Full summery:
After destroying the collector base and the destruction of the Bahak system, Zaeed Massani returned to Omega. Life goes on and is not much different from before. Get a job, do the job, get paid. Yet, something is lacking.
Today's job isn't difficult, but what could be difficult compared to what he had witnessed and survived? He misses the adrenaline rushes of past assignments and adventures.
Maybe the confrontation with his last target for this night brings some excitement to this boring hit. The CEO of the company he infiltrated, a cocky turian woman, is doing her best. After all, she's equally bored.
References to ME2, the Arrival DLC and Mass Effect: Foundation
Author's note:
This fic is part of a project I started just for fun: writing fics named after song titles, from the metal album "Return of the Reaper" by Grave Digger.
Some warnings: violence, blood, swearing, derogatory language, cursing, banter, not beta-read, turned out slightly darker than intended, not a ship fic
Meanova Seros is an original character of mine. You can find another fic with her on my ao3 account, where she's a secondary character in a naughty turian/turian slash fic.
"I'll gut you." Zaeed Massani spat out, thick blood spraying from his mouth. The guard stepped back, his young face grimacing in disgust. Youngsters. Reminiscent of jobs of the past, Zaeed saw countless faces flicking before him. Rough, scarred, grinning through veils of blood, laughing like children playing in a fountain when brain matter splattered across their faces.
Man, he missed the old days, and if that was what Omega was coming to, he had been away for too long.
"I'll gut you," Zaeed repeated, stepping after the retreating human. He pulled his gun, the click as he unlocked it the only noise between his chuckle and the guards flat breathing.
"And then, I'll shoot you." He raised the gun, aiming at the guard's head. Poor soul. So young, and about to die a spineless death.
Just look at his eyes. Glancing from the barrel to his partner. Yes, that's what happens when you get shot, sonny. Your head explodes, and then, you're dead. Enough theory, it's time for practice. Try not to wet your pants.
"BAMM!"
Zaeed shouted at the top of his lungs, poking the guard's forehead with the barrel of his gun. The young man's eyes rolled up, his face was ashen. He slumped to the floor, lying silently.
"Sweet dreams, sonny. Sorry, ain't havin' no time to sing you a lullaby." Zaeed stepped over the unconscious body.
The kid wasn't on his list, killing him didn't offer any benefits. There were only three names. He had scratched the first on his way to the Seros Inc. Headquarter, the second was one of the two guards patrolling the floor of the CEO's office. He followed the curved corridor to the door at its end - behind it, the third name was waiting.
This job was cakewalk, boring, and below his standards. He had accepted it nevertheless. After surviving a suicide mission against the collectors he had to reevaluate his standards anyway. Besides, it was well paid, the first half of the money alone was worth more than snuffing out two second rate guards and the elderly CEO of the company.
He pressed his ear against the door. Nothing like the good, old methods. High-tech infiltration technology could easily be detected by the right high-tech security technology, and was less reliable than his senses. That was his belief. Juniors like Shepard or that little quarian girl might have grinned behind his back - oh, he knew they did - but that he was here, breathing, alive and in one piece, was proof enough that his methods worked.
Nothing from the other side of the door.
He scanned the lock, and found it open and unsecured.
"If that doesn't smell like a trap I'm gonna eat a vorcha butt for breakfast." His fingers were itching, the hair standing up on his neck, and his heart hammered against his ribcage - his body warned him of dangers ahead, urging him to find another way in.
He opened the door.
A nice office, the simple kind. On a cramped dump like Omega, wasted space was a sign of luxury. The room was large enough for a whole vorcha clan to live in without piling up to the ceiling. The walls were white, an illusion of cleanness, and cold. A soft, also white carpet swallowed the sound of his boots. He noticed art hanging on the walls from the corner of his eye, and something that looked like a statue of modern salarian art, nothing of interest. It added up to the impression that the CEO was a fucking big moneybag, but he had known that before.
The most prominent piece of furniture was the large desk, made from some heavy looking material, painted - white. He could guess what the favorite color of the owner of the office was. Or he could ask her. She was standing in front of her desk. A short, turian woman, well in her fifties, was awaiting him with a gun in her hand.
"That was easy. After shouting in front of my door, he just walked inside," her snarling voice welcomed him. "I hadn't thought you to be a careless fool, Mister Massani."
