#Adrasteia – May 1, 2019

December 7th. One isn't starved for choice when deciding where to stay in Adrasteia. The choices, however, aren't exactly diverse. Dive bars renting out rooms, mostly. The sort of places that charge nightly and hourly. There is always the option of renting an apartment or, perhaps, simply getting a room at the Torthus-Cross building. But both come with their own set of drawbacks. Not only would it be expensive to rent an apartment, but it

leaves a trail. Given the fact that Cross likely has a hand in most of the housing in Adrasteia, it's probably not the best option for someone trying to stay off of his radar. Sure, it's unlikely to matter if nothing goes wrong, but when does anything ever go right? The Torthus-Cross building is a tower of security. Cameras. Armed guards. Not the best option for someone trying to stay out of sight. But the core of the city isn't the only sign

of life in Adrasteia. It's the heart, sure, but Adrasteia has plenty of veins- tendrils of people- that reach way out beyond the boundaries of the revitalized districts. City-ran messages play on holographic displays throughout Adrasteia, informing of the dangers of the outskirts. Warning of potential Children of Aite collaborators hiding out, reminding the citizens of just how much damage they continue to do, and requesting locals to report

anything that they may know. But there's plenty of unclaimed real estate out there, outside of the prying eyes of Cross and his Enforcers. Tucked away from the life that seems to teem through the heart of Adrasteia all day and night.

Dawn has been on the hunt for a better option all day. The crowds in the city center might make it easy to blend in, and while advanced surveillance VIs are rare out in the Terminus, and ones with access to Council Space databases rarer still, there's no telling what someone like Cross has the pull to acquire. His bodyguards are proof of that. Not just that, but her funds are running low with no source of income, and the constant

disruptions in the cheap rooms she's been swapping between has been eroding her self-control. A shattered sink in the last place was the final straw. She's out on the street now, clothes same as ever. Increasingly dirty hoodie and pants - she should find somewhere to wash it, but that requires something else to wear in the meanwhile, fingerless gloves with the telltale fraying threads that indicate she probably cut them up herself, and

a leather jacket. The hood shields her head from the cold, and provides some small measure of privacy, although that's become increasingly irrelevant as she's gotten further out, and she no longer keeps the gazy low as she wanders, studying her surroundings now instead, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket. All her things are with her, packed up in a sleek backpack, and the more unwieldy duffelbag slung over her shoulder.


The outskirts of the city represent Old Adrasteia. A shadow of its past. Run down. Crumbling and in disrepair. Abandoned. Full of history. Full of scars. A place that many are trying to forget. Cross' intentions seem to be, in time, to tear it all down. Start at the ground level and build something new. But it's time consuming and expensive, and one can only imagine the credits Cross has already dumped into this city. The outskirts are

sparsely populated these days, but populated nonetheless. The reasons those who remain behind find themselves living in such squalor are varied. For some, it's a refusal to leave behind their homes. For others, it's more about a refusal to support Cross' reign. A stubborn denial of his 'generosity'. Others lost everything long before Cross' arrival, and merely continue on with their lives as if nothing has changed. For some of the remaining

gangs that Cross and his Enforcers didn't dismantle it's about their territories, with talk of 'defending' them if-and-when that day comes that Cross decides to extend his reach out too far. Big talk from small people who have decided to wager their lives to defend their kingdoms of trash. As the sun begins to go down, the searchlights of the gunships that patrol the area are much harsher. But, while Cross seems to have few supporters who

remain here on the outskirts, the patrols of gunships and armored cars seem to mostly just be a deterrant. A way of enforcing the peace. The raids that occasionally occur on the outskirts are rarely conducted without good reason. Outside of the security provided by the Enforcers, little is done to make life comfortable for those who call the outskirts home. Garbage is left to pile up. Foundations crack. Outside of a few choice places-

businesses mostly that have deals with Cross such as the nightclub Illumination- the power is out this far from the heart of the city.

