Hullo, all. Welcome to my first fanfic. The story chronicles the exploits of Archangel, between ME1 and 2. Yes, your version of Shepard is mentioned. Pretty awesome, that. I'll be uploading new chapters pretty regularly, and am really far ahead of what I've posted, but writing is rewriting and I am still making constant edits before I post. Comments and critiques are welcome, of course.

Garrus and all other characters and settings within the story are owned by Bioware.

"Hey. Archangel."

It was a batarian who spoke, his low rumbling voice full of menace. The turian he addressed tensed and looked up, his wary expression hidden behind his helmet. The batarian was bigger than most, broad shouldered and barrel chested. A tattoo marking him as a member of the Blue Suns mercenary band traced over the curve of his narrow chin and down the front of his sinewy neck. Fleshy lips curled back into a sneer as his fingers flexed on his automatic weapon, the barrel of which was pointed at the head of another turian who was far too young to find himself in a mess like this.

Despite the danger, the young man at the wrong end of the rifle stood tall with his mandibles tight and close to his face in a turian version of a scowl. His dark, defiant gaze was locked on Archangel.

Archangel let out a weary sigh and stood up straight, arms crossed. "You've got to be kidding me. How old are you?"

The young turian's eyes flashed with anger, and he pointed at the masked man before him. "I'm here, aren't I?" Here happened to be one of Archangel's smaller bases of operations. He had a few peppered around Omega, just in case one got compromised. This base was on the far west side of the asteroid, towards the edge of Blood Pack territory. In its former life it had been a drug store, now empty and abandoned after the previous owner couldn't keep up with his protection payments. Besides the squad leader and the armed batarian, there was another turian and two dangerous looking humans here, all watching the scene apprehensively with hands resting on weapons. In a back room through an open door, the young turian spied a salarian sitting bent over a workbench, oblivious to the rest of the world thanks to a pair of headphones. "Got your attention, got you to meet with me, does it really matter how old I am?"

Grimacing, Archangel motioned for the batarian, a former merc named Erash, to lower his weapon. "You're Melanis?" Archangel asked, his voice slightly mechanic as it came through the helmet that completely obscured his face.

"Yeah," said the kid, arms crossing as he shifted from foot to foot, puffing out his chest.

He's posturing. Trying to convince us he's a badass, Archangel thought, studying him. The kid's carapace probably just hardened up completely this morning, losing the soft pliability of childhood. Too damn young for his business. Too damn young for Omega. Melanis was lean and pale, and across his face was what looked like a fresh marking that he probably did himself. The red circular design was not of any merc band, nor of any turian tribe or lineage. Oddly enough, it was a human symbol that was adopted by the rest of this rock. It arched over his forehead, down his cheeks, and then darted up his mandibles. The horseshoe shape let everyone know where he came from; the symbol was that of Omega.

This was why Archangel kept his face covered. A turian couldn't ever be truly anonymous. He wore his background on his face for all the world to see. The color of his own was a specific shade of Citadel blue, while the design was a nod to his mother's proud tribe back on Pavalen. Sure, there were the chemical scrubs that could remove markings, leaving the carapace of the face bare and pale like an infant's. Of course, being barefaced came with its own set of problems. A barefaced man has something to hide, is ashamed of his heritage, and is not to be trusted.

None of that was true of the man behind the name Archangel. He had nothing to hide, he was a proud turian, and he was undoubtedly the most trustworthy man on this station. The problem was he was a marked man, and those who knew his face would know his family. What better way to get back at a proud, trustworthy enemy than to slaughter his family?

Archangel's mask remained on almost constantly. At least when he was conducting business.

"He probably hasn't even done his comp-15." This came from Sidonis, the other turian on Archangel's crew, who was leaning against the far doorway, arms crossed. He referred to the compulsory fifteen years of military duty every turian was expected to serve. At least, those living in turian colonies. A kid growing up on Omega might slip through the cracks and get out of his service time. "Do you even know how to shoot a gun?"

Melanis huffed with annoyance. "I know how to shoot a gun, okay?"

"Any idiot can shoot a gun," Archangel murmured, eyes narrowing. "The key is knowing how and when to use it effectively."

Melanis rolled his eyes in the exaggerated manner of a juvenile, his head rocking back. "I know how to use a gun! I've killed like six Blue Suns this month!"

"Like six? A kid like you would be keeping a definite body count," Sidonis spoke up again, stepping closer to Melanis and Archangel. "We have been watching you since you started that brawl at Kersha's club. You sent six to the clinic, sure, but nobody died that day."

Archangel held up a hand, glancing over at Sidonis, his voice admonishing but calm. "We aren't mercs, we don't need anybody going on a killing spree as part of some screwed up initiation."

Melanis, who had brightened when Sidonis mentioned that he was being watched by the infamous Archangel and his band, was now grimacing and looking a little frantic. "I need-" he stopped, huffed, and started again, "Look, I've got good reason to be here. Nobody wants to fight for what you're doing more than me."

