Fandom Mass Effect: Endeavor

[Surain]

Don was feeling a mixture of irritation and fear at being interrupted by a spectre.


And the fear was largely winning, until Verena began to explain what she saw when the ship exploded. She was obviously uncomfortable, what with just recovering from a panic attack, sporting a massive bandage on her side, and the unpleasantness of remembering the chaos of the explosion—what she needed now was rest and, after some time, a psychological evaluation. And yet...


"Explosions planted near the engines was actually one of our first theories for what happened." the quarian commented quietly, glancing at Verena. The footage the investigation team had of the explosion made that one of their initial theories. Actually, Don had been heading back to headquarters just to test this; 'recreating' the explosion in a simulator, using the ship's schematics, survivor testimonies, and the footage they had was their best bet to prove the theory. If it was as they thought, then they'd look for where exactly the explosives were placed and, using debris and (hopefully) recovered data from the ship itself, determine what kind of bombs were used. Following that, they'd examine the passanger ledger to see who on it would have access to those explosives and continue from there.


Don subconsciously rubbed his hands together as he turned to Jaxon, clearing his throat. "My name is Don'Holan vas Rayya, I'm one of the members of the C-sec team investigating the explosion, spectre... sir." he paused, resisting the urge to look away. Focus, spectres smell fear. "The investigation is ongoing, and we don't have much to work with." He hesitated before vaguely gesturing to Verena. "We're still gathering testimonies, for one thing. We don't even have a full count of the survivors yet, and our newest lead—virtually recreating the explosion—is being followed right now. I'm not sure how much information I, or the entire investigation team for that matter, can offer at the moment." He finished, saying, 'I don't have anything to give you please don't hurt me' in the most polite way he could.

 

[RedCrow]

"I think a plan is a list of shit that doesn't happen." Pickle said off-hand in response to the quarian's question. He watched as some skinhead with too many tattoos started questioning the injured turian and her quarian friend. Subtle, he thought as he watched. He was about to leave and continue on his own task when he heard the turian mention bombs, and how only a skilled individual could have placed and detonated them in that fashion.


"Crap." Pickle mumbled under his breath. Now now, no need to jump to conclusions yet... He turned and faced the quarian.


"C'mon kid, let's go." He gave a short wave of his hand as he stepped off. He made his way down the street, through the hustle and bustle of the civilians, past the bits of rubble, and the Keepers and repair crews doing everything they could to get things back to normal. The entrance to Huerta Memorial looked a lot like a large anthill that had just been stepped on. The facility itself had been untouched by the disaster, but the sheer number of people rushing about gave a sense of barely coordinated chaos.


"Alright, remember kid, you belong here." he said as he stepped forward. He stuck his chest out and kept his posture straight, making sure to walk with purpose. The easiest way to get caught for being in the wrong place was if you looked like you were in the wrong place. Pickle looked like this was something he'd been doing every day for quite some time now.


"OK kid, if you were the hospital records, where would you be?" he asked as he continued to walk forward. Stopping to ask directions would give someone a chance to see their faces and realize that they didn't belong, and if they just started making laps around the building then someone was sure to call them out.

 

[Graverobber141]

Jaxon crossed his arms over his chest, furrowed his brows together, and knocked the heel of one of his boots into his other as he listened to both Verena's and Don's testimonies. It wasn't much, some of it things he already knew, but it was a start. More than he had just a few seconds ago.


"I wonder if they were planted before takeoff," he mumbled audibly, though mostly to himself. "That, or an inside job, I'd guess. Passengers wouldn't have access to the lower decks, and security was tight...Sneaking on would've been a challenge..." At this point he was speaking aloud, and promptly shut his mouth, remembering that others were around him. His eyes had travelled down to his feet, and he had begun rubbing his chin so furiously it was as if he thought that would miraculously conjure the answer he was searching for. "Hmm."


His head finally jerked up, and his eyes glanced between the two before them. "Oh, yeah...Introductions. Forgot. I'm Jaxon Asher, part of Special Tactics and Reconnaissance...though, you seem to have figured that out already." He breathed in and out, scratching the back of his head. He raised an eyebrow at Don. The quarian seemed unnerved by his presence. He wondered if-No, he doubted it. A lot of C-Sec officers had that same reaction to Spectres. The others either didn't care, or were usually outrage by their presence. "Too early to expect much more. Relax. I promise I'm not going to bit your head off. I already ate breakfast."


He grinned slightly, turning his attention to Verena. "I guess you didn't see anyone suspicious?" His gaze turned to Don again. "And I can hopefully assume your pals are checking out any intact security footage of the engine rooms." He turned a bit to the side, so that he could look toward the hospital. "Best thing to do is to keep on diggin'."

