[Rainfall] King Me

Doubt the showman, scorn the brute. True strength comes from uncertainty.
TAIW Chea Ai-Jelos, Lysenthi Disciple of Shrell, 1822

Salarian bars didn’t close often, particularly those on the Citadel.

Ask five people why and you’d get six answers. There were more of them around. They were up longer. They needed the stimulation. They could process more (the krogan really loved that answer). And, as one Sur’Keshian pub crawler once noted, “you gotta do something when your mates are zonked on the couch for the night.”

There was also, of course, the Citadel’s influence. Drifting in the Widow Nebula for millions of years had given it very bad habits, and just like a college bachelor’s, those habits died hard. The station flaunted the will of Sol, and the planet below it, shining like a beacon at all hours of the day and providing for that steady supply of aliens who needed their drink on.

Few bars could match the salarians, and Aphin’s Place (Explosion-free for the past two years!) catered to them, providing ruxxia, vodka and faldabis to its bustling clientele almost non-stop.

Which made one wonder why it had closed its doors. Had Turian Folk Music Night finally taken its toll?

One of the possible six answers kept rattling about in Harrad's head. Someone had Spiza, and without direction from the top, everyone else decided to take a break.

The turian hadn't planned on answering his friend's call for help, but when he sat there in his room at the nurturing center, the only thing he could think about was the man's run of bad luck. Having to go so far as to stage an intervention before the war. And what sort of friend would he be if he was willing to help once, but not twice? The rest fell into place faster than Harrad could take it in. Hackers, they all thought on their feet. The pilot could respect that, but he couldn't type out a reply fast enough.

The next thing he knew, he was in the mix.

There was one thing that was directed specifically towards him. The one thing he couldn't forget. The one thing he hoped, as he looked out towards the empty bar, that wouldn't matter:

"Get a skycar."

Some people post on extranet news forums, and other watched, lurked, waiting for that one chance, that one moment.

"Tudeedu dee," Lantar mumbled under his breath as he skulked around, slowly nearing the bar trying to look like just another passerby, "Tudeedu du." He had to be quick, it was not in his nature to do this kind of thing but it was spy stuff and it sounded harmless. So with a "Tudideetiduu luleeluu," from an old turian spy show, he reached his first obstacle... a closed door.

Just need to act normal and think about this.

Mekan was on the Citadel for an electronics expo that just happened to be on Zakera Ward. It was easily going to be the highlight of the month. All of his possessions had been placed under as close to proper security as he could manage back on Omega in Kima District, and it wasn't going to really mess much up if it happened to go missing; all of his important electronics had been handed over to the OHO except for his one remaining work-rig and a spare, isolated terminal used for data compilation and sifting through the goodies he got on a hacking job anyways. He could replace most of what was left in his apartment with no problem.

He hadn't broadcasted his presence. Among the many tricks he'd learned in the last few years as a result of his time on CDN was 'DO NOT SAY ANYTHING ABOUT WHERE YOU ARE.' Hence the radio-silence about his trip to the Citadel. He was just waiting for C-Sec Cybercrimes to roll in and lock him down at a moment's notice.

And because of his newfound caution, he really, really wanted to ignore the message he'd gotten. But, he couldn't just leave the code-toad twisting in the wind. He'd been in the STG's sights once himself, and he was the kind of guy who couldn't ignore the necessity of helping people in need. The galaxy was fucked up enough as it was without people ignoring those who needed help.

Besides, Spiza was a fellow programmer. There was a sort of brotherhood there. Or at least the batarian liked to think that way about others in his line of work.

Glancing down at his omnitool's interface, the greyhat read the message one last time.

"Be subtle and bring your OT"

"This is gonna suck."

Gilgamesh hadn't really joined for Spiza's sake. Sure, the salarian probably didn't deserve what he'd suffered, and that kinda sucked, but he'd done quite enough hero-ing on Ur thank you very much and didn't want to get involved in, well, salarian intelligence bullshit if he could avoid it.

Then he noticed the credit offer, up to 4000 credits? For a few hours work? Even if it was kinda shady, there was no way he was going to pass that up. Which was why Gilgamesh was waiting in front of the empty bar, trying to figure out if any of the other volunteers had actually shown up. He doubted any of the others had done sneaky stuff much, especially from how some of them posted, and would rather not get the wrath of C-Sec or the STG or who-ever-the-fuck called on him if he could avoid it.

Another of the six answers wasn't really an answer to begin with. More of a shrug and a huff. "Salarian bars aren't my thing. Too uptight, too formal."

That was not the thing currently going through Sebastian's head. He let the vent grate slip out of his hands and hit the carpeted floor with a violent clash, muscle tensing up for a brief second as the noise ringed through his ears.

Merc business is good business for a so-called freelancer like himself, especially when there's pay. But what he enjoyed the most was the exhilaration, the excitement, the chance to prove himself as a far greater man than he ever could in the Alliance. If he can do all that and still pull off this job without a hitch, than it'd be all the merrier for him.

His thoughts of grandeur were interrupted as a blonde-haired head poked up from the duct in front of him - a female human in an anorak two sizes too big, a look of concern plastered across her face.

"Langston, I hope you know what you're getting into!"

Langston rolled his eyes. "Oh, Emily, you worry too much! Just go with the plan, stay in the safe spot, if shit goes bad I'll try and make my way back." A smirk formed on his face, showing just a little too much of his confidence. He tapped a few keys into his omnitool and lifted it up as it glowed faintly, signifying nothing special, but was enough to reassure his companion.

