"Commander, good to see you! Anything I can do for ya?"

"Just passing through, Bailey," Shepard smiled at the C-Sec captain.

"Glad to hear it," Bailey grunted. "Say, Commander. . . is Garrus Vakarian still on your crew?"

"He's a permanent member of my crew, Captain," Shepard grinned. "Why, something you need?"

"Nah! Just . . ." Bailey licked his lips nervously. "He hasn't said anything about coming back to C-Sec, has he?"

"No, he hasn't. Why?"

"Thank God for that!" Bailey gave a sigh of relief.

Shepard frowned. "Don't you think that's a little extreme, Captain?"

"Not for those of us who actually worked with the man," he grinned at her. "Most people were glad to see his back, I tell ya." He peered at her suspiciously. "I'm guessing he never told you about the real reason he left, did he?"

"Garrus said he was tired of all the red-tape and bureaucracy," Shepard said a little defensively.

"Said that, did he?" Bailey grunted. "Yeah, that's probably half the reason. The other half is that Vakarian was one hell of a loose cannon."

"I'll admit he can be a little passionate about justice. . . ."

"'Passionate'?" he snorted. "Yeah, right! You got a knack for understating things, I tell ya Commander." He shook his head. "The things he did in the name of 'justice'. . . ."

"What did he do, exactly?" Shepard's curiosity was piqued now.

"Well," Bailey leaned back in his chair. "There was this one time. . ."

Armando-Owen Bailey was having a really bad day.

In his defense, there were hardly any good days of working for C-Sec. Every single day involved dealing with red-sand dealers, organ traffickers. . . the worst that the galaxy had to offer.

It was enough to drive a man to drink sometimes.

When Executor Pallin had specially called for him, he'd actually been rather excited. It wasn't very often that the head of C-Sec dealt directly with human officers. He'd thought today was actually going to be one of the good ones.

Until he saw what he was being asked to deal with. . . .

Clowns! The goddamn idiots upstairs wanted him to act as a consultant on dealing with clowns, of all the damn things!

Apparently, some idiot calling himself the 'Joker' had managed to hack into Councillor Sparatus' private files, and made off with terabytes of confidential data. He'd copied the files onto several encrypted OSDs and hidden them somewhere.

The officers assigned to retrieve the Councillors precious data ('Confidential' my ass! More likely it's his goddamn porn collection!) were all turians, and as such had no idea on how to deal with the strange human with green hair, white face paint and blood red lips.

After assuring them that the face paint most certainly did not mean that the human was a great warrior of some clan (Turians! Really!), Bailey had left to deal with another clown that had been picked up for drunken disorderly at a kid's birthday party.

'Dammit, who even hires clowns these days?'

"So," Bailey drawled as he entered the room, reading his file. "Wiggles, the clown. Drunken disorderly at a children's party. . . nice. What d'you have to say for yourself?"

"Evening, officer."

Bailey chanced a glance at the clown, and quickly did a double-take.

"Hi," he drawled. "You wanna know how I got these scars?"

This wasn't Wiggles. This was the Joker! How did he get in here?

'Wait a sec! If he's here, then that means. . .'

"Oh shit!" Bailey bolted from the room. He ran over to the other end of the academy and asked about the other clown they'd brought in.

"Oh, him!" the turian officer at the desk said. "He's in Room 4B. The interrogation's already started."

"Who's handling it?" a nervous Bailey asked.

"Garrus Vakarian."

Oh shit!

Wiggles the clown was having a really bad day.

In his defense, there were hardly any good days while working as a clown at kid's birthday parties. Every single day involved dealing with snot-nosed brats, overprotective parents. . . the worst that the galaxy had to offer.

It was enough to drive a man to drink sometimes.

He'd had a really bad case of nerves that morning, so he'd taken a little 'liquid courage' before his shift.

Next thing he knew he was being hauled away in handcuffs by a pair of disgruntled turians, and tossed unceremoniously into a dark room.

Now as he sat there in the darkness, he wondered whether it was time to cut his losses and move back to his mother's farm on Earth.

His musings were cut short as the light in the room suddenly came to life and a strong hand slammed his head into the table.

"Ohh. . ." He moaned. "Oh, my head. . . Ahhhh, everything's so fuzzy."

He barely had any time to recover before a three-fingered fist punched his hand.

"Owwww!" He looked at his assailant, a tall turian in C-Sec uniform, wearing a blue visor on his left eye. "Who punches a hand?" he demanded indignantly.

"You wanted me. Here I am," the turian growled in a menacing voice.

"I didn't want you. I don't even know who you are!"

"Where's the data?"

"I don't know what data you're talking about!" He continued to massage his hand. "I think you broke my balloon. . ."

"You're garbage who kills for money!" the officer snarled.

"No, I'm Wiggles," he corrected him. "Garbage is the other clown who works the other end of the Citadel. . ."

He'd barely finished talking when the turian sprang forward and grabbed him by the collar, effortlessly lifting him into the air.

"Where're the data pads?"

"I don't know about any data pads!" he said desperately. "I was hired by Leo Barner for his son's birthday party. I do close up magic. . . aagh!"

He screamed in pain as the turian slammed him against the nearby wall. "I have one rule," he growled, practically nose-to-nose with the clown.

"I'm so sorry I broke your rule, Officer!" Wiggles said fearfully. "All I drank was two beers and some cooking sherry."

"Which is?" the turian pressed.

"Fortified wine and. . . aaaaaaaah!"

Bailey saw the clown scream in pain as he was bodily thrown to the other side of the room. He dashed to the door, but found that Vakarian had locked it tight with his own encryptions. He swore loudly. "Someone get this door open!" he bellowed over his shoulder.

In the interrogation chamber, he watched the turian officer slam the suspect's head against the one-way mirror.

"Where are they?" he bellowed at the terrified clown at his feet.

"What?" Wiggles asked desperately, receiving another punch for his trouble.

"Where are they?"

"My God! What?" he whimpered. The turian struck him again.

"Where are they?"

"I got drunk at a birthday party! I'm so sorry!" he screamed desperately, getting another punch, just as Bailey and another officer burst into the room.

"Vakarian, stop! Stop, Stop!" He took a deep breath. "That's not the Joker! It's a birthday clown!"

Garrus flicked his mandibles thoughtfully, then punched the clown again.

"You can stop punching him in the face, now" Bailey said exasperatedly.

"Really?" Garrus asked him.

"Really! Look at him. He's not the Joker. He's a birthday clown."

"My translator can't really tell the difference," Garrus stated.

Bailey pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Just take my word for it, all right. That's not your suspect."

Garrus scratched his mandible, looking down thoughtfully at the clown. The poor human had started weeping by now, and judging from the puddle beneath him, had wet himself as well.

"Two clowns?" he asked Bailey, who simply nodded.

"Full disclosure: part of me knew that." The turian looked sheepish. "Yeah. It was embarrassing to stop, so. . . how do you say it. . . 'I just kinda owned it', yeah."

Garrus glanced once again at Wiggles, who was still sobbing pathetically on the floor. "I gave you the beating. . . not the one that you deserved, but the one that you needed." He nodded to himself, seemingly pleased by the wisdom of his own words.

Bailey face-palmed.

"Huh. . . interesting." Shepard muttered.

"Tell me about it," Bailey agreed.

AN: This is inspired from a CollegeHumor video titled: 'Batman Interrogation'. Do check it out on youtube guys :)