August 19, 2184
Turian diplomatic ship Inferno, orbiting Ilonderas
1300 hours
These turian guards, he was beginning to realize, were probably the chattiest slavers he'd ever seen. And slaver guards on boring prison duty were usually a loquacious lot.
"What do you think the boss will do with the prisoners?"
"Sell them, idiot. Which ones did you mean?"
"The humans, especially the females. I hope he doesn't."
"Have you no pride? You'd stoop so low as to rut with a human? I don't know what you see in those fleshy meatbags. No cartilage, all soft and squishy. Myself, I prefer the asari; at least they're not as fragile."
Oh, how he desperately wanted to shut them both up. Give him his Locust...or better yet, his Mantis. He'd only need one shot.
Too bad they'd taken both away from him. His armor, too, and basically everything he'd had on him. His state-of-the-art, shielded and customized suit of N6 armor was now sitting somewhere in an armory, probably being drooled over by the stupid turians, doubtless for the money they could get for it.
Instead, he was wearing the dirty orange of prisoner clothes. They were too small for him and itched tremendously, making him wonder if they'd ever been washed. They also stank, smelling like someone had died in them, which was all too possible, judging by the dark stain on the front of the shirt.
Well, that'll teach me to underestimate them. He thought morosely. Next time I try to assassinate the head diplomat-captain of a diplomatic/slaver ship, I'll try not to attract so much attention.
His cell was spacious enough, allowing him to lie down lengthwise without having to compress his body. That was the only thing that could be said for it. Prison cells weren't designed to be comfortable.
The turian guards were talking again.
When I get out of there, I'm killing the one in green armor first. Then the one in the orange.
"When's the shift over?"
"In an hour, I think. Actually, once it's done, I think I'll pay that asari we captured a visit."
Both guards chuckled.
As if the world had tired of their dirty humor and decided to teach them a lesson, the door on the opposite side of the room exploded inward.
Smoke filled the room, and both guards shouted and coughed, bringing assault rifles to bear.
"Where is he?"
"I can't see him!"
A huge shape lumbered up out of the smoke and smashed one of the turians down with the butt of a shotgun he dimly recognized as an Eviscerator. As the guard made a dent in the steel floor, the attacker pivoted and fired, throwing the other guard off his feet and into the wall.
As the smoke faded away, he realized the massive soldier now moving towards one of the cells was a krogan, and a huge one, even for that species. More particularly, he wore the familiar helmet and armor looped with red-tubes that Saren Arterius' elite krogan troops had favored. 'Rage' armor, he remembered it was called.
The battlemaster-for that was what he had to be- moved out of sight. A whimper sounded from nearby.
"I am not here to hurt you, child." The krogan's voice was rough and growling, like most of his kind's, but infused with a reassuring tone and proper grammar, not typical of krogan battlemasters. "Your father hired me to rescue you."
The unseen prisoner choked. "R-really?"
A chuckle, now, deep and resonate. "Yes. Excuse me." A large thump, then a crackle, and the forcefield separating him from the outside world shimmered, then faded.
Quickly, he stepped out, and saw the massive krogan ushering a human male-young, about twenty years old with severe acne-, out of his cell. Surprisingly enough, no other prisoners stepped out of their cells, meaning they were all asleep or too traumatized to leave.
The battlemaster's shotgun came up at his approach, and while it wasn't exactly pointed at him it wasn't exactly pointed away from him, either.
He raised his hands. "Don't shoot me, I just want to get my stuff and get out of here."
The krogan's eyes narrowed. "Stuff?"
"Yeah, my armor and guns."
"You are not an ordinary slave."
"Nope. Humanity Systems Alliance N6 Operative at your service. I came here to shoot the guy in charge, but his guys found me first, so here I am."
"Interesting." The battlemaster nodded, and his shotgun rose to indicate the corridor outside. Alarms were blaring now, indicating that they had very little time before guards rushed the area. "Your weapons are likely in the main armory, which is directly between the prison block and the hangar." The massive reptilian head jerked sideways. "I advise you to procure a weapon if you wish to survive."
Mike needed no encouraging, and snatched one of the fallen assault rifles off the ground.
"Lead the way."
