[The Frontier] First Sight

Silence.

Sanageyama leaned around Freh'ya, "So you've got our dossiers PFC?"; Jakuzure was just smouldering at the commando, a hot coal ready to burst into open flame. Doing everything short of making a number of very rude gestures. A muted crackle on the coms as she opened her mouth to say something decidedly uncharitable; her brother reached over and flicked the side of her helmet. She thwacked his shoulder but fell silent with merely a muted ("but no really, the fuck?").

Tone and posture spoke volumes that simple vocabulary failed to capture. The sibling's voices had taken on edges, dulled in a pair of formal, half decent, greetings to Alonso, slowly sharpening as they spoke to Rajapaske. Drawn up to a measure of formality by the advent of the Sergeant upon the growing fuckery the two Mutasrita Imugi's stance was slowly, steadily, being eroded by pure doneness.

Surprise, surprise, another thing that mercenaries liked: a bullshit free chain of command.

Imagine that.

An unprofessional uptight waste of time and a possible danger to everyone. Mercenaries. Probably full to the brim with some substances? Not unheard of. She had seen them exercising in the relaxation area and had expected more composure and focus on the actual task from them, judging by what she had observed. Maybe she should just put a stasis on them and spare everyone further drama. Sadly stasis on armored objects wasn’t possible that easily, but still it was an amusing thought.

Freh’ya crossed her hands behind her back, completely unmoved. Sometimes love just needed time to grow.
“Ready when you are, Sergeant”.

Thanh looked away from one of her platoon leaders to Sarah. The scar gave her somewhat of a dour expression as she catalogue the Navy officer and her new armour, "Intel, huh? You'll be with the main force."

The Recon sergeant was leading the squad and specialists to get settled into their shuttle as the pilots did the last-minute flight checks. The Kodiak was fuelled up, armed and ready to go once her cargo was seated.

The rest of them-the krogan, the intelligence officer, the Relicae and his friend, the Hierarchy sergeant, were hastily grouped together with a few of the Marines into a 'reinforced platoon' and told to go wait near the boarding airlock, which would soon be attached to the station.

The Mashhad moved ever closer to the station.

With a filtered breath, Sarah stared ahead at the boarding airlock. She untethered her shotgun and activated it, the barrel extending and stock unfolding. She slid a thermal clip into the slot with practiced efficiency, the action resulting in a familiar click of the magazine sliding into place. Everything was in order. The men and women behind her, the air lock in front of her, it was like riding a bicycle.

If the bicycle were the act of venturing into a potentially dangerous space station. She looked over her helmet's internal readings and stretched her forearm over her shoulder, tethering another magazine there. She bounced on her heels for a moment with anticipation.

Kai got to go out with Kyle, the Transgression, and Nem at his back.

That's good!

The krogan that had been slamming needles like they were going out of style the whole trip too.

That's bad.

Kai made a valiant effort to forget said krogan even existed, instead busying himself with double- and triple-checking that everything with the Transgression was in order. Clearing the burning red (and spectacularly evil-looking) optics. Running diagnostics on its targetting and tactical software. Inspecting the chassis for signs of wear or weakness. Topping up the omnigel reservoir stored somewhere in the base of its 'spine' that fuelled its more esoteric combat options. And, of course, making sure it could still rip through hardsuits and bodies like a crazy synthetic hell-varren.

"You be careful, okay?" he told the drone, patting its angular head. "I hate having to fix you up."

"Acknowledged."

For the most part, a small twinge of dread fell upon the quarian squad. With no mention from the mashhad's COs, the realisation that they were the "cavalry" began to set in. A couple of them shook their heads before the team boarded their own gunship, anticipating the orders to deploy. Idly waiting within their craft, running diagnostics and performing checks upon their armour and weapons one last time,.

This bout of cautious, diligent preparedness stood as a contrast to the pilots, One leaning on the interior wall of the craft as they both made small talk between the pair of them, relaxed and outwardly calm. Having tidied up the interior of their craft (including packing up the pair of hammocks they used as bunks, having objected to taking one of the mashhad's bunks) when the general quarters was announced, they had done their inspections of the craft. Every part was checked, given a bit of last-minute maintenance if it needed it and otherwise prepared for deployment. All the pilots did was wait for the confirmation to turn on the engine and give the bird a proper stretch of it's wings.

