[Citadel, The Camps] Brother, Where Art Thou?

In the aftermath of the Reaper War, thousands of refugees found themselves stranded on the Citadel without a home. Despite the daily struggle for survival – the simmering tension as they competed with one another for limited resources, the best that could reasonably be provided by even the most generous of governments – many of these refugees found themselves in increasingly permanent situations. Even as the relays gradually reopen in the year following the War, many of the stranded have nowhere to return home to. Among the batarians, especially, who always made up the bulk of the refugee population, there was often little desire to return to the former Hegemony.

Even when the Confederation issued a general amnesty and a call for batarians everywhere to return home, many had never felt any more at home there than they did now on the Citadel. Though the Confederacy was not the Hegemony, it could not be described as a stable government, either, and many of those on the Citadel elected to remain rather than return to the Kite’s Nest and risk being caught in yet another war. Some did leave, of course, but just as many had no desire to return to the Nest, and many in the Nest desired nothing more than to leave. Conservative estimates kept the refugee population approximately what it had been prior to the relay repairs, and more realistic assessments noted an increase in the total number of batarians on the Citadel.

Not all of these newcomers were looking for new lives. Many, in fact, were connected to the organized crime endemic in the Hegemony and even more so in the Confederation, the Grusto and others taking advantage of the camps to earn a foothold on the Citadel long denied by the Hegemony’s self-imposed isolation. Even so, as the batarian camps grew and other species’ camps slowly emptied, the entirety began to look more like a shanty town than a camp. Survival, once assured, soon gives way to comfort, and so it was that in relative safety the batarian refugees expanded their small hovels, moved into larger available spaces, and before long each Ward of the Citadel featured a moderate batarian community providing whatever goods and services they could, even if only cheap labor in many cases.

Anyone on approach to one of these camps would witness a scene that, prior to the war, would have been nearly unthinkable on the Citadel. Hovels made of storage crates and salvaged metal scrap, cloth insulation and barrel-fires to bring the temperature up to something more tolerable for the average batarian. Even the Keepers seem to have largely abandoned any effort at maintaining the area, though relatively garbage-free streets may speak to their quiet influence. Listless batarians, wounded or old beyond their years, wander the narrow ‘streets’ looking for any hint of work, food, or opportunity, which shadowy figures are almost always willing to provide. Poor lighting, fluctuating power, and the odor of unwashed flesh characterize each of the shanties, enough to keep all but the most determined of aid workers at a distance.

It had been a while since Sarah had to be incognito. The last attempt ended with a bullet exploding less than an inch from her face. After Bahak- And even before Bahak, Batarians were not the friendliest of neighbors to humans, and due to Sarah's predisposition towards being human, she had to improvise. Green contacts disguised her eyes- Her hair was tied back and hidden under a woolen cap.
Her normal choice of jacket was little better than a target, and replaced with a Blasto tank and grey hoodless jacket.
She had the gear necessary for this- She thought- the most important of which being the name of her target.


The platinum blonde sat at her designated rendezvous point. There wasn't a way she was doing this alone- Too much ground to cover.

The bench, on a raised platform, afforded a view of the shantytown that could almost hide the nature of the place, even now. In time, were the Keepers and the Council so inclined, the shantytown could grow into a real home for many of the residents, and should it do so the bench would provide an excellent overlook of that somewhat idyllic setting. For now, however, it provided little more than a reminder of how the Reaper War had changed things. Such a shambles would never have lasted on the Citadel before the Reapers, would in all likelihood never have been established at all. The distant sound of harsh voices occasionally broke through the constant buzz of activity, and in the town below figures of varying shades and sizes could be seen moving around, particularly in a relatively central open space. Well, somewhat varying sizes, at least – few appeared bulky from this distance, as most of the refugees had been surviving on handouts and what the other Citadel residents could spare. In consequence, the batarians below were mostly thin and dressed in a wide variety of styles and colors, many of which weren’t to their usual tastes.

All in all, it was a thoroughly intimidating atmosphere, despite the relatively low reported rate of violence.

Icarus showed up shortly after Sarah did, in a high collared shirt and collar that hid his biotic amp. The clothing was issued a year prior, an artifact of the man's encounter with the famous pirate Vevedix. He tried to push out that particular memory as he walked up to the bench and sat at the opposite side of it, waiting on some sort of cue from the person opposite.

Sarah gave a nod as Icarus approached. "Are you ready?" She crossed her arms, shifting in her seat. "We're looking for someone. Don't know why I'm doing this, considering it out of the kindness out of my heart. You can leave at any time if you want." She slowly stood up, reaching into her pants pocket for an OSD. She handed it over. "This is a defense mod for your omnitool. Load it up and let's go."

"Yeah, I'm ready." He took the defensive program and followed close behind her.

