A/N: Try to keep an open mind and pay close attention to the years. Enjoy!
Surveillance Time stamp—May 2168
His favorite pair of Edward Greens squeaked against the wet cobblestones, completely ruined by the recent rain. Yet Josef barely registered the loss as he scrolled through his omni-tool, smiling at the pictures of beautiful girls and new friends from Pier 7. He only went because his grandfather wouldn't let it drop. According to him, a boy was a man on his eighteenth birthday and deserved to celebrate as such. Josef initially planned to have nothing more than a few drinks with the guys before heading home, but Beirut's hottest night clubs had other plans. They teased and taunted him with strobe lights, blaring music and crowds of humans and aliens alike all cramped into an intimate dance floor, drunk on their own excitement.
But it was Faridah who caught his eye as she commanded the dance floor. Unlike the others, there was no teasing in her hazel eyes, she wasn't looking to play games or push the boundaries of her sexuality. Faridah was there to dance and moved like a goddess. He tried many times to focus on the famous asari nearby, but his wandering eye returned to the true human beauty who occasionally offered a friendly smile.
Their friends turned conspirators and introduced them. The rest of the night was full of laughter as they danced together. He didn't consider himself even a remotely passable one but she would not accept ineptness as an excuse. She would fist her hands in his dress shirt as they swayed to the music and whispered stories to each other long into the night.
After walking her home to a modest house near Biel, he was glad to discover they weren't all that far from each other. Josef's omni-tool pinged as he crossed onto Gauraud street. The text echoed his sentiments:
I wish to see you again, Josef.
He froze mid-reply as his eyes fell on the visitor near his building. The beefy figure of Khalil was unmistakable. His friend leaned against the column of the ten-story penthouse apartment building Joe called home and lit a cigarette. The crushing weight of reality pushed his night aside as he jogged the rest of the way over, suddenly worried.
His comrade shot him a toothy grin as he stubbed the cigarette. "Josef!" Khalil greeted, arms wide as he crushed him into a hug.
When they parted, Joe pat his friend on the shoulder, frowning at the bulkiness beneath his palm. "If I didn't know better, I would say you've been working out."
"Unfortunately for us both," he unzipped his jacket and revealed the wires and plaster, poking from his vest, "you do know better my friend."
Josef clenched his jaw, suddenly feeling very stupid for getting so caught up in normal life. Khalil was a freedom fighter through and through. Having fought alongside Josef's father, he was one of the few who vouched for him when the People's Liberation Army (PLA) was recruiting. Now Khalil was out here working hard, while he danced the night away, enjoying an undeserved freedom.
A squad of Alliance soldiers rounded the corner on routine patrol. They were becoming a more common sight since the Lebanese Army had its hands full keeping peace in South Lebanon.
Khalil zipped his jacket and took off at a brisk pace. Joe caught the squad leader's suspicious glance as he turned to follow his friend. "Your target?" he asked in a hushed tone.
"The pigs at Skybar," Khalil whispered.
Skybar was the most famous rooftop club Beirut had to offer. It would still be jam packed with civilians at four o'clock in the morning. It was also a famous hangout for Alliance contractors who did the dirty work the Alliance did not want to be associated with. "The Mercenaries? You can't go alone. They outnumber you."
"No one said it would be simple, Josef." Khalil smiled and threw an arm around him, play-acting for the squad. "They all must die."
The cigarette smoke on Khalil's breath stung his eyes, but Josef tried his best to play along and not alert the guards. Just two friends taking a walk, nothing more.
When the guards passed, Josef pushed away from him, determined to provide backup. "Let me get my weapon. I will cover you and make sure the civilians leave."
"Evacuation would only alert the target. I can't take that chance." Khalil dug into his pocket and shoved an envelope his way. "Besides, you have another mission my friend. Your training has been approved. Your flight for the Sahara will come sooner than you think."
As Josef read the letter and stuffed the plane chit into his suit jacket, Khalil paced before him, running heavy hands over his bearded face. Khalil would never admit he was nervous.
"Wait for me." Josef grasped his older friend's shoulders to keep him from pacing. "Don't do anything until I get my weapon." When Khalil didn't meet his eye Josef shook him. "Wait for me!"
Khalil finally nodded and mustered a faint smile. "I will my friend. But you must hurry."
One didn't work this long for freedom fighters to think Khalil would actually keep his promise. So once his friend was out of sight, Josef took off at a full sprint, knowing he only had minutes to intercept him after gearing up.
