<div class="floatleft">(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/06/2a/7b/062a7b89e65aade4f736c10f2702987c.jpg)</div><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">NAME:</span></strong>Galeaus Centuri (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=335654.msg15962427#msg15962427)<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">RACE:</span></strong>Turian<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">OCCUPATION:</span></strong>Council Spectre<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">DATE:</span></strong>December 18th, 2174 CE<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">WEARING:</span></strong>Heavy Turian Armour, Orange-and-Black,<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">LOCATION:</span></strong>The Corvidae; Hanger --> Docking Bay Victor 12 Entrance<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">CONTENT:</span></strong>Pick Me Ups put down, and Phonecalls picked up.<br/><strong><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial black;">TAG:</span></strong>Samantha Adams, Corvidae Crew,<em><strong>Everyone</strong></em>.<br/><br/><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><div align="center"> ___________________________________________________________</div><br/>His chat done with Nianna, Galeaus was able to focus on the mission at large. It had been easy to put it off while acting as a leader should. He could pretend the mission was something distant when he was organising evacuations, and issuing orders. It was something segmented, and regimented – Controlled, and precise, like all good military men want things to be. He still wore his service on his sleeves and even as a Spectre, as a radical amongst his people, he craved the control and the conformity that came with missions, and objectives, and roles, and rules.<br/><br/>This mission would not be controlled.<br/><br/>His conversations with the good Doctor thus far had been limited in scope, and in design. He'd established some very basic details – Mostly about the disease, and about the situation on Enlil proper. He'd not given much details about himself, so as to remain clinical and in a position to walk away. The moment he gave more than a name? He'd be the Spectre that might come to save the day. Heroic he was not, and he didn't want to get attached to some far-off human in danger. Sob stories could melt his cold heart well enough, and he was trying to remain professional, and detached, and in Control.<br/><br/>From the Doctor, he'd learnt about the Virus, and that there was something worth saving of Enlil. He knew there was a threat with unknown objectives. He knew there was something worth investigating. From brief information pulled up about Miss Adams, he knew that there was something to be impressed about with the woman's background. Survivor of atrocities, expert in her field, and outspoken proponent for peace. Her record was excellent. He hoped she would be a source of stability.<br/><br/>And so, when Galeaus finally connected with the last surviving member of Pandora's Hope – The woman who had led the small counter offensive on the moon of Daphne IV and gave him hope that there was a salvageable situation to be found on Enlil – he had hoped for something less...overwhelming.<br/><br/>A dishevelled looking human was one thing, but the slow bounce of quick motion and the obvious duress on the woman's face told the Spectre everything he needed to know. There was something going wrong immediately. There was a current problem. Time was not a luxury he had.<br/><br/>Then there was the cursing. He hadn't expected the cursing, but he supposed he could forgive it.<br/><br/>“<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Specifics, Doctor. What is going on? Why are you struggling to breathe?</span>” He paused, close to asking if she'd contracted some different disease on the planet. There had been no information about the Viral Outbreak affecting the respiratory systems. He was under the impression it caused violent overheating and causing the body to shut down. His next question changed when the sound of a rather loud explosion echoed through the Omnitool. First the Cryo Grenade, then the Concussive grenade. Close enough together that Galeaus couldn't pick them apart over the Omnitool's lagging display. “<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">...Was that an Explosion?</span>”<br/><br/>“<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">...sorry. Got winded by a Krogan... It's been a busy morning!</span>" There was more rustling on her side of the comms, a disorienting view of cement barriers, a landing pad, and just a streak of a sprinting Salarian before she was gone. Then, Sam was back into view, as well as the hulking frame of the previously mentioned Krogan. "<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">And yes... That was an explosion. Also gunfire. They found out that they weren't getting paid again, I suppose this is how they celebrate their feelings.</span>"<br/><br/>"<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Not getting paid? That...tracks, actually.</span>" He paused, dumbfounded as the previous comments about the Council being cheap liars made a whole lot more sense. "<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Is the situation under control? Is the LZ still secure?</span>" He was playing diplomat for a second, hoping that the group of unreasonable was a small dissident faction. She clearly had some guardian...Krogan? Not the most flattering mental image, but it was what it was.<br/><br/>There was a quick, disbelieving laugh. A huff of breath before it was gone. "<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">I mean they're throwing grenades. But the party just started, no one has brought down the roof, and those... things haven't shown up here yet.</span>"<br/><br/>"<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">...Completely out of hand; got it.</span>" He paused for a second, looking around the room he was in before coming to the obvious conclusion. "<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">We'll be landing in about thirty seconds. Get to the LZ immediately.</span>"<br/><br/>"<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">... Landing? You're... not an admin... are you?</span>"<br/><br/>"<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: courier;">Hah.</span>" He said, a wry smirk on his face before he terminated the connection to the Doctor's Omnitool.<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/>With the Omnitool dismissed, Gale gave himself five seconds to run a thumb against his right temple, massaging the softer part of his solid chitin as he realised what he had to do. “<strong>Combat assets, suit up. If anyone was planning to leave the ship, quarantine yourselves to your quarters immediately, and you'll be dealt with later.</strong>” His common title for anyone worth bringing on missions - be they Assassins, Ex-Justicars, Pyromaniacs, or anything else besides - was Combat assets. It was hardly creative, but he wasn't a creative soul. Spirits above, he wasn't the sort to make up a silly, cartoonish squad name. “<strong>Assume Zero-Air protocols, everyone.</strong>” While he was aware that the disease was almost certainly not airborne – If it was, there simply wouldn't be any survivors to speak to down on the Moon – he didn't want to take the risk of any other sort of infection. If it was passed through fluids, a splatter of blood from an Asari's sword might be catastrophic. Perhaps it could become airborne when it was exposed to enough heat. Perhaps it was just a contact-based thing disease, or was only passed through inhalation or consumption. Too many unknowns. Too many variables. Too little control.<br/><br/>Galeaus pulled his Assault Rifle up from the table, quickly snapping the last few loose parts into place and lifting up the weapon. He unhooked an Orange helmet from his locker and placed it onto his armour. With a press of a button, and a flick of the Omnitool, it locked shut and blazed into a Heads-up display, letting him see the battlefield with additional information that tracked his vitals, his ammo count, and a few other facts that were handy to have on hand.<br/><br/>“<strong>Landing in ten seconds. Don't shoot anyone until I give the order.</strong>”<br/><br/>With that, a bump as the Moon's gravity grabbed a hold of the Corvidae and shook it slightly reminded them how close they were. Galeaus took position by the Airlock, waiting for it to hiss open and let them through. While it did, he opened his Omnitool and connected to the Corvidae's computer, simultaneously transmitting his signal to every single Omnitool inside a one-hundred metre radius of the Landing Zone – At least everyone involved in the fight.<br/><br/>“<strong>This is Captain Galeaus Centuri, Spectre and Commander of the Corvidae. Be advised that I am taking command of this facility, and anyone who isn't either named or protecting Doctor Samantha Adams better have their hands up, and their weapons on the floor. Anyone who fails to meet these demands will be taken down. These are your only terms of surrender.</strong>”<br/><br/>The Airlock door hissed open, allowing the Corvidae to unleash its Combat Assets. Led by Galeaus, it was likely a striking addition to the ramshackle camp that surrounded Victor-12. Immaculate, shiny, sophisticated, and deadly. Much like its unleashed crew, it was steeped in an air of violence and mystique.<br/>