“Ruined. Waste of good work,” the grunt of the salarian came. Mordin shook his head, shifting through the mess of his office, which had been overturned by some gang that was angry at him. Didn’t matter which. All gangs were angry at him. For good reason; he was healing their enemies and killing them off with a brutality they didn’t know he was capable of. Their fault for underestimating him, really.

“Have to start over. Have to do it all again. Damn... damn, damn. Must be some salvageable. Must-”

He trailed off at the slight noise. Blinking once, he turned over. Ah. One of the gang members was alive. No matter. He pulled his gun from the holster, pointing it to the person with a blank expression.