[The Frontier] First Sight

Amid the ad hoc assault team braced by the Mashhad's umbilical airlock, Nem bounced on the balls of his clawed feet. Phaeston slung across his chest, his three digit hands worked the straps of a thick fabric strip that ran across the top of his fringed head, trailing down the sides to cover his ears with bulbous nodules, while empty metal slots protruded out just above his eyes, ready to accept one of any number of compatible eye pieces; should Nem have lacked the sense of self preservation to don a helmet during combat, he could have filled those slits to provide himself with a HUD.

Satisfied the fit was tight, and that he could little other than the faint static buzz of an open comms line - even the furnace bellows of the krogan's breathing was silenced, blissfully - the turian turned to the mission's apparent CO.

"A moment, sir?" He asked Lieutenant Thompson, tapping his ear defenders. After one last, quick visual check of his full face helmet, he sat it securely on his head and thumbed through his comm channels. Trusting that the muffling his helmet provided, and the relative distance between them and the rest of the squad would keep their conversation private, he swiped a claw across his omni-tool, pinging the channel info and encryption data to Thompson. "Sir," he began, his voice now carrying only over suit radio, "I need to know what the chain of command is on this op. Are we all just grunts under you, do I have to take charge of those tech weenies and the krogan? Or is one of these Alliance dudes of yours," he gestured with a claw jerked over his shoulder, "an NCO you want as your 2IC? Tell you the truth sir, my brief on this has been fuckin' non-existent and I got issues with that. Am I just one more foreign gun here, or am I meant to be a fucking Hierarchy bred sergeant doing his job?"

Service Chief Cline was the first out the door of the Kodiak, rifle in hand. He looked around the room for something of value, a power conduit, perhaps. "All clear!" he reported, signifying it was safe for the rest of the recon and specialist teams to come out of the shuttle.

Freh’ya would have been curious about the operational history of the Imugi in general terms but that was probably not spread on an Alliance vessel for a reason. No nasty surprises behind my back was all she was interested in right now as the shuttle descended. Nothing from the sergeant, nothing from anybody. Brilliant organization.

Decompression, silence, nothing more than steady breathing in her helmet.

Freh’ya pulled her Carnifex, following Cline. He was right, there was no living thing, no automated defense system. The spotlight of her pistol wandered over dead consoles.

“Any chance you can activate a controlpad, Cline?"

She stepped to one side of the doors, looking back at the shuttle and the rest of the group.

“A pressure status from the other side would be preferable before you do anything else.”
Explosive decompression into one’s face was a nasty thing.

The Mutasrita Imugi stood in the hatchway, waiting. Still. As the decorated engineer and highly trained commando hadn't so much advanced out of the shuttle as bodily hurled themselves out into the darkness. A second, a half second passed and then Cline's voice was drifting back. Orochi slithered uncertainly through Sanageyama's innards, flattening and coiling himself around the transhuman's spine.

...Are we not following or...wait what is he even doing?

Just give it a second.

The symbiote subsided obligingly. Linked into his host's nerves, listening through his ears with quivering, wary attentiveness. No gunshots rang out. No IEDs. No droneware. No scything needles of scarlet of icy blue bolts to rip the other two free agents apart.

Clear. Ish.

Under her helm Jakuzure smirked. If you half squinted you could see the crimson heat licking on the other side of the glass, barely contained behind those fine features and tanned skin. Mirthful flames.

The mercenaries fell out in front of the squad, staying well within the Marine's sight but loping ahead. Prowling alongside. Their black and green boots sending tremors through the bulkheads and plated deck as they swept the area. Skirmishers. Outrangers. Occasionally snapping back and forth in nearly untranslateable Xalotai. The language flowing, spiking, static laced and hissing with symbiote tongues as they bounded, lightly, delicately from block to block, column to column. Six coffin-cases trailed behind them like vast wings, like fins. They could have been flying, or maybe swimming. Moving with the unconscious ease of people intimately familiar with their own body's capabilities.

At last they settled near a half crumpled metal partition, half a wall down from the entrance proper and away from...whatever those two were doing.

"Clear." "Clear."

"Starting scanning sweep. Sanageyama co-"

"Yeah I'm on it."

"Thanks bro."

Slowly, methodically, Jakuzure panned the cameras embedded in her helm over the thinned segment of bulkhead. Cycling through all the usual suspects: electromagnetic, thermal, ultraviolet. Behind her Sanageyama shifted, carbine in his arms. Taut flesh and corded muscle shivering and rippling unseen beneath his armor. An ocean disturbed. Restless.

Blissfull isolation enveloped Worag as the helmet sealed. No one but his smell, his breathing to company him now. Perhaps claustrophobic as well, but he was willing to tolerate it over the intense feeling of personal space invasion from before suiting up.

He eyed over the others huddled close to him, the first team inside. Alliance marines and spec ops. Turian soldier. That human freelancer with the air of veterancy about her. All of these were military and they had without a doubt seen combat in the war. Then there was the quarian with his quadrupedal combat mech. Kai's dossier indicated he was the least experienced out of the group, PMC or not. Possibly the weakest link in this group, but perhaps it didn't need to be tested by fire.

However, it could be tested by other means. "Hey, Kai. You nervous? Don't worry, this should be easy for a rookie like you, heheh." the open band radio crackled with the krogan's low rumble.

Sarah took a deep breath and reached up to the sides of her helmet, shotgun deactivated and magnetically tethered to her stomach. Lifting up the faceplate of her suit, the woman stepped in front of the remaining collected group of soldiers and contractors. She began to speak, doing her best to channel Captain Anderson. "Alright, everyone! My name is Lieutenant Thompson and I don't have to tell you ladies how risky this operation is! I don't want any one of you being a reckless liability to yourself or others!"

"We don't know what's on this station and we're waiting for the scout team to give us a preliminary report! Even if there's an initial all clear for the landing zone, I want you prepared for anything! Trust in yourselves, trust in your team, and play it safe! Sweep from one room to the next, easy as pie, understood?"