When things get quiet, the contracts ease up, mercs wise enough acknowledge that, like chef's knives, they need to be constantly sharpened. There was always room for improvement.
The Arena was a reductive name for what amounted to the Terminus' unofficial freelance mercenary guild. Rumours say that behind those peeling metal doors lay a gathering of the galaxy's most talented mercenaries. The worst kept secret in the entire galaxy too, considering rabble from any creed no matter how small or irrelevant walked in as if they could call it their second home.
It didn't make much difference to Tatarum. Anyone had the potential to become the Terminus' new top merc, given sufficient luck. Depends on their work ethic, and a lack of temptation to compensate for competence with ego. It didn't always use to be a glorified networking facility – hotshots teaming up with other hotshots under the false assumption their union would be sufficient fruit for the whole team. If mercenary life was one thing, it was that you took what you could get since you weren't even a name in the ledger books of potential clients. Used to be where fellow mercenaries could learn from one another, share in the camaraderie of a fickle life where one well-placed bullet could spell the end for them, and vouch for one another for enlistment in future jobs.
The freelance system was fundamentally hostile to new blood, so many opted for one of the major mercenary syndicates. His fellow companion was no such exception.
But say what you will about the current state of the Arena… Niara T'zeze knew how to run a tight ship. Sure, she had to report to Aria first and foremost, but she'd done such a commendable job of keeping people from shooting each other that Aria didn't mind her antics.
For instance, there was a limit to how many mercenaries could be bottlenecked in the Arena, so she decided to let nature run its course. A rather fancy way of saying that no one would stand up for you if you were being bullied by the bigger-name mercenaries in the vicinity. Then she let them sort it out, usually ending in one's boot up another's ass out the door.
Tatarum scowled. His favourite corner table was occupied by an armoured Asari and a very affluent gentleman posing with both elbows on the table, as if he were the villain of a trashy holo-flick. He didn't mind, though; his latest obsession was currently walking beside him, whose eyes darted everywhere like he was a pyjak in varren territory. It wasn't just that the boy had a keen eye for business at such a young age – he had this aura that radiated honesty. Like he couldn't lie to anyone if he tried. Probably a bad thing for mercenary life, but a millennium of constant deceit made even his stomach churn.
If anyone were to snuff out that light, the Krogan as he remembered them were well and truly dead.
"Do you have family?"
His eyes slowly turned to Kakmar. "Odd question to ask in a crowded place."
"S-sorry! I just had to ask. You must have had some relatives from your clutch, at least?"
"All dead. Killed by Rachni."
"Oh, fuck. I… I am sorry."
"Stop with the apologising, young one. It's driving me madder than a varren in rut! It was a long, long time ago," he admitted. "Besides, not all of my 'significant' others are dead, if I can call them that."
"You took a mate?"
"Asari. I had an obsession with spreading my legacy when I was younger, whatever that meant. I was brash, and we bred. Didn't think to not see past the crazy though."
"And… and your children?"
He huffed. "They are very much alive… and we are very much estranged."
"That sucks."
"When it comes to someone as pious as their mother, they tend to hold choice views about my line of work."
"Wait, that doesn't make any sense – you mated anyway."
"It's better not knowing the full story."
A stretch of silence permeated between them as they ventured deeper into the Arena's belly, past the sleazy bars and past the whispers and condemnations of faceless people in a galaxy too vast to care for. What vaguely sounded like techno music set the scene and painted a grim picture indeed. What was once dark now glaringly blared in his face – streaks of neon white overshone the people below the mezzanine they now stood on. Beside them, onlookers screaming the names of their champions. Of course this place played host to what amounted to cockfights.
"Tatarum, respectfully, I am going to get my ass beat. I can't do CQC."
"The back wall. Spot them?"
He squinted and scanned. It wasn't long before Kakmar spotted individuals coloured in the iconic red sheen that belonged to the galaxy's most neurotic mercenary syndicate.
"Holy shit."
"Ganar Yulaz," Tatarum affirmed. "You might ask to yourself what in the hells a former leader of the Blood Pack is doing here in freelance territory? I frankly have no clue either. Been asking that myself for the better part of a century."
"So that explains why I never saw her around." Kakmar stopped in his tracks. "You… never did explain to me why we are here beyond some vague 'conditioning'."
