experience, so many variables KAKMAR: The fact u are already thinking about it means u have ann entrepreneurial mind already! SALA: but I can''t¡­ and you know why SALA: I cocked up on khar''shan, and I am not going to mess up whats between us now KAKMAR: u can. I believe in u. u got this. Ur parents were dickheads anyway SALA: what u don''t think tearin down hundreds of connections for my fam is enough of a reason already KAKMAR: if u don''t believe in urself, I believe in u. so does everyone at work. If u really don''t think u have improved as a person, after all ur hard work and sacrifice, what can I say 2312 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time SALA: fine. On one condition. Between whatever u are doing, whatever big moves you are making, come say hi at the noodle stand every once in a while. Yosi is cool but she gets a little boring after a while. KAKMAR: done SALA: As u were saying KAKMAR: I was also thinking of commercialising our noodles, send them to grocery stores. SALA: wut SALA: how KAKMAR: we can FLASH FREEZE our noodle soups, package them, then ship them. Put them in the frozen aisle. They should have an expiry of like 1 week ish? People chuck em in the microwave when they are too lazy to make something. And done. our signature broth is now portable! SALA: well we don''t have a way to make the broth as good as the in-store version obviously, as with the nature of anything mass-produced, plus letting it go without proper TLC for too long in the pot¡­ but maybe u are onto smth. We need a factory for that but that''s simply a matter of credits and time. SALA: but we are making enough to live comfortably give a few more years¡­ why do u suddenly want more cash? KAKMAR: Remember when I talked about preparing for the apocalypse? SALA: I thought u weren''t just joking? So the galaxy will end in the next 100 years? Based on what? KAKMAR: my gut. But I know where the evidence is, I just need to find them¡­ finding them will take time, and more importantly, tens upon thousands of credits SALA: not even gonna pretend how these locations mysteriously manifested into your mind KAKMAR: even if it was all horseshit, we will still have made a successful business at the end of the day. I know u think im crazy but this is very important for me. KAKMAR: it is fucking crazy to believe ¨C but I well and truly feel that it is something that will happen. I think about it a lot. SALA: kakmar. KAKMAR: yes SALA: This shouldn''t be done over text messages. Meet me after work tomorrow. I want you to sit down and we are going to have a little heart-to-heart. Explain what this evidence is, thoroughly. I want to make sure you are okay and thinking this through. Then, and only when I am satisfied, we will move on with building an initial business strategy going forward. Okay? KAKMAR: sure SALA: anyone ever tell you how agreeable u are for a krogan. would never listen to a batarian, much less anyone not on the same martial calibre as them KAKMAR: too many times SALA: haha SALA: Anyway. Good night. KAKMAR: good night sala
FOODIE REVIEWS: Odyssey Noodles Innovation and affordability not so far-fetched in this humble joint This store had been on my radar for a while. They expanded recently into two more locations, one near where I worked. Scepticism crept in ¨C could it really be that good, or was it just a gimmick? It couldn''t have been that good, could it? This happy customer can confirm that the food is divine, and especially accommodating for other races! The broth was rich in spices and depth, and the noodles were just right, at a reasonable price of 15 credits per bowl. Much more than the bland and expensive foods you''d usually find in stations like this (looking at you, Citadel). They also are doing something I have yet to see in other places ¨C food for Quarians. The ones that could go into anaphylactic shock the second something remotely foreign entered their bodies! I didn''t try many other broths as I was short on time, but the service was more than accommodating for my needs at the time. A sort-of cheeky competitiveness was instilled in the very concept of this store. They call the utensils they gave me ''chopsticks'' ¨C a rather eloquent word for what amounted to two sticks of wood. Still, the novelty rubbed off on me in a way I never expected. For those unlucky enough to be ''disabled'' like me, it simply made my ability to pick up some bits of meat even more of an accomplishment. The acknowledgement from my waitress and fellow patrons around me made me come to realise that the atmosphere is just as complementary to the perception of my experience and the taste of my food. It is sensory, it is comforting, and it is the greatest thing I can possibly say about my experience. It managed to make the chaos of the Terminus fade into the background for just a few moments, and that to me is priceless. What you also cannot forget is the excellence of the customer service. The lady who served me was in that comfortable middle ground of being friendly while not being overly pushy, always vigilant of those around her and the efficiency at which she prepared my meal. And for those who are not up for small talk may find solace in a quiet yet understated experience.