Abandoned prefabs, boarded up and forgotten about, make up the majority of the block Dawn strolls down, lining both sides of the street. The snow is largely unattended out here, but the large treads from an Enforcer truck that recently passed through make for a nice footpath. The lack of any other footprints in the snow imply nobody has been by recently. The sound of a distant gunship picks up as it nears, light sweeping down the block as it

continues overhead. Loud chattering from the next block over, so desolate that it can be picked out over the wind. What's being said can't be made out, too muffled by distance and getting further away by the second. A loud clang of what sounds like metal-on-metal, distant. Larger structures are in the distance. Warehouses. Old factories. Something of the sort. Much like before, one such warehouse shows signs of life. Warm light bleeds out from

the broken second floor windows.

Dawn 's attention follows the gunship briefly as it passes - she can't quite help feeling uneasy as it passes even though there's no reason it would take interest in her. She's no one out here. Soon her attention is drawn instead to the industrial buildings. Large. Spacious. Some room to move around is a tempting prospect after being cooped up in cramped rooms since she arrived on Aite. Training has been near enough impossible, and she

can't afford to get rusty. Or restless. Of course, there's no power or heat. Aside from the warehouse that appears already occupied. A problem all of its own. She can hardly afford nosy neighbors. She lets her path take her closer to the abandoned industrial zone, gaze scanning the area, and the shattered, lit-up windows in particular.

The gunship continues on its course without acknowledging Dawn's existence, harsh glow of the searchlight only briefly dancing across her as their paths cross. There's a light smattering of snowfall, but it's nothing too troublesome. That could, of course, change at any moment. And, at the very least, means Dawn probably won't want to spend all night on the street. The industrial buildings are a few blocks away, peeking out over the top of a

row of two-story apartments up ahead where the road she's on ends at a T-intersection, continuing off to the left and right. The lack of heat would certainly make it a cold night, but that's probably the case anywhere out here. But, judging by the light of fire that filters through the broken windows- that occasionally cast shadows from those within walking about- others seem to have found ways to survive the cold. And at the very least she'd

be protected from the wind. As she nears the intersection, there's signs of life from both directions. Foot traffic that cuts paths through the snow. They disappear between the two-story apartment buildings. To reach the industrial area she'll need to either follow in their path or walk all the way around the block.

Dawn opts to follow in the path of the footsteps after a glance around the intersection. She's likely to run in to whoever is in the area at some point anyhow, and the cold has her less than keen on taking the long way around. The truth is she wasn't really prepared for how cold the weather would be on Aite. A miss in her planning. Terminus planets have spotty information, and when seasons bring as drastic changes as this, it's hard to

prepare accordingly.

The pathway takes Dawn between the two apartments. The buildup of snow here is much less, thanks to the two buildings flanking the passage. It's hard to tell how many people have passed through. Enough that the footprints are little more than a mess of slush, though. The apartment complexes are back-to-back with others that face the opposite side of the block. Densely packed, leaving little more than the width of an alley between each

structure. Probably later additions to Adrasteia that were put wherever they could find the space. Plenty of similar situations all over the city. Areas that were built up when the Council first breathed life into the project have plenty of planning put into them. Much of that has been buried beneath Cross' revitalization effort. Other additions, however, are often another story. Without restrictions or codes to keep up with, the layout and

architecture varies greatly from one location to the next. Some voices can be heard up ahead- off to Dawn's right- in the alley-like space between the rear of the complexes. Straight ahead the narrow space continues alongside the second apartment complex that faces the industrial buildings.

Dawn slows as she approaches the place where the alleys intersect, steps remarkably quiet, although between the slush and the fact that she's carrying the duffelbag there's only so much she can do. She stops while still concealed around the corner, taking a brief moment to listen in.

The voices are distinctly tinted with the telltale flanged tone of turians. Male by the sound of it. "...on you tonight." one finishes. The other seems incredulous. "On me? I picked up the tab last week!" A third chimes in exasperatedly. "If it shuts you two idiots up I'll pay." he grumbles. It sounds like they're merely arguing over who will be paying for the bar tab. Their voices are growing closer, footfalls accompanying in the slushy snow.

