Ragged breathing.
Painful gasps.
Nails scratching the concrete floor.
He could hear them all from the place where he knelt, the sounds loud in the quiet building. The rifle he held still smoked. The shot hadn't been clean. Irikah's sunset colored eyes haunted him. Distracted him from his true purpose. His eidetic memory more a curse in this moment than it had ever been before. The coin that his wife had given him years ago sat heavy in his pocket. As his surroundings came into focus, the assassin stood from his hiding spot, the cover no longer needed.
Stiv Kay, the leader of the batarian slaver gang that had murdered his wife, his wonderful Irikah, lay in a pool of his own blood, the dark liquid slowly expanding as each beat of the bastard's heart pumped more from his wound. The bullet hadn't instantly killed him as the assassin had intended, but in some ways, this made it better. This was sweeter.
"You… son of... bitch." The batarian gasped, the bullet that was lodged in his lung making it difficult for him to catch his breath. "I'll- k-kill..."
The drell walked towards the dying man, slowly, as a predator stalks its prey, savoring each labored breath that came from the batarian's throat. With a whisper, he repeated an old prayer he had done many times in the past. "Amonkira, Lord of Hunters, grant that my hands be steady-"
"Y-you'll regret this, drell. You'll-" Stiv let out a guttural moan as the pain overtook all sense.
"-my aim be true, and my feet swift. And should the worst come to pass, grant me forgiveness."
The man was at his feet, the blood flow slowing as his body finally grew cold. Stiv was no longer struggling against his death, but the look of hate in his eyes was so intense that it brought joy to the assassin. A smile almost appeared on his face as he stared down at the man who had personally killed his wife.
"Let there be no peace for you, Stiv Kay. You do not deserve any."
The drell's biotic ability focused on the skull of his target. Within a few seconds, the bone was crushed into dust under the weight of the power. With the head removed from the rest of the body, whatever blood was left in the carotid artery dripped from the neck onto the floor.
All was silent. With another quick prayer to his gods, the drell slung the sniper rifle over his shoulder before exiting the warehouse. The calming sound of the ocean met him. He missed the arid climate. He missed the sand, the dry air, the smell of a hot day. Perhaps a visit to a place such as that was in order.
Pulling the coin from his pocket, the coin that Irikah had given him so long ago, Thane Krios thought about what his future held now that she was gone. Now that his revenge was finished. Gazing out across the ocean, he knew what Irikah would want him to do. She'd want him to do what made him happy.
Pressing a kiss to the small, metal circle, Thane said a final goodbye to his beloved wife before tossing the coin into the ocean. He would devote what was left of his life to being a tool that others could use: for revenge, for murder, for justice. Whatever the need was. It was all he had ever known and all he would ever be.
An assassin.