The Lucifer Effect
Author's Note: Some readers may remember Remy from Pariahs Among Stars, an old (deleted) story I'm remixing with some changes to both the Pathfinder & OC. Remy's mostly intact but I've revamped some aspects and decided to restart from square one. I wanted to capture parts before Remy joins the Tempest crew, so it'll be a chapter or two before we hit it off with Remy & Suvi. If you think there's something I can improve on in my writing, I'm all ears and appreciate criticism. Hope you enjoy!

Suvi shoots up into sitting, gasping and gulping for air as if she's been trapped underwater all this time. White noise buzzes, disorienting, fading when someone touches her shoulder. She looks up at a man in a tech's uniform, her sluggish brain furiously working to piece fuzzy memories together. Then it hits her.

She's awake. They made it to Andromeda!

...So why does this man look exhausted instead of excited?

"Take it nice and slow. You're going to need all the energy you can get." The technician says ominously, worry etched in every grave wrinkle in his face.

Not a promising sign.

Suvi glances around, a dreadful feeling building in her gut at the sight of how dark it is in the cryo bay. "What's happening in here? Shouldn't there be more technicians?" she asks, steeling herself to get a good look at the technician. He doesn't flinch under her gaze, but his shoulders slump dejectedly.

"There should." he mutters as he holds out his hand, helping her climb out of her stasis pod. "You will be screened by a med-tech before you receive your instructions."

"What kind of instructions?" Suvi mumbles silently under her breath, largely to herself. The buzzing in her stomach won't stop. This eerie quiet bay is unsettling, like something out of a horror vid. She reluctantly follows the technician down the corridor, guided by meager floor lights. She engages her omni-tool, running a discreet monitor of her own vital signs. Her heart rate variability chart looks more like the jagged cliffs of the grand canyon.

Normal, considering how she feels apprehensive rather than enthusiastic.

But if she's been awoken, then there must be science around to distract her brain from any daunting challenges that may have arisen on the Nexus.

...Right?

-—-—-—-—-—-

Davis Qar. Journalist. Non-essential.

Cain Fawkes. Civil Engineer. Essential—circumstantial.

Dale Atkins. Security. Non-essential.

With a heavy heart, Suvi finishes typing her contingency report for an investigation she wishes she never offered to help on; the first part of a 'plan' for when rations run out. Some plan, if it can even be called that. Rations should've never happened in the first place. Riots should've never happened in the first place. Exiles should've never happened in the first place—both the action and the people.

Looking around the dark lab, Suvi takes a deep breath. She quietly rises from her chair and slowly assembles equipment she might never use, for plans of science that'll never happen. But even so... It's the only way to cope in this calm chaos—however much sense that doesn't make. It's deathly silent in here, something that was once unsettling, but has now become a solace. It's better than people screaming at each other over the smallest mistakes. Stress has wracked up the sanity count.

Suvi idly chews her lip as she tries to steer her thoughts to somewhere more hopeful—and, in turn, hopefully to ingenuity instead of depression. Innovation has never been born from ideal circumstances or there'd be no need to invent anything.

Still...

Suvi walks back to her terminal, bringing up the file of the exile she'd replaced: a mechanical engineer by the name of Remedy Kedar, who participated in the revolt.

Participated is too strong of a word, in Suvi's opinion. From the snippets she's heard, and alluding to the situation now, Suvi can't blame anybody for doing what they did. Nobody knows who these leaders are. Nobody knows what's going to happen now, now that both of Eos' outposts have failed. And still, people were ordered to go back into stasis; who would willingly jump back into a pod when the chances of survival are grim?

Fear jolts through Suvi at that thought. Here she is unnecessarily setting up equipment, making plans for when supplies run out—and all this after their attempts to set up an outpost has failed despite the efforts of the Initiative's best and brightest.

Heleus is unlivable.

What's worse: she won't even get the chance to confirm or deny that. She won't get to do what she came here to do.

Maybe being exiled isn't as bad as how leadership is making them out to be?