"Us old folks have to pick up adrenaline rushes wherever we find them. Miss Seros, I assume?" His gun pointed at the turian woman's head. She looked taller in the pictures he had seen of her, but there was no mistake she was his third target. His instinct smelled a smart, stubborn personality as quickly as a trap. It had saved his life more than once.
Her pose, and the way she was holding her gun told him he wasn't dealing with the kind of chair-softened paper pusher who'd worry to stain the carpet with blood.
"Surviving a suicide mission puts life into a different perspective, I see." Her chuckle irritated him more than her words. Of course she had heard of the battle against the collectors. This was Omega, and stories and information were an as valuable good as Red Sand and salves.
"Oh, and it's Misses," she added. "But feel free to call me Meanova."
"Listen, Missus, I'm not here for some chitty-chat!" Zaeed watched her face closely. Damn turian bastards. Learning to read their expression had been crucial for his line of work, but he still struggled with subtle nuances. Her mandibles fluttered slightly after he had raised his voice, but nothing else in her face moved. A smile - maybe nervous, maybe not. He might as well push it.
"Why don't you put down that gun? Before something bad happens?" He kept his voice firm, dragging the last words to give the threat weight, and she chuckled. Now, that hadn't earned him anything, but at least he tried.
"And let you do your job? The terms of your assignment have just changed, Mr. Massani. I cancel the third target." Her mandibles twitched, a subdued laugh in response to his annoyed grunt.
"Listen, lady, it's nothing personal. You could double the bounty, I ain't no turncoat. Business rule." He could also wipe the smirk from her face with a shot, but he couldn't estimate how well her reflexes and aim were. No risk, no fun - risking to underestimate a target, no fun ever again.
"Of course, there's nothing as valuable as the trust between contractual partners. Well." Without lowering her gun she sat down on top of her desk. "How fortunate for me that I decided to hire you."
"Lady, don't be delusional. There's no fun in killing a demented target."
"Isn't it delightful how similar our principles of business are?" She cackled, letting her legs dangling. A strange sight, Zaeed was used to turians being taller than him, and now her feet hardly reached the floor. He'd have thought that funny, but she was beginning to get on his nerves. That bitch was enjoying herself far too much.
"Allow me to clarify. A man named Chen Tyler approached you two days ago. About your size, skinner, dark." She waited until he nodded in spite of himself. "He's one of my contacts in the Kima District, among the, well, lower individuals. No offense. I asked him to seek you out and to hire him."
"Come to the point, Missy." It had been too easy to break into the building. Too easy to take out the first and second target. And there was the unlocked door. Even the bounty for this job. Only a rookie would have swallowed this bait without thinking. Zaeed wasn't a rookie, and he had been thinking a lot lately, about how his last big mission might have turned him into a suicidal kind of fish, who hungered more for the thrill that came with the bait.
Collectors, reapers, fishes… He should go easier on Red Sand during his free nights.
"Which bill you wanna settle here?" Zaeed's mind returned to the situation at hand, moving a slow step closer to her. "Could try and guess, but neither of us has enough years left to hear the whole list."
"Very well. I had my reasons to get rid of Kodin and Barkley. I hired them before Chen settled the deal with you, and placed them into your way. But those are stories between me and them." Meanova dismissed the topic with a gesture of her free hand. "I appreciate that you let the other kid go. It's nice to see that someone with your reputation managed to grow a heart after all these years."
They both chuckled at this. Zaeed shook his head, hoping there wasn't much truth to that accusation, or that goody two-shoes of a Shepard had good - and therefore a bad - influence on him after all.
"Do you remember Polonis?"
Ah, now she was finally coming to the point. Polonis, a name he hadn't have thought of in years.
"Sure." That mission that had restored his reputation after Vido's betrayal. The collectors hadn't been his first impossible mission. Crashing the Verrikan, that turian frigate, was maybe of a smaller dimension that the collector's base, but at least he had only to fight against reaper-controlled collectors, and not also his so-called partners. Polonis was a nobody, one of many turian lieutenants, who was supposed to help him and his team to infiltrate the ship. Well, he had to admit that the boy at least tried to do his job, too bad that he was caught before he could have been of any use.
"Let me guess." He snorted, giving a knowing smile "He was your lil' boy. And mommy swore she'd raise to power only to get revenge on everyone somehow involved in his death."