Dawn only listens for a moment, long enough to determine the nature of the conversation and the number of people speaking. As she hears the footsteps coming closer she realizes it'll look odd if she's just standing there, so she opts to step out ahead of them, gaze on the alley across, but only casting a brief glance their way as if she just heard them while happening to cross on her way towards the warehouses.

As Dawn enters the intersection she's granted the ability to put faces to voices. The three turians are all dressed in thick winter gear. Two are a dark grey in color, both sharing what seems to be the same facial markings- white that seems to cover most of the accents of the plating on their face aside from the browline. The third is a pale grey in color with thick, dark red face markings that start at his browline, connecting in the center

of his forehead before retreating back along the center fringe on his head. The third is a few paces behind, using taloned hands to pull the old sliding door shut on the rear of the apartment complex. One of the turians begins to chuckle before Dawn appears before them, her footfalls loud in the wet slush, causing all three to pause and look her way. They pass a few glances amongst one another, their postures briefly becoming guarded until

it's clear she's continuing on her way. The pale grey turian is the one who speaks up. "Are you lost, human?" he asks, his tone not exactly friendly. It's not threatening, but certainly not friendly.

Dawn stops as she's addressed, glancing back towards the turians again. "Just passing through." she offer, shrugging the strap of her bag up a little and studying the man that spoke to her with an almost unsettlingly focused gaze. Between the hoodie and her scarf most of her face is hidden aside from a few strands of black hair on brown skin and her eyes, their unnatural tint obscured by the gloomy light.

The two turians closest to Dawn- merely a few feet away- just study her. One even passes a glance back to the one at the door who continues to watch Dawn. A moment of silences lingers and he pointedly finishes tugging his door closed, making sure to cause a bit of noise as he does. The unpowered door clashes with the door frame with a heavy thud. "Well, keep passing." he warns, eyes fixed to the stranger. Friendly lot out here.

Dawn lets out a quiet snort under the scarf and turns to keep walking down the alley towards the warehouses. She doesn't particularly have any interest in lingering or riling up the locals.

The turians make no attempt to impede Dawn from leaving. They're probably more concerned that she might come back and try and steal their shit. Up ahead- across the street- the warehouses are in sight. Two rows of them- three in a row closest to Dawn and four behind them- just as densely packed together as the apartments. They're a faded brown color that was once probably dark red, worn down and stripped of all color in places. Large, rolling

doors occupy the side facing Dawn's direction. It's likely that the back row have rolling doors facing the opposite side. Graffiti and tags dot the structure, like many of the buildings Dawn has passed. There's a fence surrounding the cluster of buildings. At least at one point there was. Now, segments of the fence are missing, toppled over and buried under snow. A large empty lot sits at the far right corner. Perhaps a parking lot at one

point. Or maybe there was an eighth warehouse. Or plans for an eighth warehouse. Enough room is afforded between what remains of the fence and the structures to allow vehicles to easily access the rolling doors, but it would be a tight fit to navigate the narrow gaps between the buildings. Probably wasn't the most efficient of warehouses. They're all uniform, sharing the same design. But it's only the left-most one that bleeds light from the

large panel of windows on the second-floor positioned above the rolling door, so it's hard to tell how much activity is inside. But there's certainly activity outside. Plenty of it, actually. On first glance, it almost looks like a homeless colony. A human man and woman stand beside a small fire, warming their hands as they pass a bottle of... something between one another near the mouth of the narrow alley between the warehouses. They're

bundled up tightly in thick, worn down, winter clothing. Others can be seen beyond them, the flicker of similarly warm fires dotting the alley. The occasional laughter picks up, carried by the wind.

Dawn stops across the street from the warehouses, studying the people that have taken shelter between the warehouses. Not exactly empty, then. Shit. She hesitates for a moment, her gaze scanning across the rest of the warehouses. It's starting to get late, and she doesn't fancy spending the night on the street, so it might have to do for the moment. How much of the area is occupied? Have any of the locks held up? Only the furthest warehouse

shows obvious signs, but the nearest alley is certainly busy enough. She sucks in a breath of cold winter air through her scarf and starts to approach, hopping a collapsed section of fence and heading in a leisurely pace toward the pair at the opening of the alley, not wanting to startle anyone.

