SIX MONTHS BEFORE THE REAPERS

Bekenstein, the human's Illium as the asari say, towered over the once agricultural soil; casting its light across the landscape. It was a symbol of humanity's firm foot into the galactic trade with luxuries that beckoned all species. Its large towers stretched into the air and glinted like a real-life Emerald city. Much like the fairytale, the city's bright exterior hid the tycoons flaunting their wealth and power. Some achieved through aggressive business tactics. Others from deceit and blackmail. A place where the suicide rate, be it confirmed or presumed, was higher than any other world. And in one part of the city, where the spotlights danced rays of white beams into the sky, the best and worst gathered in a glittering showcase that could rival an opening film debut.

The lights illuminated the streets as scores of people walked towards the West Highland Hall. The architecture exhumed wealth. It spanned a quarter mile of elaborate stone walls and marble columns harking back to Earth's late 19th century. Unfortunately, the integrated blue neon and glowing, floating orbs diffused the illusion. The clientele arriving in their private skycars certainly didn't represent "respected" dignitaries. A human playboy with an asari on each arm. A formally dressed asari with a human woman around each arm. A famous hanar actor with a female drell and an asari wrapped in tentacles. At the very least, it was cosmopolitan.

An extended limo landed gracefully at the edge of the red carpet. Its tinted windows obscured any onlooker to the driver or its chauffeured passenger. The extra-long door automatically slid open and black leather boots touched the fabric. When the guest completely exited the vehicle, his long black coat fell to his calves. Suited black pants held his form. An ivory colored dress shirt with a high stand-up collar accompanied the outfit; complementing the white embroidery outlining the satin black lapels of his frock coat. He breathed in the cool, brisk air. Real air; not filtered oxygen from ships and stations. Faint hints of natural vapor left his mouth as opposed to the clouds of tobacco floating around him. His footsteps were planted if not militaristic as he approached the security check.

"Pardon me, sir. May you please remove your sidearm?"

The young security clerk met the hawk-like stare of the guest and swallowed the lump that had built in his throat. With a blink of his eyes, the guest calmly produced a long custom pistol and placed it on the table. It wouldn't fold into itself like most pistols would. It was a solid piece of engineering. The slide spanned the barrel to the end of the grip which swept back like an old LeMat revolver. On that slide, the name Arondight was engraved in elegant cursive. It's stainless steel frame glinted in the light and grabbed a few glances of envious patrons. Custom weapons, tailored suits, trophy wives or husbands; most people of this caliber preferred showing off everything. However, the emphasis was on show. Rarely did someone even know how to handle something like a firearm properly. Usually most employed their security drones to do the grunt work. What made the pistol so alluring was the obvious fact that, though cleaned and polished, it showed signs of extensive use. The slight wear on the edge of the slide from repeatedly entering and exiting a holster. The finish that had lost its luster close to the thermal port ejector. It was a very telling glimpse of his reputation.

The guard raised his omni-tool from head to toe of the new guest. No buzzes or alarms occurred during the scan.

"Thank you. You may take back your pistol, Mister…"

"Gunn," he said with an iron voice, "Solomon Gunn."

"Yes, um…enjoy your time, Mister Gunn."

"I'm certain I will."

Two clean cut men in fine tuxedos opened the doors leading to the main gallery. A glass of champagne was already off a waiters' tray and in the guest's hand like it had been waiting for him. Knowing how much a single bottle must cost gave him reason to enjoy one for free. While sipping the fizzing alcohol was far from unpleasant, it gave him a moment to scan the room; marking out the furthest exits, assessing the numerous guards, and how open the space really was.

The room spanned three stories tall and mirrored the exterior with dabs of technology as a reminder it was a reproduction. A large chandelier hung in the middle of the hall, casting sparkling light in all directions; compliments to the white cylinder of element zero providing its illustrious glow. It resembled an upside down wedding cake, but would flare outward at the tops of each tier. When it came to fashion and style of the big four, no one did it better like the humans and asari. The turian military lifestyle left little for artistic expression, though it can't be said turians weren't artists with their weaponry. There was a reason the Normandy was a blend of both human and turian design. As for the salarians, spending more than a few years on art could be seen as a waste of life. They preferred their numbers, science, and studies.