Suvi clicks her tongue off the roof of her mouth at that thought, chiding herself sternly as she renews her efforts back to the instructions she's received. She sits at her terminal and opens up another batch of Initiative members, reading their files—their history, their families, their dreams—and summarizing them based on their occupation and whether or not that occupation fits the parameters of who's essential or not.

And stress tallies another count as she reads the last file aloud.

"Suvi Anwar. Astrophysicist."

Her throat tightens. Her chest aches. Her family is at the forefront of her mind. Ultimately, it all means nothing in the end. She forces herself to type her own verdict.

"Non-essential."

When she said goodbye to her parents, she never imagined she'd be saying goodbye like this.

-—-—-—-—-—-

"Where is everyone?" Sara mutters, exchanging terse looks with Cora. It isn't hard to tell that not being Pathfinder is eating away at Cora on some level.

It isn't hard to tell because she makes that much known.

Rivalry is the last thing on Sara's mind right now. She'll consider them the best of friends so long as she's not backstabbed in this corridor in the next ten minutes. The pressure keeps building with every step that echoes in this hollow bay, the tension tantamount. White noise rings when Sara scans a container full of ordnance.

"No signs of battle, but..." She glances around, frowning. "Are they preparing for one; against those aliens, maybe?"

"Do you think that's why there was only an automated response for docking, instead of a live channel?" Liam asks, using both omni-tools for light. "Could be a brownout."

"We should go back to the ark and gear up," Cora mutters. Her calculating gaze never wavers whenever it snaps to Sara.

Normally, Sara's all for calculations, but not when it comes to people betting on her.

"Hey wait, I think I see a guy." Liam rises on his toes to look over a crate, waving Sara over as he whispers eagerly. "Maybe he's got champagne."

Sara rolls her eyes, chuckling. "I forgot to bring appetizers."

-—-—-—-—-—-

Music pounds deafeningly loud, drowning out any conversation—mostly threats and trash talk—in the club. Desperate, as always, Remy heads to one of the riskiest tables; also the most rewarding, if she plays her cards right. She needs to. This is her last resort, and failure is not an option.

Eyes snap to her as she steals a chair from another table and sits down, turning on her omni-tool to connect to the table's betting pile, placing her own. "A crate of resin caps. Twenty pieces." She smirks arrogantly—posturing as such to protect herself—when one of the others whistle, unperturbed by his mocking grin when he leans threateningly. He's nowhere near the worst she's had to deal with.

"Remy. You've been busy." His feral eyes narrow, nose flaring. "Like stealing from me kind of busy. You sure those parts aren't mine?"

"Dunno what you're talking about, Dale. I haven't been to Kurinth's Valley for a few weeks now." she lies dismissively.

The dealer hands her a set of cards and she takes a peek; it's already a bust, but nothing she can't turn around with a bit of grease. She'll have to mind her cheating so that she doesn't draw too much attention though; just bet what she doesn't need, and win what she does. It'll be far from a cakewalk with the veteran cutthroats also looking to make a quick buck tonight, but pressure is when she does her best work.

Even if she hates it.

"T-t-t-today junior," one of the players taunts her, but she says nothing and ignores the occasional jeering from the others. If only the music were louder.

"Raise." Remy bets her salvage on her omni-tool. "Ten pieces of impact restrictors and one uncharged bioreader."

"You fuckin' thief, you have been stealing from me!" Dale growls as he rises from his chair, slamming his hands on the table, trying to intimidate her.

Same shit, different day.

"It's common salvage, genius." Remy brushes him off with a wave, staying focused on the game.

"From my salvage site! Those pieces 'disappeared' last week and now, even worse than sellin' them back to me, y'want me to play for 'em? You think this is a game?"

"We are playing poker, yeah?" Remy exchanges her cards and looks up at him, unflinching. She has to be. If this keeps up then her mouth is liable to eat bullets instead of food, but showing weakness in a den of predators will secure her death sentence. "And before you mount your high horse or go off on a sob story about your sister, I'll let you in on a little something: everybody here knows you've been ripping them off since day one. You've painted a target on your own back, and if you keep it up then you're gonna be the next body dumped in the water."