It was telling how Tatarum immediately grinned at the cogs turning in the boy's head. Kakmar's eyes widened like saucers, mouth slightly agape.
"Holy shit, man. I am actually going to die. Not hypothetically or rhetorically. I am dead. Back snapped in four places."
The old man emitted something between a grunt and a laugh. "She won't be that rough on you. You are still a runt."
"I am 28, Tatarum. And how the hell do you even know these people?"
"Boy, you are 2% of my age. I reserve the right to call you whatever I want," he retorted. "It is also not too unreasonable that I worked with other people from other merc groups."
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"First-name basis? Oh, I am FUCKED."
"She'll go easy on you. Now come."
As he watched his mentor come down the stairs with an almost off-kilter spring in his steps, he ruminated over the steps he took to land himself in this position.
----------------------------------------
"PUT SOME MUSCLE TO IT! FIGHT BACK!"
Kakmar didn't exactly know how to convey the extent to which everything hurt, choosing instead opting for the universal language of small pain-induced grunts.
"I-I am."
He pressed forward with almost desperate determination, only to be swiftly knocked to the ground by a deft dash to the left and a strategically placed foot that sent him tumbling.
He was on his ass, numbly processing what just happened amidst the bass that echoed around the Arena, when she decided to give him a piece of her mind.
"Where did you learn to fight, youngling?"
He rubbed his sore area, which felt like… everywhere. "Didn't. Only know how to… shoot."
"You've been a mercenary for however many years, and you still haven't been in any CQC scenarios? Highly doubt it."
"Left that to the rest of my squad… they didn't mind cos… I shot straight."
"You say that, and yet you wish to shadow Tatarum, alone? You wouldn't survive a day against someone with half a brain cell to rush a sniper."
"Got cloaking tech… and… my biotics?"
"You want to become a freelancer? You need to be good at everything. Everything. You sound to me like an Infiltrator with a little bit of Sentinel on the side, but the best of the best freelancers are those mixes of everything. I won't like a pyjak like you shadow him, not on my conscience," she quickly rebutted, then sighed. "You are the first youngling in a long while that I see potential in. Your biotic-infused punches nearly knocked me on my ass. Problem is, plenty have done so before. Only way of fixing this is coming out of 'retirement'."
"You saying I need to start from the ground up…?"
"Believe it or not, Blood Pack still has me in their systems. Getting you work shouldn't be a problem. Shaking off the rust is. And until you can consistently go toe to toe with me in the Arena this is what you will be doing. No ifs or buts." She reached out an arm for him to grab. "Am I understood?"
"Un…" he grunted, gladly taking it. "Understood."
"Now…" She stepped back a few paces, a raised hand daring him to approach once more. "AGAIN!"
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2230 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time
KAKMAR: Sala what are 2000 credits doing in my bank account?
SALA: Isn't it obvious? Your cut.
KAKMAR: I didn't even do anything.
SALA: wellllll…. If you count leaving me all your recipes "not doing anything", then ive become a celebrity overnight.
KAKMAR: bruh
SALA: Learn to accept gifts for once in your life you overgrown lizard!
KAKMAR: I could decline the transaction
SALA: Consider this! I know where you live!
2301 hrs | Galaxy Standard Time
KAKMAR: fair enough
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📖 LOG 1 📖
2205 hrs
I haven't bothered with journals in a while. Thought it was a tad narcissistic for my tastes, but now… journals are a good way of turning all the thoughts jumbled in my brain into something legible in case I forget. All too often the case nowadays.
The year is 2121. Good amount of time before the world as we know it ends. I may be living on the shit side of the galaxy, but the world elsewhere is surely boundless and endless. I still want to someday visit those mountains in Palaven that Liara talked about in ME3. Not to mention the body count at the tail end of the Reaper war was less than ideal. Ignoring the 'I have a friend from X species, so I know what I am talking about' rhetoric, Sala is proof alone that the indiscriminate wiping of an entire species is not something we should allow. Dealing with the slavers can come later.