The pair watch Dawn as she approaches. They look to be in their late 40s. Weathered. They're both bundled up quite snugly, tuques with the hoods of their winter jackets up, drawstrings tightly pulled. But they don't seem to startle. As a matter of fact, they actually seem a bit... drunk. The man is light skinned with a dark beard that has shades of grey here and there. It's a bit scraggly but mostly clean for a homeless man. He has a big smile

on his face, cheeks and nose reddened from the weather. "Well, shit, Tash, looks like we got a visitor. Haven't seen you around here before." he greets Dawn, his English only lightly tinted by that telltale batarian accent so many in the region speak with. It's not uncommon for people to pick it up after living here for a while. There's open doors visible along the sides of the warehouse that face the alley beyond them. One on each. There's a

few other fires in the alley, started in whatever makeshift containers they could find, as hobos tend to do. People are crowded around them, whispering amongst themselves. The occasional laugh rises above the conversation. Around a dozen people in total. Maybe more. Humans. Some turians. There's even a drell visible amongst one of the groups. It doesn't seem like any of them live outside. There's a distinct lack of lean-tos and makeshift

shelters. Just warm fires and places to sit. "You look cold." the woman adds through a smirk. She's dark skinned. Tall and thin. She takes a long pull from the bottle of dark brown liquid before passing it back to the shorter man. The other groups in the alley seem to pay no mind to the new arrival. Most, anyway. A man in a thick, red winter hoodie leaning against the wall beside the neareast open door glances her way. He's tall. Large build.

Square jawed with a matching red beanie atop his head. Mid-30s maybe. The kind of guy that you only need to look at to tell he's dangerous. He watches for a moment before shifting his attention back to the younger man at his side. A decidedly less-dangerous looking man. Maybe early-20s, tops. Scrawny with a goofy smile spread across his features.

Dawn tugs her scarf down to her neck as she approaches, offering a nod of acknowledgement in response to the pair's comments. She slows her pace further as she draws near, giving ample time to tell her off before raising her hands to the fire. "Don't imagine you have. Name's Dawn." she says as her gaze scans down the alley. She briefly locks eyes with the red-clothed man before turning her attention back to the two around the fire.

The man gives her a small nod and lets out a small sniffle, a cold seemingly settling in. "Well, welcome to our little slice of paradise, Dawn." he says with a snicker as he takes a swig from the bottle. The old crate he's seated on looks like it might collapse at any moment, but he doesn't seem to be too worried. He rests the bottle against his knee as he studies the fresh face. "Grant." he introduces. The woman follows up, remaining standing

at the man's side. "Tash." she confirms, aware that Dawn had probably figured as much out by now.

Tash shifts a bit, looking Dawn over. Her gaze travels to the bag. "We don't get a whole lot of fresh faces out this way." she says, passing a small smile towards the seated man. "Not ones that aren't looking for trouble, anyway." She rests her attention back on Dawn. It's not an accusation. Just a bit of blunt honesty. An admission of concern, perhaps. A strange woman she's never met just approached them out of the blue, after all. "Not

looking for any trouble, are you Dawn?" she asks plainly.

The square jawed man near the door sends off the younger man, who disappears through the door. Folding his arms across his chest, he returns to watching Dawn, and he's none too subtle about it.

Dawn remains aware of what's going on in the alley, but keeps her focus on Tash. "No trouble." she assures with a shake of her head, rubbing her hands as she continues to let them warm over the fire. It's undoubtedly noticable that her accent isn't local, and her clothes, while far from pristine, don't have any of the ill fit and heavy wear of someone that's been living on the street for any real length of time, and she's well aware of it.