She shook her head when he finished.
"Mister Massani, I was born to be in power. You've seized me up thoroughly enough during our little talk to know that."
Well, she wasn't wrong about that. This kind of overbearing arrogance only came with those born to the rich. Hopefully her tale was worth listening to, or he'd regret wasting his time by not killing her right away.
"No, he wasn't my son. He was the son of a friend of mine. It's her sixtieth birthday in a few hours. You know how it is with us well-off folks. It's so hard to find a good gift. So I thought, the corpse of the man who did nothing to save her son's life after he risked his would make a good present."
"Fuck you bored, rich bitches! Bet somewhere somebody's dying to pay for your head!"
Spoiled wretch! Those freaking moneybags who had nothing better to do with their lives than playing stupid games, using normal folks as their pawns, and thinking nothing of it. This kind of people got his blood boiling, it was almost refreshing.
He had a good collection of things to call her, ready to hurl them into her face before pulling the trigger.
"THERE! They're in her office! Kill them both!" Voices shouted down the corridor behind him, followed by heavy boots trampling on the tiled floor.
Zaeed jumped around, and Meanova fired.
A hole in the head stopped a turian merc from storming into the office.
"Nice aim." He turned around, but she was gone. Behind him, more mercs were coming closer.
Recovering his wits, he ran to the desk, and leaped behind it. To find himself cowering by Meanova Seros' side.
"Not bad for a girl your age. Hope jumping over that desk didn't break your hip."
"Don't worry, Mr. Massani. I have my methods to stay fit." Her tongue clicked, giving her hoarse chuckle an unambiguous meaning.
"Don't wanna hear it." Zaeed put up his hands, hoping the gesture would block her words. Turian women weren't his cup of tea, and there were mental images he didn't need when he was hiding behind a desk while under fire, with a turian woman who wanted to kill him a minute ago.
"And I'm not going to show you." Her mood was unperturbed by his words and the overall situation. Zaeed decided to forgo a retort, sometimes, having the last word wasn't worth what the attempt might provoke.
He peeked over the desk, taking out three mercs with clean shots between their eyes. Two humans, one salarian. Somebody was shouting down the corridor, another voice yelled back. Where did these guys come from? If this was still a part of that hag's game he'd strangle her before the attackers would have a good shot at her. He had never heard of a human successfully choking a turian to death, but there was a first time for everything.
"They called reinforcements. Looks like you have a talent for pissing people off, lady."
"You don't get where I am and stay there without pissing off people." She bent her neck from one side to the other, letting out a low, resigning growl. She looked at the gun in her hand, and sighed.
"Mr. Massani, I think this would be a good moment to renegotiate our agreement." This kind of proposal didn't amuse her, Zaeed noted, which wasn't a surprise. This was too close to admitting defeat, folks like her resented anything of that kind. Good.
"Disagreed." He wasn't picky, he enjoyed small victories like the big ones. "Unless your friend would like a golden watch for her birthday."
"I remember her having a soft spot for antiques. Fine." She activated the omni-tool, her fingers flying over the screen while Zaeed took out two more mercs.
Rookies. The corridor didn't allow them to barge inside the office in a larger number than three or two, and blowing their heads away was like target practice on a carnival. He replaced the thermal clip of his gun, waiting for the next batch of idiots needing their final life lesson. He could leap back into action and shoot his way outside, leaving that woman to herself. He had never considered himself to be the charming kind of guy, and that he stayed where he was had less to do with not wanting to leave her alone, but knowing she'd riddle his back with projectiles if he tried. He could kill her while she was busy with her omni-tool and turn his attention to the mercs then, but where was the fun in that?
"I transfered the outstanding amount for killing the two idiots to you. Get me out of here alive and you'll receive the same sum once we're save."
"Give me your gun and we have a deal."
"Don't think I'm stupid because I agree to that." She handed the weapon to him, poking his chest with a warning talon. "You're not the only one who enjoys a little thrill in his life."
"Never assumed anything else, lady. Here's the plan." He shoved the gun into the holster that usually held his own, and jumped out of his cover and on top of the desk. Two dead bodies later he jumped down, and gestured her to follow.
"You stay behind me. Gonna check the way ahead, giving you a signal when the air's clear. The assaults are coming slow, bet they send the weaklings to lure us out of our cover. Might as well give them what they want. Plus interest."
