Author's Note: Welcome to my second fanfic! This story will likely consist of a few chapters, but it might go for a bit longer if I come up with more ideas.

Rated T for violence and minor swearing.

CHAPTER ONE: Debts Owed

"Mr. Massani!"

A voice echoed with disapproval, causing the mercenary to jerk upright in his chair. Mismatched eyes blinked rapidly as they tried to clear away the blurriness of sleep.

"Yeah?" Zaeed cleared his throat. "…Sir". His delayed inclusion of the honorific was given a poorly-masked edge of scorn and insubordination.

Charles Davies, the speaker of the disapproving voice, stared with cold eyes. Davies was a lawyer under the employ of a man named Franco Antonelli. He was a pale, skinny man – one so slender that he was nearly skeletal in appearance. Strands of white, wispy hair were neatly combed above a face rigid in a state of perpetual dissatisfaction.

The lawyer wondered whether he should scold Zaeed for sleeping on the job. He knew he had the authority to discipline Zaeed, but there was something feral about the hired gun that gave him pause. Weeks ago, Davies had insisted that Zaeed wear the formal uniform of his security staff, and the mercenary had reluctantly obliged him. And yet, between the man's hideously scarred face, the one pale eye, and his Blue Suns mercenary tattoo, Zaeed made Davies nervous. One of the other bodyguards had joked that Zaeed's new appearance was like "polishing a turd". But to Davies, it was more like to dressing a varren in a three-piece suit.

"This way please, Mr. Massani." In the end, the option to ignore the obvious dereliction of duty won out in the lawyer's mind – the upcoming meeting might be unpleasant enough already.

They walked down an empty hallway, on expensive hardwood floors topped with a rich indigo carpet. Every few meters, a different painting hung on the wall, showing portraits and landscapes purchased from Earth, Palaven, Thessia – and even one that was reputedly from Rannoch, before the Geth War.

The two came to a large room similarly furnished in extravagance. Larger paintings hung from the walls here, and each of them sat between alternating marble and obsidian sculptures. In the center of the room, two rows of turian statues stood sentinel. Each one portrayed a unique turian hero from ancient times, carved from some silvery mineral native to Palaven. All loomed larger than a grown man and each seemed to silently judge the pair walking between them. The two men continued to the only furniture present in the room: an intricately carved mahogany desk and a high-backed leather chair facing the room's entrance.

The man who sat in the chair was Franco Antonelli. He was a massive man, one made fat by years of indulgence and decadence. His nervous eyes shifted constantly from underneath a mop of greasy brown hair as the two men approached. Franco always appeared tense and sweating, even though he had little reason to be. A small army of security guards patrolled his enormous estate, and a loyal elite few stayed by his side at all times. In that very room, there were four of them: two by the entrance, and one standing to each side of the desk. Franco was one of the most powerful men of Elysium's criminal underbelly, and upon seeing Zaeed step closer, he grinned. It wasn't a smile born of friendliness, but one that communicated a clear message: that Franco Antonelli owned Zaeed Massani, and both men knew it.

Zaeed had departed from the Normandy shortly after the successful attack through the Omega-4 Relay. As promised, The Illusive Man had paid him generously for his services – extremely generously. It was far more money than Zaeed had ever earned from a single job, and so he did as many other men when faced with excessive wealth: he spent it with reckless abandon. The first few months upon leaving the Normandy were a blur of exotic foods, expensive liquors, and beautiful women. Trouble came when Zaeed started to dabble in gambling – not in legitimate casinos, but in the posh, secret back-rooms of dangerous and wealthy men.

Sometime before meeting Franco Antonelli, Zaeed had found himself in one such room on Elysium, playing a high-stakes version of poker that was popular on Irune. The mercenary had always a mixture of good and bad nights, but that evening had been catastrophic. By the end, he found himself owing a massive sum of money that would've all but drained the rest of his savings.

