On most planets it would be considered late at night. Here on the Citadel day and night cycles were ruled by bulilt in clocks, not the natural order of the Stars which so many visiting were used to. Because of this the times of day never seemed to change unless you wanted them to.

Down at Chora's Den however, the nightlife never left. As always the hustle and bustle kept the small establishment busy. What kept it most busy was the man running the place, Fist. Not too many people knew about him other than his employer, the shadow broker.

Then again, maybe the broker did not know him as well as he thought. Allegiances change and the owner was waiting to talk up a known killer about a proposition, one he could not refuse. Fist sat and watched as his contract killer came in the door, and he was not alone.

With a guard standing on either side there walked a man almost as large as a Krogan, but nowhere near as bullheaded. His armor was nearly as black as the eyes of an Asari melding their mind with another. The added weapons and gadgets made it look bulkier than any armor he had come across and that was much coming from a former agent of the Shadow Broker. What disturbed him the most was the skull on his visor. He could only assume that's where his monicker came from.

"Ok, first off, before we move on with our contract negotiation, I'm going to need your helmet to come off." He asked, head resting against his hands on the desk.

The menacing figure was reluctant to take off the helmet, but since the money banked on him being face to face with the client, it was the only way. Sighing so loud Fist could hear it from across the room he took off the bulky armor showing his face to his future employer.

First impressions mattered to Fist, that's how he went off of most his interviews. Combine that with his intuition, which drove him to select those operating and guarding the club and it never failed him. Every talent he selected was almost perfect wherever he put them, the question was would this murder machine be the right candidate for this job, a risky one at that?

"Have you thoroughly looked at the offer I sent you?" He asked

The mercenary nodded in kind, maintaining a blank face as he spoke. "I did. From everything you gave me this should be an easy job. Didn't really understand why you would need somebody like me for a simple capture mission though."

"Hmm, then maybe you should realize what's so important about this target. I wanted to remain as brief as possible in the version of the contract I gave you for one specific reason, secrecy. You see, the job I'm giving you involves sensitive information and a spectre..."

"A spectre?" The mercenary interrupted, almost dumbfounded by the revelation. "Now hold on here, I thought we were dealing with simple hired guns, not council-made tanks."

"No, no, no, you've got it all wrong!" He fired back, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're not going to fight a spectre, you're...you're working for one!"

"Really now? Just why would a spectre need any help?" The merc asked.

"He doesn't really...need the help, more or less wants it so he doesn't have to get his hands dirty."

The merc grunted in approval. All of it seemed agreeable to him, the contract, the need for secrecy, the pay...the pay. Looking at all the zeros on the paycheck just to capture an unprotected target nonetheless would have confused any other hired help, not him. Now came the fun part, actually finding out the objective.

Fist opened up his omnitool, sending a message across the way. Soon his newly hired help received it, blowing the image up on the small screen. One simple glance at the screen made him shudder, not in fear of he target, rather something else, someone else.

"Your objective is to capture this woman dead or alive, preferably dead. Just bring the information she has with you. All of it is vital to my client and yours." He said matter of factly.

"Hmmph, you didn't tell I would be targeting a Quarian." He replied, somewhat shaky in his tone.

"Will that be a problem?" Fist asked, slightly cocking his head to the side.

"No uh, not at all. Consider her taken care of, and you will have the information within the day." He replied, turning to leave.

"A day? I knew you worked fast but how do you intend to..."

Putting his helmet back on he replied, "Let me just say I know Quarians."

The door closed behind him as he stomped out. Both of Fist's men let out a sigh of relief, relaxing after some time of posturing. After sitting back in his chair he waved them back out the door, he needed to be alone.

He reached into one of the columns around him and opened up a secret compartment. No finer wares existed on the counters and shelves of the bar outside, only in his secret stash. Swiveling his head from side to side he examined all the bottles, finally settling on the Batarian brandy he had been saving.

Just as he grabbed onto the neck of the bottle a certain light popped up on his desk. "Fuck" he mumbled as he shut the compartment back into place. His omnitool lit up as he waved a hand over the device. A small lense came down from the ceiling above and the window behind him dimmed to make the room totally dark.

"Did the hired hand ever arrive?" A voice came from the speakers.

Fist waited until the holographic display started up before he continued. As he waited a bright blue image appeared before him, tall, spiny, Turian. The figure stood, hands behind his back, menacingly as he always did.

"Yes, and he seemed a bit much for what we needed."

The other scoffed, "Do you seriously think so? You know the Quarian has information the Shadow Broker would want right? Information your former employer would kill you for and has sent a Krogan to do so."

At the news Fist nearly jumped from where he was looking around the room, causing the Turian to sneer at his employee. "Look at you writhing around like a worm, hmmph. You worry yourself for no reason, I have ways of stopping idiots. Now onto the other matter at hand."

"Right, how do we handle this guy after he gets the goods." Fist replied scratching the back of his head.

The Turian switched on his omnitool, looking at a list of contacts and highlighting every single one. "Don't worry about him. Once everything falls into place, so will he."