Regardless, I need to assemble a political body (lofty at this stage, I know) that is sympathetic to one: the Reaper threat, and two: the actual unionisation of species currently marginalised so we can stand together when the time comes. Save Shepard the work. Problem is, I am basically starting from ground zero. I doubt Tatarum has much political sway in the grand scheme of things. He may be able to pull a few politicians' balls given his history. But the client base is too small for any real change to happen on a grand scale. No, this is something I have to start on my own. It's going to take a reinstatement of a certain apex species – biologically, I mean – into the political world.
Problem two: I am also not cut out to become a politician. Don't have the balls to be able to do what's necessary, make the rational calls, not keel over to pressure – especially in high-stakes situations.
So that leaves me with the truly awful task of figuring out how to course-correct my own species behind-the-scenes. People can't tell me the current survivalist mentality of the Krogan people is nothing short of self-inflicted masochism. There is a root cause of all the listlessness and melancholy among us… our political clan system. Fuck traditionalism. We can't get anything meaningful outside of Tuchanka done, especially one as non-united as this. The Genophage fucked us, but our pride fucked us even more. ME3 basically instilled a central government in the form of Urdnot clan so we can finally mobilise ourselves to become useful assets in the galaxy. That leads to my sole point: Urdnot Wrex. Now he is a leader. He has the experience and the political drive to get shit done. If I can somehow get him to notice me, he won't think I am some upstart runt who wants to change something that by rights should be impossible.
As much as I truly feel awful about taking a cut of Sala's pay, a steady stream of income will definitely help get things started. It's going to take a lot more credits than this to get one of my end-goal objectives… creating the galaxy's new Linux. What do I mean by this? A Reaper can infiltrate our current omni-tool systems since it was based on Reaper software from eons ago – barely an inconvenience! A new OS running on omni-tools/other tech that they cannot hack? A major roadblock. It will be hard, but I think I have the right people for the job. Our friends are on a planet called Rannoch. If our systems can be a viable, more secure alternative to current mainstream offerings, we will make bank, and more importantly, get more people to adopt our OS. Don't know how I am going to get the Geth to not shoot some rando on sight, so baby steps first: get capital.
So far, my objectives are as follows:
1. Get to know Wrex, for real, maybe thru Tatarum if necessary, though I want it to be an organic relationship, first and foremost. (Family heirloom time?)
2. Base future businesses and business dealings as identifiably Krogan. Currently, individual Krogans are getting their foot in the door with foreign, off-shore businesses. I want to establish Krogan goods made by ourselves, give us a point of pride beyond being seen as mere bodies in violence-adjacent scenarios. (COULD BE KINETIC BULLETS (NO COOLDOWNS AS THE MAIN SELLING POINT?), NEW OMNI-TOOL OS, NEW BIOTIC AMPS?))
3. MONEY! GET JOBS! GAME/INSIDE TRADE THE STOCK MARKET! HACKING CREDITS FROM RANDOM TERMINALS LIKE IN THE GAMES AS IF IT WAS AN EVERYDAY OCCURRENCE!
My head is a mess right now. I should be sleeping.
2345 hrs
Got a hit on a slaver who kidnapped the wrong kid tomorrow. Heavy stuff.
0021 hrs
Fuck… me…
0057 hrs
I can't sleep, and I need to get up in 5 hours. Not great.
I miss Christmas. Didn't care about the gifts, and the company's nice. Sorta. But what I missed was having an excuse to spending more time with you guys.
I miss you, mom and dad. I miss you lots. I hadn't forgotten the promise I made you. Didn't even get to say goodbye. You all are probably worried sick. I just want you to move on, forget about me.
I made new friends just by virtue of my work, and lost most of them in the span of a year. I killed people, bad people, I hope. But I killed them still. Taking a life fucks you up. It could have been me at the end of the barrel.
But I also made true friends, friends for life – Sala, Lucitus, Yosi. Tatarum's off on a 2-month-long contract so I am alone with my thoughts all the time. I guess I am scared of telling them about this, even when I know they probably care. I am scared they will think I am fucking nuts. Some days, this doesn't feel real at all, like some part of my subconscious mind making up all this shit in my head. But dreams didn't have food that you could taste, friends to pour your heart out to, and get back genuine advice.
There isn't a day I don't think of you.
I am trying to make Tatarum and the others proud, but I hope I have made you proud too.
I love you.