"You—" he snarls menacingly, but is caught off guard when one of the other criminals encourages him to sit back down into the chair with a deceivingly friendly pat.

"Can't we all just get along? Play the game, have a good time. She isn't the one who took your parts anyways."

Remy blinks, but nips her tongue in time before she damns herself by blurting: "I'm not?"

She's as honest as the guy sitting next to her—which is not at all—and she's pretty damn sure that she did steal from Dale. She wishes she could forget how she had to become a glorified stalker just to figure out where he hoarded his junk; but she'll never forget how she stripped his hoverbike as a bonus.

It's only fair after he dismantled her shuttle.

"And what makes you so sure of that?" Dale postures all tough, crossing his arms; he must've been a security guard on the Nexus. He won't last long here. "You the thief?"

"Yes, actually. You act like you've never done it yourself. Everything is fair game on Kadara; let this be a lesson that you should always keep an eye on—or hide—your goods." The criminal shrugs nonchalantly. Remy barks out a laugh when he gives her a playful wink, rubbing salt in Dale's wounds. "Now you have to earn them back."

"Kadara's new slogan: not all pirates were born without a brain between the ears. Dale's a special exception." One of the other criminals quips ruthlessly, and finally the trash talk shifts off of Remy. She'd feel for Dale if he wasn't such a god damn asshole even when he's clueless.

Forget him.

Focus.

Now she has the peace of mind to pay attention to what's offered on the betting table and calculate what everybody's salvage is currently worth in the markets; just because she's hit jackpot with Dale's site doesn't mean she can afford to hand it off like it's a charity case. As soon as one of the other players—a quiet angaran—gambles a crate of nutrient paste, she goes all in and discreetly enables the cybernetic implants in her eyes, keeping a tight check on all the players' vitals to see who's bluffing. Her move to go in for the kill doesn't go unnoticed, but thankfully left unsaid.

A knee nudges her from under the table. She brushes it off, waiting for a few seconds before she glances over at the criminal who stood up for her. He smirks when he bets the exact same salvage as her, throwing Dale into another frenzy as he slews cusses left and right.

But what does this man want from her?

There's no way he's doing this out of the kindness of his heart. Everybody on Kadara is out for themselves. Everybody lies and cheats and steals. Nobody is a friend; anyone who proclaims it is just another manipulative liar, looking out for number one.

Just as another batch of nutrient paste is put in, the man beside her teases Dale ruthlessly and draws all attention to him, giving her a window to switch her cards with the one hiding in the sleeve of her sweater. If he does expect something from her for this, too bad. There's been no verbal agreement and she doesn't have to owe him a thing.

Remy bows out after she wins what she needs, ready to leave the table. The 'good samaritan' smoothly scoops her hand, giving a charming kiss to her knuckles, catching her off guard. "That paste is for angarans only," he notes.

Hopefully he won't be noting more things about her. She can't afford to be on anyone's radar anymore.

"Humans can eat it too, it just tastes like shit." For once, it's not a lie; but she's still guarding her intentions. She pulls her hand away and forwards the angaran player a nav point of where she expects her shipment, receiving pings from the others of where they want their hard-won salvage. She'll comb through the data later to ensure it's not a vantage point for another ambush. She's sick of those.

Sick of doing it herself too. She didn't come to Andromeda—to run away from crime... Only to get suckered into becoming a criminal anyways.

Remy takes her leave before the mysterious man tries to chat her up for another second; there's something off with him. He's not like everybody else on Kadara, but...

Is?

This doesn't make sense.

Remy sighs as she makes her way out of Tartarus, stuffing her hands in the front pocket of her sweater. Something scrapes her fingertip. Curious, she takes it out, surprised to see a folded piece of paper. She unfolds it, already knowing who's it from. Sort of. Good to know that other man has slick—instead of sticky—fingers; at least with her.

For now.