The quarians gave more than a glance to the reconnaissance team though, and not just out of mere curiosity. With the tension in the ad-hoc insertion team somewhat simmering, atleast as they saw it. Hopefully this mission got them to what somewhat coherently together...

Rajapaske looked at the Imugi and then at the commando, then back again when Sanageyama spoke to her. Her displeasure was clear. The mission was what mattered and if it were jeopardised...

Her words were clipped but professional, "Yes, I do." Interesting reading, even unsettling but Jakuzure had been nothing but friendly.

The Recon Marine pulled herself into the Kodiak, settling into her seat, followed by Yang who muttered an apology as his shoulder knocked into hers. She didn't feel it through her armour. Wahoroa sat on the other side of Yang. And Thullier stood, snaking a hand up to grab on.

Rajapaske pulled her helmet over her head, heard it seal. Her HUD blinked up, for a moment a disorientation flutter of orange before she adjusted.

"You be careful too Kyle. Duh Kyle, wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you. Nope, not at all Kyle."

Aaaand cue the guilt (and Kai would feel guilty, he was a sweetheart like that).

The visor was an expressionless thing, all angled plates and strips of embedded cameras, but somehow, through some freak of engineering, it managed to convey one one hundredth of Kyle's shit eating grin. A smirk to end all smirks as he ran through his own last minute checks. Drone bays? Check. Combat apps? Check. Forgegear? Check check. Mechanical field generators? Check check check.

Comms?

Twin panes of ghostly light appeared, one with a Transgression's crimson optics, the other a sterile white HUD plate. They minimized themselves, folding away along next to the squadlink.

Check.

Kai?

He cranked up the music and started nodding his head, getting his heart racing, blood pumping. He nudged...well okay "lightly shoulder checked" the quarian, before rapping his mask with a pair of ceramic knuckles.

Thumbs up. Check.

Everything he needed, right here. Now if the fucking airlock would get a seal they'd be actually good to go.

Kai's entire face was covered by a solid, completely opaque slab of white ballistic ceramic. Yet he still managed to look more sheepish than the world's most awkward sheep. "Sorry," he said guiltily, leaving the Transgression and standing up. "Just..."

"This sofware has inhabited two chassis that were damaged beyond repair," the Transgression states flatly.

"Yeah that."

There were the Alliance marines, lone turian, the human intelligence officer and the brain-jar from Rannoch in a combat body with his mechavarren. And of course Worag, now fully alert.

Hells, this might as well be one of the N7 ops from the war, so heterogenic in its composition. Just this time there were no Reapers or husks or Cerberus hindering their work. Mission objective being just lighting up a derelict station. Nice to have an easy payday for once.

Worag brought out his gun for final inspections. It folded out into full length with a satisfying click, but the LMG, which looked like to be of salarian-inspired design had an ugly lump of an underbarrel grenade launcher attached to its underside that refused to unfold and perhaps even worse, broke form of the otherwise sleek gun, complementing its owner's armor that looked like it had been patched back together ten times. Patchwork warrior right there. Still, everything checked out. The heatsink clip was fully loaded. Hotswapper was ready and primed. This thing could deliver a steady rate of fire for hundreds of shots if needed.

"Ready for action. Has the recon team reached the station yet?"

Cline already took a seat on the Kodiak with the rest of the of the recon team and the other specialists. Pausing for a moment, he put on the final, and usually optional, part of his Kestrel helmet: the rebreather mask.

*hssss-chnk* The rebreather mask attached itself to the rest of the helm, and sealed up.

'Alright, Oxygen levels nominal, air recyclers ready...' he thought, looking over the read-outs on his HUD.

The Mutasrita Imugi next, the Ninety Nine Heavenly Strains in full battledress. Bringing that oh so critical dash of radical bioaugmentation to the eclectic little group. A hesitant shifting of coffin-wings in the hatchway and they jointly elected to stand, clawed gauntlets wrapped around the hooks dangling from the ceiling, rather than try to fit the whole combat apparatus into the crash webbing. Made in the Rainreaved: armor and soul, thus far seemed to translate ill to vaunted C-Space's notions of precedence and proper seating. But even that small touch of discomfort didn't measure up to the slow, lingering touch of homesickness that dawned between the two alongside the twin realization that, outside the active special forces ready marines, they were basically the most qualified people here.

They were the most junior of junior NCO's in the Zhaoxin Le, what the fuck was this shit?