The game had been hosted by Hector Vilmarc, a man responsible for most of the smuggling that took place on Elysium. Stefan, his nephew, had been there in person presiding over the game. Stefan was new to the organization, but his relation to the boss forced others to regard him with deference. This authority did much to inflate the young man's ego.

"You have twenty-four hours to get us the money." Stefan delivered the ultimatum as a bitter, half-drunk Zaeed was preparing to leave.

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get what's owed you," muttered Zaeed, not bothering to look up.

"Let me be clearer. You have twenty-four hours, or I will personally shatter your legs." Stefan grabbed Zaeed by the shoulder in an attempt to force the mercenary to face him. And when Zaeed turned, the young man inadvertently recoiled a step as he was greeted by an intense, murderous gaze.

"Personally? I doubt you could wipe your own arse without needing your little goons to lend a hand." Zaeed spoke softly, but his words dripped malice. "Now, I'm sure you need to get back to counting your uncle's money like a good little bitch. Kindly get the hell out of my way."

Stefan's face turned a deep shade of red and contorted with anger. He pulled a gilded, ornate pistol from his belt and pointed it between Zaeed's eyes. The muzzle, nearly touching Zaeed's forehead, quivered as Stefan shook with rage.

The mercenary's lips pulled back. It wasn't a smile, but rather something more akin to a predator baring its teeth. "Not smart, boy. Not smart at all..."

There were three other bodyguards in the room, but Zaeed's reputation as one of the most dangerous men in the galaxy was well-earned. Even inebriated, he fought with ruthless skill, and within minutes all four enemies were on the ground. The bodyguards lay motionless, beaten into unconsciousness with the now-mangled gilded pistol. Stefan had also been knocked out, but not before Zaeed had broken both of the man's legs, one arm, and half the teeth in his mouth. Zaeed knew deep down that he had probably overreacted, but he was too drunk and irate to care. He went home, downed the first bottle he could find, and passed out.

Zaeed awoke to a soft pinging noise, indication that he had received a video message over the extranet. He groaned, thoroughly hungover. Memories of the previous night began to flood back into his mind, prompting him to swear. It seemed it was time to leave Elysium. The mercenary hit 'Play' on his apartment's vid screen as he began to pack his belongings.

"Good morning, my friend!" A middle-aged, sharply-dressed man appeared on the screen. His long black hair was slicked back and hung down to just past his ears. A pair of spectacles sat upon a beak-like nose, through which pale eyes seemed to mockingly stare into Zaeed. The man was Hector Vilmarc.

Zaeed rolled his eyes and continued packing.

"I understand you have had a busy night. However, come the morning, a man must face the consequences of his actions. As you already know, there are the losses you incurred from my game, which have yet to be paid in full." He flashed a sympathetic smile. "Lady Luck can be quite fickle – Lord knows I've endured my share of misfortune amongst the cards. But then there stands the matter of my nephew, who is currently recovering from serious injury. Now, I'm sure a number of men in my line of work might turn to vengeance. However, I am a businessman and out of respect for your reputation, I will allow you twenty-four hours to pay your gambling debt… in addition to restitution for my nephew's pain and suffering."

"Bugger that," Zaeed snarled at the video message.

"If you do not pay within this time, I will be compelled to send my men. This is not an action I prefer, but my own reputation must be considered. I acknowledge your skills and penchant for violence, and we both know that this option will result in many deaths. But understand this: if you force me to this action, I will have my pound of flesh." Hector's tone was even, almost as if he were casually discussing the weather. "Remember, I have eyes on all the spaceports of Elysium. Attempt to escape the planet, and you will be discovered and brought to me."

Zaeed was hit by the meaning of these words and sank into a plush chair. He stared at the video image of Hector, and began to feel as if the jaws of a massive steel trap were closing around him.

"Have a good day, my friend. I will see you soon."

The screen went dark and then proceeded to display the total amount that Zaeed now owed. His eyes narrowed, and he began to utter a string of curses. The amount for assaulting Stefan Vilmarc was far more than the gambling debt. In total, it was nearly double the payment he had received from Cerberus.

