Garrus stepped into the bar of the casino along the Silversun Strip, his sharp gaze sweeping over the dimly lit yet lively scene. The base of the music thrummed through the floor, crawling up his limbs in a way that made his fringe flutter.

He adjusted his visor, his mandibles twitching slightly—a rare show of nerves for the usually controlled turian.

Asari, humans, and everything in between scattered the space around him, occupying their time with either drinking themselves into a stupor or—as the saying went—"cutting a rug on the dance floor."