Carrying over the conversations between patrons was a string orchestra. A pair of women, an asari and human, played in sync with their violins. The female turian beside them on her viola. An asari pulled her bow across a cello accompanied by another human woman her on double bass. They wore their own race's version of a gown, but all matched in shimmering silver with blue highlights. Species was irrelevant as the ensemble played with elegance and beauty. It was a shame the genuine artists would more than likely be ignored by the pompous attitudes in the house.

"Excuse me," such an attitude proclaimed, "I can tell you are a man of fine taste."

"Looks can be deceiving," Gunn said flatly to his knew acquaintance.

Said acquaintance was a man fitted in a tailored, charcoal suit. Bald with white hair circling his crown. A face that spoke a certain experience gained from knowing more than those he dealt with. A proper shark.

"Quite. Elijah Khan," he said stretching his hand.

"Solomon Gunn."

The two men shook, though Khan nearly flinched at the strength of his potential customer.

"You sport a mighty fine pistol I must say," as Khan eyed the butt peeking out from Gunn's coat, "Don't think I've ever come across anything such as that."

Without tearing away his eyes, Gunn slid his coat back completely revealing his sidearm.

"Custom. Goes back to the days before thermal clips. Retrofitted now, of course. Twice the power of your best Carnifex. Clip magazine's tuned up to eleven. And if you aim right will put down anyone in one shot. A charging krogan…five."

"You speak from experience. I can tell. You wouldn't believe the ones who boast about what they can't even lift."

Gunn held his tongue if he should consider Khan in that category.

"And what do you boast?" he said instead.

The devious smirk from Khan spoke volumes.

"Alliance's Offensive Handgun Project."

"Never heard about it."

"That's the point."

Khan glanced around subtly before he moved his jacket to the side. A sleek, black pistol was seated in a shoulder sling.

"M-11. May look like your standard Carnifex, but the number of parts have been reduced. Saves on manufacturing costs. Lightens the firearm without sacrificing performance. You can build three pistols for the cost of two."

It was hard for Gunn not to look at the weapon with an appraising eye.

"I imagine the lightness increases the recoil."

"Nothing a good marksman can't compensate," the seller complimented without saying so, "The suppressor itself has a built-in integral sound moderator reducing noise and muzzle flash."

"Quite a package. I was unaware that a feature was legal in Council space. Privately, of course."

Khan smiled as if he knew the question before it was asked.

"I could sell items like these to the batarians on contract for twice the price. But I only deal high quality goods to the right people. Sometimes it's the gray areas of legality that keeps people like you and me able to defend our assets," the gun dealer countered as smooth as any good salesman.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," he lied.

With a quick flick on Elijah's omni-tool, a link was sent to Gunn's own.

"If you are interested in furthering any procurement, I own Apollo's Casino. It's on the Silverstun strip of the Citadel."

"I foresee a meeting in the near future, Mr. Khan. Perhaps a game of roulette will also be in order."

"Indeed. Though as a rule, I never gamble my own money."

Elijah Khan walked away utterly pleased with himself. Gunn took a gulp of his champagne to wash the distaste from his mouth and proceeded into the mingling swarms. Much like the orchestra, species was no issue in this room. They all shared one common trait: credits and a lot of them. Wealthy business giants. Lineage successors. Corrupt CEOs. Crime lords. Drug and weapons dealers. As long as they had the credits they were king, hence an incentive to join the party. That made it all the more dangerous. It was a hazard who just had some extra credits and who had a finger on a trigger. Intent and motive was one thing, but it doesn't take much to be a prick in this clientele.

On the outside, it appeared as an art and artifact auction and to its credit was true. All well and documented goods, but there were items not on the list. Illegal weapons caches. Questionably obtained goods. Collector's items of those unfortunate enough to have suddenly disappeared. With this many different kinds of people, there were back door deals all around. And always completely legal. If there was ever a seemingly worthless piece of art meeting insanely high auction prices, it could be assumed there was more than just what was being exchanged. The credits transacted were legal. With whatever item was won, certain shipments were sent to the buyer with no paper trail. Sometimes categorized as a gift or donation. The worst were the ones who believed the auctions which were going to be benefitting a charity. Not a chance. Just another tag line to sucker in the unsuspecting bidder. Sometimes the charity benefitting an orphanage was actually credits to a slaver gang. The irony had no bounds.

