(Sorry for the added delay. I've had a terrible week so far.)
Location: The Citadel, Serpent Nebula
Building: Quarian Science Lab, Presidium
Zettor sighed and turned up the shading in his environment suit's visor as he bumped shoulders with yet another Turian C-Sec officer on one of the narrow paths in the Presidium. If there was one thing he loved about working on the Citadel, directly for the council and the quarian ambassadors, it was the funding. If there was one thing he hated so much about it that sometimes he wanted to just tear his suit to pieces and jump into the bacteria-infected river, it was how damn crowded and bright it was always was. Every moment was like high noon on a garden planet in a bustling city, the artificial sunlight and noisy Citadel folk even penetrating the walls of his bed chamber when he was trying to sleep, a near constant droning in both his eyes and his ears.
Somehow, it even made him feel lazy when it was time for him to go to bed, even though those people that were still awake and going about their business probably went to their own beds while he was still working. At least on a smaller starship, everyone's internal clocks were in sync so you didn't have to deal with the confusion and constant daytime effect like you had in this part of the massive space station.
But now wasn't the time for that. As tired as he was and sick of the pretend sun piercing through his retina, it was his turn to bring in breakfast and the others tended to bitch if the person with the food took too long. He held the temperature-sealed food transport bag close to his side so as to avoid too many people or inanimate objects (or those in-between, like the elcor) bumping into it and risking one of the contaminant-sealed containers inside from getting knocked open. The last thing they needed when they were so close to the ideal treatment for quarian immunodeficiency was for one of their group to die of an infection. Their lead researcher, a brilliant quarian named Gron'Sevar, nearly died last month from someone not shutting the clean room door properly, so they were all a bit cautious these days.
Now walking through the uninhabited corridor that led to their lab building, Zettor heard a pair of unfamiliar voices echoing quietly from up ahead and slowed down, peaking through the glass door cautiously in case there was something happening he shouldn't interrupt. Inside, he saw a pair of armored figures, a human and a salarian, peaking into a vent that seems to have been ripped straight off the wall and arguing over something. Near to them was an island counter that was now covered with broken glass and nearly burned through in some places with plasma fire, while the area around it was burned with the occasional laser blast and had plenty of debris of its own. To the right of the counter, on the floor, he saw someone's head sticking out as they laid on the floor. He recognized the face instantly as a female quarian he knew only as Cala, her usually pristine visor now smeared with quarian blood.
Zettor gasped to himself and dropped the bag of decontaminated turian cuisine, which then smacked the floor loudly and caused both armored men inside the room to look his way. The scientist didn't need to to rely on his education to tell him to run at that point. He bolted back down the hallway and out into the Presidium, but found himself under plasma fire sooner than he would have liked. People shouted and scattered as the twin sources of the fire came out onto the open walkways and chased after their quarian mark, who ducked and bobbed around every bit of cover he could find, bits of plant and dirt and chunks of metal spraying up where shots just barely missed him. A handful of C-Sec officers finally arrived as he ducked away from them and disappeared down into one of the wards, the two mercenaries running back the way they came and evading their own pursuers in due time.