Captive - Part 1

She remembered the day well. The day when her life changed forever. It was the day when she went to Omega.
Mia'Theos was an exile from the Migrant Fleet. She had been an expert on the Geth and had been working on a counter for their technology. A virus, if you were a human. To her though it was a highly complicated mutating, self-replicating code complex. A combination of different viruses designed to completely eradicate the Geth's code.
There were several stages. The first was a brute force attack which forced its way past the Geth's firewall. It then mutated and became a Trojan horse, which infiltrated the Geth's files and converted them into new virus data, which was used against the remaining Geth code. It only took a matter of moments to shut a Geth unit down completely.
She had been working on a special, and classified, project on board one of the military vessels, trying to weaponise the code into an easier form - a gun.
Her first attempt was a rifle, a beam rifle. She based it on the Reegar Carbine design, though granted it the ability to transmit data wirelessly into its target, causing both internal and external damage.
During the testing stages however, it had nearly killed one of her team. The gun had gone off accidentally and had disabled the systems inside one of their suits.
Hence why she was exiled, since no official documents regarding her research could be found.
And where was a Quarian exile supposed to go? Quarians weren't welcome in pretty much every corner of the galaxy, but she wasn't allowed to stay with her own species.
So she went to the place where all exiles and criminals go. Omega.
It had started off well. She bought herself a nice, expensive Turian shotgun, with stabilising modules built in to reduce the recoil, an extended barrel to increase her accuracy and of course, had it made of ultra-light materials. It practically weighed nothing in her hands.
She had only ever used it twice, though. The first was to kill a Vorcha who had threatened to kill her. The second... Well.
Within the first week, she knew she didn't belong. Afterlife was just cruel. She felt terrible for even thinking that living on Omega was a good thing.
Within two weeks, she was homeless, living off her shotgun and a few tubes of nutrient paste, after her apartment had been stolen by the Vorcha's brother, Balak.
Week three, she was approached by a man who seemed sympathetic towards her, who wanted to help. She accepted his aid happily and had travelled with him back to a small house built in the residential district.
Then came the second time she had to use her shotgun. In the house she was ambushed by armed men. Her shotgun dealt with one, but by the time she had fired again, they had knocked her unconscious and carted her off to god knows where.
Her memory was a little fuzzy after that, but she distinctly remembered pain. And lots of it. She had not been broken, though. When it came to the interrogation she must have shown too much free will, because she had her suit taken away and was promptly beaten by three armed soldiers, using a variety of equipment, which ranged from daggers to spiked clubs.
She still bore the scars along her shoulders and back.
Despite the fact they had tried, she was sure she still wasn't broken. She just realised that acting rebellious was just going to get her killed. So instead, she acted broken. After her beating came another interrogation, where she claimed to do anything that was asked of her. She gave them codes for the Migrant Fleet, incorrect ones, mind you. Hers had run out years ago when she had come back from her Pilgrimage, and had since been called Mia'Theos vas Rayya. What she gave them were curses in Kelish, said in a soothing tone to convey positivity, which was the key to most of their codes.
They didn't seem to be the cleverest when it came to Quarians, so they accepted her password.
The other parts of the interrogation mainly consisted of asking what she'd do in certain situations. Every time she got one wrong, she was beaten again. Not as harsh as the first, but equally as painful.
By the time they were half done with their questions, she had realised they just wanted to hear things like, "I'd do anything required of me", so she adapted, changing her answers to seem like she was broken. In fact, however, she was plotting her revenge.
Then they sold her. A slave trader on Noveria wanted her. She got a rather good price, too. A hundred and twelve thousand credits. That is how much it was to buy her, with posting and packaging included. She was forced into a small wooden crate and shipped via skycar to the ice planet.
The first thing she thought about when she arrived was the temperature. It was freezing! It seemed smoke was pouring out of her induction port with every breath she took.
Her new master, a Turian named Histus Gyrth, had led her down into a base in the middle of a mountain.
And still, she planned.
The first thing he did was lead her into a sterile room and tell her to discard her suit. She did, and he examined her. Part way through he had muttered about a discount because of her scars. It was extremely embarrassing for her. The only thing that kept her going was the fact she knew that some day, she'd be tearing the base apart.
There's a good way to plan, then a brilliant way. She took on board everything. Guard rotas, repetitive actions, food habits... Anything she could use to her advantage. All of this was meanwhile she was pretending to be broken. Most of it was just cooking and cleaning. She did in no way enjoy it, but a small amount of household chores were worth her freedom.
Histus was a creature of habit. He had his food at exactly the same time every day. He ate the same things, beat her the same way and made the guards rotate once every fifteen minutes. This made him easy to figure out. This made him easy to plan against.
Give her a week of planning, she was good. In a month she was great. But she was on Noveria for two years. She had planned and plotted against every single eventuality. Just when her plan was fully complete, though, she would strike. There were several things she still needed to figure out. Mainly where the transport was. Oh, and if her shotgun was still around. She had paid more for the shotgun than her master had paid for her. She had even given her weapon a name. She named it Nar'Mia, or "child of Mia". Just saying it was her baby. It was her pride and joy. She hoped the "discount" the men had given Histus involved a certain shotgun. It probably would, or at least that was how she had it figured. The gang had the shotgun for free, and it wasn't the best model out there. The Reegar Carbine was almost definitely the best, as it was able to strip through shields and armour in a matter of seconds. They wouldn't have wanted to keep Nar'Mia. The weapons they had used on her were Mattock rifles and Widow snipers. High grade stuff, very professional. They would have no use for her shotgun.
She had made the plan within the first year and a half, and had spent the next six months trying to find out about her shotgun and how to escape the planet. She had so far only got one lead.
Histus had friends who came to stay for a few days once every few weeks. They were due to arrive in a few minutes. She would attack, and then maybe find her shotgun if she could.
As always, Histus entered her chamber, which consisted of a toilet and a sink - no bed. She slept on the floor. The walls were all grey and there was a single window with bars to make sure she could not escape.
"My friends are due to arrive any moment now," he said, "Remember to make us drinks and a meal."
"Yes master," she responded, "I will."
There was something attached to his back. She recognised it instantly. Nar'Mia.
And there she had been, thinking that acquiring her weapon would be difficult.
"I'm actually glad," her master began, "That I was sent you. I'm pretty sure no one would have been as helpful to me as you have been."
His hand reached out and cradled the underside of her helmet. She tensed herself up, then struck.