Just at that moment, a turian guard appeared in the doorway. Before he could shoot, the krogan blew a hole in his chestplate and strode out into the corridor and out of sight. The familiar chatter of assault weapons was soon overruled by the steady boom of the shotgun, and eventually fell silent all together. A krogan head stuck its way back into the room.
"It is clear."
Mike grabbed the kid's arm. "Come on, let's go."
It turned out he didn't have to use his rifle much. The krogan handled most of the combat.
Mike was still wondering why exactly the krogan was helping him to get his weapons back, because that was what he was doing. The battlemaster strode in front of both of his erstwhile companions, taking sporadic shots on his massive body and executing his assailants with casual blasts of his Eviscerator. All opposition was swiftly crushed; they had expected to be dealing with unarmored slaves, crouched behind makeshift cover. A fully-armored krogan with a shotgun didn't seem to be in their plans.
Then again, the N6 operative reflected, it wasn't really costing the krogan anything. He would have fought his way out in any case, only now there was a human who could probably assist him in his escape, once properly equipped.
Absently, he fired the captured rifle at a sniper who'd popped up to head-shot his new ally. The Avenger chattered, dropping the turian, who fell into the krogan's path, writhing in pain. Casually, as if he hadn't intended to, the battlemaster's massive foot slammed down on the turian's head, reducing it to paste.
Mike shuddered as the krogan resumed his passage. He hadn't applied any particular force to that blow; it hadn't even changed his stance. That was just a regular footfall.
The corridor opened out into a larger area, with multiple doors lining the walls, and ten prison guards armed with assault rifles and shotguns.
Immediately, Mike dove to one side, crouching behind an upturned table as gunfire ripped through the walls behind him. He caught a glimpse of the krogan as he shoved the kid he'd come to rescue behind another table and turned to meet the wall of bullets clanging off him.
In anticipation of his deadly return fire, half of the prison squad rolled behind cover, while the others continued to shoot. The Eviscerator roared once, before the krogan tossed something over the improvised cover.
The grenade expanded outwards in a blast of fire, consuming two guards unfortunate enough to be in its range. Screaming in agony, they rolled around as the flames licked at their armor and flesh. Calmly, the krogan swiveled and blasted two more as they rose up to attack.
The N6 operative rose as well, catching one of the turians with his head exposed. Quickly, he blazed a trail of bullets at his target, but most went wide.
Damn! This thing ain't accurate at all!
Fortunately, enough rounds perforated the turian's head to successfully kill him, but his clip was empty now, and he didn't have any place to carry spares.
His battlemaster companion slung the Eviscerator shotgun and unlimbered the unmistakable form of a Revenant assault rifle. Mike felt his eyes widen; that kind of gun cost quite a lot of money, which was why the Alliance didn't issue it much, even to its elite operatives.
Once the gun opened up, his ears failed. The weapon's roar blotted out every other sound, and its muzzle flash dazzled his unhelmeted eyes, but he was able to see well enough to note that the remaining turians all died. Even cover was no help against the sheer power of the Revenant.
"We cannot be bogged down again. We must hurry." Over the roar in his ears, he could dimly hear the krogan speaking. "Come."
The armory was just outside the corridor, and Mike quickly dressed and armed himself. It felt good to be wearing armor and carrying metal again. It meant he couldn't be taken so easily.
Both krogan and human stared at him once he returned, with the krogan breaking contact first.
"You look like a warrior now." He offered. "It suits you more than the rags of a slave."
"Thanks...I guess."
The alarms were still blaring, loud and annoying, and Mike took great pleasure in shooting one with his Locust. The bulb shattered and the foghorn blares became more distant.
They resumed their progress, but the N6 operative found his right leg weakening, as the old sniper wound in that leg took its toll. The battlemaster noticed, but simply grunted, slowing his pace a fraction.
A few firefights ensued, as tardy guards finally found their quarries, but battlemaster and N6 operative simply smashed through them, the Revenant obliterating all cover and chewing through those turians foolish enough to trust it for safety, and the Locust finishing off those who stayed unscathed.
"You fight well, human." The krogan said, after they paused to let the other human rest. Mike still didn't know his name.
"Thanks. It's a prerequisite to be N6." The operative scanned the area even as he spoke, his weapon at the ready. "Why are you here, anyway?"