The screen turned to static, and Zaeed could hear a faint hissing noise emanating from the computer's memory banks. Apparently, one of Hector's engineers had sent the message with some kind of malware, to force Zaeed's computers into deleting the message once it had been delivered. Zaeed wasn't the type of man to flee to the authorities, but Hector was clearly a careful man.

The mercenary sat in silence for a moment, reflecting. It was an insane, ridiculous amount of money, and Hector had to know that Zaeed could not hope to pay it in twenty-four hours. It was hopeless… but that had been the true message that Hector wanted to convey. For twenty-four hours, Zaeed was meant to panic, scramble for money, and await his inevitable demise.

Yet, within an hour of this message, deliverance came in a most unlikely form.

Franco Antonelli was a rival of Hector Vilmarc, and while their antagonism never took the shape of all-out war, there were constant cloak-and-dagger movements to undermine the others' organization. Word of Zaeed's defiance had reached Franco, and so Davies approached the mercenary with an offer. Davies claimed that his employer would pay the debt, and in return Zaeed would be hired as a member of the crime boss' security staff. Zaeed's wages would then be used to repay Franco.

Zaeed was not afraid of fighting Hector's assassins, but knowing when to avoid a fight was something that all mercenaries eventually learned. And so, he had consented to the lawyer's offer, and then sealed the agreement by signing a contract. Zaeed had figured he could wait a few weeks, escape from Franco's mansion, and then find a way off the planet. He soon realized his error.

Franco Antonelli lived in the hills a few kilometers north of Illyria, in an elegant mansion that housed the man's extensive art collection. But the estate was also a veritable fortress. High walls, manned by loyal members of his security staff, surrounded the perimeter of the mansion. State-of-the-art drones monitored both the inside and outside of the manor to fill in any gaps. Zaeed, who was only given a weak stun pistol, quickly discovered that leaving in secret would not be so simple.

The contract prevented him from leaving through more legitimate means. Zaeed's lack of alternatives forced him into a three-year minimum contract under Franco Antonelli. A seemingly cushy job in security wasn't something that Zaeed was averse to, yet he had failed to read the fine print. The salary, which was vital to repaying Franco, was subject to change on the whim of his employers at any time.

Above all, Zaeed knew that if he caused too much trouble, Franco would have no qualms about simply selling him to Hector. But instead, the man enjoyed parading Zaeed in front of guests, boasting that he had "procured one of the finest killers in the galaxy". This obsession with ownership had been what saved Zaeed from Hector. Franco collected rare and exotic items from all across the galaxy. The collection mostly artwork, yet when Zaeed had first arrived at the mansion, there had been some endangered creature from Thessia that Franco kept caged as a pet. Zaeed had never learned what kind of creature it was, beyond it resembling a lion with a distinctly avian face. Regardless, without more than a few square meters to stretch its legs, the noble creature grew sick over the course of weeks and wasted away to nothing. It was a sobering lesson in how Franco Antonelli treated his belongings.

Franco's smile gave way to an insincere look of concern as Zaeed and Davies came to a halt. "We need to discuss the matter of your salary, Mr. Massani." Franco spoke in a nasally, high-pitched voice that seemed peculiar for a man his size. "Operating costs of conducting business have been rising. We all need to tighten our belts, so to speak."

Zaeed doubted that there existed a belt long enough for Franco's girth, but he kept the quip to himself.

"As your contract allows, we will be thus be adjusting your compensation," Davies chimed in. "The reduction will be... twenty-five percent."

Zaeed's hands clenched into fists. The aim was clear. By continually docking his pay, Franco intended to force the mercenary into staying beyond the minimum three years. Years in which Zaeed would just be another trophy – guarding an empty stretch of hallway, parading in front of guests, and enduring Franco's constant goading.

"Well, Mr. Massani?" asked Franco, eagerly searching Zaeed's face for a sign of impotent anger.

