[Rainfall] How to Make a Monster [Open]

The hustle and bustle of the Gihyna Docks was unrelenting. Everywhere one looked, batarians. Whether boarding, disembarking, waiting for friends or family from the Confederacy, picking pockets, or hawking small wares to any of the above, the docks were a veritable sea of brown, beige, nearly-black and almost-yellow faces, each dotted with four eyes. Other species’ were present too, of course – turian Talons with their assault rifles making sure there was no serious violence among the masses, family members of liberated slaves still finding their way back to their own civilizations, that sort of thing, but they were mere islands in an ocean of four-eyed hubbub.

There were two newly-arrived islands in this ocean today, notable not so much for their species but for the heavy black armor and the interlocked red chains on their pauldrons. They were here to meet with yet another island, this one in similar armor but different coloration – blue and white with black highlights and the same red chains. All three of the batarians were tall, but while the one in blue was not overly so, the two in black most definitely were. Each stood nearly a head above the crowd, but while one was lanky and pale-skinned the other was swarthy and so bulky as to rival a small krogan.

“Just smell that air, Goronak,” said the pale one, aptly named Akmawt, or ‘Ghost’. “Omega hasn’t changed even a little bit since we left. Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

His massive companion did little more than grunt in response. “Wonder if Juni still smells better.”

The third batarian, in blue, let out a deep chuckle, helmet keeping him safe and secure from such wonderful memories as the stink of sweat and unwashed bodies might bring. “It did up until a week or so ago. Remember why I called you.”

“Believe me, good Captain Adar, we are capable of simple addition, which is why we opted to come and conduct this little exercise in person, rather than sending some of our very capable instructors. The three of us should prove more than sufficient to bring your ragtag band of misfits up to standard while minimally involving anybody less reliable in your little escapades,” came the reply as the two newcomers slipped on their helmets. “Discretion is our watchword, after all. Now, let’s go see what you’ve got for us, hmm?”

***

The ‘training facility’ for the event was in fact a hangar-sized warehouse on a lower level rented out for the occasion, a full city block worth of debris and containers stored therein. It wasn’t high-value real estate, it wasn’t easily accessible, and there was nothing of value inside, so nobody much cared what went on there and the group was unlikely to be disturbed. One corner of the structure consisted of ruined offices and administration, while in another was a veritable fortress of shipping crates and shelves covered in miscellany. It was, in short, entirely typical of an Omegan warehouse, with the added advantage of being entirely destructible with no consequences whatsoever. Closer to the main entrance, a basic shooting range had been set up alongside something resembling an obstacle course featuring salarian-sized dummies wearing a mixture of battered and useless body armor and clothes - clearly designed to mark them as civilians - spread through yet more debris and low walls made of smaller shipping containers. It was hardly the high-tech training facilities of Lorek, no holographic danger rooms or vast facilities here, but it should be adequate for some very basic instruction.

So it was that the three batarians stood, waiting for their ‘students’ to arrive.

Mekan was the first arrival.

Trying to appear relaxed and failing as he approached, the batarian could have been mistaken for a human under his faceplate. He'd opted to bring the hardsuit for two reasons. For one, he was going to be wearing it more often in the field, and figured he might as well be certain he was going to be able to use it well.

The second reason was that it granted some level of protection from sniper rounds to the back of the head, and with the Project almost certainly gunning for him right this minute, he wasn't above wearing a hardsuit during a commute. He was starting to get a better appreciation for the paranoia Wash had displayed during the human's recent vacation to Omega.

Slung over his shoulder was a stock-model Scimitar shotgun - well-maintained from the look of it, and clearly functional, but not modified or personalized in any way to suit the user's preferences. The Carnifex at his hip was exactly the same way, almost fresh from the factory floor (except for a thin strip of tape over the round-shaver compartment for some reason). The faceplate and helmet would be easily-recognizable as Valkar Technocracy military-issue, probably picked up in the Dark Market downstation. The hardsuit and helmet were painted an almost-nondescript gunmetal grey, with no apparent markings declaring allegiance or any sign of 'gung-ho, fuck you' slogans sloppily written on the armor plating.