"Aren't you a tall drink of water?"

That voice. He turned almost too quickly to find it. Through all the people moving throughout, his eyes were fixed on a woman wearing a very familiar dress. It was the same dark violet he remembered and the same woman he'd never forget. The only woman who could get his heart racing so fast so easily.

"And aren't you just a sight for sore eyes," he said, trying to regain his cool, "Solomon Gunn."

"Really?" questioned the woman, "I've worked with an Alison Gunn. Any relation?"

"No, but I've heard she has quite the reputation."

"She's dabbled in a few operations around the traverse. But whenever you need her she always has to go."

They both chuckled.

"Well then," she said after swiftly grabbing a glass from a passing waiter, "here's to us. New friends."

Gunn hummed in agreement and lightly chimed his glass to hers. It had to be said, the drink of champagne was more a necessity to stop his throat from drying out. His eyes raked down her figure as intimate reminders flooded his memory. Her jet black hair was draped just over her face hiding one of her deep brown eyes. Whether from habit or selfishness, it was a bit disappointing seeing her so exposed. Only in private…with him…was she ever not hiding. Then again, even here and now, she was hiding…just in plain sight. And extremely eye-catching.

He wasn't the only one admiring the newfound company. She stole glances as she drank from her champagne. It was hard not to notice his hair slicked back from gel and not sweat. His stance was straight, confident, and filled his attire too well. A proper gentleman with his own retro flair. But when their eyes met her smile fell briefly. They were baby blue. Smart she had to admit, but it just didn't fit him. She missed the real color she yearned to stare into.

"So what brought you to this lovely gathering?" he asked.

"You don't turn down a chance to observe such priceless artworks. Shall we?"

Her arm slinked right around his and the pair walked up the gallery spanning across the hall. Priceless artifacts surrounded the room from various planets. Once again, artistry was the rare form of culture tonight. Even if ulterior motives were being cast, the art and artifacts were genuine and intriguing.

Propped against the wall was a large asari painting; oil based with illustrious brushstrokes. It was an image of the goddess Athame. She hovered from the sky with her long white robe flowing behind her; almost like the Christian viewing of angels coming down from the sky. She glowed blue and it seemed to flow off her body like waves of fire in zero gravity: beautiful. It flowed over the onlookers on the ground and brightened the shadows they were kept under. It was a very elegant piece and emitted a peaceful vibe. One thing about asari artwork was that certain eras seemed too perfect. With a thousand year life span, they could afford to be very meticulous and do several versions. It was what impressed the asari about human artwork. In a lifespan less than a hundred years, humans could make pieces as breathtaking as the Mona Lisa. It truly represented a lifelong pursuit to art which the asari greatly respected.

One piece of turian art, bigger than some of the limos outside, was on display. Silver metal jutted out from different angles in an apparent mangled masterpiece. For Gunn, it more or less resembled very elaborate shrapnel, but turian art was as much a rarity as it was an oddity. Upon closer inspection, it was crafted from actual turian dreadnoughts lost in the Relay 314 Incident, or the First Contact War for humans. It certainly gave much more significance than previously thought. Unfortunately, any ego hungry humans would want this piece not because of the representation of loss and heroic sacrifice, but rather a piece showing off humanity's abilities against one of the most powerful navies in the galaxy.

Another large display was certainly more artifact than art, but it was hard to argue it wasn't beautiful. It was a 1957 Chevrolet Bel Air coupe. It's chrome shimmered with its unmolested baby blue paint showing the reflections of enamored viewers. It was relic from the times of gasoline powered modes of transportation until the fuel scare of 2052. It was the final straw pushing the shift from oil to hydrogen-electric and liquid electric. It wasn't until 2055 when a synthetic gasoline substitute was created, but in three years many had scrapped or converted internal combustion vehicles. It was the few and desirable that survived. And in the case of the near-mint specimen at the party, very desirable. Even asari and salarians were drawn by its charm despite its primitiveness.

