It has been 7 days since she arrived at the hospital, and her condition is currently stable. The medical staff hasn't been eager to share specifics with Gren; they have been otherwise very accommodating. Many of the machines that kept her alive have been gradually disconnected, however. However, she has been under for the last forty-six hours after extensive surgery.
#NosAstra – December 1, 2022
Aylena has just woken up after a ping from her omni-tool, but she is having mixed success operating the interface.
Gren has, when allowed, stayed mostly within the hospital room or has lingered within the relative vicinity of the hospital. At this time, he was staying in the room, grumbling to himself as he tapped away at something on his omni-tool. However, hearing the ping of Aylena's own tool and seeing her struggling, he let out a hefty sigh. "Need help?"
Aylena tries to sit up properly, but the muscles don't give more than a petty response to her, so she remains lying. The bed is elevated, so she's able to make eye contact with Gren. "I... I'm fine," she says, her voice weak. "It's... a tirade from Wolfe, again." She does mumble something unintelligible to herself afterward as she continues tapping on the omni-tool.
Gren tuts as he stands, the old krogan letting out a groan of relief as stretches himself out. Or was that perhaps the chair that was bearing his weight? A question for another time. He lazily wanders over to the side of the bed and turns his head to the side to peer at her with one eye. "Yeah, you're practically jumping around with how 'fine' you are. What's he babbling on about now?"
Aylena continues tapping for a few more moments, stumbling over the interface several times. She can turn her head enough to look at him. "He's... reiterating how difficult I make their job," she says, her voice slow and strained, "this trip is not their job. And something about... a supposed contact I have in Armali Intelligence." It's hard to read anything more than pain from her expression.
Gren shrugs his large shoulders, the armour he always seems to be fused into clunking with the motion. "And? What does this all mean exactly?" He scratches at the scar on his face, letting out yet another hefty sigh. "They just gonna let you handle your own problems and call it a day?" Which, in their defense, is probably a reasonable reaction. Truth be told, he would probably do the same in their shoes. Eh. Gren lowers his hand
and gives Aylena a somewhat withering look as she fumbles with the interface. He gestures at the damn thing, reiterating his offer to help with silent, aggressive pointing.
Aylena still does not take him up on his offer. "Yeah, he wants to have a talk when I'm back," she says, her voice breaking into a half-whisper. Eventually, she brings up another message, breaking eye contact to scan through it. "Oh no," she says. "When was this... oh, this must have been what woke me up." Depending on the krogan's language knowledge or translation capabilities, he might see that the message is a
Gren rolls his eyes at her silent refusal for help. However, the small exclamation paused his brooding for a moment and the Krogan now turned to face her fully. His eyes narrowed as he tried to peer at the message on screen, but he had never bothered to lean more languages beyond what was needed. Mostly a few swears here and there and how to order various forms of alcohol. Even then it was mostly just grunts and aggressive
Aylena keeps her eyes on the screen. "I may need your help," she says, her face strained as she fights for each word; some urgency creeping into her voice. "Do you remember the pair that I was with after you extracted us in Dalliren?"
Gren folded his arms across his midsection. He canted his head to the side for a moment in thought before he offered her a very slow nod. "Vaguely. Why?" A pause. "Don't tell me I've gotta extract them -again-. I ain't giving any more money to them Redrock assholes. Cost me a small fucking fortune last-time."
Aylena closes her eyes and takes a few deep, slow breaths. His affirmation is met with a faint relieved sigh. "No, they're not Redrock, they're... my people," she says, not elaborating on what that means. "I told them to stay out of it,... but they didn't listen." She manages to bring up a holographic map on her omni-tool, showing the position in the message. It's a lot further down than their current position and
Gren grumbles as he rubs his head plate. "So I gotta extract them...". He takes a few moments with closed eyes to think, before he lowers his hand and gives Aylena a long, drawn out stare. "Fine." He takes the coordinates from her holographic map and flicks it over to his own. "So they've getting harassed by some clowns, eh? Once I got the answers, you fine with me just offing them?"
Aylena doesn't seem to show any reaction as the krogan stares her down. "Do what you must," she whispers, "but if they lead you to... Esseria Illeni, or if she's... one of them,... try to keep her alive." Gren was not there when Esseria attacked the Miner's Respite, but she is a wanted woman, so finding a picture shouldn't be difficult.
Gren cants his head to the side and makes a mental note to look her up later. "Right... keep one weird bitch alive. Got it." He turns and scoops up his helmet, slipping it over his head. He locks it into place and glances over his shoulder to Aylena, tapping the shotgun at his back. "Anything else you wanna dump on me or can I get going? Because you're really racking up the favors owed." There's a rough rumble of a laugh that
Aylena closes her eyes briefly before resuming her clumsy tapping on her omni-tool. "No, you can go," she whispers. "I will... set up a comms channel, and send it over, but... the machines are trying to put me under again..., I think, so... take the lead from now on." She takes a deep breath. "I will... settle the account when... I can," she whispers, barely loud enough for him to hear it.