 

[MyUsualTriumph]

Andromeda followed as the spectre went about the investigation. She figured as long as he was being relatively harmless and wasn't hurting people, there wasn't much of a need to get involved. She got a vibe from him that suggested he had done these sorts of investigations before, and although his methods were crude, he was making progress. The poor C-Sec officer looked scared shitless at Jaxon's demeanor. She offered him a "What can you do" shrug behind the spectre's back.


"I'm Andromeda Porter." Andi offered, following Jaxon's lead. "And thanks for your help. Just keep us in the loop if your learn anything else." She smiled at the quarian and the turian in turn, her best attempt at easing the tension her "partner" was so good at creating.


"Well Jaxon," She turned towards the spectre. "Shall we make our way on towards the hospital?" She didn't really wait for a response, instead leading the way into the building. Andi had always been just a bit afraid of hospitals. Everything was so white and so pristine. The lobbies always were so calm, while hell was being raised in the individual rooms. People who were sick and dying, injured and in pain. The overall vibe was incredibly uncomfortable. Andi sighed, running a hand through her brown locks. She activated her datapad and accessed the list of survivors from the incident.


"I'll collect statements." She pulled up her datapad and accessed the list of the injured. There were so many. These people were likely to be traumatized, and Jaxon lacked the touch that would get them the information they needed. She accessed the room number of the first person she would speak to and committed it to memory before tucking the datapad away once more. "You should check out the morgue. Investigate the reports. Perhaps there will be some clues as to the type of explosives in the coroner's notes." It was a morbid job, certainly. And one Andi wanted no part in. But, hopefully the reports would unveil some clue. Perhaps an uncommon ingredient. A lead.

 

[Halluxenogen]

Yenne observed his bizarre reaction to the interrogation taking place before them, implying that he knew more than he let on. She eyed the two brunettes with two contrasting auras about them but brought her attention back to her partner and trailed after him into the hospital. "Not a kid," she informed as she followed him into the lounge, staying on his heels.


Much to her dismay, the entire place was cramped and it may as well been elbow-to-elbow. For the thousandth time in the same day, she felt her stomach clench in knots and a hammer pound against her forehead. The human had some words of advice, at the very least. Utter bullshit is what she thought of that. Even though, she found herself imitating his false sense of belonging. When he asked about some hospital records, Yenne saw how it was connected and briefly wondered who he was looking for in regards to the dossiers. It could have some relation to with the men in "dark uniforms and red bands." Until she got what she needed, she'd comply and keep her thoughts just as that: thoughts.


"The files would need to be somewhere near the patients themselves, for convenience. To add to the list of problems, they're not going to be where they could be accessed by just anyone." She recalled the layout of the hospital from memory from when she was searching for hubs to listen in, "Lab Services or the examination rooms are our best bet."


She felt herself brush against someone at every step or so and it put her in a great deal of barely concealed discomfort. "Could try...hm...cloaking my way in? With all this commotion going around I'd doubt anyone would take time to notice. Maybe. Your call," she suggested while examining her packs.

 

[Surain]

"Uh... that is... good to hear, spectre," replied Don hesitantly, not at all comforted by that comment. "And, yes, of course... retrieving data from the ship's remains is a top priority, and we'll examine anything that is recovered." he added quickly and in his best attempt of a reassuring voice, before glancing at the new face that greeted him: human, female, and significantly less threatening than the outside-the law, can-legally-kill-him, renegade-badass that had just been interrogating him.


"Er, yes, miss Porter. I'll forward any current and future leads to you and spectre Asher." He replied to her, his tone only slightly less panicked. A smile can only do so much.


Don, of course, didn't have the authority to send them anything on his own. He'd refer it to his superiors, who would most likely do it themselves—or assign him to do it, which would be unfortunate. And time consuming. And annoying. And, he thought, looking at Asher and Porter, possibly detrimental to my health.





He shook his head and, once he was sure both the spectre and miss Porter had no more interest in him or Verena, turned to his new found companion. "That was... hmm," he paused, before shaking his head again, "Nevermind. We should get back to headquarters: You still need to get registered, and I need to get back to work." he added, mostly thinking out loud—A nervous habit of his, he's been told, along with the insufferable foot-tapping that often came with it.


He waited for Verena before continuing their walk towards the transit station, leaving the hospital behind. The journey shouldn't take too long, provided that they weren't stopped and questioned again. Though, still long enough for awkward silence, apparently, he thought, glancing at Verena as subtly as he could. He felt like he had to say something, hopefully a better attempt at small talk than last time, to end what felt like torture to the socially inept Quarian. A question would work, right? Sure. Get her talking to fill in the silence. What an excellent idea.