As is she aware of the glow of the fire bringing out the purple color in her intense eyes as it lights up her face. "Just looking for shelter." she adds with a glance down the alley, and then off down the row of warehouses.

Grant gives a snicker, reaching out with the bottle to offer it towards Dawn. "Good enough for me!" he exclaims drunkenly. He balances precariously on the edge of the crate, having to stretch to reach Dawn with the bottle to avoid having to get up. "Could always use some new blood around here. Conversation was starting to get a little stale." He punctuates his light hearted ribbing by passing a quick, friendly wink Tash's way.

Tash gives a small, amused roll of her eyes at Grant. Oddly enough, their clothes are surprisingly clean. Worn. Not in the greatest of conditions. A bit ill-fitting. But relatively clean. Dawn's words cause her to offer a small smile. The clothing. The accent. The eyes. None of it goes unnoticed. But when you live the way they do, you learn not to pry. Everyone's story comes out eventually anyway. "Always a shame seeing someone so young out

here." she says with a breath as she continues to study the younger woman. "Well, plenty of room around here." she confirms. "You just go have a talk with-..." her words are cut off as she casts a glance back over her shoulder and down the alley, drawing in a sharp breath as her eyes meet with the large man looking their way. She gives an exaggerated widening of her eyes as she looks back to Dawn. "Well, looks like he's already taken

notice of you. " she whispers, confirming that the person she was about to imply Dawn needs to talk to is the one sending hard looks her way. Because of course it is. "Should probably go introduce yourself." But a pleasant smile remains on her face. Whoever or whatever he is, she doesn't seem to be threatened by him. "He's a teddy bear." she adds, as if to alleviate any concerns.

Grant gives a drunken mutter of, "...More like a grizzly bear." before taking another long pull from his bottle, his words met with a disapproving glare from Tash.

((retcon*)) Grant gives a drunken mutter of, "...More like a grizzly bear." His words are met with a disapproving glare from Tosh.

Dawn waves her left hand slightly to decline the offered bottle, glancing Grant's way briefly before looking back to Tash. Her gaze travels briefly past her back to the man in the hoodie, drawing in a long breath through her nose as her eyes return to the tall woman. "Thank you." she says with a nod, flashing a faint, short-lived smile and moving her right hand to adjust the duffelbag again. "I'll do that..." she adds as her attention

shifts again, and she starts to head around the fire and down the alley, towards the large man, seemingly unintimidated.

Grant gives a small shrug of his shoulders as Dawn waves off the drink, settling back onto the crate and taking a long pull from the bottle. More for him. "Good luck!" he offers as Dawn starts down the alley.

A group of four people, two humans, a turian, and the drell are seated around a fire just a few steps past the large man on the opposite side of the alley. Grant's call to Dawn is enough for the large man to push away from the wall, readying himself for the new arrival's approach. He takes a step towards her to meet her, acknowledging her with a furrow of his brow and a lift of his chin. "The fuck do you want?" the large man asks bluntly. His

harsh accent is decidedly not local. English. American. The exclamation garners glances from the group across the alley, but they quickly avert their gazes when the large man looks their way. He's a big man. Not enormous. But certainly big enough to be threatening to most people if he were to address them the way he has Dawn. But it's more the way he carries himself that makes him so threatening. Shoulders back. Chest puffed out. There's

plenty of people his size that wouldn't strike nearly as imposing of a figure. Contrary to Tash and Grant, he doesn't look like the friendliest of folks. Wide, squared chin. Thick nose. Harsh features that are strangely offset by a pair of soft blue eyes.

Tash winces as she hears the man, but it's not unexpected.

Dawn comes to a stop as the man addresses her, but remains undaunted. A slim young woman of average height, she's pretty far from physically imposing, but her eyes are sharp. Dangerous, in a way that doesn't really seem like it fits. She waits a brief moment to see if any other words will follow the rudely asked question, her breath turning to mist as she exhales and studies the man. The accent causes her eyebrows to furrow just slightly.

"Just looking for somewhere to hole up for a while. Heard the weather's going to get worse." she replies as she studies his face.

