Chapter 7: First Blood Pack Ambush
POV: Marc Wayne
The attack came during the bar's busiest hour, when Marc was too distracted by the press of alien bodies and competing conversations to notice his System's threat warnings until the door exploded inward.
"Should have seen this coming," Marc thought as armed figures poured through the entrance like a tide of violence. "Should have paid attention to the tactical displays instead of—"
The massive Krogan who filled the doorway cut off his mental self-recrimination with a voice like grinding bedrock. "Where is the human who thinks he owns Vorcha?"
Civilians scattered with the practiced efficiency of people who'd survived on Omega by recognizing imminent violence. Tables overturned, drinks spilled, and the carefully maintained veneer of civilized drinking dissolved into primal fear. Marc found himself standing exposed in the center of the chaos, his enhanced reflexes tracking the six Blood Pack mercs who spread out to control the room.
Garm. The name emerged from his game knowledge like a surfacing predator. The Krogan warlord was bigger than Marc had imagined, his scarred hide telling stories of centuries spent surviving through superior firepower and unflinching brutality. When those ancient eyes fixed on Marc, the weight of accumulated violence pressed against him like a physical force.
"You stole my property," Garm declared, his voice carrying the absolute certainty of someone who'd never been contradicted and lived. "Healed Vorcha that belonged to Blood Pack. Made them forget their place."
"Property." The word hit Marc like acid. Kreek wasn't property—he was a person, an individual with thoughts and feelings and the capacity for loyalty that had nothing to do with ownership. But arguing philosophy with an armed Krogan seemed like a fast way to become a cautionary tale.
"I helped someone who was dying," Marc said, surprised by the steadiness in his voice. "That's not theft."
Garm's laugh rumbled through the bar like distant thunder. "Soft human sentiment. This is Omega, whelp. Strong things take what they want. Weak things die." His eyes glinted with predatory amusement. "Which are you?"
Before Marc could formulate an answer, Anto stepped into view with his service rifle leveled at the nearest Blood Pack merc. The Turian's movements carried military precision, and his voice held the flat authority of someone who'd faced death professionally.
"This is neutral ground, Garm. Aria's rules apply."
"Aria's rules protect civilians," Garm replied without taking his eyes off Marc. "This human isn't civilian. He's Cerberus military. Enhanced. Dangerous." The Krogan's mandibles spread in what might have been a grin. "The Illusive Man pays well for freaks like this one."
Marc's blood chilled. Cerberus knew where he was. Garm was working for them, or at least willing to sell information to them. The careful anonymity he'd built was already compromised.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: CRITICAL]
[MULTIPLE HOSTILE ENTITIES DETECTED]
[PRIMARY TARGET: KROGAN BATTLEMASTER]
[WEAPONS DETECTED: HEAVY ARSENAL]
[RECOMMENDATION: IMMEDIATE TACTICAL RETREAT]
The System's warnings flooded his vision, but retreat wasn't an option. Behind him, innocent people cowered in corners, trapped by the violence he'd brought to their sanctuary. Anto stood ready to fight despite being outnumbered three to one. And somewhere out there, Kreek and his pack were probably sensing their pack-leader in danger.
"This is my fault," Marc realized. "My choices led to this. Now I have to live with the consequences."
Garm raised his shotgun with casual precision. "Last chance, human. Come quietly, or—"
The door exploded again as eight Vorcha burst through in a coordinated assault that would have made military tacticians proud. Kreek led the charge, his pack moving with the fluid coordination Marc had helped them develop through his inadvertent Pack Coordination ability.
"Adapt-friend in danger!" Kreek shrieked, hurling himself at the nearest Blood Pack merc with berserker fury. "Pack protect!"
The bar became a war zone.
Marc dove behind overturned tables as gunfire erupted overhead, the sharp crack of weapons mixing with alien battle cries and the sound of shattering glass. His System went into overdrive, highlighting threats and suggesting tactical responses he had no training to execute.
[COMBAT TUTORIAL ACTIVATED]
[TIP: COVER PROVIDES DAMAGE REDUCTION]
[TIP: VORCHA REGENERATION ALLOWS AGGRESSIVE TACTICS]
[WARNING: USER COMBAT SKILLS MINIMAL]
A Blood Pack Vorcha rounded his cover, weapon raised. Marc grabbed a broken bottle and swung it with desperate force, feeling the improvised weapon connect with a wet crunch. His attacker dropped, and Marc stared at his blood-covered hands in shock.
"I just hurt someone. I just deliberately caused harm to protect myself and others."
The philosophical implications vanished as a shotgun blast caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around and sending him crashing into the bar's mirror. Pain exploded through his system, followed immediately by the warm surge of Vorcha Regeneration beginning its work.
The Blood Pack merc who'd shot him approached for a finishing blow, but Marc's wounds were already closing. The alien's eyes widened in recognition and fear—he'd seen Cerberus augmentation before, knew what it meant when humans healed like Vorcha.
Marc rolled aside as the shotgun fired again, the blast destroying the spot where his head had been. His enhanced reflexes, still developing but already superior to baseline human capability, carried him behind the bar where bottles of expensive liquor exploded in alcoholic shrapnel.