Much smaller items were seated in glass cases among the room. Small trinkets, but some worth more than the larger items. A small set of architectural tools worth over fifty thousand credits. Worn, but no signs of rust or deterioration. Quality that showed they were built to last for generations. The high price because they were genuine quarian tools from Rannoch. How they were obtained remained speculative. The tragedy, it was highly unlikely to see a quarian trying to purchase them tonight. Beside the tools were a set of Matriarch Dilinaga's writings from the golden age of asari exploration. Their procurement came two years ago from an anonymous donator. Some claim it was an asari Justicar while other rumors stated it coming from a Council Spectre.

Weapons had their own category. The ancient ones had attracted many eyes, but mostly the male ones. One of the first turian rifles was on display and had many mandibles flaring. A few cartridge based weapons from Earth garnered attention; representing different eras of different wars. The centerpiece was a very large hammer mounted on a long staff. It dated to the krogan after their civilization had engaged in nuclear war. Legend goes, the hammer was given to the salarian team by the battlemaster in charge of the most powerful clan of Tuchanka. It was a sign of peace between the two races and as thanks for uplifting the krogan to the new galaxy. Only history would reveal the ulterior motives that overshadowed that notion of "peace".

So many wonderful pieces, but there was one that caught Gunn's eye. It was a Japanese Tanto; a straight, single-edged blade stretching twenty-five centimeters. Thick cross sections that could pierce armor with ease and could slice flesh with little force. A smooth, black handle completed its stealthy appearance. It laid in its glass prison waiting for a new owner. It wouldn't be for him, but he wondered about who would enjoy it immensely.

"Oh. Look at that," the young lady pointed.

Gunn looked at the glass case sporting its own pedestal and a heavily armed guard on each corner. Seated in a plush pad of red velvet was a diamond the size of a miniature pinecone. It sparkled in the light from its clear crystals and grasped envious eyes from passing patrons. No race was immune from its charm and beauty. The only deterrent was its starting bid price a hundred million credits; well under what it could fetch.

"The Millennium Star," she said, "It's one of the most valuable diamonds in the galaxy. Two hundred three carats. A genuine jewel from Earth, making it that little bit desirable."

"You like shiny things, don't you? I don't imagine it'll be easy to get. Bidders will be slitting each other's throats for it."

"Oh they will. Asari do love their gems. I can foresee a few turians trying to macho the other out to get a new gift for their mate. There have been numerous attempts to steal it. The earliest back in the twenty-first century, but the robbers were foiled before they had the chance."

"Amateurs?"

"Oh no. Anyone who goes after the most expensive, most guarded, and most watched treasure will make themselves infamous. When it happens is irrelevant. Look around you. Everyone is focused on it. Guards, security cameras, those who want it for themselves. They are so narrowly focused that they wouldn't realize someone has taken anything else from right under their noses."

"Misdirection?"

"Exactly. Like a magic trick. Houdini made an entire elephant disappear in front of a huge audience when it never left the stage. They just believed what their eyes showed them and didn't think to look beyond the curtain."

She swiveled her drink gazing along.

"Now look at that," as she stepped away from the diamond.

A singular item was in its own glass case. It didn't reflect like the diamond. It didn't catch the eyes of the crowd. It didn't have shotgun wielding men. The gold script along the divided spine was ink, not real. All there was to see was its red goatskin cover shielding the yellowed pages within it. Yet, the woman looked with a reverence in her eyes that could rival the most glowy-eyed quarian.

"All of Mr. Shakespeare's comedies, histories, and tragedies in 454 pages. An original John Smethwick second folio edition and one of the scarcest imprints of all. Nearly 450 years old and it's here, now, on another planet no less. This is a man whose work has been translated into every language in the known galaxy. How many things from 1632 can you say that about?"

"Dunno," as Gunn shook his head, "Truly ahead of his time."

"I prefer a man who shaped our times. Everything he has done has touched our lives. From our books to the elcor performing his plays. Even at face value it's worth millions of credits, but the Millennium Star gains the fame while no one gives a second glance to a father of literature. Such a shame to see history regulated to idle bids."

Gunn moved close behind her until his chest was against her back.

"I don't take you for the spotlight type," he whispered beside her ear, and was happy to see her lips crease upwards, "So…you plan on leaving with the book tonight?"