The large man studies Dawn for a number of moments, seeming as if he's assessing her. The clothes. The bag. It doesn't take much before he draws in a breath and responds. "That so?" he asks, "Plenty of places to 'hole up'." he continues, eyes darting over Dawn's shoulder, behind her. "Back the way you came." he says. "This look like some kind of hotel to you?" He takes a step back, muttering exasperatedly under his breath: "The fuck is wrong

with people?" There's a shape pressing against his hoodie. An item in the pocket. Blocky. The bulge of a folded up pistol. It's the sort of thing that would go unnoticed by most.

Dawn flashes a hollow smile, shifting her weight a little. Her gaze darts down briefly toward the suspicious shape in his pocket before returning to his face. An almost imperceptible tension in her body, ready to act should she need to. "I'm a good neighbor." she assures dryly. "All these warehouses occupied?"

The large man's scowl only seems to deepen. "Yes." he says flatly. "You hard a' hearin'? Take a hike." he says, hard gaze still leveled on her. He draws a breath in through his nose, a slight turn of his head before he steps closer. "Look, we got enough problems around here without takin' in more stray assholes. So whatever kind a' baggage you got that you're runnin' away from? We don't need it. So get the fuck outta here." he says. Despite

the obvious aggression, it's not hard to see that he's not looking for a fight. He's just tired.

Dawn sucks in her lips just slightly, something that the large man says triggering a shift in her expression. She draws in a breath and bows her head in what might be an apologetic gesture, taking a step back. "I'll stay out of your way." she assures with a sigh before turning to leave, seemingly entirely disinterested in pushing the issue.

The large man continues to watch Dawn as she turns to leave, the hard look on his face only briefly softening as he garners some looks from the others. But, despite whatever guilt he may feel, he doesn't cave. Once he's sure she's on her way, he merely shuffles back to his spot against the wall, arms folding right back across his chest. "The fuck are you lookin' at?" he asks one of the people staring from across the alley. "Get back to

your-... those cookies?! You been holdin' out?! Gimme one of those!" he grumbles, his words met with a friendly snicker from the man across the alley who quickly obliges.

Tash wears a look of guilt as she watches Dawn take her leave, mouthing a quiet, sympathetic, 'Sorry' to her. It looks as if she's going to move follow after Dawn when she suddenly stops in place, eyes going wide.

The moment Dawn reaches the end of the alley there's a sudden tug at the duffelbag on her shoulder. Hard. Trying to yank it free. And then a dull throb as the clenched fist of a turian slams into the side of her head. It happens fast. A flash of three figures, all turian. Two, dark grey in color with white facial markings. A third who is a paler grey, with dark red markings. The one with the red markings cocks his arm back to throw another

punch as one of the others tries to wrestle the bag free and the third begins to move to assist.

Dawn offers a slight shake of her head as her gaze meets Tash's, as if to say that it's fine. She understands. It's not like he's wrong. Unfortunately, that distracted moment is when her bag is yanked away from her and a fist strikes the side of her head, the unexpected attack enough to daze her, but the reflex to respond is engrained deep and she doesn't even need to think as an elbow goes hard into the unhardened belly of the turian with

the red markings, her other arm slipping free of the duffelbag's strap, surrendering it for the moment to make a swift move for his headcrest, using the grip to slam his face into her knee with strength beyond her size. If everything goes as planned she slips around him and shoves him at one of the other turians in a fluid motion, gaze darting around to get her bearings as she does.