Mekan knew the company he was keeping. Crimson Chains; slavers and ex-slavers all around. He wasn't happy about it. But he wasn't in a position to say no. There were a lot of things he could do while these Rainfall guys were on his trail.

But whatever course of action he went with, special forces training wouldn't hurt.

As he approached, the hacker didn't show any sign of spotting or acknowledging his would-be instructors.

Best to let 'em address me first. See if they have anything they want to fuck with me for.

Kirok had no idea what he was doing here.

He was a krogan beastmaster with over six centuries of experience killing things. Large things, small things, medium-sized things, huge things, things of all sizes, shapes, colors, creeds, and species. He had killed more lifeforms in his entire life than the Pandrozian plague. Granted, the Pandrozian plague only killed around 545 people when it was unleashed on Station Sektma about, oh, a thousand years ago, but that was five hundred more people than most people got around to killing in their lives.

Not that he was proud of it or anything. But once the numbers start adding up, you kind of start keeping track just to see how high the score can go.

In either case, he had no idea why he was "training" with these four-eyed monkey whelps. The salarian had given him a hefty bonus to "sit in and cordially reconsider tactical implementations in the field of battle," which he guessed was frogspeak for something, damned if he knew what, though. Bah. Frogs on one side, Blinks on the other. He was getting sick of the company around here - turians at least knew the advantage of a good attack, the asari were at least a good enemy when they got their blood up, and the humans were like a bunch of self-deluded patriotic war-monkeys. But the batarians and the salarians? No good in a decent fight. Just sneaking and being quiet. Those were not skills that ranked high on Kirok's list of things to learn.

"Awright, move it," the krogan said, shoving Mekan out of the way as he surveyed the stinking, rusting warehouse. "Let's git dis over with. I ain't in th' mood fer games."

As the two 'trainees' arrived, the three batarians stood calmly and silently, watching them make their way in. It was a few strange moments before any of them spoke, but as time moved on and on it was eventually Collar who spoke first.

"I really thought more of them would have turned up."

The bulkier of the other two snorted and strode over to stand in front of Mekan and Kirok, lower eyes looking over them appraisingly. "You said it was a small team, Adar," he grunted, with a look at Mekan. "I didn't think you meant this kind of small. These two... Eh. We'll see."

For his part, Melek gave them a similarly appraising look, but kept his thoughts to himself for a moment longer. His eyes lingered on the krogan, and finally something seemed to almost *click* behind them. "I doubt there's much we can teach Murtag Kirok. Krogan who are so inclined tend to be rather good at this by nature. Pack hunters in their not-so-distant past, perhaps," smiled the pale batarian, "I doubt you remember me, Kirok, but we've worked together before, through the Embodiment. You always struck me as eminently capable, but perhaps there's something we can do to upgrade your equipment, hmm?"

"Hunh," came the rather nondescript sound from the massive member of the trio. "Guess that leaves me and Adar with the kid, then. What's the name?"

The question wasn't directed at Mekan at all.

"Mekan. He's a tech guy, mostly. Loves all that video game shit. Still managed to be smarter than the rest of the group just by showing up here."

"Hah. Alright then, Mekan. I'm Goronak, but for the immediate future you can call me 'Sir'. Same goes when you address any of the others here, including the krogan. Embodiment was a solid outfit," with a glance at Kirok, "...and so long as he remembers you don't regenerate the way he does, he'll know what needs doing better than you do."

Mekan let out a slight 'OOF' as Kirok shoved him out of the way. The shotgun and armor clattered against deck-plating as the batarian was knocked to the floor. His initial response was to pick himself up, preserve some fragment of his dignity. Tucking his fallen shotgun under his shoulder, the geek grunted slightly as he stood. The light 'whirrrr' of his leg servos gave away the presence of his sub-par cybernetics. Great. Kirok's here.

Mekan felt slightly betrayed by the absence of the rest of the squad, but he couldn't say he was surprised.

He was on his own here.

I'd better watch my back. If these Project guys don't kill me, Kirok will. And I have to call him 'sir.' This is gonna suck.

'Convenient training accident', air-quotes included, didn't begin to describe the bullshit that was almost certainly about to happen.

As Mekan stood, he looked to Adar and Goronak before reslinging his shotgun around his shoulder. He nodded. "Understood." The word held no cockiness, but also held no true acknowledgement of his present company's authority. Just confirmation that Mekan got the point. Whether or not it was the wrong thing to say, Mekan didn't particularly care.