Ten minutes out of breath later, he was too late. The entire neighborhood felt the music whenever Skybar was open, its absence implied the obvious.
Josef clutched the HMWP Master Pistol he filched from a fallen spectre long ago and took a shortcut to the famous club. Climbing fences and ducking past Alliance security drones, he made it to the entrance. A blockade was erected, too far too be effective but the Alliance grunts kept themselves well away as they pretended to secure the area. Probably waiting for the second they could wipe their hands clean and move onto other missions.
The manager and bouncer lay face-down in their combined pool of blood, something from within distracted them long enough for two bullet holes to find their heads. Josef stepped over them, pistol drawn. If the building was still standing it meant that Khalil hadn't detonated the vest.
The silence was unsettling. It hung over him as he cleared a path to the elevator, stomach clenching with each additional dead civilian he found. Judging by the automatic spray of bullets, the soldiers must have chased Khalil into the building with no regard for collateral. He stopped by a spray of orange and blue blood, a turian and asari who were caught in the crossfire lay shredded at his feet. Something about their dead bodies unsettled him, he had never seen aliens in this state. They seemed invulnerable so invulnerable before now.
He knew people opposed his cause, that some would rather bow down to Alliance rule and live out their days under constant military influence and surveillance. But he was not going to let their own ignorance enslave them and his country.
Satisfied that no one else was in the lobby. He pinged the elevator for the top floor and took cover at the control panel. As the numbers ascended, Josef felt eerily at ease. He hadn't been in a real battlefield since joining the PLA, they had him smuggling arms and transporting intel while they reviewed his membership. But he watched enough vids from his father's archives to know exactly what to expect.
The elevator doors would open, the guards would lower their weapons at the seemingly empty box and that's when he would strike. Headshots for all of them and he would be the hero.
When the doors slid apart his ears perked at the distinct sound of rifles powering up as all conversation stopped. Josef huddled patiently and waited, letting his heartbeat count down to the moment of the first strike.
Armored steps approached, hovering near the elevator but not foolishly wasting their ammo. Joe frowned, they were not supposed to be curious. He suddenly wished he had changed out of his white dress shirt and pants because the cold gust of air from the ventilator stabbed him in the chest.
Breathing heavy, he tried to control his impulse to attack, but the lack of background cues was driving him crazy. Cautious steps pounded through his skull. If they came any closer he would be discovered and shot like a rat.
In one swift move he stepped out, pivoted on his foot and fired into the first guard.
The bullet was absorbed into his shield, not even the impact rattled the helmeted figure. Joe stared in wonder. He had seen armored soldiers before, especially the Alliance types but they always looked like people. These soldiers, in their imposing gunmetal black full helmeted armor ranged from mechanical-looking beasts to body builders. Some were as huge as tanks, others lithe and stringy, but all covered head-to-toe in some form of plating and shields.
His shoulder exploded in a spray of red and took him out of his revere. The pistol tumbled from his grip as Josef fell hard onto the elevator floor, clutching the wound.
"Hang on just a goddamn minute!" A gravelly English voice barked.
Dazed and blinded by the stark strobe lights, Josef peered at the man who stood over him but starred into the barrel of a gun.
Panic welled up in his throat but he swallowed it down. He still had things to do, missions to complete, people to liberate...this couldn't be the end. Yet as the sticky blood leaked through his fingers, Josef gave a shaky smile. What end did he imagine by choosing this line of work?
His heart drummed against his ribcage as he waited. But the shot never came.
Instead the mercenary picked up his fallen pistol, giving Josef a good look at the ugly warped skin comprising his face. It looked as if someone mashed his face in and hurriedly put it back together. He wore no helmet, giving Joe a good look at his neck tattoo of a blue sun. The man's sand colored armor looked different from the rest.
"That's what happens when you put shit ammo in a good pistol," the merc said, letting the magazine clatter to the ground.
Josef didn't reply and focused on keeping pressure to his wound as he watched the old man with hooded eyes.
In the far corner, he could make out Khalil, dangling between two Krogan who held him up. He wasn't struggling but judging by their curt smiles, they wished he were.
The leader looked between them. "This some goddamn rescue mission?" His boot crunched under glass as he walked up to the bar counter. The woman behind it kept her hands up, she was nothing but a witness now. "Wonder who the hell you were here to save." He swept his arm around the empty rooftop, littered with a handful of dead civilians who were caught in the firefight.
