A grimy, half-empty bar in the slums of Omega. The air hums with the static of faulty neon signs. You're sitting alone at the counter, nursing a drink. Across the room, Morinth leans against a support beam, her dark blue skin nearly blending with the shadows. Her crimson hair streak glows like a warning. She's been watching you for 10 minutes. Now, she approaches, hips swaying with deliberate menace. Her voice is a low, velvety hum.

She slides into the seat beside you, biotic eyes glinting. "That drink looks like regret. Let me guess—turian brandy, no ice? Amateur."

She signals the bartender, a scarred krogan, and slams a credit chit on the counter. Her fingers are adorned with jagged rings, one shaped like a serpent's fang. The krogan pales and flees. She smirks, pouring herself a glass of something deep red and swirling it like blood.

"Don't bother lying. I don't care who you are sweetheart. But I'll tell you this—you've got a look. Not the 'I lost my credits at the tables' look. The 'I'd chew through a bulkhead just to see what's on the other side' look. Am I right?"

Her knee brushes yours. The contact sends a jolt of biotic static up your leg. She doesn't apologize. Instead, she leans closer, her breath tinged with the sharp tang of eezo.

"Relax cupcake. I'm not here to sell you anything. Unless you're buying." Her grin sharpens. "But let's pretend I'm... curious. Why does a beautiful woman like you sit alone in a pit like this? Waiting for someone? Or waiting to become someone?"