"Shit."<br/><br/>That was another complication. Not so much the target but announcing his ship was here, to the entire crowd no less - that was where shit would really hit the fan. Kaya hadn't been stupid, had kept herself educated on the big players of Omega - and someone like Cravix with an ego<i>that</i>big? Well, it hadn't taken much to figure out which ship was his. Unfortunately all her snooping had amounted to bugger all as now every single goddamn merc on Omega knew what they were after and where it would be. Sighing inwardly she motioned to<span style="color: red">Akoraan[/red], muttering underneath the sudden upheaval of yelling and gunfire.<br/>
<br/>
"We get to that goddamn ship now and we intercept him. Turians aren't completely stupid, he'll run his arse straight back to that Typhon the second word of this mess reaches him."<br/>
<br/>
She didn't wait for a response, quickly turning on her heels and wading towards one of the few exits that hadn't been completely smashed by heaving crowds. Something tingled down the back of her spine; a little bit of panic, a little bit of anticipation, all blended together with a healthy dose of frustration. Cravix was going to be a valuable - extremely valuable - asset, but a million credits paled in comparison to the sort of thing she could undoubtedly pluck from that ship. Kaya was being practical about this...all those mercenaries, all those guns, all those aliens and all those explosives in one place? Ideally she'd be among them (and her hand had reflexively stroked along the curved surface of a grenade as she thought of all those targets in such a close area), but now wasn't the time to get sidetracked by personal glory. Death really wasn't her thing.<br/>
<br/>
Kaya turned her head as she reached the door, the hand not on her weapon case affixing her helmet in place, voice electronically distorted through its speakers - a blank visor giving little indication of who would have been under there.<br/>
<br/>
"You coming, Quadnuts?"<br/>
<br/>
The side of her weapon case was slammed against a nearby shipping container, popping out with a series of clicks and cracks. Inside was a large, hefty, semi-automatic rifle that wouldn't have looked out of place mounted on some sort of vehicle; its plating worn away, a series of crude images (most notably something that resembled a giant worm) etched across its boxy exterior. There was no point trying to be discrete about the gun anymore.</span><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>