If he lived through the day, he'd learn what he needed from all of this. If he died, then it was a moot point.

I'm fucked.

Kirok just eyed the pale batarian warily.

"Can't sez that I recalls ya, son, but most'a m'work for th' Embodiment's kind of... a big red blur. But I'll take yer word on it. An' yeah. I could use some goddamned decent stuff. My gun ain't firin' fer shit lately. S'gettin' so a guy can't shoot a hole in someone's chest with one hit, right? Heard you folks had some... specialty 'quipment. Like... stuff what ain't legal. And can ruin an 'sari's day, y'reckon."

There was an evil smile on Kirok's face, like a fault line parting to reveal the deep fissure of lava beneath.

"Also heard ya'll had some kinda armor shit. Like spikes? I'm innerested in that. Could use somethin' t'make it easier fer me t... well, do what I do best. Whatcha got inna shop, friend?"

The smile that creased Melek's face looked like nothing so much as a shark scenting blood. The pale batarian strode over to a table set up in one corner, then beckoned the rest to follow.

"I'm fairly certain we can ruin almost anybody's day, but yes, our dear departed leader liked us to embarrass the asari at every opportunity. Something to do with Anhur, I suppose," he mused aloud.

His bulkier companion, meanwhile, gave Mekan a shove towards the table. "Tag along for this, kid. Might save me having to explain this stuff again later, if you're smart as Adar says." It was almost a compliment. Almost.

Melek, unperturbed, waited for the others to arrive and then made a broad sweeping motion, displaying the table's wares, which were set up more like a market stall than anything else.

"First things first, we have every slaver and law enforcement officer's favorite toy: Flashbangs. Primarily useful for non-lethally pacifying a wide variety of sentients, these models also emit a low-level electromagnetic pulse, interfering with electronics for slightly longer than they'd usually overload the optic nerve. Most effective against unarmored foes - civilians and the like - but still excellent. There are several models of heads-up-display which automatically attempt to counteract the effect by detecting an active flashbang and momentarily shutting down both visual and audio input, but these are usually expensive and, against this particular model, not very effective thanks to the EMP pulse. Simple, cheap, and effective, you really can't go wrong with a flashbang."

The batarian took a step sideways, drawing attention to another item on display. "These may be of particular interest to you, Kirok: Polonium Rounds. Highly illegal in Citadel space, ostensibly due to their biohazardous nature, they are in fact primarily useful against biotics and any unshielded tech while posing only minimal health hazards to their user. Radiation disrupts biotic fields, which makes these particularly useful against the asari, whose training doctrines tend to rely on their biotics a tad overmuch. They have the advantage of being effective by proximity, as much as by their actual function as bullets, so if you miss or perhaps pepper their cover with these rounds it can prove almost as debilitating as actually shooting them. A special heat-deactivated nanocoating absorbs their usual radiation output, but is removed by the same laser that shears off a slug for firing, essentially making them safe to handle while retaining their effectiveness. They're only really illegal because the asari have run the Council for so long, but even so it may prove difficult to find a supplier in Citadel space. We'd be happy to provide you with a lifetime supply, of course."

Another step, another presentation. "Here we have a standard omnitool module, this one allowing your tool to fire the well-known and amusingly-named 'Submission Net'. Essentially this module permits your omnitool microfabricators to produce an electrically-charged webbing strong enough to contain a yahg. Nothing new here - batarians have been using them for hundreds of years without incident. In this particular case, the web also contains microsensors allowing it to be planted along a wall or any other flat surface, from which it can be either triggered manually or set to attach itself to any passerby based on their proximity. Wonderful as either a capture method or trap, and fully functional regardless of climate or other atmospheric conditions."

There was a pause, accompanied by another sharky grin. “Any questions so far? We’ve got quite the selection to come, and we wouldn’t want you to forget your question by the end, now would we? Feel free to just blurt them out!”

"Polonium rounds, y'say?"

Kirok's gaze gained a lean, hungry edge to it, the kind of look a killer gets when he looks at a brand new toy. "I like it. Load me up, hoss. I plan on doin' a little witch huntin'. Heh heh heh heh..."