Gren huffs and gives her a dismissive wave as he palms the panel on the door. He lets the door slide open with a hiss as he mutters, "Heard that one before." He slips through the door and it slips closed behind him. The krogan takes a moment to look around the hallway. He hated hospitals with a passion. Every time he had to deal with one, it always ended up in causing him more and more trouble. As proven just now. Bah, at least
this will give him something to do for the time being. Hell, he might even get to crack a few spines here and there. The prospect of violence perked him up some and he began his casual walk towards the exit of the hospital. During his walk, he regarded the location he was heading too, already seeing if he had to make a few taxi trips or not to get there.
It is not very far, but while it's possible to walk there, it's not practical and will take at least an hour. Aylena kept her word, and Gren received a channel by the time he had gotten into a taxi.
The sky-car descends into the low-lying parts of the city. It's not the surface you'd see below from the high balconies, but it's not far from it. These streets, built on support structures at the root of the many skyscrapers, are not as bright and glamorous as the plazas and balconies most associate the planet with. The streets have dirt, debris, and the occasional puddle of water from dripping pipes. Yet, life thrives. The
streets are packed with stores offering anything from fashionable clothes to the latest entertainment tech, clubs spill their music into the streets, and the people mill about without worry. The civilians here usually dress very lightly, and many expose as much skin as is socially acceptable.
WEATHER: The temperatures down here this morning are on the 'cool' side at 38°C. The relatively low temperature is owed to clouds gathering over Nos Astra, threatening to rain any moment now.
LANDING ZONE: The programmed path to the nearest taxi depot takes him over the crash site and through a bending street into an open square. There are some plants and decorations around the taxi lot in the middle of it, but sunlight is sparse. There are two parked sky cars already. The area is flanked on all sides with stores, offices. There are few civilians about, and those he can see are heading into stores with some
urgency in their steps. The only person that stands out at the landing site is a bored-looking asari in blue armor looking at the taxis. She does not wear a helmet and has pale skin with red markings – not resembling Esseria.
"Who's on the channel?" a feminine voice asks over the channel Aylena sends over. There are sounds of gunshots in the background.
Gren begins his decent by climbing into a sky-car that is -just- a little too small for his frame. Hunched over and grumbling like a discontent old man, he endured the journey. Eventually, however, his relief is in site. The taxi-pad! As soon as the door is ready to open, he shoulders out of it with a stagger, stretching and craning his body to a chorus of cracks and pops. "Fucking things," he murmurs before the voice on the
frequency catches his attention. "Your back-up," he responds, taking a moment to look at the asari on the station pad. "Sounds like you pissed off the wrong people."
"Oh, thank Goddess," she says over the comms, her voice hurried as she fills him in. "There's two just outside the alley we're in, turian and salarian. There was an asari, but we don't know where she is. Oras has taken a shot, but he's fine."
The asari eyes the krogan getting out of the sky-car with a raised eyebrow, hand resting on a holstered pistol as she speaks into her comms.
Gren huffs slightly as he shakes his head at the Asari glaring at him. "Think I found them," he replies before he gives a somewhat bored shrug at the asari. "Really? You see a Krogan and decide to put you hand to your weapon?" He pauses. "Spose that's fair enough, actually." He does, however, make ready to crate this woman if she so much as makes a move at him as he begins to plod his merry way north.
The asari nods. "You know it," she says and keeps her hand on the pistol. "I'm just making sure the shooting over there don't spill here; it's already bad for business." She does not make a move as the krogan continues past her.
The street going north is equally vacated, and he can see a turian and salarian in armor about 50m ahead; they're taking cover on each side of an alley opening. Curiously, their armor is the same color as the asari he just passed. The doors on his left lock, leaving him quite exposed in the 15 or so seconds it'll take him to get to cover.
The turian has an assault rifle (M-15 Vindicator) and the salarian has a submachine gun (M-12 Locust).
Gren continues his slow, arduous plod down the road. He was thankful that the streets had been vacated. Civilian casualties were a pain to deal with because they were always his damn fault. Which isn't fair, they're only about his fault a quarter of the time at the very least. Upon seeing the duo ahead, he huffs and continues to walk down the street towards them. No cover was sought, strangely enough. Instead, he simply
continued his approach, shotgun still holstered on his lower back. "How's it going?" He shouts over the din of the firefight, stopping perhaps ten or so meters away from the pair.
They have both seen the approaching krogan, but it's only when he speaks to them that they turn to train their weapons on him. "This isn't your fight, krogan," the turian shouts. "One step closer, and we'll shoot." Both of them have helmets with opaque visors, making them hard to read.
Gren stops and raises a single hand in the air. "Relax. You're making me nervous," he said with a laugh before chiming into the frequency given to him by Aylena. "They're distracted, fancy actually shooting back?" His amp starts to flit with biotic energy as the Krogan prepares himself for a good old tussle with these clowns. Neither of the weapons particularly worry him at the moment, but the presence of that asari did. But
They both keep their weapons aimed his way. "They have been offered to surrender," the salarian says. "They did not-." Krogan's message over comms does make them both open fire on him.
The friendly asari answers over comms: "I don't have visual on any of them. She gets what she asks for when the turian takes a step back and acts on it by lifting him off his field with a biotic field. He holds his fire as the disorientation makes the risk of friendly fire too high.