"Oh now don't be so glum." The voice hissed through the comms, crackling with faint interference. Masculine, rasping, reptilian, echoing with an inhuman cadence and layered with the poshest tones. Carrying that intangible but irresistible air of culture, air of class.

"Orochi." Same channel. Same source.

"It's really not so bad you three, that Private First Class looks perfectly compe-"

"Orochi."

"Mmmmyyyyeeessss?"

"Open comms Orochi."

Silence yawned within Sanageyama's helm.

"Oh...well hello all then."

"You are such a doof." Slightly higher pitched, blunter, harder accented syllables and bereft of that carefully cultivated air of breeding yet sharing those same accented pronunciations. A feminine, faintly amused, hiss filtering through Jakuzure's channel now.

"Thank you dear sister, we all appreciate that critical commentary."

"You're a doof Orochi." Jakuzure added.

"Thank you dear sister your insight is greatly appreciated."

There was a recon team and she wasn't a part of it? Her feelings were almost hurt by this. Almost. She contemplated saying something but it appeared that there was already enough of a bitch fest going on so she decided that it would be fine to be under the title of "regular forces" today. She shouldered her way through the crowd until she was side by side with the krogan as if things went sideways fast he would be a more then adequate distraction. To be honest though it appeared to her the only possibility of conflict would come from the asari and the overly ornate Titan people talking more.

How droll that would be.

Freh’ya took a seat somewhere between Cline and Rajapaske. She put on her helmet, sealing it to the combat suit, the visor was still clear. A few fast breaths to get a feeling for proper and tight fit, a small light and a small number on a wrist control interface indicated the proper function and reserves left without the need for an omnitool being active. She relaxed and looked outside the side window. Not much interesting to see yet, at least nothing of the station there were about to enter.

Her mind travelled to a horror movie she had seen not long ago. Citadel Fear by genre, Dark Wards by name. She had to smile, thinking about the reactions by those that had watched it with her. Walls and shadows eating the recon team weren’t on her list of things she feared on this mission though.

The memory of Rahilan and her arsenal of drones brought a question to her mind.
“Hey, Cline, what kind of recon drones do you carry?”

The four Marines stared at the two mercenaries.

Had that been another voice? Definitely another voice. Where was it coming from-right. She'd read the dossier. Symbiot. Weird ass terminus stuff.

"What the fuck?" Thullier said plaintively.

"You need to read my emails more thoroughly," Rajapaske said matter-of-factly. She felt the shuttle vibrating around her as it lifted smoothly off the flight deck of the Mashhad and sailed into space. The Kodiak accelerated sharply, propelling it ahead of the slower pace of the hulking cruiser. The occupants felt nothing.

Turning her head, Rajapaske could see the video footage of what lay outside the Kodiak. The Mashhad always made her heart pound a little. It was just-cool, sharp lines and sheer mass, the knowledge that this vessel could level towns with single shots.

Now that was nothing like anything she'd seen on Earth.

"I do read them!" Thullier was protesting but Rajapaske just looked at her.

Freh'ya noticed the surprise in the Marines over something the Titan mercs had said, obviously something was off with the two that she had not noticed yet. Raja seemed to know more though, so she looked from the two Imugi to her, to the Sergeant and back.

"Is there anything we all should know about?" The question was directed at anyone who cared to answer.

"...No, I mean, I hardly think so? Given of course, that you...rreeeeeeeaaaaad the dossiers."

Sanageyama coughed as Orochi's polite bewilderment melted away into profound discomfort in the slow light of dawning realization.

"...none of you read the dossiers did you?"

"Just now realizing that are you brother?"

"Well it -no Hannya I just enjoy posing pointless questions- it seems that my esteem for you Private First Class Rajapaske has increased somewhat. I...Hannya stop laughing. It's crass."

"Can't stop. Can't stop won't stop."

You could hear the sheer lack of amusement in Orochi's expression. It was kinda amazing. For the sake of appearances the pair reigned themselves in without prompting, the needlefanged expressions of hilarity and true abundance lyrical obscenities stilled on a certain symbiote's tongue. But he was hardly alone in that, there were a lot of things being stilled on a lot of tongues. Jakuzure (well to be more accurate Jakuzure's helm) was just eying the asari. Thullier had Rajapaske. Freh'ya? Cline? They only had themselves to hold responsible. That there was such a wealth of people to hold them responsible was comforting but irrelevant.