"This child is the son of a wealthy corporate magnate, the kind of man who dotes on his children and is prepared to offer any amount of money for their safe return." The krogan uttered a deep chuckle. "It is even enough to afford my 'bring them in alive' rate."
Looking at the Revenant, Mike decided the krogan was right.
"Alright, let's get moving, shall we?"
The hangar was easy to get to; by now Mike was sure they'd killed half the guards on the station. He'd already run through half his ammunition, and he'd brought a lot of it. Battlemaster, on the other hand, seemed to have just as much ammo as he had before he'd slaughtered dozens of turians, with the Revenant firing as steadily as ever.
Corporate-boy was still quiet, except the occasional sob, but they were sobs of relief, now, like he was finally allowing himself to believe that he might get out of here alive.
The hangar entrance was, surprisingly, undefended by enemy soldiers. The krogan quickly moved towards the door, shotgun held ready, while Mike snapped his Locust up to cover his ally's back.
A few tense moments passed as the battlemaster fiddled with the controls, then suddenly he let out a grunt of irritation. Mike turned back in time to see him body-slam the wall, step back, and smash into it again.
The door buckled after the third impact. Mike gaped. The battlemaster turned around and chuckled.
"Close your mouth, human, before a small mammal decides to make its home there."
The hangar, too, was devoid of defenses, Mike noted, as he stepped inside. A surplus of craft rested upon the steel flooring, including three landers, two shuttles, and some kind of heavily-modified personal ship. It sported several weapons that Mike was sure were not part of the original design, and the oversized engines in the back were most definitely upgraded, and possibly illegal.
His companion began to step forward, then suddenly stopped. Mike bumped into him, then stopped as well, listening carefully.
From the direction of the modified vessel, the voice of a salarian drifted over.
"Landers? Not-capable-of-mass-relay-transit. Shuttles? Too-small, fuel-reserves-not-large-enough. Hmmmm... Unidentified-craft-engines-modified, possibly-illegally, -belong-to-warden-or-guards no-emblem-or-insignia. -take."
The krogan stepped out in front of Mike and growled.
"That is my ship you want to take, babbling lizard. Step away from it."
Surely enough, the figure of a salarian appeared as it moved away from the ship. Mike's eyes narrowed. The salarian obviously wasn't a slaver, seeing as the entire crew of the ship were turians. Still, what was he doing here?
"-here-by-accident-hitchiked-on-wrong-vessel did-not-know-shuttle-belonged-to-slavers. Escaped-detection-came-here, tried-to-decide-how-to-escape. Settled-on-your-ship-capable-of-mass-relay-transit-heavily-armed, fast-"
"Slow down, buddy." Mike called. "We can't understand a word you said."
The krogan snorted. "Speak for yourself, human."
Salarian-guy took a deep breath. "Will...try...slow down..."
"Ok. What was all that you were saying before?"
"Apologies...did not...know...was his ship...no-sorry-can't-slow-down."
Mike heaved a sigh. "Okay then...What's your name? Only your name."
"My-name-is-Karoleis-Korinth."
"Okay, Karoleis... Why are you here?"
The salarian began to speak, but the krogan cut him off.
"He is here because he 'hitchhiked' on the wrong shuttle. It took him here, and he is apparently trying to figure out how to escape." He shrugged. It was a strange gesture for a krogan. "The rest of that chatter is his criteria for selecting my vessel as his means of escape."
Mike fixed the krogan with a steady stare. "What are your plans, now, anyway?"
"I must deliver the child to my employer. I have planted charges in key places on this ship. Once I depart, I will detonate them, destroying this ship and killing all aboard, as specified by my employer." He didn't seem particularly bothered by it.
Hell. Mike wasn't bothered by it either.
"What about us?" he indicated both the salarian and himself.
The krogan shrugged again. "If you wish, I will transport you to the nearest inhabited world and allow you to make your way from there."
Unsurprisingly, the salarian interjected.
"Revenant-Eviscerator-good-quality-weapons-must-be-mercenaries. Contract-with-human-corporate? Must-be-to-afford-expensive-krogan-interesting-but-not-unexpected. Looking-for-work?"
The krogan waited a minute, probably while the salarian's words reached his brain.
"I have no contracts lined up."