Mekan let out another light 'oof' as he was shoved over to the display table, and stumbled as he tried to regain his balance. Once he was back upright, he paid careful attention to the tech on offer, particularly the flashbangs and submission net. Eh...Submission net has...practical applications. Ethical dilemma, there, though...Worth thinking over. Flashbang EMP might mess with my tech. No real use for polonium rounds, and they would just get confiscated the instant I set one foot off the transport in C-Space, knowing my luck recently.

The hacker at least made a show of looking over everything. "I'll...give it a bit of thought. Anything else to show off? Any other tech, maybe?"

The sharky grin didn't waver, even for a second. "Of course, of course! Adar, if you would kindly provide Kirok with some rounds - for today's use, that is, while we arrange a regular supply for the future - I'll continue with my little presentation!"

Collar grabbed a pair of ammo blocks from the table and tossed them towards the krogan with a grin and a chuckle. It wasn't a pleasant sound. "Should be able to ruin someone's day with those, neh?"

"Quite. Nonetheless, that is merely the opening salvo of our offerings here today. On to the good stuff! Next on offer we have the kohrhesit - you've both run into these before, I'm sure, whether or not they were referred to as such. It's a simple gauntlet or hardsuit modification that lets you channel electricity through to your fingertips, with much the same effect as a submission net - complete debilitation of the target for a short time. They've also proven useful for salvagers and the like, who use them to jumpstart electronics, open doors, short out circuitry, that sort of thing. Quite a versatile device that never gets in the way and should probably be standard issue for every military in the galaxy," Melek explained, raising both hands and sending electricity arcing across his fingertips before taking another step to the side.

"Sticking with the close-combat theme, we're happy to also offer Blade Armor. Microfabricators laced across the shoulders, forearms, knees and knuckles of any given hardsuit and tied directly to your omnitool let you effectively cover yourself in knives on command. I'm sure the combat applications are obvious, and, like the kohrhesit, this is an entirely unobtrusive upgrade that might not even be visible until you activate it. There's not much more fearsome than a krogan in close combat, but a krogan covered in blades? Well, what more needs to be said?"

"Worked fucking wonders against the Reapers and their little monsters, is what more needs to be said," answered Goronak, who until now had been largely silent, content to let Melek sell some weapons. "Got in close with one of their big turian-krogan crossbreeds, stupid thing killed itself on my armor."

"Goronak is entirely too modest - others who witnessed that fight insist that he had a more active role in killing that creature, even if it did end up injuring him quite severely."

The massive batarian just grunted.

"Regardless, that brings us to two of our more... Specialized... pieces. First, we have a tactical cloaking module. Again, the uses should be obvious, particularly combined with some of the other options we've presented here. An invisible krogan covered in blades, perhaps?" Unlike Collar, Melek's chuckle was smooth and carefully crafted to be pleasing to the ear - no easy feat for a batarian, let alone one who was used to being the smartest person in the room.

"And finally, something of a relic from the old Hegemony at its height: Portable Jammers. In true batarian fashion, these work on the simplest of principles and are all the more effective for it - they're essentially broadcasters set to blanket all channels with interference. Not as stealthy as some of the pricier models, but no less effective as a result, ideal for disrupting all sorts of wireless technology and signals therefrom. You can configure them to leave one specified channel or even a set of rotating channels open for your own use, but of course the enemy may be able to identify and use that same channel, which can in and of itself prove useful if you're more in the mood for knowing what they're up to. A well-trained team can communicate largely through hand signals and the like, regardless, so if you're part of such a team these can give you a decisive advantage over anybody relying on more modern methods of communication."

The three batarians looked positively smug.

"Finally, we have on offer a variety of Titan armaments, the result of a lucrative trade deal we've had running with said corporation for quite some time. Goronak here served as something of a consultant on an early batch of Titan weapons, and the results of that partnership are plain to see, if you'd care to check Titan's stock. Kirok, you may particularly enjoy the Ogre shotgun, which is of course fully capable of handling the Polonium Rounds you've already received."

Melek took another step, and was now standing beside the armaments display rather than in front of it.

"Help yourselves, and if you have questions please do speak up before we begin the actual training portion of our day."