"...So. How much don't you know?" Her voice was dry. Done. As displeased as her decidedly nonhuman sibling, silently making faces somewhere in Sanageyama's chest cavity as he was.

Unsaid: "Ms. 'Take Charge and Know Fuckall'".

"I read the dossiers. Can't say i'd enjoy another voice in my head." Cline said, looking up to the siblings.

The dossiers. The only reason she currently could think of for the Alliance allowing them to be part of the mission was that they weren’t operating in C-Space technically. Maybe she should be grateful to her superiors for having this pleasure.

Unmoved she stared back. The two… sorry, four ... weren’t the sharing type, that much she knew by now. No opinions to share, no personal information. She was indifferently curious to see them do their thing, that much was true but but trust was a strange animal.

Cline’s reply. She shared his sentiment but it had been those two humans’ choice from all she knew. Was it anything like a constant meld? Trying to figure that out would inevitably fail, so she didn’t attempt to think about it too much.

“Seems like there’s not much else then. The dossiers cover the basics, just nothing personal or detailed. But as long as we don’t miss any information that would affect the mission, I am not concerned.” One of these symbiots had said hello, hadn’t it?

“And hello to you too.”

To be a Mutasrita Imugi was to forfeit solitude. You were never alone. Never truly alone. The cadences, forked and tumbling echoed through your skull. The words of your bioengineered brother. The laughter of your symbiotic sister. Oh certainly there were places that neither dared tread. Private sanctums. Hidden dreamgardens and libraries of thoughts. A symbiote had their own idle wanderings, their own silent opinions, their own masked needs and ego barriers. But still that didn't mean that there weren't endless conversations that no-one else ever saw or heard or had the barest inkling were taking place.

She's so full of shit

Like right now for example.

Orochi was the calm one. The collected one. The one who had bled high society and ate up etiquette. He prided himself on his appearance. Hannya, predictably was having none of that nonsense. She was a warrior. A soldier. Her place was past the precipice, falling with Jakuzure into the seething sea of air currents, watching the ground rush up in great loping bounds before snapping out of it at the last second. Soaring up. Soaring away.

Needless to say she had little compunction against speaking her mind.

She's saving face but-

But she's still full of shit.

Something like that anyway. But don't tell me you're worried Hannya.

Girl can't take a hit to save her life and thinks she's in charge. Don't tell me you're not a little.

I'm not!

'Cause I know for a fact that you know Orochi and Sanageyama are.

...dammit.

Barely half a meter away, more of the same even as Orochi, the symbiote bearing the moniker of a godlike beast from elder earth, did due justice to socialization.

"Quite"

Tadaaaaa.

Was that for the Service Chief-

(I still can't believe that)

or the -I know right?- or the-

Lying trollop. And the answer is "yes". That's the beauty of it.

...Maybe a little more?

Fine.

"But you hardly need our life story to serve beside us no?"

Happy now?

Never.

Agmai save me from your dramatic skull.

The shuttle carrying the Recon time curved toward an open airlock, the dark entrance gaping like a giant mouth. They were quickly swallowed up by it and there was nothing but darkness before the pilots switched on some lights. The bay had been opened long ago and bits of debris hung suspended in the vacuum, sedately spinning aside as the Kodiak pushed through, the pilots intently watching the hull monitors.

There was a raised podium of sorts above where the shuttles once would've landed and it was there that the Alliance shuttle settled, the co-pilot covering the nearest doors with the frontal cannons.

"Check seals," The pilot ordered. The two flight officers did just that, checking their helmets and cockpit barrier. The Marines followed suit, one last check over.

"Ready," The Sergeant told the pilot.

"Brace for decompression." Wearing a hardsuit, the only real sign that the pilots had decompressed the troop bay was the need to activate one's mag boots, "Opening doors."

The Kodiak's side doors folded out. What greeted them was the silence of vacuum and abandonment.

It was hard to imagine that anyone had ever lived and worked here, with the metal floating over their heads and the doors further into the facility just plain sheets of metal with no holos to open them with. The only lights were that of the Kodiak and Marines.

...

Still aboard the Mashhad, orders were being given out. The group near the airlock would be the first in, with the orders of reaching the station's command centre and taking what control could be taken.The quarians would need to be ready in case anything went wrong.

If any last preparations needed to made, this was th time, because as soon as the Sergeant secured the airlock they'd be going aboard.