"Reyes Vidal, huh?" she mutters as she reads the name scrawled across, along with a frequency for who-knows-what. Her lips purse thin, frowning. "Does he think I'm like Dale? This screams 'trap' all over. He's not getting me that easily."

God knows she's already made that mistake one too many times. A desperate stranger trusting other desperate strangers is just a recipe to get FUBAR.

Remy crushes the paper in her hand and tosses it in a nearby sliver of fire-water. Nobody has a better name for it, but everybody knows it's best utilized for burning evidence. The Initiative screening process severely underestimated ingenuity on the ground when left unchecked. The Nexus revolt was proof of that. She pulls the brim of her cap down to shield her eyes as she passes through the warden's station, avoiding eye contact as she enters the badlands and heads for the turret protecting her hovercraft.

Powering the turret down and dismantling it into pieces, she ties a cord around it and carries it under her arm. She splays her fingers on to the hovercraft's DNA-signature panel to activate it, then rolls her pants up her mechanical legs to engage it's jump-jets without burning her clothes off.

Another mistake she's made one too many times before; why do her lessons always have to be learned the hard way?

Remy balances on the hovercraft, shipping out and aiming her pistol the second a whistle cuts the air. She glares when the familiar man claps his hands. "Reyes, is it? Don't try anything funny if you don't want another hole in your ass." she warns, loosening her grip on her turret, ready to re-deploy it on the hovercraft if need be.

"Now, now, there's no need for that. I prefer talking over shooting." Reyes smiles charmingly. Does he think she's that stupid to fall for it?

Well... It's happened countless times with other people, but that's besides the point.

"What do you want from me?" Remy trains her gun on his head, but she's a poor aim. She needs her turret's VI to sync with her implants and guide her hand.

"Your name." Reyes advances fearlessly, holding out his hands in surrender. Nobody surrenders on Kadara; all it's doing is stalling death. He has to have a backup plan.

"You heard it at the table. You already know who I am," she snarls, "so what do you actually want from me?"

"Your actual name." His smug smirk irritates her to no end; he certainly knows how to read people and get under their skin.

"I don't see how knowing that helps you." She kneels carefully to set her turret down on the hovercraft, engaging it's propellers in the event if she needs to evade a bullet herself and buy time to set the turret up. Her aim never strays... But it shakes. She's never taken a life with her own hands.

That's what machines are for.

"It helps me get to know you," Reyes counters smoothly, shrugging. "Which helps my business. I'm always looking for people."

"Looking, huh? To steal or kill?" Remy watches him warily, but she reads mechs for a living. Not people. She can't see any weapons on him though; is that cockiness, or naiveté, or does this 'business' of his keep him safe? Will it keep her safe? Only one way to find out; she lowers her gun. "What kind of business, and what do you pay in?"

"Steal or kill, so dramatic." He's determined to be annoying. Fantastic. "I'm looking to recruit, of course." Reyes smiles slyly. "And I'll pay in whatever you need."

"That doesn't answer my question," she snaps, heat surging to her chest, pounding in her throat. Her fingers itch on her gun. "Recruiting for what? I'm not interested in politics, so if you're in line with Sloane and the Outca—"

"I can get you vats of that nutrient paste for those angarans. Which you technically are anyways, since that angaran at the table works for me."

Remy freezes. Her pistol is back up, intimidating, or desperately posturing as such. Whoever this man is, he's dangerous. She bites her tongue before she asks how he knows; a question that'd confirm him and damn her. "I don't know what you're talking about," she hisses, ready to pull the trigger when he laughs.

"I won't hurt them. I'm on their side—which means your side, too."

"There are no 'sides' on Kadara. Everybody is in it for themselves." Remy blindly tries to set her turret up with one hand, refusing to take her eyes off Reyes when he takes a step forward. "I swear I'll shoot! Stay back!"

But he doesn't. She fumbles, flustered, temper igniting and exploding when she knows this is weakness. She looks over at her turret—still in pieces—panicking when he's right up at her hovercraft. He grabs her wrist before she hits him with the butt of her gun... But he doesn't attack her. She helplessly watches him, infuriated when he playfully waves his fingers with his free hand.