If he was right, the tougher guys would be waiting for them. The corridor was the safest area, with one end and one beginning. The attacks stopped as soon as they left the office, climbing over dead bodies. The once white carpet was soaked with blood. A shame, but Zaeed kinda liked it. Gave the thing character. Meanova snorted when he shared his thought, assuring him he could have the carpet once she had replaced it.
The elevator was empty when they reached it, waiting for them open like a gaping mouth. They walked inside, and Zaeed selected the ground floor. It didn't halt at any other floor, which enforced Zaeed's suspicion that he was heading for the next trap of this night.
"Any idea who's after you?" he said, oddly irritated by a silent Meanova.
"Neither of us has enough years left to hear the whole list." They both laughed, Zaeed thinking that maybe he'd forgive her for wanting to kill him. He thought of asking about Polonis' mother, or if he had anything to say about the boy that a mother would like to hear. There wasn't much. Kid had a job, agreed to help a bunch of criminals out, died. Hadn't he agreed to help, he'd have died, too. That's all he knew, nothing worth of sharing. Besides, he preferred it when the dead remained dead.
The static elevator voice announced they had reached their destination. Zaeed shot down another merc before the door had slid completely open.
The lobby was lying in front of him. Two doors, one to his left, one to his right, were closed. A VI looking suspiciously like a younger version of the CEO was standing in the middle of the room, patiently waiting for input.
No hidden corners, no desks or chairs large enough to hide a killer from his eyes. The potted plants didn't offer any cover for an ambush either.
A staircase lead up to a gallery above them. That was more like it.
"Sneak along the wall. I'll draw their attention. Careful when you reach one of the doors." He tossed her weapon back at her, and took three wide steps forward.
He kept walking with a gruff smile, his biological eye sparkling with glee while projectiles rained down at him. Once in a while he'd fire a shot between dodging, taking his sweet time to cross the lobby. He could have run. He could have dashed up the stairways, throwing himself at who knew how many assholes were after his head. Or her head. Didn't matter.
Had Blue Sun mercs always been such horrible shots? Embarrassing, good thing he didn't have anything to do with them anymore. Zaeed thought of Video and his cronies. Would have loved to see their faces if a bunch of collectors had been coming after them. Mercs were a joke compared to what was lying behind him. And the threat ahead of him, of them all.
Omega better threw its best against him, until then, he was invincible.
He reached the entrance with only a few scratches were his shoulder and leg got hit. Meanova was leaning against the wall, watching him from one of the few blind spots were the shooters from the gallery couldn't aim at her.
Zaeed waved at her, nodding at the door behind him. She pushed herself off the wall, and disappeared into the streets while he answered the angry hell breaking loose above them with a few well aimed headshots.
"Fools." He broke into loud laughter, holding his side when another projectile grazed him. It was harder to aim while laughing, but damn, this was just too much fun. He wondered what would happen if he rushed back after all, cleaning the gallery from stupidity.
"Massani!" a voice shouted through the opening doors of the entrance. He was grabbed by his arm and pulled outside.
Flatt disappointment fell over Zaeed when the door closed. The buzzing of projectiles didn't stop in his head. Against the noises of the street they suddenly sounded less like projectiles anyway. He shook his head, and the seeker swarms pestering his memories dissolved into silence.
"Called some of my more trustworthy guards to take care of this matter." After locking the door, Meanova took a quick look at Zaeed, sizing up the done damage.
He was bleeding from three tears in his armor. His breathing was calm, and he was more aware of the stupid grin on his face than of the pain of his injuries. He bent his leg, and patted his side.
"Stinging a little, but all fine, Ma'am. Damn mercs can't aim if their lives depended on it. Literally." He limped to piles of crates and let himself drop onto the smallest. Fortunately, he had brought a decent supply of medigel with him when his time on board the Normandy had ended. Good stuff, but even hard to come by on Omega. Skin and flesh were knitting together with the usual sensation of being burned by acid.
Meanova was standing in front of him, crossing her arms.
"Keeping your skills sharp for the return of the reapers, aren't you, Mr. Massani?"
"Okay, and how do you know anything 'bout the reapers?!" To hear her say the word 'reapers' so casually, mentioning them at all, no, he hadn't expected that.
"Oh, just the usual gossip floating through the streets." Her mandibles fluttered, forming a toothy turian grin.
