• Published 11th Aug 2014
  • 5,010 Views, 319 Comments

Mass Effect: Shattered Record, Broken Wings - Meluch

Octavia has become a successful musician on the Citadel, but she is plagued by the loss of her wife twelve years ago. When Citadel Security busts a smuggling ring, Octavia's life is thrown into disarray when they find Vinyl Scratch among the slaves

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Prologue - A Horrible Discovery [Edited]

Author's Note:

This chapter updated and edited for content (not grammar or punctuation): Sunday, January 18, 2015

If you are just starting this series, you are on the wrong story. This is number 2. The particular order goes:
1. Mass Effect: Shepard and the Rainbows
2. Mass Effect: Shattered Record, Broken Wings
3. Mass Effect: Gathering Storm (Mass Effect One)
4. Mass Effect: One Wrong Step (Equestria Girls Side Story)
5. Mass Effect: Harmony Lost
6. Mass Effect: Fight for the Lost (Mass Effect Two)
7. Mass Effect: The Darkness, Breached (Mass Effect Three)
A. Mass Effect: Side Stories

A Horrible Discovery

Civilian Docks, Tayseri Ward

December 24, 2182 CE

Whenever she put on her uniform, Amaia felt a deep sense of pride at the choices she had made with her life. At only one-hundred forty years of age, most other Asari would usually be living the high-life, dancing at clubs and abusing drugs of dubious legality while they wildly spent their mother’s money like the galaxy was ending. It was simply the accepted way of things for maiden’s her age. It was best for everyone if maiden’s made their mistakes as early as possible, in a way that none of the other race’s were allowed thanks to their relatively short lifetimes.

Amaia never wanted that for her life. As the daughter of one of the lesser known Matriarchs, Amaia had grown up wanting for nothing. Her mother’s house sat on a small cliff overlooking the ocean on Thessia, and servants were always there to make sure her every need was fulfilled. While it was certainly an attractive option for her to live a life of luxury and relaxation, it was not the way that her mother had raised her. Her mother had always taught her that the best way to live was to stand tall against the galaxy after making your own way. No one could look down on you if you did that.

Amaia was going to make her mother proud, standing on her own two feet against all of the forces of the galaxy trying to push her down.

Becoming an officer in the prestigious ranks of Citadel Security ensured that when she decided to retire in the next one-hundred years or so, corporations would be beating down her door to try and hire her with multi-million credit contracts. It was one of the advantages of being an Asari, earning experience over multiple lifetimes. Unfair though it may be, none of the other races could compete.

Well... the Krogan could live potentially forever, but they tended to die in a hail of bullets before they could get the contacts and experience to work in the truly well paying jobs.

Pushing krogan from her mind, a shiver of excitement ran through her crest at the thought of her future. Her options would be expansive and lucrative, all wanting her vast experience. The paychecks would be massive, and her satisfaction even greater. Her mother would be proud!

If nothing worked according to plan though, Amaia was always glad to know that her mother’s arms were always open. Making it on your own was nice, but family was always there for each other. That was another thing her mother had taught her. It certainly helped having that in the back of her mind as she leapt into the unknown.

For now though, it was her turn again to work customs at the docks. Grunt work. The only thing to keep her company during the long hours was the incessant chattering of her partner, Silvin, a Turian. She had roomed with him in the C-Sec Academy dorm. Learning how many interests they happened to share, they had forged a quick friendship that had only grown since they had graduated from the academy together three years ago and were lucky enough to be assigned together (though she could do with him being a little less chatty).

“I still don’t know how you can like that crap.”

Stuff like that.

Amaia definitely regretted responding to his question of what her favorite movie was. She really should have known better. There were some things that you simply kept to yourself around Silvin. It wasn’t like this was the first time that he had criticized her for what she chose to do in her spare time. It was a mutual thing though, and she usually gave as good as she got.

“What? Blasto is fun!” Amaia turned away from Silvin, looking out towards the kinetic barrier keeping the atmosphere of the dock from flooding out into space. She blushed, glancing down at her datapad. She couldn’t help herself, a small grin on her face. “And don’t get me started on those tentacles.”

Silvin chuckled, a flanging sound distinctive to the Turian race. He rolled his eyes, turning to watch an aging transport ship as it neared the barrier. He was well aware of the Asari’s tendency to find things attractive that repulsed other species. When your entire reproductive process was centered around the mind, he supposed that there was a reason for it. Intelligence trumped beauty when you could see your mate’s mind after all.

Amaia turned to watch as well. She liked to try and guess the exact moment that Citadel flight control took over for the pilots to guide the ships into the docks.The less talented pilots always gave themselves away with the inevitable judder at the switch. Her translator seamlessly fed her the ships name, the MSV Charybdis. She had absolutely no idea what it meant, but she instantly didn’t like it.

With a solid clunk that reverberated through the dock, the cradle arms extended out and gently grabbed the Charybdis. A ramp extended out from the dock to the ship’s airlock, sealing around it with a soft thump.

“That is one ugly ship,” Silvin drawled as he leaned against the railing of the dock.

It really was. Knowing that it was airtight almost made Amaia want to believe in miracles. Whatever color it had originally been painted had been lost long ago, and it was now coated in uneven layers of rust and peeling paint.

“I’ve seen worse.” Amaia shrugged, and she wasn’t lying. Despite that, the Charybdis definitely ranked in her top twenty of the ugliest ships she had ever seen. Shrugging, she pulled up the necessary files on her datapad for the captain to sign.

It was the worst part of working the docks. Paperwork and customs, a never ending task that she was always behind on. She looked forward to the day that she would be of high-enough rank that she would be assigned a VI to do all of that work for her. Until then, she would suffer silently... at least at work. At their apartment, Silvin had to bear her every complaint.

The airlock opened with a hiss and a group of five Turians stepped out. Amaia glanced over their stained, unkempt clothing and scrunched up her nose in distaste.

None of the Turians wore clan paint, and Silvin shifted uncomfortably at the sight. In the corner of her eye, he could Amaia doing the same. She responded even further to his reaction, her left hand resting on the butt of her pistol.

The lead Turian of the group, whom Amaia could only guess was the captain from the sheer amount of frills and baubles adorning his aging jacket, gave her a flirty smile. “Morning, officer.”

Amaia gave him a friendly, if distant, nod. “Good morning, gentlemen. Welcome to the Citadel.”

“It’s good to be back,” the Turian drawled as he gazed around the docks. Opening his omni-tool, he quickly transferred the ships customs documents to Amaia’s datapad. “Everything should be in—”


The moment she heard the cry, Amaia drew her pistol, instinctively moving closer to Silvin, covering his blind side even as he did the same for her. The Turians growled, their fingers itching for a weapon. Friendly eyes turned angry and Amaia kept the whole group centered in her view, even as she used her peripheral vision to look and see who had shouted.

Amaia gasped as a bloodied figure rushed out of the Charybdis’ airlocks as fast as they could go. She couldn’t tell if it was Asari, Human, or Drell and the fact that it was covered in blood certainly didn’t help matters any.

This was going to be anything but a normal day. Leveling her pistol at the Turians before her, Amaia opened her omni-tool with her other hand. To Silvin, she said, “I’m calling this in.”

“I’ve got you covered,” Silvin growled.

A headache was already building behind her eye. This was the hard part of working for C-Sec. All the crazy, dangerous ones ended up coming to the Citadel eventually.

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