She licked her lips from the graze of his breath, feeling the tingle of her hairs standing up on the skin of her neck.

"Oh, finding what you want is only half the job," she turned around pushing herself into his space, daring him, "Only if you can catch it is the trick."

The silence that settled between them made the air heavy. The soft touches. The flirts. Everything was communicating instantly. To any onlooker, the sexual tension was easily apparent. Not because it was an act, but because it was the singular thing that wasn't a lie or a ruse.

"Would you join me for a dance?" he said.

The woman titled her head with an amused expression.

"I didn't peg you as the type," she expressed, genuinely surprised.

They walked onto the dance floor aided by the chords coming from the musicians. A small sigh escaped when he made sure she felt his hand slink around her slim waist. There was enough distance to be respectful, but his vixen wasn't having that when she pulled him close. A strained breath escaped her partner. Her body was practically on top of his, teetering between intimate and pornographic. To be so close and not able to do anything was pure torture. Despite the frustration, in all forms imaginable, she wore an innocent little grin, possibly a bit devious, as they moved to the strings of the orchestra.

Their feet stayed in sync, moving forward, back, then around. In truth, she was making him look better than he was. Didn't matter much since he was so acutely aware of the ravishing woman in his arms. The strings slowed; as did their movements. In the moment, she rested her head on his chest. Her soft hair. The unmistakable scent of roses making his senses flare. They lost themselves in one another with the original intent briefly forgotten.

"I didn't catch your name," Gunn asked.

Their hearts thumped in their chests as she looked up to his face.

"Oh you will," she whispered coquettishly, "Only…"

The tickling of each other's skin brushed against their faces.

"…if you…"

Their lips so close…

"…can find…"

So close.

"…me."

"With Forced Bravado: Ladies and gentlemen. The auction is about to begin," announced an eloquently dressed elcor at the podium.

Everyone turned at the elcor's proclamation, including Gunn. When he turned back around the beautiful woman was gone. Instead of disappointment, he could only smirk in amusement.

"Then I'll catch ya later," he voice spoke softly before leaving the dance floor.

While the crowd gathered, he took the opportunity to slip away towards the restrooms. Upon his entrance, he was greeted with the sight of a quite rambunctious young man tongue deep in an asari's mouth. Their eagerness pressed them into one of the fully enclosed toilet stalls. A large breath was needed before he moved into his own booth. Ignoring the breathy moans, he sat on the throne and withdrew his pistol. Security asked to remove the firearm and then scan the owner. Never did they think to scan the pistol itself. Of course it's a weapon, but the pistol may not be the dangerous part. The thermal clip popped from the slide and the top was carefully swiveled until the lower cylinder receded. Inside the casing revealed a slender flashbang. It slipped in his pocket and the pistol was back in place. It was then Gunn felt his breaths pick up and his own pulse skyrocket. A few quick splashes of cool water helped, but did little to stop neither the sweat nor trepidation. Then he looked at the reflection in the mirror.

"You're Solomon Gunn. You're not going to get hurt. They believe everything you say, you know why? Cause you're a badass."

And with that, he returned to the crowd. Unsurprising, the elcor was still speaking.

"Tentatively excited: It is an honor to introduce the tenth annual West Highland auction. Collections from so many of the galaxy's finest are here tonight."

While everyone's eyes were on the speaker, Gunn's were glancing elsewhere. Guards were stationed around the perimeter; the obvious ones for the average viewer anyway. It was easy to spot the ones in medium armor sporting Avenger rifles. They gave the impression of security, but nothing beyond that. The ones that were dressed as waiters and waitresses with concealed M-358 Talons were the deadly ones. It took a trained eye to spot them. All regular staff had pretty formfitting uniforms, especially any of the waitresses. The ones with the slightly loose fitting jackets were the ones packing heat. At close to point blank range, those portable shotgun pistols would splatter anyone into the walls. There was another factor to consider with this kind of security…who had hired them to begin with? Was it building security, outsourced to a company, or privately funded by one of the visitors? Always worth contemplating if the interests of the proprietor isn't that of the collective.

"Eagerly: It is my hope that tonight's events will be enjoyed as much as I have spent organizing them."