Emily nodded and lurched over to grab the grate, lifting it up with no effort and wedging it back in it's place. "Good luck, Langston!" The voice faded out as she stomped further down the chute.

It hadn't occurred to Sebastian that Emily had stopped using honorifics for him about a month ago. He wasn't one for such minute details. Twirling over and sauntering to his intended destination, he immediately laid eyes upon the front door. The closed front door.

Sebastian had somehow forgone this possibility when sketching his plan out. He gulped.

There was a very brief, awkward silence as they all looked at one another.

"Aw, fuck."

Harrad had brought the skycar, just as requested. Another "favour" he had to pull from one of the nurturing center's parents, since he didn't have the money to go rent one himself. He had brought it, and he had parked it.

As others started gathering around the door, Harrad stared at them from the safety of the vehicle. He was safe here. The probability vortex wouldn't get him.

And he'd get nowhere.

He sighed, and got out.

Sebastian wobbled in internal agony as he stared down one of his newfound allies, eyes bulging out from his sockets.

shitshitshitshitshit

His hand lurched out in a rather feeble attempt of a handshake. "HIIII-iiiii-eeee." His voice cracked as he tried reassert himself. "I'm... Langston. Engineer! Aimless Drifter!" His teeth chattered as he grinned smugly.

Gilgamesh kind of stared at Langston as he shakily introduced himself. He debated taking the hand for a moment, then met Langston's eyes and shook. "Gilgamesh, or Gil," he says, "Either works. Are we missing anyone? I don't want to get surprised while we're in there."

Sebastian shook Gil's hand eagerly, yanking on it with a surprising amount of force as he loosen his grips and lets his arm fall to his side. "Good! Perfect, even!" He inhaled deeply. "I am SO looking forward to this."

Exhale.

He really was.

His eye twitched as he heard the question. "Um. I don't know how many of us there'll be. Sorry."

Well his undercover run didn't last long, he was surrounded, – well the door was but he was near to door so – by all manner of people. Instinct took over, a group of people need a structure, a Hierarchy, that's how it supposed to work.

"I'm a lurker, name's Lantar Gamic, Commissar Lieutenant, Citizenship Tier Nine. You," he pointed at Harrad, "name, rank and citizenship tier."

Harrad, who had hoped to limp his way over to the group as quietly as possible, was caught off-guard by Lantar's directness- and his tier- and that set off an instinctive reaction:

"Illum, Harrad, Flight Lieutenant retired, tier six, sir!"

He avoided a salute, at least. His mandibles fluttered as he looked around at the others. How much trouble were they going to get him into?

The always late, never timely Doctor Gregory Maelstrom, former Cerberus operative, arrived on the scene in time to miss the initial introductions, as he was wont to do, and ambled up casually to the group gathering outside the bar, smiling jovially as he did so, nervously scratching the back of his neck. He had put on a simple orange hoodie and matching shorts, a youthful dress that seemed out of place on his somewhat wrinkled face and greying hair.

Oblivious to an awkwardness, or social cues expected, he simple looked around, still smiling. "So, you're the other guys here to get the message out? Names Doctor Maelstrom. Pleasure to make your acquaintance," he says, looking around. Batarian, pair of turians, two humans. "I must say, I'm not used to working with a diverse group!"

Sebastian kept wobbling in place, sardonic smile and all, nodding in a rather robotic manner at the newcomer.

Maybe he should've sent Emily instead.

Mekan, meanwhile, was skirting around the edge of the group and actively going right for the door, trying to ignore and avoid EVERYONE else, ESPECIALLY Harrad. I am not here I AM NOT HERE GO AWAY YOU AREN'T HERE EITHER

The first thing he did was check the door for the usual security measures. Modern society relied on computers of some type for virtually everything. Confidential information, money transfers, infrastructure (complex and simple, all automated), down to the locks on a front door. Unless Spiza tricked this one out somehow.

If it weren't for the fact that Mekan went out of his way to try and be a decent guy, he could've easily become a public menace from a young age. Computer code was the key to destabilizing entire worlds.

It would more than enough to get him through a door.

Lantar suppressed a grin, lurking on CDN meant he had become familiar with the regulars including Harrad. he always liked it when Harrad posts.

"Pleasure to meet you Harrad, please call me Lantar, no need to be formal out here."

He looked towards Mekan, "good to see a sense of initiative, you will go far."

He had no idea what the batarian was doing.

Unfortunately for Mekan, the door would be an obstacle in itself. Its owner saw the damn thing explode on him three times, after all, the last of which resulted in a pair of STGs throwing him headfirst into the Final Battle of the Citadel.

Not that anybody else knew that. Still, Aphin’s Place was Spiza’s home away from home , dammit, and it appeared he wasn’t going to let it happen a fourth time without some serious repercussions.

For one thing, the bar’s entrance wasn’t so much a door as it was a massive plascrete bulkhead. That in itself wasn’t as paranoid as one might think, of course. Several denizens, particularly those with money to spend, had decked out their homes and businesses with similar defenses, in case something besides geth, rampant paramilitary troops or the goddamned chitinous undead attempted to turn their home into a nightmare fortress again.

Unlike other doors, however, this one didn’t appear to have a lock.

Or handle.

Or even a damned red holographic pushbutton.

How in the Wheel were they going to get in?

"Me, I say we check out the back, see if the employee entrance or delivery dock is less, uh-" Gilgamesh gave the bulkhead a long, hard look, "-Utterly impenetrable."