Eliot stepped off the shuttle with purpose, his combat boots echoing through Omega's docking bay like a countdown to violence. The station's putrid air - a mix of sweat, engine oil, and fear - hit him immediately. Weakness clung to these corridors like mold, and he intended to exploit it.

"Scorpius," a voice rasped from the shadows. The contact he'd arranged, looking nervous as he approached. "The merchants..."

Eliot grabbed him by the throat, slamming him against the wall before the man could finish. "I don't need details. I need locations." His fingers tightened, watching the fear bloom in the contact's eyes. "Now."

The information torn from the whimpering man led him to the lower levels, where Eliot moved like a predator through the crowd. Then he heard it - a woman's gasp cut short, followed by rough laughter. Three batarians had cornered someone in an alley.

He should have kept walking. Contracts didn't include rescuing strangers. But when he saw her pressed against the wall, fear and defiance mixing in her eyes, something primal snapped inside him.

Eliot moved without thinking, breaking bones before the batarians even registered his presence. His combat training left him covered in their blood, his chest heaving as he turned to her. "You're mine now," he growled, advancing until she had nowhere to escape, his body radiating heat and unapologetic desire.