The room concealed Firas in a shroud of darkness, his arms supported a limp lean forward, elbows resting upon clothed thighs as he sat on a nearby bunk; his armour set to one side. Removing the chestpiece was becoming more and more of a relief to the man, the dented crevise in his armour had finally began to leave its mark. The soft flesh beneath the hardened grey scales of his torso had begun to darken ever since they had managed to escape the Galleon, and it had only grown worse from then on.<span style="color: Blue">How long will I last with this junk...</span><br/><br/>A small scowl poured from his lipless mouth, his mandibles only emitting his frustration as they flared wide into the absence of the room but his eyes stared narrow and straight to the midnight glazed flooring. The urge to tear the room apart tugged at every sense in his body, to unleash the fury that he had built up ever since he became a victim to this -hunt-. Too much rage tore at the mind of the Turian, too much that Firas soon began to fear that surviving this ordeal and avenging his fallen comrades would not be enough to sate his thirst.<br/><br/>There was a pause, time stood still for that moment. Frea and the rest of the pack.<span style="color: Blue"><i>I should have died on that ship... Frea... Why... </i></span>A heavy weight rocked in his claw, his attention rolling upon it in confusion. Clutching his hand around the object, he was only too aware of what he was then doing. A pistol. It would be so easy...<i><span style="color: Blue">I should have died so many months ago, so many times. I honour only a shade.</span></i><br/><br/>The pistol, as if it had a mind of its own hummed to life, unfolding as the activated weapon primed in the mans hand but there was no motion to raise it. To hold that pistol however kept him calm, to muster his thoughts into something that he would understand. They spoke of his pack once more, his achievements when he served the Turian empire, the days he was proud to call himself a turian, a soldier who fought for the citadel and its council. A turian that would gladly give his life for his people.<i><span style="color: Blue">When did I become so selfish...</span></i><br/><br/>His thoughts did not linger long on his companions as they were now, to think of Ashana alone brought him on the brink of tearing not only this room but the entire ship to shreds. I now serve a human...<br/><br/>Unknowing to his actions, the pistol raised.<i><span style="color: Blue">I should be dead already...</span></i><br/><br/>The humming of its small mass core sounded so heavenly.<span style="color: Blue"><i>Have I not suffered enough?</i></span><br/><br/>The feeling of cold steel against his chin.<i><span style="color: Blue">I no longer deserve a warriors death... I am not that man anymore...</span></i><br/><br/><span style="color: Blue"><i>Frea...</i></span><br/><br/>---<br/><br/>The room was enveloped with a crimson glow as the locked holoface came to life, followed by the constant pounding against the door he had locked. Muffled grumbling beyond the door were almost inaudible at best, although the tone could be considered as a command. The gesture was obvious enough to Firas. His hand became heavy as his gaze fell directly onto the door and before he knew it, his pistol was back upon the bunk once more, folded up neatly as innocent as a weapon of war could be. His gaze did not faulter from the weapon, only to just stare at the inactive weapon as his thoughts soon raced through him once more.<br/><br/>He had no clothes other than the clothed trousers he wore to add that extra padding to his legguards, knowing that if he didn't want to put his armour back on, he would very well do so bare chested. It'll have to do.<br/><br/>Pistol in hand, the doors collapsed and a blast of white light wrapped around him.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Firas cast his gaze over the remaining crew that was gathered by Cantenelli. He had remained silent throughout the trek in collecting them, with no desire to speak at all. It seemed to him that they were quite content in speaking amongst themselves regardless and he was going to make little effort in again interfering.<br/><br/>He waited, allowing the human to scare the Salarian in his own fashion. The turian rolled his eyes and the pistol primed in his hand. the Salarian seemed more distracted by Rajarr than the human, but there were ways to get the mans attention.<br/><br/>Marching through to make himself visible, no words were uttered. The pistol aimed straight at Gilax' foot and in that instant he pulled the trigger. If the man was screaming as the bullet burrowed into the mans flesh, he showed very little patience in allowing him the courtesy to vent his pain as a free claw wrapped itself so tightly around the mans clothed chest that he almost began to haul the man off his feet, the pistol now digging harshly against the mans thigh, twisting it to press the solid object more aggressively against the tender muscles of the man. His mandibles flexed widely, hissing as he spoke "<span style="color: Blue">Your life is on the line, Salarian! If you want to survive this day then you won't want me putting more bullets through you, and I -will- give you over to Krogan if you don't give us what we are after! And he will make these bullets feel like warm kisses by the end of it.</span>" He paused only briefly to allow the man to at least take in a little of what he was saying. "<span style="color: Blue">No-one knows where you are so you WILL answer our questions! Do you understand?</span>" Firas was aware that he had just ignored the Salarians plight, but he was also aware that he did not answer. To the Salarian, in Firas' mind. The mans mind seemed so sure that they were sent by the Shadow Broker, and it would only be beneficial for him to think so. Afterall, if he at all realises they were not sent by him but believes he is already being hunted? Just how long could they keep the facade up before he realises.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>