"So... Judging by that surprise interrogation, you—and correct me if I'm wrong—have had some past experience with bombs, I take it?" he asked carefully, much like last time, as if the conversation he was trying to start was a game of chess. Was that too insensitive? She seemed fine to talk about bombs during the interrogation, so it should be okay now, right?

 

[Voices]

Verena quietly watched the two humans make their way into the hospital, allowing Don to offer the pleasantries as they parted ways.


What an abrasive human, she thought with a slightly perturbed flutter of her mandibles as she began to follow Don again. She attempted to keep her pace slightly slower than his so she could take in her surroundings as they passed by all kinds of things and people she had never seen. Of course, Palaven had all the same tech as this place did, but nothing as... bright. Everywhere she turned her gaze, there was a large, colorful picture advertising a product or flashing a news report.


She felt as if she were on sensory overload, and was grateful for the distraction when Don decided to ask her a question. He seemed to approach the inquiry gently, as not to offend her in any possible way. She felt a slight tug in her chest at the very obvious effort he was putting toward her to be kind, realizing she had practically forgotten what small talk was. Or any talk at all.


"Not so much bombs as tactical prowess and observatory skills," she cast a glance at him as she spoke. "I was Turian Special Ops for about 10 years. That's what these markings represent," she explained while motioning toward the paint on her cheekbones and mandibles. "I'm trained more to observe and execute cleanly than anything else. I never liked being in the middle of all the action. Prop me up somewhere high with a view and a sniper rifle, and that's where I do my best work."


Verena couldn't swallow her words in time before they left her mouth. A twinge of guilt rose in her, but she pushed to the very recesses of her mind, and was then frustrated with herself for it. The statement was true, of course, so she had to reason to be ashamed.


I'm pathetic. What is this, brooding? Am I brooding? Spirits, that's what I should really be ashamed of. I've been reduced to an adolescent.

 

[Graverobber141]

Jaxon's attention snapped to Andi, and he grunted in response. "Yeah." He shoved his hands back into his pockets as they walked through the hospital's door. He never liked these places much; being in one usually meant he couldn't work. It was a bit ironic that he was here now to actually work.


He eyed his partner up at her suggestion. He tensed a bit at what he took as an order, but decided not to make an issue out of this command thing. At least not yet. He honestly would rather spend time with corpses than real people.


"I'll get right on it, ma'am," he stated. The last word had been said sarcastically, and he gave her a smirk before heading out. It didn't take him long to find the morgue, and when confronted by an angry tech, he asserted his Spectre status. Didn't get much complaints after that.


He'd been in these places before, though he never quite got used to the smell. It made his nose twitch and burn. And he doubted anyone ever got used to the sight of dead bodies; the chemicals flowing through his veins during battle let him push the atrocities aside to get through the heat, but without that? It was just plain gruesome. Definitely with these wounds: burns, missing limbs, puncture holes that ate whole sections of the corpses. He peeked under the coverings, and decided he would just search a terminal to find any oddities, instead of trying to plough throw the overflowing bags and sickening injuries.


Sitting down in a chair at the morgue's overseer's desk, he accessed the computer. After a few taps of the holographic keyboard, he was searching through the hospital's recent records.

 

[Surain]

Don nodded along to what Verena was saying, slowing down to match her pace. "You're a sniper?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. He could believe it; even injured as she was, she walked casually with more grace than he could manage if he tried—her steps fell with a precision that could only be trained. It seemed like every easy glance sideways, every look towards an advertisement or news broadcast was carefully measured, as if she was examining her surroundings more as a battleground than a commercial district.


But, that might just be Don's overactive imagination.


"I, err, try to avoid the middle of battle too, though, perhaps for different reasons than you." he commented lightly, his mirth leaking into his voice. Why not try to lighten the mood? There was no harm in it. "I'm terrible with guns, for one thing. It's a miracle I can even fire a pistol somewhat accurately—I can't imagine using a sniper rifle." he scoffed at himself. "At least, not without breaking my shoulder and missing the shot."


Of course, he was a scientist, not a soldier. If he was on the battlefield, either something was terribly wrong or about to go terribly wrong.