There was a noticeable lull in the audience at the end of the elcor's statement. Everyone was silently praying to whatever deities they believed in that the elcor would not be the auctioneer. It would be a long night if it was…and a lot more alcohol needed.

"With genuine enthusiasm: Let the auction…begin."

Mercifully, the elcor left the podium and a salarian bearing a very slick navy suit approached the microphone.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen. We'll start the bidding on one of our biggest lots of the night. You know what it is or you wouldn't be bidding on it. It's the Millennium Star, so let's start the bidding at one hundred million credits-"

"Two hundred," called a voice from the crowd.

The salarian was off to a quick start. Definitely had training by human auctioneers, but his fast paced speech kept him apart from any human. It was a miracle everyone's translators could keep up. Voices yelled quickly on the bidding block. The starting bid was low to begin with; the insurance on the diamond alone was a billion credits. Fortunately for the seller, the price soared quickly from its million credit bastion.

"One billion credits! That was easy enough. Do I have two?" the auctioneer called out.

That was when the low bidders were out of the game and moved to the platinum players in the bidding war. It was also when Gunn decided to play his own game. He waded his way through the crowds, scanning through the bidders, until he found a couple that would work for him. A purple skinned asari with faint markings kept her arms folded with a stern look in her eye. Her salarian continued to match bids. If it started to get to far without them, she'd nudge his back to get him to stay on top. She was letting him do the work for that diamond, but it was evident she intended to get it.

Gunn positioned himself behind the oblivious asari. Admittedly, as his conscious shamed him for what he was about to do, he swallowed his dignity before nearing her backside. She focused she didn't notice Gunn until…

PINCH

The reaction wasn't immediate. Her head tilted up and gyrated until her eyes pierced into the ass grabber. She didn't run to her salarian boyfriend or husband. It was actually when he saw the look on the salarian's face that he realized they may not be together beyond a business sense. The toad was in total shock. As for the asari, her brow slowly creased in rage. Biotics glowing in the whites of her eyes and the palms of her hands. Gunn immediately realized his mistake-

The biotically charged punch landed straight into his sternum. The force of the impact launched him back into the weapon display cases with a cascade of shattering the glass. That immediately set off the alarm. Gunn coughed from losing the air in his lungs and shook the glass out of his hair. Now the adrenaline was pumping furiously. The next thing he knew, the asari marched like a pissed krogan and without hesitation drew a highly modified Carnifex from a concealed pocket. This definitely wasn't some wife swapper.

She aimed it quick, but before the trigger was pulled guards grabbed her arms and tried to restrain her.

"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am? I'll have you all killed after I deal with this pathetic little shit!"

"Miss Sederis, drop the-"

The poor guard suffered a hard head butt for his attempts to talk her down. More security started to converge to subdue the woman. The distraction he needed was a bit overboard than initially planned. The white spots in his vision cleared into the shiny chandelier just overhead. It was then he got an idea.

Gunn rose with what appeared to be a wild punch winding up from his body. It turned into a hard throw. The flashbang flew into the air with screams from those who thought it was a high explosive grenade. Others ducked from the incoming blast, but when the cylindrical charge reached the chandelier, no explosion harmed the core of eezo. The sound was deafeningly loud and echoed in the room. Following the initial disorientation, the surge of light from the grenade amplified through all the crystals. It created a large blinding light encompassing everyone in the room. All forced to immediately shield their eyes if they hadn't covered their ears.

The light lessened in intensity and more looked up from their hand-cupped faces. The silence ended as murmurs filled in the room. The guards had swarmed around the diamond on stage with weapons at the ready. It was still there. Not even a fingerprint on the case. What was gone was the man in the altercation. The only thing left was the closing of the entrance door. The crowd rushed outside just to see the tinted stretch skycar speed off to the skyway. Private security jumped into their own vehicles and gave chase. Everyone was so occupied watching the chase that no one noticed Gunn with his omni-tool beside the building. He remotely drove the car away, set a predetermined course for the vehicle, and then closed out the program. With the crowd continually staring in the opposite direction, he popped out his ear protection and casually walked down from the gallery. His jacket draped over his arm with only the sounds of his boots on the sidewalk. He breathed the fresh air out of his lungs to let get his body to slow down. He was surging with adrenaline, though he knew of the pain to come when it wore off. The morning would reminder him of a strong punch and using glass to break his fall. Still, he couldn't help the thrill of success when he removed the black Tanto he had slipped down his sleeve before the big bang. He checked the blade in its sheath and put it in his inner coat pocket. Despite wanting to relish the moment he had to hurry on his way. The docks weren't too far and his ship would be charged late storage in an hour.

