6An:/ So I missed N7 day by a hair. Meant to update then, but life ran away from me. Better late than never though!
Oranges, of all things. Oranges got her into this mess. The fruit from earth and its colonies proved to be quite ubiquitous and delectable once introduced to the wider galaxy, and thus they can be found nearly everywhere. Including, it seems, the back-ass end of Omega.
Mordin had sent her out, "Oranges! Excellent source of vitamin C, other useful properties. Slight overabundance of sugars, would advise to be careful consuming excess amounts."
And so here she was, ducked behind a produce stall, her carefully selected bagful of oranges rolling around the floor, being kicked around and getting bruised, all because someone had to pee. (A Patrol of Blood Pack and a Blue Sun's protection gang just barely managed to cross paths.) The firefight broke out, bullets ripping through the crowd and the stalls. Personal Shields were a luxury most couldn't afford, so many of the shoppers dropped dead. The scattered survivors are all praying, as anyone who moves is liable to be shot on autopilot by one of the mercs.
There were originally eight Blood pack and six Blue Suns- which made a cacophony when fighting broke out. The booming retorts of the Krogan's Executioner would drown out the chatter of the Blue Sun's avengers and vindicators for a scarce moment before the sound returns. Or, it could be her hearing, she muses, checking around the corner of the stall again.
The two groups took cover on opposite ends of the marketplace, which is more of a plaza with some steps down to the center circle. Stalls ring the circle in two layers, one in the recessed floor and one against the outer walls. Three Blood Pack vorcha are down in the ground between the stalls but given enough time two of them will regen and get back up. Blue Sun's procedure is to behead and burn them for this very reason. On the other side, the Suns have lost one Turian and one human- one unluckily caught by the Krogan's cannon, the other fallen to the vorcha. His armor is split open and his entrails hang out in a pool of blood not far away, staining some exotic asari fruit and a basket of plums. Joanne doesn't have much more than a pistol, which is more for show than anything else, as she has but one clip for it. (its also pathetically low caliber, or whatever the equivalent is) She does have knives, and plenty of them. Three in her boots, four tucked around her ankles, seven on her arms, a further ten on her belt, one in her hair, and the last in her hand, poised to be thrown or flicked into an attacker's weak point.
The fire lulls and the ground quivers as the Krogan charges. The Suns' focus fire, but the Krogan, deep in the throes of a rage, ignores the rounds peppering his armor and skin. They circle around trying to both stay out of his reach and in cover from the three upright vorcha who are almost joined by one of the downed creatures. One of the remaining Blue Sun's goes down as he steps out of cover, the warrior next to him turning and gunning down two of the remaining vorcha. The Krogan smashes into one of the Blue suns and he gets ripped apart by the blood rager.
The Krogan laughs and holds up the torn body of the Turian.
"I like them raw! Hahaha!" he throws down the body and makes a show of crushing it under his feet. One of the Blue Suns swears and dives out of cover, sliding to their fallen comrades. He grabs the weapon the human was carrying and level the missile launcher. At this close of range it's point-and-shoot- and the rocket hits the Krogan dead on. The back blast kills the Blue sun, but the Krogan is down for the count, half of his head and hump gone. Two Blue Suns are left in cover, against the two vorcha standing and the two regenning.
Joanne is ready to take her chances with the Blue suns and turn on the vorcha when a loud crack splits the air, followed by a series of them. The blue sun's drop, as do all of the vorcha. Sniper fire!
It's but a moment that the crowd of civilians realizes the plaza is temporarily clear and runs. In less than a minute, the plaza is empty of people, bar her and the slowly regenning vorcha. Knowing that Blood Pack Vorcha are feral, Joanne does the right thing- she goes from body to body looting the thermal clips and beheading the aliens.
"Now, what do we have here?" It's a Turian, decked out in what passed as really good armor two years ago.
"They were going to regen. Blood Pack Vorcha are feral, no chance of redeeming them. With how deep the indoctrination is," the Turian flinches, "I'd say the Pack is raising them on a farm somewhere."
"I'll keep that in mind." The Turian says, waving to his friends. "Make sure the Vorcha are dead- and that Krogan. I think it's gone, but best to be sure."
"Burn them boss? Or just slice?" what sounds like a Batarian asks.
"Go ahead and burn them if it's clear." He orders. "so," he says, switching his grip on his sniper and bending down to pick up her bag of mostly ruined oranges, "How'd you get so comfortable in a live fire scenario? You were ready to attack them, and you didn't flinch at every other round like the others."
Joanne bit her lip, she'd been waiting to be able to use this line. "Military brat. You know how it is." He laughs.
"That I do. Though, I think that may be species wide for Turians."
"It certainly isn't for asari." Joanne jokes.
"You'd be surprised." He says wistfully. Joanne ignores him and walks to the stall that had the oranges. She starts poking through for fresher fruit.
"You're just going to take them?" the Turian asks.
"Well, the owners lying over there in a pile of his own blood, so yes." She replies sharply, stopping to smell one before wiping off some purple blood and putting it in the bag.
"You're a strange human." The Turian remarks.
"Are all Turians this hovering?"
"I do not-" he sputters, as the entire squad of mercs look at him.
"I'd say you do." She says smugly.
"My old boss would have my head if I let a kid wander around on her own. Well, if she wasn't dead." The Turian admits.
"I'm not really a kid, you know." Joanne argues.
"Boss taught me some, but one of the other crew members has four younger sisters- I learned a lot about your culture just from overhearing." The Turian explains, not buying her excuses.
"I'm fine." Joanne protests.
"Have it your way." He sighs, "Nirix, get over here." One of the squad members peels off from moving the bodies and walks up.
"You called boss?"
"Check our new friend over. Please." He instructs.
"I'm fine-"
"She's healing from a shotgun blast, what looks like a blender, and a nasty poison. But all have been treated and she is healing." The quarrian reports.
"See!" Joanne says.
"Rix, I know you can do better." He says.
"Fine. Hold still." She tells Joanne, scanning the girl with her omni tool.
"Damn. Your model is better than mine. Cutting edge- no, bleeding edge Alliance. You DNA markers match up to some interestingly restricted files. Should I?"
"No, let's not piss of the alliance today." The Turian says.
"Suit yourself." She shrugs, "You've got some nasty eezo exposure. Should fade out before you're in the spot again, so no worries about a biotic baby anytime soon. You're also not getting enough of your vitamins. Or basic nutrition. Already I can see predictor markers for mild malnourishment. Eat more. Plus, you are way too young to be out here alone. Bone ratios say you're still well within prime trafficking age. Also, Aria has a tag on your suit, FYI."
"That's nice." Joanne deadpans.
"See!" The Turian says pointedly.
"Look, I'm working as an assistant to a doctor in the slums, goes by Mordin. If you're that worried, come by and talk to him." She tells the Turian.
"You, with that fancy overpowered scanner, you're welcome to drop by any time so long as you don't mind using that for any tricky patients. We can compensate you somehow."
"Archangel, we've got another call coming in." One of the squad members, a Volus, shouts.
"Right, well, we've got to run." He tells Joanne. "Here's our comm code. We're kind of a vigilante outfit for good, if you can believe that. You run into trouble, or if you hear anything happening in that clinic of yours, you let us know."
"Sure." She says, saving the comm code.
"Back to the shuttles!" he shouts, rounding up his squad and melting into the shadows. Joanne stands in the marketplace, still dotted with pools of blood, though the bodies have all been moved to the side and watches them leave. When they're gone, she starts on her way back, only realizing halfway back that he slipped a couple doses of medigel, a few grenades, and a chocolate bar of all things in her bag.
