I've been sitting at a bar for the last few days, trying to decide what to do after my honorable discharge. I'm used to adrenaline pumping and moments of tense action after long, careful planning. This aimlessness bothers me. I need a purpose. I’m Bored Of Civilian Life.
(Thinking to myself that this could be a good opportunity for me to easily acquire some protection, I approach the obviously militant and bored Turian). "You know, once you've done this cargo run, I could have some longer term work for you. I get shot at often enough that I could use someone who could shoot them first.
The ship being hauled through an asteroid belt while our pilot is asleep is a less than pleasant way to be awoken suddenly. I value my sleep, although not as much as our pilot. I could wake him properly or with a stim pack, but I opt for a Violent Wake-Up Call.
Then back to the excuse of a medical center to make sure it hasn't gotten too badly destroyed in the chaos. I need either caffeine or a drink.
Flee At First Shot: Let's say I went into a hostage situation on a ship controlled by that aggressive "Terra Firma" party of Humans. Let's say that my negotiation skills, normally quite appreciated by the slower species, land a tad flat. Let's say I being chased by rifle and biotic wielding felons. Want to lend a hand?
Despite my Overwhelmingly Terrible Attempts at Negotiation—it turns out yelling at angry mobs only makes them angrier, and seeing a human helping a non-human is not something Terra Firma looks happily on—I manage to hold them off long enough to get the two of us behind cover and looking for an exit. I can only hope that another friendly face will do better at getting us out.
Back on our ship, I attempt to disrupt the scenario by using the ancient Quarian Technique: Ramming Speed. After crashing the ships and nearly causing a hull breach on both ships, Lihol's negotiations position is enhanced enough that they are able to negotiate a cease-fire.
Fast Repairs On The Vomit Comet: I fell asleep at the wheel. I only wake up when we got hit by an asteroid. We lost stabilizing thruster and have begun spiraling in an asteroid field. I'm the only one who knows how to fix it. Does anyone want to take over on the wheel while I go fix it?
Calling on my years of military training and survival expertise, I hurry to Do What Needs to be Done. I can't say this is the first time I've ended up in a situation like this, even if it's not my forte. But I'm definitely going to be mentioning this to C-Sec. Not that it will stop me from taking a fare again, provided the price is right.
I strap myself in and hope that I we don't crash—I have a lot of things left to accomplish. I take careful mental note of the others actions, noting that if we don't die I will owe my life to the Turian, and I Always Pay My Debts.
Friends in Low Places: We need to get the medical supplies, and I know a guy who knows a guy. It's not in the best part of the Citadel, but what's actually in good condition these days anyways? And well, getting anyone to bargain with him can be a little shady. What better way to get to know each other.
Endless Leftover Cargo: I offer to help by bringing along three things to bargain for supplies: Unidentified blood bags, boxes of pirated vids with Hanar subtitles, and a very accurate pistol that occasionally misfires.
Sighing, I pick through the junk and identify the items that the Hierarchy will not appreciate. Or allow. Some of these films are Hanar smut! After giving an intimidating look at the dealer, who seems to be considering something nefarious while eyeing our weapons, I pick up the last load of supplies and follow our medic on board. A job is a job, after all, no matter where it comes from. Not my place to judge their acquaintances, but I Always Have an Eye Out, just in case.