Finally, he arrived at the docks and was eager to get off Bekenstein. Despite his outward appearance, the rundown nature of his ship made him more at home than the party. It's lettering had weathered and its armor showed the signs of scorches. Slight battle damage from the previous missions were noticeable. However, the Razgriz displayed the same tough, presence as it did before. Its diamond shaped wings were aftermarket, but allowed an agility beyond a ship its size could perform. The nosed and cluster mounts housed its heavy armaments that kept its place as an outdated, but proper gunship. Of course anyone who scanned it would only register it as a simple transport vessel. Rarely did someone do a visual scan on a ship anymore. Every craft contained a unique identifier code. The Razgriz had its original on backup, but sported a cloned version to stay under the radar. If ever necessary, it could be switched back electronically given the circumstances. Altering one is highly illegal in Council space, but it is not a hard request for someone like the Shadow Broker.

He climbed in with the hatch sealing behind him, of course, he did notice the door to his cabin had been left ajar. He was sure he locked it earlier. The pre-flight checks had been done beforehand, so the engines flared to life and lifted the old gunship towards sparkling sky above. As soon as the ship broke the atmosphere, the auto-pilot was set for a nice relaxing trip. At the very moment he stood out of his chair he felt cold metal on the back of his neck. It was small, circular, and could only be the barrel of a pistol.

"Don't move. I'm taking your ship."

The voice was low and synthesized distorting the real voice. It was an undetermined gender, but judging by the angle of the barrel pointed up on his head, the intruder was short. In an almost elegant spin, the gun was pushed off his head and the figure pushed against the wall. He grabbed the small hand holding the weapon and pressed it besides the assailant's head. It was then he feasted his eyes on a woman dressed in a tight bodysuit. Her chest rose and fell from her deep, long breathes; pressing into his own body. And her hood just covering her face.

"You caught me."

There was nothing covering that cute voice now.

"So…what are you going to do to me?"

The pistol moved to the side as he leaned close.

"I'm not a cop."

She licked her lips with that line of color tracing down to her chin.

"That doesn't answer the question."

The pistol and coat hit the floor and they pounced on each other's lips. The building desire finally unleashed since the party. Their tongues danced until their bodies begged for oxygen; forcing them to part with hot, breathy pants. Two weeks and the feeling was not forgotten. After such a stretch of time it was now a yearning when they resumed in another frantic kiss. She tugged and pulled off his shirt. A small gasp escaped him when soft hands raked up his chest. The all so familiar sensation beckoned his body for more. He pressed her against the wall and heard a muffled moan. It would have been so cute if it wasn't such a turn-on. He searched and undid the clasps of her suit. He peeled it away layer at a time until he lifted the infiltrator by her thighs and just cupped her bottom. Her legs wrapped around his waist instinctively with her hands unable to leave the sides of his face. Into the Captain's quarters they went where no other visitors would interrupt them. The only silent watcher was the figure planted on the desk. In the corner was an antiquated statue of black resin dingus dating to the early 20th century; the Maltese Falcon. Beside it, still in its satchel what the thief had stolen it moments ago, was the red spindled book. They would be the only witnesses to the couple entwined on the bed.

"Wait," she managed to speak.

His movements came to a halt. Both their chests raised and fell with furious anticipation. Her hands moved to his eyes and carefully removed his contacts. The baby blue gone so she could stare into those brown pools she loved.

"Hey, Brandon."

To hear his name from her and not the alias was sweetness to his ears. Even as aroused as he was, he took a moment to cup his lover's face and just stare at how beautiful she was.

"Hello, Kasumi," he said softly.

They kissed.

"Now," she said eagerly, "where were we?"

A devious grin formed on his face.