He cleared his throat, trying to change the subject. "So... you were with Turian Special Operations? What was that like? I, uh, mean, if you can tell me." he added hastily, realizing that talking about what it's like to work for the most elite military known to sentient races might be a bit illegal. He was going to ask, 'why is someone from Turian spec ops on a luxury cruiser that just so happened to explode', but that seemed a tad presumptuous. It does seem a bit convenient... Would the turians have known about some sort of attack and not shared that information?, he thought, looking ahead to where they were going. That would be way above my pay grade if it were true. Ancestors, I hope not.

 

[Voices]

Verena let out a dual-toned chuckle at his comments. It wasn't difficult to see that Don wasn't a battle-worn quarian simply by his demeanor and the way he carried himself. Particularly when they came into contact with the Spectre, he was riddled with nerves.


"Well, I don't know the first thing about science related anything, so I can respect that. Everyone has their forte," she said with a small nod. "Ever since I first joined the military I was trained with a sniper rifle. I was very much drawn to the discipline and the finesse that it required, unlike an assault rifle. Too messy, too loud. At least for my taste."


Her eyes traveled around quietly, briefly meeting those of a turian C-Sec officer. He looked her up and down quickly with a calculating expression, and she wondered if he knew who she was. No, she thought, he couldn't possibly. It was all years ago, and Tevius and I practically dropped off the map. She realized the turian officer was most likely just being an ass and shot him a glare, and he turned away hurriedly.


Verena glanced back at Don upon him asking her about Spec Ops. She felt her heart flutter with dread, but the topic was inescapable. She forced a light tone into her voice as she spoke. "I can tell you a bit about it. I was recruited by the Commander shortly after I began my military training, along with a few other promising young soldiers. We were sent on missions by the Turian Hierarchy, most of them hisk risk and top secret, and almost always on the move. It was a thrilling life," she let her sentence trail off on a note of nostalgia.

 

[RedCrow]

"Right, because disappearing in public is always subtle." Pickle said as he continued forward. He eyed one of the nurses, human, pretty, and very tired. He cleared his throat as he approached.


"Hey," he said as he sidled up to her. She gave him a confused look.


"Hey. Do I know you?" she asked.


"New guy. Harry, remember? RN. Joined up just before this shit-storm? Haven't even gotten my uniform yet." he gave a lop-sided smile. She stared at him as she tried to remember.


"I-right, right, Harry, sorry." she didn't believe him completely, but it seemed she believed him just enough.


"So how y'holdin' up?" he asked. And that's what she needed. She vented, and vented, and vented, telling him everything that she couldn't tell to her superiors, or family or friends. She opened up in the odd way that humans could with complete strangers, and Pickle just smiled and nodded.


"What about you?" she turned the tables on him.


"Well enough, I'll be doin' better once I finally find this 'Prevyat.'" he grumbled.


"Who?" she raised a brow.


"Turian, yellow markings on his face. Seen him?" Pickle turned to her. She gave him a sorry look.


"Yeah. He passed. TOD was about nine this morning." she said. The right side of Pickle's mouth gave a faint twinge.


"Really? His family's not gonna' be happy about that." Pickle maintained a smooth conversational tone.


"Well, once we get the release from C-Sec we'll have his remains sent to them." she said.


"Yeah... I just wish there was some way to get him out sooner. Or maybe let his family in. Just so they could get some peace of mind at least. Y'know?" he said. She heaved a sigh.


"Your heart's in the right place, but you know we can't have excess people down in the morgue right now." she said. She pulled up her omni-tool, probably checking the time.


"Right, right. Anyway, time to get back to it, eh?" he said as he pushed off the wall. She gave a weary nod and resumed her duties. Pickle moved forward, through a pair of double doors, down a set of stairs to one of the lower levels. There were signs pointing the way to the morgue, so finding it was not the issue. The issue was the man sitting behind the desk. Definitely not a doctor, ex-military by the looks of him... Outstanding. Pickle thought. He turned to the quarian.


"You can go do whatever it is you gotta' do. Or if you wanna' make yourself useful you could go distract him." Pickle said. He moved straight for the bodies, first looking at the corpses laid out on the tables, then opening the drawers and checking toe tags. He was completely undisturbed by the cold or the cadavers, checking the drawers the way others might check a filing cabinet.

 

[Halluxenogen]

"It's possible," Yenne frowned as she recognized her own ignorance.


When he waltzed off, she watched the entire performance unfold. The medic had slipped in a pile of gullibility and the quarian furrowed her brows, marveling at the magnificent security and confidentiality of the Citadel. If this was their idea of "a safe hub for interspecies civility," just maybe, Yenne mused, that's why what happened with The Majesty was allowed to take place. This "Prevyat" was dead. She didn't know how that would contribute to the investigation, but whatever got their bearings straight. Impressed with his skills in deceit, she stood there arms crossed and had no trouble believing that he had years of experience.