But Zaeed merely nodded and did his best to keep his face devoid of emotion. Franco frowned in disappointment, and then waved his hand in dismissal. Turning from the desk, Zaeed began to study the two bodyguards by the door. He figured he could disarm one, shoot the other, and then take cover behind the turian statues. The other two guards by the desk would open fire, but he figured Franco would be too slow and fat to escape from his chair. The gambit would probably mean Zaeed's eventual death, and yet… "Anything's preferable to this damned purgatory." Zaeed steeled his resolve and stepped ever closer to the bodyguards. They eyed him carefully in return.

Suddenly, the lights went out. Within seconds, the emergency lighting was humming to life, casting the room in an eerie red glow. But as the lights came on, Zaeed thought he saw the door crack open before closing, though nobody else appeared to enter the room.

"What is this?!" Franco shrieked in alarm as his bodyguards drew their weapons.

Davies activated his omni-tool and spoke into it. "Security teams, report in!" There was only an odd, distorted electrical noise in response.

"Looks like your signal is being jammed locally," Zaeed said with a grin. "Somebody's on their way to this room. Perhaps... they're already here?" Zaeed realized there was the possibility that Hector Vilmarc was making his move against him, but he no longer cared – it was better to die fighting than to live in a cage.

"Shut your eyes." A whisper came from Zaeed's left.

Zaeed was puzzled, but the voice was familiar and so he instinctively obeyed. Then, a heartbeat later, the explosion came.

Even through closed eyelids, Zaeed could see a sudden, blinding flash of light in front of him. A shockwave of what felt like pure sound forced him and Davies to the ground, but having shielded his eyes before the blast, Zaeed quickly recovered. He was able to see a blurred shadow dart from one confounded bodyguard to the next. As the figure struck, a silver stun baton pressed against their necks. Flashes of green light contrasted violently against the surrounding red illumination.

Both bodyguards groaned and slumped to the ground. Their assailant wore a tight-fitting silver and black outfit, one with a hood covering a large part of the face. The figure vanished again, and Zaeed nearly laughed aloud.

Kasumi Goto was a thief, arguably the best in the galaxy. Her name wasn't well-known, but that near-anonymity was evidence of her elite status. She had also been hired by Cerberus to join Commander Shepard aboard the Normandy. She and Zaeed had both left the ship around the same time, but Kasumi had done so in secret before anybody realized she had gone, as was her style. Zaeed had heard nothing about her since.

"You might want to stay down; I wouldn't want to get you in trouble..." The whisper came again as the grenade's effects wore off and Zaeed's sense of hearing returned.

Zaeed felt a slight breeze as a silent figure rushed past him to the other end of the room. The other two bodyguards had their weapons ready now, and were firing blindly in the direction of the entrance. Zaeed, still on the ground, had to roll behind a statue to avoid being hit by the reckless gunfire.

"There! He's stealthed!" One of the guards noticed the subtle shimmer of a tactical cloak and concentrated his fire. The blurred outline was struck by the gunshots and was replaced by the standing, motionless figure of Kasumi. Even as the bullets impacted her body, the figure was oddly still and frozen in mid-sprint. Then the visage of the running form flickered.

"It's a decoy!" The other bodyguard yelled, but before he could do anything more, Kasumi was behind him. The stun baton jabbed into his lower back, and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream as he fell.

With perfect aim, Kasumi then threw the baton – its trajectory a straight line between her hand and the final bodyguard's forehead. There came an emerald flash of light, a groan of pain, and a single thud.

"W-who are you?" Franco stammered. He tried to push himself to his feet, his plump arms struggling with the effort.

Kasumi sauntered over to him and pushed the man back into his chair. "You don't need to be afraid. I didn't come here to hurt anybody. Well... not too badly at least." Kasumi spoke in her usual tone with its faint hint of mischief. "I must say, you have a beautiful collection here. I especially liked your painting of the nude asari – it's surprisingly tasteful. But I'm here for something else." Quick as a serpent, her hand shot out and pulled Franco's arm.