Anto's rifle cracked repeatedly from an elevated position, each shot precise and economical. But the Turian was one soldier against six professionals, and blood was beginning to stain his blue carapace.
"We're losing," Marc realized, watching Kreek's pack being systematically overwhelmed by superior firepower and coordination. "We're all going to die because I was stupid enough to help someone."
That's when the System chimed with an offer that would change everything:
[GENE MATERIAL DETECTED]
[BATARIAN FOUR-EYED VISION (COMMON)]
[SOURCE: DECEASED BATARIAN SMUGGLER IN COMBAT ZONE]
[DROP RATE: 15% - SUCCESSFUL ACQUISITION]
[EQUIP IMMEDIATELY? Y/N]
Marc didn't hesitate. YES.
The transformation was immediate and disorienting. His visual field expanded to nearly 270 degrees as additional neural pathways activated in his brain. Suddenly, he could see threats approaching from impossible angles, track multiple targets simultaneously, and anticipate flanking maneuvers with preternatural awareness.
The Blood Pack merc trying to circle behind him froze as Marc turned to face him before the ambush could develop. The alien's face showed the dawning realization that his target had just become significantly more dangerous.
Marc grabbed an intact bottle and threw it with enhanced coordination, the improvised projectile catching his attacker in the temple and dropping him like a severed cable.
[BATARIAN FOUR-EYED VISION ACTIVE]
[CURRENT LOADOUT: VORCHA REGENERATION I / BATARIAN FOUR-EYED VISION]
[WARNING: MAXIMUM GENE SLOTS EQUIPPED (2/2)]
Garm, who'd been coordinating the assault from the relative safety of the entrance, noticed the shift in the battle's tempo. His ancient eyes focused on Marc with new interest, cataloguing the enhanced awareness and unnatural healing that marked him as far more than a simple refugee.
"Cerberus augmentation," the Krogan rumbled, his voice carrying a mixture of recognition and calculation. "Military grade. You're worth more alive than dead."
The admission should have been encouraging, but Marc heard the underlying threat. Garm wasn't retreating—he was recalculating the value of his target.
That's when the real bloodshed began.
Marc moved through the battle like someone guided by impossible instinct, his expanded vision letting him track threats and opportunities simultaneously. He wasn't fighting with skill—his Combat Fundamentals were still pathetically basic—but his genetic advantages compensated for inexperience.
A Vorcha merc lunged at him with vibro-blades. Marc ducked the strike, grabbed his attacker's wrist, and used the alien's momentum to send him crashing into a structural support. The impact produced a wet crack that suggested the merc wouldn't be getting up again.
[COMBAT EXPERIENCE GAINED: +50 XP]
[COMBAT FUNDAMENTALS: NOVICE 12% → 18%]
Across the room, Kreek fought with desperate fury, his pack coordination allowing them to cover each other's weaknesses and multiply their individual effectiveness. But they were taking casualties, and Marc could see the growing pools of blood that marked where pack members had fallen.
"This has to end," he thought, feeling his regeneration working overtime to keep pace with accumulated damage. "Before everyone I care about dies."
That's when Garm decided to end things personally.
The massive Krogan charged across the battlefield with biotic-enhanced speed, his shotgun roaring as he cleared a path through the chaos. Marc barely dodged the initial blast, feeling superheated pellets part the air where his head had been.
"You want to play soldier?" Garm bellowed, his weapon tracking Marc's movement with practiced precision. "Let's see how your Cerberus modifications handle real combat!"
Marc rolled behind an overturned table as the shotgun fired again, the improvised cover disintegrating under the assault. Splinters of wood and metal filled the air, and he felt several pieces embed themselves in his legs and back. The wounds closed almost immediately, but the pain was very real.
[HEALTH: 78% AND REGENERATING]
[WARNING: SUSTAINED DAMAGE EXCEEDING REGENERATION RATE]
[RECOMMENDATION: TACTICAL WITHDRAWAL]
But withdrawal meant abandoning Anto, abandoning Kreek's pack, abandoning everyone who'd risked their lives because they'd chosen to trust him. Marc couldn't live with that kind of cowardice.
Instead, he did something Garm wasn't expecting: he attacked.
Using his enhanced vision to track the Krogan's position, Marc vaulted over his destroyed cover and charged directly toward the larger alien. It was insane, suicidal, and exactly the kind of move that someone with superior firepower wouldn't anticipate.
Garm's shotgun swung toward him, but Marc was already inside the weapon's effective range, his enhanced reflexes carrying him into close combat where the Krogan's size would work against him.
Marc's improvised punch connected with Garm's throat, drawing a grunt of surprise from the ancient warrior. But the Krogan's response was immediate and devastating—a backhand that sent Marc flying across the room to crash into the wall hard enough to crack the composite material.
[HEALTH: 45% AND REGENERATING]
[MAJOR INJURIES DETECTED]
[ESTIMATED RECOVERY TIME: 3 MINUTES]
Marc slid down the wall, tasting blood and feeling his ribs knitting back together with painful precision. Garm approached with the casual confidence of someone who'd killed more enemies than Marc had met people, his weapon ready to deliver a finishing blow.
