<div align="center">(http://www.supercheats.com/guides/files/guid/mass-effect/logo.png)<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: impact;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 36pt;">RETRIBUTION</span></span></div><br/><hr/><br/>The soft hum of the ship's drive reverberated through the turian frigate's hull as it made its way towards the Citadel. It had been many years since Vigilant had made refuge in the harbours of the deep space station. Its owner was not too fond of the Citadel itself. It wasn't a grudge against the Council, after all they payed all the bills. It was the people living there. Spoiled brats, conniving politicians, false diplomats and worst of all, the criminals were either dumb as soap or sharp as knives. The same could be said about the C-Sec, but that was a whole other story. The Spectre sitting at the helm wasn't too pleased with returning. But there was a team that was to be picked up. A team which could be the difference between success and failure in the upcoming mission.<br/><br/>"We have arrived at the Citadel." the pilot announced as if it wasn't obvious enough "Beginning docking procedures."<br/><br/>There was a sigh from the helm and a nonchalant wave of a hand.<br/><br/>"Very well. Just don't fulfill the process. We are just picking them up and then we are leaving again..."<br/><br/><hr/><br/>As the motley crew was escorted through the ship by a former Hierarchy officer, they noticed that the Vigilant was not an ordinary Turian frigate. Its insides were cramped with additional panels of instrument and machines that certainly wasn't standard issue. The crew wasn't ordinary either, showing a great diversity in race. It was very unusual to see such a colorful mix aboard a Turian vessel, especially those belonging to their Spectres. To say that they were racist was perhaps a strong word. Suspicious of everyone but themselves more correct. The rise of humanity especially irked them the wrong way, but this Spectre seemed to relish in the many different areas of expertise that these races brought. As they arrived at the assault bay, with it dual shuttles and large spaces, they were suddenly surrounded by silence and emptiness. It seemed like the whole bay had been evacuated for their sake. Having come from the very lively spaces above with its constant activity, the room seemed dead, silent as the grave and sterile in its open layout.<br/><br/>"The Spectre will arrive soon." the officer snapped off before he turned on his heel and walked of. They were left alone for the moment, a hint of awkwardness and anticipation in the air between them. They had all been drafted into this by the Council, a mission so classified that they were not even briefed on it. "Spectre Lacres will brief you, in the meanwhile you need only know that this mission is of great importance to the Citadel and even greater danger to you." was the only thing the Turian councilor had lead on. And now here they were. Awkwardness was reaching critical mass, and there was a moment where someone might have said something to break its spell had it not been for the elevator doors sliding apart and revealing a very authority-like trio.<br/><br/>Two turians, one male and one female, both wearing the same orange tattoos on their dark red carapace but the male's being distinctly more sharp and intimidating in form than the female's soft and minimalist one. There was also a very broad difference in clothing. The male wore full combat armor, apparantly his favorite from all the wear and tear it had been through. The dark plates were cracked, bolted and cracked again. It even had some bullet holes that were either too much of a hassle to fix or just left be for sake of looks. The female on the other hand wore a very sharp and stylish dress which hugged around her jutting forms, a fine hoodlike apparel of fine silks draped over her head, surrounded by an arc of dark feathers. There was a hint of a smile on her, but nothing too revealing.<br/><br/>Any military buff in the group would probably have been too absorbed with the third however. The elderly human  walked with a bit of a limp, but it didn't draw from the authority that came with the name. Gregory Foresythe, former Colonel of the Alliance Fleet, the grandfather of modern marine tactics. His doctrines, while having been polished over the years into the SAAD, Systems Alliance Assault Doctrine, were still thought on the human academies around the galaxy and drilled into the recruits on the boot camps back on Earth. Even the Hierarchy begrudgingly teached part of his doctrines in their lectures on the Last Stand of the SSV Bunker Hill, where he personally had commanded five marines in the repelling of a full Turian assault from the Armiger Legion's marine detachment at the closing of the First Contact War. Ever since then he had been retired and reclusive, disappeared even. Apparantly the grey bearded man had decided to come out of retirement, because here he was in a human cut Turian uniform.<br/><br/>"Attention." The male turian exclaimed as they drew closer on the team. Now that they were a little closer, his black circles and sunken eyes gave him a very haunted look. There was a hint of a scar down his right chin and half the mandible had been severed. "Spectre in attendance. Sound off!"