The turian with the red markings was most certainly not prepared for such a snap reaction and Dawn's attack causes him to nearly double over, allowing her to execute her follow-up attack unimpeded. The bag thief, likewise, doesn't seem to have expected her to relinquish her duffelbag without so much as a fight. Having been pulling at the bag, Dawn letting it go causes him to fall back into the warehouse wall, one hand reaching out to press

against the ground to keep himself from flat out falling over. 'Red markings' face collides with Dawn's knee with a sickening crunch, causing his head to snap back and, for a brief moment, his body is practically jelly as black creeps into his vision. The third turian circling to get in on the action stumbles back as 'Red markings' is shoved his way and he stalls his friend's momentum. 'Red markings' hand shoots up to his face, momentarily

dazed as he processes what just happened. The look of surprise on his face quickly turns to one of rage, the plates on his face shifting to a sneer. "You bitch!" he growls. It leaves Dawn between the three of them. 'Red markings' and the third turian on one side, the bag thief on the other, back pressed against the warehouse wall. But with what was supposed to have been a simple snatch-and-run having turned into an actual fight, it looks like

they're at a bit of a loss. 'Red markings' is the first to strike, rushing forward with an overhead swipe of his taloned claws. The third turian takes the cue and charges in right behind his friend, aiming to follow up the attack by attempting to shoulder tackle the rather small woman to the ground. The bag thief, meanwhile, has one hand pressed against the wall of the warehouse, unsure of what he should even be doing now that things have went


Tash's voice can be heard over the ruckus. "Do something!" she calls out.

Grant is quick to slur back, "What do you want me to do?! I'm drunk!"

Dawn grimaces as she does her best to focus and ignore the skull-splitting headache brought on by the initial surprise attack - it had already been lurking beneath the surface after a long day and it's present in full force now. She'd rather not advertise her biotics if she doesn't have to, but it's hard to hold back. With sharp talons coming at her, her hand shoots up to grap the red-marked turian's wrist. All the danger of a knife but he

can't be disarmed, so she opts for a rapid shift around and to the side in sync with his attack, hoping to send him stumbling again while simultaneously sidestepping the tackle. The motions should be fast and fluid, but she's tired, out of practice and out of other things, and the pounding in her head isn't helping anything. Her defense is sloppy.

Swift reactions are all that keep a sharp-taloned hand from coming down on Dawn. The sudden shift is enough to nearly send him into the bag thief, who just barely slips out of the way as 'Red markings' momentum sends him crashing against the wall. The sidestep is enough to keep the third turian from catching her full-on, but he still manages to get a piece of her, arms wrapping around her midsection and slamming her back against the warehouse

wall, pinning her torso up against it with his shoulder. The flurry of action and the near-miss seems to be all it takes for the bag thief to make a decision. She's putting up much more physical resistance than he was prepared for. He's got the bag. The others have Dawn distracted. He makes a break for it. But he doesn't get more than a few steps before he's bowled over by a red-hoodied force of nature, tackled harshly to the ground. It sends

the duffelbag skittering across the pavement.

Dawn lets out a breathless grunt as she's slammed against the wall, the air knocked out of her lungs. Has she really gotten this sloppy? She tries to push back against her attacker, but although she's strong for her size the fact remains that she's much smaller than the turian man, and she finds herself pinned. She continues to struggle to break free, increasingly agitated as the air shifts texture around them, a static charge building

that's enough to prickle one's skin. "Let... me... go... now." she snarls.

Amidst the struggle, the sudden shift goes mostly unnoticed. The third turian continues to press against Dawn, attempting to use his weight to keep her pinned. His right hand is pressed against the warehouse wall as his left scrambles to try and reach for her right wrist. 'Red markings' only briefly glances to his friend who was smeared across the ground. The lingering sharp pain left behind by a knee to the face keeps his focus on Dawn. And,

with her pinned against the warehouse wall, he's looking to take advantage of her unfortunate predicament. Once again, Dawn finds talons swinging her way. The two on the ground wrestle with each other for a moment, but it's mostly a fruitless effort on the part of the pinned turian and, once the human has a hand against the bag thief's chest, he rains trio of heavy fists on the turian. The turian's initial response is to try and get a hand up

in the man's face but, as soon as the first hit lands, he merely tries to protect his head, hunkering down.

Dawn 's eyes close, and a split-second later there's a muted burst of violet light around her and a strange, distorted sound as spacetime rips and... she's gone - the turian finds himself holding nothing but quickly fading black smoke left in her place as she appears behind him, sending a fist alight with biotic energy into his back.

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