"No!" Franco protested, but his voice was feeble. Around his wrist was a bracelet. It was a simple piece of jewelry, constructed from a polished metal and studded with dull, burgundy-colored stones.

"Rumor has it that this is prothean. Technological artifacts are rare enough, but jewelry?" Kasumi shrugged in answer to her own question. "It seems their society didn't put much emphasis on vanity. A treasure indeed."

Franco tried to pull his hand back, but Kasumi was surprisingly strong for a woman of her slim frame. "I-It's just a family heirloom. Purely sentimental value!" whined Franco, but his tone was hardly convincing.

Kasumi drew a short, wicked-looking knife. "Franco," the thief cooed. "Please take off the bracelet. For me?" She gave his hand a quick, affectionate squeeze, but kept the blade well within his sight.

Franco's eyes were wide, but he said nothing. Finally, with trembling hands, he began to remove the bracelet. Zaeed grinned at the sight. He and the thief had very different means of handling an enemy, but he admired her skills.

There came a sudden stirring of movement from Zaeed's left. Davies, who had recovered from the flashbang grenade, was sitting upright. He held a short, derringer-like pistol that must have been concealed in his suit pocket. Kasumi, her back turned to the lawyer, was oblivious to the danger. Zaeed let a cold fury take hold of his body.

With a hoarse shout, Zaeed tackled the lawyer, an instant before the trigger could be pulled. He savagely wrenched the weapon from the shocked lawyer's hand and swung his fist down into the man's stomach. Davies gaped up at Zaeed, but the mercenary continued the assault, striking the man across the face. A soft moan escaped the older man's lips as he curled into a protective ball.

Zaeed stood, spitting with derision. "I bloody hate lawyers."

"You!" Franco yelled. "I saved you! You'd be sliced up into little pieces somewhere if it weren't for me!" He pointed an accusing finger at Zaeed.

Kasumi turned to gaze at the mercenary; her head nodded slightly in thanks.

"You know what? You're right," Zaeed observed thoughtfully as he stepped toward the desk. "And that's why I won't kill you. I owe you that much. However... I do owe you this." Suddenly, Zaeed snatched up the stun baton from the floor. He grabbed Franco by the face, his fingers digging into the man's fleshy jowls. Zaeed forced the man's jaws apart and jammed the stun baton up against the roof of his mouth. There came an anguished cry, and green light illuminated the inside of Franco's mouth and nostrils.

Kasumi winced. "He'll definitely be feeling that one for a few days," she said, fixing the bracelet around her own wrist. She watched as Zaeed removed the stun baton from an unconscious Franco's mouth before offering it to her. Her nose wrinkled at sight of saliva dripping from its tip. "...You keep it."

"So, what now?" Zaeed wiped the baton on the front of Franco's suit. He slipped it into his pocket and gave an admiring look at the incapacitated figures around him.

"Now? I make my escape." Kasumi took one last appreciative glance at her new prize. "The security systems should be down for another twenty minutes or so. Still, I'd better leave before the rest of security figure out what's going on."

"Sounds good. We better get going, then."

"We?" questioned Kasumi. She eyed the now-unconscious Franco. "Well, I suppose. That was one hell of a resignation notice." The thief chuckled, and the pair walked from the room and into the hallway.

"I can't wait to be rid of this place," Zaeed grumbled.

"I was pretty surprised to see you here. Hard times?"

"You could say that." Zaeed didn't want to say much more.

"Well, now you can have a fresh start," Kasumi responded with a contented sigh. "I probably have a couch you can crash on for a day or two and-" She stopped abruptly as Zaeed halted before one of the hallway's paintings. It was the portrait of the nude asari. Kasumi watched with curiosity as Zaeed snatched her knife from its sheath. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Severance pay." Zaeed began to cut the painting out of its frame. "This one was my favorite too. Very... what did you call it? Tasteful."