@teltinsurvivor
It was supposed to be just another gig for The Normandy. Report in, work on maintenance, get paid, leave. Same as the other times. In the beginning, it was exactly that. As he went down below, he expected to work on pipes and circuits, as well as having the usual witty banter with Jack. As he came face to face with her, however, something came out of her mouth that he didn’t expect. Something that shook him to his core. His name.
Specifically, his TRUE name.
Though Jack usually wouldn't have paid an engineer much mind, this one had set up his bunk near her quarters. As a result, she'd decided to dig her nose into his private information just like she had done with Shepard or the two Cerberus squadmates Taylor and Lawson -- find out anything she can about the quarian through the extranet. She was by no means a professional, but over the years, she's learned that you could find out a fair deal just by looking into open sources.
..And the quarian hadn't exactly made it hard, given how chatty he was. Giving away a lot of information that would serve as perfect entryways for some stalking.
Maybe it wasn't just that she was paranoid. Maybe she had gotten bored, too. The things she found were certainly interesting.
"Hey, Phoenix", Jack casually greeted the quarian as he came over, closing her omnitool. She had been in the middle of a poker game, but this could wait. There weren't many quarians around, so what were the chances another one with a lost arm was running around the galaxy?
Judging by how frozen he stood, the chances seemed to be zero. "Oh, really? Phoenix-boy is you? Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"
Val’s mind ran through tactics for how to approach this troubling situation. Combat was by no means viable for multiple reasons. Lying was out. No doubt she already uncovered more than enough information to refute anything he could think up…Looks like the only option was to come clean and hope for the best. Keelah, this was going to be a long day.
“I’m NOT The Phoenix.” He sighed, turning to begin work on the pipes “Not anymore. Aside from a select few individuals, everyone believes Nebb’Vettel is dead…and, in essence, they are correct. I’d like it to remain correct. Therefore, I’d advise you not to bring what you learned up with anyone. Ever.”
"Whatever. You're not the first aboard with a shady backstory. It's kind of a recruitment requirement, you know? Although I gotta hand it to you, I guess I underestimated you. Thought you were just a grease monkey." Jack shrugged, though she still was curious why he went down that path. She had no clue what life on the Flotilla was life, but she didn't think it usually shaped people into mercs.
"Why merc work, though? You got shot once, you get an infection and die. Seems like a stupid risk."
“Grease Quarian.” He corrected, focusing on his work to distract himself from the feeling of wanting to be ANYWHERE ELSE but here “And I wish I was, in fact, just one of those.” Val looked at his synthetic prosthesis, clenching its metal hand. To him, a reminder of his sins. But it was better to suffer with the reminder than to forget and repeat.
“I wasn’t a mercenary. I was a gang member.” He rolled his eyes “I didn’t kill bosh’tets for credits or notoriety or anything like that. I did it because some people just deserve a round between the eyes. And if I ended up dead, well, no big loss…
…I say, years after faking my own demise. I guess…I guess I just didn’t want to die before I did something of worth with my life. And I guess, after The Incident, I realized being The Phoenix of Omega wasn’t that. The Phoenix was just a scared, angry kid, lashing out at a universe that fucked him over.”
Val turned to Jack, a pained smile under his mask. “But hey, I’m not the first person to have a tragic childhood. Not your varren, not your fight.”