"Nobody?" It was an amused Archangel who repeated Melanis' words this time. He glanced about the room, then nodded to the batarian guard who had escorted Melanis in. "Erash, why are you here?"

Erash blinked his four eyes at his name, his thoughts having been a million miles away while the two turians grilled the possible recruit. After Archangel repeated his question, the batarian scowled. "Too many innocents," he murmured a bit cryptically, scratching at his tattoo.

"And your brother?"

"Vortash?" Erash's brows lifted, and he shrugged. "His girl…" Erash grimaced as he trailed off, and shook his head, looking back down at his rifle. "Too many innocents," he grunted again.

Archangel's helmet turned to look at the scarred salarian who was still bent over a workbench in the back room. He was cheerfully and methodically making a large pile of grenades as he hummed softly to himself under his headphones. "Mierin." No response. Archangel's mouth opened to call out to his teammate again in a louder voice, but he quickly shut it again. It was probably best to let the salarian work without disturbance, considering the small ball of highly explosive putty that was currently in his hands. "Mierin," Archangel said, turning back to Melanis, "lost his whole family to Eclipse and damn near died himself. One big explosion. Boom."

"Ripper," Sidonis chimed in helpfully, and Archangel nodded.

"Hell, Ripper. Blood Pack took his right arm and a nice chunk of his face clean off. Lucky for us, he's one of those rare ambidextrous humans. Those two there," he motioned to the remaining two squad members in the room, "well. Butler is fighting for his kids' future, and Weaver," the older of the two men flashed a smile, "has been fighting mercs a long time. He picked Omega as his last hurrah." Archangel folded his hands behind his back, stepping closer to the young turian and lowering his voice.

"If you're not on the take, you've got a reason you want every last merc on this station to disappear. Everyone here has a good reason. So does everyone out there," he motioned with a hand towards the rest of Omega. "What separates us from them is the fact that we aren't going to put our heads down or play nice or try not to get involved. We kill the bad guys. We've all given up everything we have left in the universe in a crazy, suicidal attempt to make it a better place."

Melanis had gone silent and was slowly deflating. His tough guy front was melting away, and he wore a frown as he looked up at the featureless helmet of Archangel. "My parents," he said at last, voice low. "They were Suns. Mom got double crossed and killed on a job, and Dad wanted out. But you don't just leave." The young turian dropped his gaze, mandibles twitching. "They got him at the loading dock when we were waiting on the cruiser out of here."

Archangel was silent for a beat, gaze never leaving Melanis. Finally, he spoke. "When was this?"

"Nine months ago." Melanis took in a deep breath, forcing himself back into a strong stance as he found his second wind. He wasn't going to give up just yet. "And you know what? You don't want me? That's fine. I need to get back at them, but I don't need you. Just don't try to-"

"Sidonis, find this kid some armor that's thicker than the tin foil he's got on now," Archangel called out casually, turning back to the table and picking up a datapad.

Both Sidonis and Melanis were momentarily frozen to the spot while Weaver let out laugh, tickled by their stunned expressions.

Sidonis blinked and shook his head as if to clear the dirt out of his ears. He stepped quickly to Archangel's side, "Since when are we running a damn orphanage here, Archangel?"

"He hospitalized six Suns-"

"He got the jump on six drunken humans."

Archangel turned to give Sidonis a glare, the intensity of which was evident even with a thick dark visor covering his eyes. "He hospitalized six Suns," he hissed, "so now they know him and are going to be gunning for him as much as he is for them. We are not throwing him out to the wolves wearing that getup and carrying that shitty plastic peashooter he's got on his hip. Get him some proper armor, teach him how to shoot a real gun, and then take him to the Eclipse docks for some target practice." His head tilted, wry smile evident in his voice, "Talk about girls. Music. Blasto. Whatever the hell kids are into these days. Bond."

Melanis was over his shock and was now reveling in giddy disbelief. "Are you serious? I'm in? You were screwing with me, weren't you? Holy shit." He laughed, turning to look at Erash, raising his arms in triumph and announcing, "I'm in!"

Sidonis watched Melanis, mandibles twitching in irritation. He was not looking forward to playing damn babysitter. He shot Archangel one last dark look and finally, he stepped away, shoving Melanis towards the exit with a gruff, "Let's go, Junior."

Erash gave the pair a wide berth as they departed, and suddenly raised a hand to his ear. Archangel looked quickly at the batarian, tense again as he waited for Erash to relay whatever message he was receiving. But the batarian frowned, shaking his head. "It's for you. Illium."

Archangel sighed and nodded, scooping up a mobile comm platform from the table and turning towards a back room. "Vortash and Sensat check in yet?" The pair of them was running surveillance on the Blood Pack base. His squad had hit the Blood Pack hard the previous night, and Garm would not be happy. He'd waste no time regrouping and coming up with a plan. They needed to hit again and fast before he had the opportunity. His scouts were going to radio them in when a chance to take the leader out presented itself.

"Not yet, sir."

Archangel held up the comm unit, "Bother me only if they do." With that, he disappeared into the back room and closed the door.