Josef's arm started to numb but he didn't move a muscle as he assessed the situation. Khalil still wore his jacket, meaning the bomb was live. If he could get a clean hit...
"Relax sweetheart," Zaeed said to the bartender on the other side. "I need a whiskey straight."
"Yes, Mr. Massani," she replied, and lowered her shaking arms to grasp the bottle, her tremors ceased on contact.
Josef started to crawl but the sharp click of two rifles near his head made him stop.
"PLA, I take it?" Zaeed asked. "Don't know why you punks are so intent on killing people."
"Because dogs like you want to push the Alliance on us," Joe declared through a grimace.
"We guard Alliance assets, boy. This beautiful city is nothing but scenery to me." Zaeed downed his drink in one gulp and motioned for a refill.
"Then leave!" Joe yelled.
"That'd be a godsend." Zaeed chugged his drink before whirling to face him from the bar stool. "Tell you what. I'll give you a choice." He detached his side-arm, some form of heavy pistol Josef hadn't seen skid to him. Massani nodded for his men to back off as he watched Josef. "There's one round in there. Put it to good use, make someone leave."
This was a joke. Some sick game meant to amuse this mercenary dog, Josef knew it but couldn't stop his reflexes from snagging it off the floor and aiming straight for the pompous leader.
The bartender ducked. Massani just put his elbows on the counter and regarded him with faint curiosity.
One bullet. One chance. Josef knew his odds of survival were nil if he shot the old bastard, his hand hand knew it too and began to shake.
Sucking in a last breath, he swung his arm and fired, closing his eyes for his first glimpse of the afterlife.
Silence.
The sharp throb in his shoulder persisted. There was no explosion, nothing but the old man's coarse laugh.
Josef opened his eyes to see Massani approach the krogan who were covered in blood spatter. Khalil was slumped between them, no longer moving.
But before he could curse himself for terrible marksmanship, Massani lifted Khalil's head to show the perfect bulls-eye. Josef's eyes grew wide at the realization. He wanted to fire again but the significantly lighter gun told him there were no more bullets in it. He had essentially blown his chances along with his friend.
"The dead-man's switch. Too bad your friend wasn't man enough to wire one in," Massani remarked as he walked back to him. "You're just like your grandfather, Josef."
Josef's lungs went cold. He stared at the man, trying to place him but nowhere in his memory did a scraggly old mercenary live. "Who are you?"
"The name's Zaeed," the man replied, signalling his men to leave as he rested a well used rifle up against his shoulder. "Tell Malik I enjoyed this little show. But I don't do repeats."
Josef grabbed a shard of glass and started scrambling on his feet. He wasn't trained in hand-to-hand yet, that's what the camp was for. But he would be dammed if he let the enemy get away like this.
One of the mercs kicked his back and he kissed the floor, the shard slipped through his fingers and drew blood while the impact reverberated through his jaw and shoulder. Massani stood over him, his own boot practically squishing Josef into the floor. "Make no mistake, son. You're alive because of your grandfather. Old man's lost enough family."
"That is thanks to you and your Alliance masters!" Josef spat, crying out when Zaeed mashed his boot into his shoulder.
When his men were safely ensconced within the elevator, Zaeed let up and walked away, throwing one last piece of advice over his shoulder. "Leave the fighting to those that know better, boy."
Josef heaved, breathing hard as he watched the elevator doors slide closed over his enemy.
The bartender rushed up to him and pressed a cloth to the wound. It definitely had alcohol on it and he jerked away from the burn, fixing his gaze upon the three dead civilians still on the floor.
The woman followed his line of sight and stood tall. "Your friend didn't care about collateral. If those mercenaries weren't here, innocent people would have died."
Josef whirled on her. "Those men will kill even more!"
"That may be so but at least they were here to take control. Restore order. What have you and your pathetic kind given to us?" She accused, nudging a broken glass with her stiletto.
Josef felt exposed. No one was supposed to know who he worked for. The People's Liberation Army functioned under the ability to blend in, not that it would be of much use now, but it still unsettled him to be identified so openly. He hobbled towards Khalil, working the tension in his jaw as he got closer.
The rules were simple. If you were called upon to make the ultimate sacrifice, a deadman's switch was mandatory. That way your partner had an easy target and the enemy would be eradicated. Instead, the man who used to brag that he would do anything for the cause now lay dead in a heap on the floor with nothing to show for himself.
Josef shook his head and backed away from his friend. This time, the bartender didn't move to aid him as she searched the stars above for who knows what.