Nix is already in motion, as Oli cedes to her greater experience. "The thing with damage control," the larger turian explains as she begins moving among the various control consoles. "Is that no one in their right mind locks them, it just doesn't-- ah, here!"
Pressing her armored hand upon the screen she had discovered, a heavy emergency shunt slams down, sealing off the cockpit from the storm. Small dunes of the desert planet's sand had already formed in the corners, and the room's oxygen would take time to replenish, but at least the gale had disappeared.
"Move it," she says next, her hips tapping against Oli's own, pushing her gently out of the way. "Main controls will take some time, we usually had a tech detachment for that. But radio... here--" Holding up an intercom device, Nix finds the cord severed, cut during their dramatic entrance. She tosses it over her shoulder, and indicates a microphone built into the console itself.
"Hold that button there, speak into the mic. I'll work on general controls."
"Ah, right, got it!" Oli replies, putting away her omni-tool and working over towards the intercom. "We need to seal off the hull breaches. Isolating the crew from one another should be another priority. If you can vent any of them into space, that would work, but really, we just need to make sure they can't come at us in a large group. In the mean time..."
"Ahem? Is this thing on?"
If there was sound in the cockpit, Oli and Nixidonia would never know, the vacuum of space had seen to that, as there still wasn't enough air to carry sound yet. She merely looks at Nix, giving her a shrug before continuing. "Right, so uh, hi! My name is Oli! Or Oliviar, or Valerius, or whatever Faskan uses, but I just go by Oli! So uh... yeah! I don't know how much you all know about me, I don't really know anything about any of you. But here's what I do know. I've kicked your bosses' ass a few times now. Like, he had a fleet of ships, yeah? And he's down to what? The one? I also engaged him on Tefnut, in person. He ran away, after using your pals as meat shields. I'm not really one for the whole honor schtick, either, but even to someone like me, that was a lame move."
"So aaaanyway," the small turian continues, leaning against a console. "Okay, look, here's the thing. I know we kind of pissed off the Blue Suns, and I'm sure Faskan, having followed us all the way across the galaxy has probably picked up a few others who aren't too happy with my little group, and I get that. I'm sure your bosses feel slighted. We're on a big job, stuff happens. But at every turn, at
every turn, we've won. Every time you guys come at us, we kill all of you cookie cutter soldier wannabes and your leaders turn tail and run. Well guess what? You haven't been learning from your mistakes, because that's where we are again. Faskan is nowhere to be found, and I'm on your bridge, with more of your buddies dead at my feet."
"So here's the deal. Anyone who decides enough is enough, today is your lucky day. Lay down your arms and surrender. Because, and I'm going to make this as simple as I can: if you don't, every last one of you will die. No, no glorious death in a blaze of glory. You'll just die. Cold, alone, floating in space, and no one will ever know what happened to you. A few of your pals also decided they'd go down swinging, and, you know, for the life of me, I can't recall a single one of their names. Boring kills, I can't help it if I forget the next day. Not when every week or so I'm putting a few dozen notches on my guns."
"Surrender. We have a Spectre, he'll give you asylum. Because honestly? I've gotten bored of killing you losers. It's not fun anymore. I want the people you work for. Give up, and you can go your own way. If not, then our Spectre is going to be the least of your problems, because I'll be coming for every single one of you, and there isn't a single person on this ship who has what it takes to kill me or my team. Don't become another notch on my guns. Frankly, I'm out of room."