"There's gossip about the reapers attacking?!" Just when Zaeed thought nothing would surprise him anymore.
"But of course!" She snorted as though she couldn't believe that he'd ask such a ridiculous question.
"A batarian preacher started it, if I'm not mistaken," Meanova began to explain. "After their system was blown to smithereens by you and your friends. Most people don't take the talk seriously, but the word spreads anyway. That's the downside of facing the real thing - it makes you deaf to its rumors."
If batarians were behind the rumors it wasn't a miracle he hadn't heard any of this. After destroying their system he stayed clear of them. So, news about the reapers had reached Omega, and there was no panic. Yet. Maybe that was a blessing.
"Do you believe them?" He was mildly irritated at how tired his own voice sounded to him.
She thought about that for a moment. Zaeed let her. He had finished taking care of his wounds and shoved the remaining medigel back into the pocket of his protective suit. He'd have to find someone later to fix the holes. Or maybe he'd just let them stay were they are. It was tiresome to wait for his combat clothes to be repaired, and as he expected further damages in the future it was pointless anyway.
"I don't think it matters what I believe or not," she finally said with a shrug. "If it isn't true I don't need to worry. If it's true it's out of my control, and worrying is a waste of good time."
"Probably the best way to go about it. Anyway, you're safe." Talking about the reapers tired Zaeed even more. The sweet thrill from before was gone, leaving him to a bland world. He yearned for the next fix, wondering where he would find it. Dammit, why did they have to ground Shepard on Earth? If he had been in the commander's place, all the Alliance would have seen of him would have been his middle finger while he was on his way to find something else to blow up. Maybe a whole cluster would have been appropriate after the collector base and the Bahak system.
Never he'd have given up the Normandy after stealing it from Cerberus. Sweet little ship it was, he didn't want to think of what the Alliance would do to that poor thing.
"And you have my gratitude for doing a good job. Your money is on its way to you." Pulling up her omni-tool again, Meanova completed the transfer within seconds. "Thanks for your business, it was a pleasure." She closed the screen, clearing her throat.
"Although, it left me thirsty. How about a drink and company, Mr. Massani? To celebrate that both of us have made a new resourceful contact? Or that we felt refreshingly alive tonight?"
"Know what, Missy? Why not." He stood up, stretching. The muscles in his neck felt a little stiff lately, maybe he was growing old after all. Monologuing to himself had never solved anything.
Drinking sounded like a better strategy to bring closure to another maybe pointless mission. He saved a woman, and thus saved his own life. Enjoying the bounty this deal earned him was easier to when alcohol allowed him to forget it was a matter of time until the reapers killed them all. Dammit, here he was going again. If he didn't pay attention, he'd try to shut up his brain with his gun one day, and who'd brag in the bars of his adventures then?
"Under one condition. You ain't gonna hit on me, lady." He made a deep, mocking bow before he offered her his arm, and she gracefully accepted. Walking next to a turian who was smaller than him, if only a few inches, was a novelty, and funny.
"Mr. Massani, I promise you don't have to fear anything like that from my side," she gasped in feigned shock, and slyly added, "I prefer my men to be young and optimistic."
"Madame, I'm the most optimistic fucking guy you'll ever met!" In his earnest protest he had to ask himself - was he? He used to be. Giving up had never been an option. Before he'd give up he'd go out with a bang and take as many motherfuckers with him as possible. If that wasn't optimistic, what was?
"That still leaves old."
"Same to you." He didn't need youth, he had his gun, and with that, all the fun he needed. She didn't take offense at his snide remark either. Well, she was wielding different tools that gave her power, and maybe that's was what everything boiled down to. Experience, knowledge, the power to be in charge.
This was getting too philosophical for his taste, and damn, he was really feeling thirsty. They reached a skycar port, and he signaled for a cab.
"And don't even try to drag me into any shit fancier than the Afterlife," he said when the vehicle arrived, earning a laugh in response.
"I hoped you'd drag me into one of those unfancy places that sell the good stuff that's illegal in the rest of the galaxy." She climbed into the cab, moving aside to make room for him.
"Wish granted. But you're paying!"
Experience, knowledge, power.
He had it all, and still, some foolish rookies managed to shoot through all that, leaving new scars.
50,000 years of experience, knowledge and power only meant they had to scratch deeper.