"Impressive," the Krogan admitted, standing over Marc's recovering form. "Most humans would be dead. But Cerberus builds their toys to last, don't they?"
Before Garm could fire, Kreek appeared from nowhere in a flying tackle that would have done credit to a professional athlete. The Vorcha pack leader hit the Krogan with enough force to stagger the massive alien, buying Marc precious seconds to recover.
"Pack-leader hurt!" Kreek shrieked, his claws scrabbling for purchase on Garm's armored hide. "Kreek not allow!"
Garm backhanded the smaller alien with casual brutality, sending Kreek sprawling. But the distraction had given Marc time to stand, time to assess the battlefield, time to make a decision that would define who he was becoming.
He could keep fighting. Keep escalating. Keep proving that he was dangerous enough to warrant Cerberus attention and Blood Pack retaliation.
Or he could try a different approach.
"Enough!" Marc shouted, his enhanced voice carrying across the battlefield with surprising authority. "This is over!"
Garm paused, his weapon half-raised, studying Marc with calculating interest. "Over when you're dead or captured, human."
"Look around," Marc said, gesturing to the destroyed bar, the wounded combatants, the civilians cowering in corners. "What exactly are you winning here? Credits? Territory? The right to tell people you beat up a bartender?"
The Krogan's expression shifted slightly, and Marc pressed his advantage.
"You said the Illusive Man pays well for people like me. But this—" he gestured to the carnage "—this isn't capture. This is destruction. And destruction doesn't collect bounties."
For a moment, Marc thought his words might actually penetrate the Krogan's warrior mentality. Garm's weapon lowered fractionally, and his ancient eyes showed something that might have been consideration.
Then one of Kreek's pack members, wounded and delirious with pain, fired a wild shot that grazed the Krogan's shoulder. Garm's expression hardened back into implacable hostility.
"Too late for words," he growled, raising his weapon. "Should have thought about negotiation before your pets drew blood."
The shotgun blast that followed was point-blank, devastating, and should have killed Marc instantly. Instead, his enhanced reflexes threw him sideways, and the blast caught him in the shoulder and side rather than center mass.
Marc hit the ground hard, his vision graying as massive trauma overwhelmed even his enhanced regeneration. Through the haze of pain and shock, he saw Garm approaching for a finishing shot.
"This is how I die," he thought with strange clarity. "Two weeks after waking up in a lab, shot by a Krogan bounty hunter in a bar fight I started by being kind to a stranger."
That's when Anto's precision rifle shot took Garm in the back of the head.
The Krogan staggered, his heavy cranium protecting him from immediate death but stunning him enough to disrupt his attack. Anto fired again, and again, each shot carefully placed to maximize damage while the Blood Pack leader was disoriented.
"Stay down!" the Turian barked, his weapon trained on Garm's massive form. "Or the next shot goes through your eye socket!"
For a long moment, the only sounds in the bar were the groans of wounded combatants and the harsh breathing of exhausted fighters. Garm slowly raised his hands, his ancient instincts recognizing the tactical reality of facing a trained marksman from an elevated position.
"This isn't over," the Krogan said, his eyes fixed on Marc's prone form. "Cerberus wants you. Blood Pack remembers debts. Neither forgets."
With that ominous promise, Garm gestured for his remaining mercs to withdraw. They left their dead behind, disappearing into Omega's chaotic streets like they'd never been there.
Marc lay on the destroyed floor, feeling his wounds slowly close while his System provided damage reports and tactical analyses he was too exhausted to process. Around him, the aftermath of violence painted a picture he'd never wanted to see: good people hurt because of choices he'd made.
[COMBAT COMPLETE]
[EXPERIENCE GAINED: +800 XP]
[LEVEL UP!]
[CONGRATULATIONS: LEVEL 3 ACHIEVED]
[COMBAT FUNDAMENTALS: NOVICE 28%]
[WARNING: REPUTATION SHIFT DETECTED]
[NOTORIETY: LOCAL → STATION-WIDE]
[CERBERUS ATTENTION PROBABILITY: 89%]
The notifications felt like mockery. He'd gained power and experience, but at the cost of everything he'd tried to build. His quiet life working for Anto was over. His anonymity was shattered. And somewhere in the shadows of Omega, Miranda Lawson was probably taking notes on his capabilities.
Anto limped over, his carapace cracked in several places but his rifle steady in his hands. When he looked down at Marc, there was no fear in his eyes—only calculation and a kind of grim respect.
"Cerberus doesn't make things that break easy," the Turian said quietly. "Whatever you are, you just painted a target on both of us."
Marc wanted to apologize, to explain, to somehow undo the cascade of consequences his kindness had triggered. But he knew it was too late for regrets. The game had changed, and he was no longer a hidden player.
Outside the ruined bar, he could hear whispers beginning to spread through Omega's information networks: "Did you see him heal?" "Cerberus freak." "What else can he do?"
His careful survival plan lay in ruins around him, and somewhere in the darkness of the station, predators were beginning to circle.
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