Find someone that looks like they know something- And don't screw up. She'd approach a nearby local and clasp her arms behind her back. "Hey- Got a minute? I'm looking for someone who can help me find someone. Know anybody who knows what's going on in this place?"

The nearest local, a middle-aged batarian woman with a shawl covering her head, wasn’t exactly helpful. As the two humans approached, she kept a pair of dark eyes on each, frozen in her tracks by the question. Were she human, the woman would have glanced back and forth between the two others before shaking her head and scurrying off, but being a batarian the glance wasn’t even necessary – a dual optic nerve came in handy. Most of the time it was presented primarily as a predatory evolution, and certainly had advantages, but like most such developments it served more than one purpose despite the propaganda element. In this case, like a deer in the headlights, the woman froze, and only once the danger – or question being asked, in this case – was past did she scurry off into a ramshackle hut, without ever moving her head or taking her gaze off the pair.

Since coming to the Citadel all of the refugees had gotten used to the sight of humans, but even so it was strange to have them come down to the camps without security. Strange enough to make the ‘locals’ skittish, and strange enough to quietly attract the attention of a trio of large, scruffy-looking batarians standing at the entrance to an alleyway. They didn’t so much as blink – they simply fixed their upper eyes on the human pair, and carried on their conversation as if nothing had happened.

Great. Unhelpful- But as to be expected. If only she'd known a Batarian in the area- But the CDN user Bright Eyes had passed away in the reconstruction year after the war. The woman turned to Icarus and crossed her arms. She leaned her shoulders forward slightly and whispered-

"The three up there look like they know something, but we're not exactly looking to start trouble. Follow my lead." She'd clear her throat and make her way to the trio, hands dug in pockets and anxiety boasting a firm grip on the mind. "Pardon me- My colleague and I are looking for someone, do you think the three of you can assist us? It won't take more than a few minutes." She offered a practiced smile- Her mind racing through potential outcomes of the next moments.

He nods his head "Okay" and follows her over to the 3 batarians, silently watching the conversation and offering a neutral face. He let Sarah do the talking on this one.

The three batarians just… stared. And stared. And stared. And then they burst out laughing. The two facing the human pair actually doubled over, they were laughing so hard, while the third stood off to the side clapping his hands. There was something odd about the way he did it, and it was barely fifteen seconds later that another trio of batarians approached from behind and the laughter stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

“You’re looking for someone, huh? Well, I’m sure we can help you out.” The speaker, lead of the three new arrivals, opened his arms wide in a distinctly human gesture, and said something to his companions on a dialect too obscure for the translator to make out entirely. A few key words stuck out, words that were common on every batarian world and station, and had apparently taken root on the Citadel as well: ‘pinkskin’, ‘woman’, ‘hair’, and a few less savory terms among them.

“Thing is, there’s plenty of work around here, you know? So here we are, six or more strong and smart batarians, ready and willing to help. But it’s going to cost you. Let’s see what you’ve got to offer, and then we can talk about help.”

Sarah wrung her hands at their laughter and quietly removed her wool cap, revealing the golden-silver biotic amp on her right ear. She'd stow her hat away in her jacket and, with a deep breath, retain the friendly smile she'd been sporting earlier. Even as the less-than-savory statements, the blanket racism. Sarah understood more than she let on- But simply offered a hard smile.

She'd rub her chin and pace slightly, listening to the leadman's offer- Before raising a pointed finger as if she'd occur an idea.
"Now- You tell me you're willing to help me, but I'm not convinced you're being completely honest. You see, my friend, I came to you with a modicum of respect- " She turned to face him, retaining the masking smile on her face. "-and you assume I do not expect the same. You want to be paid, you give me your offer and I consider it, and offer you my counteroffer."

The leader was apparently also the smartest of the group, and took one look at the amp and hissed a word no civilized translator would know. He had the guts not to make any other sign of submission, however, something that several of his group couldn't restrain themselves from doing - there was more than one step back, more than one who reached for what could have been a hiding place for a weapon.

Those that did so earned a couple of bruises from their leader.

Then, he erupted in a great chortle of laughter. "Alright, human. You want to know what I want? Uniforms like that might grant you some...favor from the custom agents, if you understand. They aren't so kind to us poor refugees...you help us out, we'll tell you where to find whomever it is you're looking for. No creds needed."

He saw the amp. The men stepped back and took a defensive- And he slapped them down. Curious. Sarah slid her hands to her hips and sighed heavily, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I'm afraid my colleague and I aren't in much of a better predicament than yourself. We met our colleague during the reaper invasion- And we just want to see if they're okay. I know you must have lost someone in the war, right? Statistics being what they are.." She politely shifted her tone with the next statement- "..And what happened to Kar'shan."

She rubbed her elbow. "I'll offer four hundred credits for the day. That's all I have. Four days worth of food money."