"Let me go, asshole!"

"Patience," he chuckles, "I promise I will soon." Reyes grabs the barrel of her gun, finger sliding to the back of it.

Remy's stomach drops at the sound of a subtle click.

"There we are." He steps back, his hands up in surrender again. "Now your safety's off. You can shoot me, if you like."

"Wha..." Never before has someone unnerved her to this degree; she doesn't know what to think or how to react, for once. "What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have a death wish?" Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, aiming her gun between his eyes. If she misses this shot at point-blank range, she's officially fucked on this planet.

It might honestly happen with how much her hand is trembling.

But instead of answering her question, Reyes walks backwards. "Sleep on it and think about my offer. If you change your mind, find me at Tartarus." He gives a playful wink. "Tell your friends about me too." He turns around and waves over his shoulder. He's fully exposing himself to be backstabbed by a stranger, but he's proved himself to be observant and cunning.

None of this makes sense. Something's amiss here.

Remy stares, dumbfounded. Buzzing crawls under her skin and she heeds her gut feeling, passing her hand over another panel to engage the hovercraft's thermal radar.

Three dots are detected.

"Hello~ backup plan." she drawls under her breath. Remy swallows her anger down and takes her hint, holstering her pistol and re-packing her turret.

She sarcastically salutes in the sniper's direction when she leaves.

-—-—-—-—-—-

This might be the fastest she's ever changed her mind. So, technically, he's getting her that easily. It still remains to be seen if this is a trap though.

Remy leans against the wall, watching the satisfied bastard drink with a permanent smile on his face. She looks away and scoffs. "Wipe that smile off. You're not recruiting me."

"Oh? So why are you here?"

"Got no choice, 'pparently. You're conscripting me. Why else would you have a sniper if you didn't intend to intimidate me into joining?"

"He was intended to be there to save me from the gun locked in safety." Reyes teases, chuckling. "So that I can sit here drinking Kian's poison instead of Kadara's poison."

"Bullshit." she grumbles, ignoring his jab and her warm cheeks over her embarrassing mistake. She got lucky; if he were anyone other than a shady bastard, she'd be dead right now. Everyone prioritizes loot over life. So why is she actually alive? She steals a peek at him. He's still stupidly smug. "What did I say about wiping that smile off?"

"Are you this bossy to all your bosses?"

"You are not my boss," Remy states firmly, pushing off from the wall. He better not get any funny ideas about them. Ever. "We're business partners."

"So I've successfully 'conscripted' a partner who doesn't know what sort of business we're conducting? I've outdone myself, it seems." Ugh, cheeky bastard. "I'll drink to that."

"You get information through supplies." Remy crosses her arms, gesturing to the door with a jerk of her chin. "And you said that angaran works for you; it's got to be smuggling. Or information broker. You looking to be Andromeda's shadow broker or something?"

Reyes looks at her, amused; hopefully she didn't just give him a funny idea. He grabs an extra mug and pours in it. "I trust the vats have made it safely?"

Evasive, roundabout answers. She hates working with people like this... But she has no choice if she wants to survive. At least it's better than underhanded tactics and murdering for supplies. "They have." More than she won, too. "You work quick." He must have a large crew. She'd be stupid not to take this opportunity to have a hand in that, but she'll still have to be careful.

She'd be doubly stupid to believe she stumbled on his radar by accident.

"They were there the moment you placed the bet on them." He shrugs, lifting his mug to toast. "I knew you'd win. Desperate enough to cheat for it, clever enough to know when. And I knew I'd won then, too. I need more people like you on my crew: working for what you need instead of greed. I promise you won't be desperate enough to cheat with the jobs I take on, though."

Intrigued, Remy humors him and walks over to grab her drink, bumping her mug against his. "My omni-tool never said that you placed a bet on me."

Reyes smiles devilishly. "I never show the cards in my sleeve."