As she followed, she skimmed over the corpses littering the morgue. Her first days out the flotilla had not been kind to her, and it didn't look like it would brighten up any time soon. With each passing second her queasiness grew; it wasn't the smell that bothered the but the bodies themselves. Empty vessels had no reason to be laying all over the place, devoid of any consciousness. It only added to her migraine. She hadn't expected to spend so long outside her HabCapsule and didn't take any of her meds with her.


"Distract…" The man had already left her to her own. With what he just pulled off, there was a way better chance he would be more successful. She decided she'd do whatever. This was the same guy outside the hospital, interrogating the turian and quarian. The one with the 'tough' attitude. Looked mighty important and out of place. Spectre, maybe. She could see his scarred face and tatted out knuckles typing away at the computer from where she was. On a closer inspection, Iron Fire.


Her 'partner' would have to find whatever would bring them closer to an answer and fast. Yenne grumbled and straightened the hunch in her back to feign confidence; she ambled towards the desk.


"Ah, excuse me. Do you work here?" Obviously, he didn't, his choice of attire not matching the frantic workers in crisp uniforms.


"So terrible, what happened to that ship. A human author once said…um…'justice delayed is justice denied.'" She'd read that somewhere off some shitty pamphlet. Half-witted shit made for half-witted conversations, "I'd think you'd have strong opinions on this?"


Not like she'd expect him to give her a straight-up answer. Just whatever bought the man time.

 

[Surain]

Don snorted a reply. "Do you think they'd recruit me? Seems I'd fit right in." he joked, sensing that his question had been a poor one. Was it the tone of her voice? Her posture? The way her mandibles moved? He didn't know, but something about her reply put him off. "But, no, that's impressive as anything. Highly dangerous top secret missions? It almost sounds like your the main star in an action vid." he added genially, gesturing for emphasis.


As they approached the transit station, he slowed his pace. The 'station' was only composed of ten open-air landing pads, a tiny control building, and small parking area; it was nowhere near large enough to handle the massive influx of passengers that this disaster was causing. Lines of of varying lengths extended away from the different landing pads, and the entire place seemed to shake with a frantic energy as automated cars took off and landed and faculty—most likely working overtime—were trying to organise departures and move the customers along. Arriving passengers seemed to bolt out of their cars and move as quickly as possibly though the mess, only adding to the barely contained chaos.


Luckily for the pair of them, and as per Citadel law, one landing pad was being left unused—reserved for C-sec purposes. Don glanced at Verena. "Stay close." he warned as they approached the buzzing hub of activity. It was easy to get separated here, and that was the last thing they wanted.


Don led Verena to the reserved landing pad, dodging two turians, a human, and an elcor in the process. His omni-tool lit up as he approached the activation console. "Please present C-sec identification." yes, I'm on it, you bosh'tet. "Scanning... Processing, please hold." the enthusiastic voice of the VI told him. Don hated VIs with a burning passion. Damn things couldn't be trusted.


It was a few seconds and a unnaturally perky, "Identification accepted!" Before they were allowed to board. "Verena?" He asked, turning to her before gesturing for her to get in. It was courteous... and to make sure the skycar didn't close the door before she got in.

 

[Graverobber141]

So far, Jaxon hadn't found anything out of the ordinary, just the expected injuries one could expect to find from an accident like this. The longer he sat in the chair, staring mindlessly at the screen like a kid with too much time did, the more irritable he got. He started tapping his foot frantically, and thought the clicks of the keyboard were going to driven him insane, definitely when he wasn't getting anywhere. He wasn't good at this part of the job, that much was clear. He hated the build-up, catching that first lead that actually went somewhere.


His eyes shot up when he heard footsteps approach, and a voice. A quarian stood before him. It took him a second to realize it, but he believed it was the same one he had seen outside before...with a man? It was hard to remember, with all the others that had been around him at the time clouding his mind. She wasn't wearing a uniform, he noted, but neither was he. Leaning back in the office chair, he narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms. "No, but you don't either."


She had said some random quote about justice. Was she trying to make small talk? He didn't know, but it seemed out of the blue. And she was currently trespassing if she didn't work here, and he assumed she didn't. "And, no, not really. I do, however, have strong opinions about people breaking into morgues. That's a lie as well, but that's not the point." He slid the chair out from under the desk, and stood to his feet, shoving his hands into his pockets as he straightened his back. He spoke in a casual tone, but his eyes were regarding her with suspicion. "Since there's nothing to steal here, what information are you looking for? Or are you simply lost?"