"Right…"

He pressed slowly.

"…about…"

Deeper.

"…here."

The gasp of pleasure echoed through the ship as two halves became one once again.

The Razgriz drifted through the dark void guided only by the computer's autopilot. Its corridors were empty and the only sounds came from the low bass of the drive core and the faint breathing of its two residents. They were in a mangled array on the barely large enough bed; bodies pressed together, hands draped over another, and as naked as the day they were born. Sheets thrown to the floor and using each other's bodies for comfort. Brandon started to open his eyes and could only smile at the view next to him. Only two weeks, but it felt like years since he felt this good. The passion as fiery as the first night they spent together.

His attempt to move was thwarted when petite hands clung to his waist to pull him back.

"Mmmm. No. Want more," came from the tired, muffled voice beside him.

It was an easy choice to return to cradle the woman in his arms.

"I know, Kasumi. You've said that quite a number of times. Multiple times if I recall."

Brandon pushed back the strands of her that covered her face. Her eyes wearily opened as she stared back at her lover.

"That was so..."

"Hot?" Brandon finished.

"Mmhmm."

She didn't move. She just looked at him. Watching his eyes looking at her. She missed this.

"It was so exciting to see you pop your cherry."

Brandon arched a brow.

"Your first heist," she said with a giggle, "I was watching you."

"Yeah? How'd I do?"

"Sloppy. Totally amateur for a heist that big, but that just made you unpredictable."

"Well two weeks isn't the longest stretch to become an infiltrating master mind."

Kasumi let her fingers lightly trail up and down his torso. They found the contours and ridges of his muscles and traced along the valleys. She noticed the bruise from that punch was starting to form and leaned in to give it a kiss. He was a little more muscular than he was on the Normandy. Still athletic, but more definition in his tone. She wondered if he worked out extra hard for her little game. Not that she was complaining as she wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

"That car hack was a clever surprise. I always found those tricks a bit of a gimmick."

"I'm not without some imagination."

"I'll garner the flashbang in the thermal clip came from that imagination," she said before speaking in a mock worry, "But what about the security cameras? They might have captured your face before you made your escape."

"The security vids were wiped clean," he said plainly.

That warranted a curious look from her.

"What makes you so sure?"

He leaned in close as if he was sharing a secret.

"Cause I knew you'd be there," he countered with a sly smile.

She tried so hard, but it was useless from his form of flattery.

"There might have been a…bug in the system. That's what happens when you don't upgrade your software," she spoke with a little grin, "While Jack looks right at home plastered on a billboard, I don't think you could pull it off. I prefer keeping you my secret."

"Yeah?" he said running his hand up her back, slightly massaging her shoulders, "Your dirty little secret?"

She relaxed under his touch and let his fingers do magic to her muscles. To simply be touched after all this time was a blessing. It felt wonderful to let her mind turn off for a few moments.

"Honestly Kasumi, I was scared shitless," he admitted with a forced chuckle.

Brandon was a bit out of his element now. It was a field which he had no experience. This time he was on Kasumi's path; where ever and whatever that may be.

"Awww, you look so cute when you're clueless," as she patted his hand, "You'll get used to it and you'll do fine. Besides, the most boring jobs are the ones that go the smoothest."

"Uh-huh. Which percentage is yours?"

"I'd say ninety-ten."

"Ten percent of your plans don't survive the battle field, huh?"

"Not always a bad thing. Always makes some good stories," she said pulling him for another kiss. His groans didn't help her current condition, so she pressed his shoulders back onto the bed and straddled him.

"God I missed you," he gasped.

"Me too."

She leaned down and met his lips in a gentle, yet passionate session. She felt his arms reach around her back sending tingles up her spine. Brandon felt the subtle grinds of her hips, coaxing him for another round.

"Kasumi…" his voice was lower than he'd been. Not in the seductive tone, but vulnerable that Kasumi stopped her teasing at focused on him.

"Why'd you run off?" he asked.

There was no hesitance, but it could only be described as heartfelt when she nearly whispered the answer.

"To see if you'd follow."

He paused by her words…followed by an overwhelming urge to wrap his arms around her close…which he ultimately did, sending Kasumi lightly squealing from his embrace.