-—-—-—-—-—-

Suvi's heart flutters with hope as she analyzes energy readings, drowning in an influx of data from the vault the Pathfinder somehow turned online. Suvi struggles not to jump out her station to hug Sara when she comes back to the bridge, grinning proudly and rightly so.

The ration investigation made it clear they were running out of time itself. Now the entire Initiative has a chance to get that time—and hope—back.

"Let's head back to the Nexus," Sara says, "I want to be the first one to shove it in Tann's face. We'll see who's the pretender now."

Suvi exchanges confused looks with Kallo, but neither have a chance to inquire when Sara leaves the bridge—practically bouncing on her way out. Suvi smiles at the sight; no doubt there's going to be one hell of a party back at the Nexus. Hopefully they'll have a chance to unwind before setting back out again.

"Retrieving coordinates and calculating navigation path," Suvi states before her mind flies away to la-la land. Work first, fun last. "Forwarding them now."

"Drive core online," Gil reports on the comms. "Everything looks good here."

"Systems green across the board, ascent is go." Kallo engages the haptic interface and inputs the coordinates. "Time to go home."

Home. That's what the Nexus is now, isn't it? Well, not yet, but it will be.

And she gets to be part of that.

Suvi smiles when they take off. That jolt when the ship lifts and the landing gear retracts, the vibrations of the shields bending the hull as they leave the atmosphere...

Nothing beats this exhilarating feeling, like she can take on this whole galaxy now.

This is what she came here to do, even if flight navigation isn't exactly in her job description. As horrible as it sounds, she's happy there weren't many scientists thawed out on the Nexus; leadership would've chosen someone more suitable for the job rather than just making do with what's on hand. Now she'll get more opportunities to get hands-on experience with all life they come across.

Picking up her personal datapad, she brings up the file of the exile she replaced. "I hope you're out there, somewhere." she whispers, propping the datapad on her dashboard.

And types a report on Eos to update the science team back home.

-—-—-—-—-—-

"Why don't we skip all the bullshit and you just tell me now what brand of asshole you are?" Remy asks sweetly, shooting the other smuggler a cheeky smirk. She's forced to stand her ground and swallow a spike of fear down when a gun is pointed at her face. She crosses her arms and tilts her head to get a view of the asari instead of the pistol's barrel. "Is this really necessary?"

"Yes." The asari steps closer and jams her gun against Remy's forehead. "Don't get cocky just because Reyes thinks you're a pretty face."

"He didn't tell me that. Does that mean you're the one who thinks I have a pretty face?" She cringes when the barrel digs painfully into her skin; she snaps, grabbing the barrel and pushing it away from her face as she glares venomously. It's met on equal ground but she refuses to back down. "Cut this out before your life's cut short."

"Careful with those baby teeth, whelp. This crew has shot people for a whole lot less than threats; but since I'm the nicest one out of all of us, I'm going to give you a warning. This gun will kill you. Not only will it kill you, you will suffer the whole time you're dying."

"Duly noted. Thanks for showing what brand of asshole you are." she drawls sarcastically, spitting at the ground when the asari stomps off as they wait for Reyes' flare.

Remy itches do something, but she can't. She doesn't like being forced to sit and wait. It gives her mind far too much time to wander, and it usually tends to wander to what Kadara reminds her of. Nexus. Even with all these assholes around—and she's no exception—it's a terrible reminder that every single person's dreams are going to die here.

No, not here. Tann and the krogan already crushed that; crushed more than that for some, like her. Remy's gaze drops to her prosthetics. She needs a new design that—

"Hey, pay attention, whelp!" the asari shouts. "I ain't losin' my share just 'cause I gotta babysit you; eyes on the sky!"

"Yes ma'am." Remy sighs, saluting mockingly as she looks up.

Minutes later, the flare illuminates where they're to strike. She and her trusty partner rush to the shuttle, and she wastes no time with the flight controls. The asari bitches at her the entire time they're flying, and Remy struggles not to just take the asari's gun to shoot herself.

...But she understands. This is what all their dreams have been reduced to: a never-ending nightmare for survival.

All Remy can do is pray for the day she'll get her revenge on the Nexus.