"Have-quarian-contact, possibility-of-goodjob. Was-going-to-meet-her-but-got-side-tracked. Probably-annoyed, never-did-like-latecomers-or-tardiness. Anyway, contract-for-geth, contact-on-quarian-pilgrimage-to-bring-back-useful-data-on-geth-systems. She-needs-muscle-though, single-quarian-ongeth-controlled-world-inadvisable-and-bad-odds-"
"Stop!" Mike clapped his hands over his ears. "Alright. Go ahead."
"Contact-needs-merc-squad-to-help-retrieve-inactive-geth. Will-plunder-data, gain-useful-information. Promises-geth-bodies, valuable, could-sell-for-much-monies. One-geth-body-for-all-interested."
Finally, the battlemaster lowered his shotgun. "Interesting. I will sign on this. A geth drone body is very valuable."
The N6 operative flicked a meaningful glance at the krogan's weapons.
"I don't think you need any more money, if you have enough to buy that Rev' and remain in business."
The krogan shrugged. "True. However, all I have is my work. I would have nothing to do without the promise of battle, and so I take the money for the jobs I am offered. It is just compensation, though I care not for the money I gain."
Mike frowned. "I'd love to take you up on this job, but I still have a diplomat/slaver to kill. Then I have to get back to Alliance headquarters and report the mission. Sorry, Karoleis."
The salarian's head drooped, then came up quickly.
"Not-a-problem, will-find-alternative-mercs. Slot-open-for-you, though, in-case-you-quit-job-and-need-work."
The krogan rumbled in amusement.
"I will deliver you to the nearest planet. I expect you can make your way from there."
Mike shook his head. "No thanks. There's a planet below, right? Ilonderas, if I'm not mistaken? I heard the guards talking about it. Set your charges and leave, but I'll stay here and flush that turian son of a bitch out, then escape."
The krogan regarded him carefully.
"He will probably die in the explosion. My charges are set for five minutes." The massive frog's head tilted to one side. "You will not have a high possibility of survival, either."
Mike grinned and flipped up his Locust. "I'm N6. I work with odds like this every day. Five minutes is plenty of time. Besides, I need to make sure he died, otherwise he'll tell every anti-human asshole that the humans tried to have him killed."
"You are devoted to your duty, human." The krogan bowed his head slightly. "You have a warrior's soul."
Mike shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "Thanks, I guess. You should probably be off soon."
The N6 operative turned, preparing to resume his chase.
"Human!" the krogan called. "My name is Pierce. Remember it."
Mike didn't turn. "Sure."
And so the man Mike Patterson, but more often known as Sin, melted into the shadows of the prison ship once more, a knife aimed at the heart of his target. It had been deflected once, but as many bureaucrats and military leaders had learned to their regret, the knife is never blocked twice.
Elthonas Kenthral was annoyed. His week had not been good to start with, and all the shitstorms that seemed to appear spontaneously were not helping.
First, that fucking human had tried to kill him. He was missing a mandible and it hurt, thanks to that damnable sniper rifle. Only his armor and a chance movement had saved him from having his head blown off.
Then, a few days later, the krogan who'd landed on the ship under pretense of wanting to purchase a slave ended up being some kind of bounty hunter who'd slaughtered his way through half the ship's troops on his way in to rescue some brat. If that wasn't bad enough, he set the human free, and then both of them slaughtered their way through the other half of his turians on their way out.
Finally, the damned beast had planted charges on his ship, and there were approximately three minutes before they all blew the hell up and killed him.
Fortunately, the cameras that were linked to his helmet showed the krogan's ship taking off. Good. That meant no fucking frog or shit-headed human would get in his way. He'd escape, and he'd damn well show the fucking humans that Elthonas Kenthral wasn't such an easy target!
He moved at a fast run down the corridors of his ship, regretting the catastrophic loss that he would suffer once the charges detonated. There was a fortune worth of slaves and equipment on this ship, but the Hierarchy would provide him a new ship. It was theirs, after all, complete with all the holding equipment used to hold prisoners for exchanges. Turian diplomacy was very militaristic.
And then he'd find a new crew and start the whole business again in no time. He was, after all, the most intelligent turian diplomat in the service. He'd find a way to make bigger profits than ever before.
So caught up in his thoughts was he that he didn't notice the black-and-grey shadow step out from behind a power conduit and jam a submachine gun into his chest.
The gun chattered once, and only once. At point-blank range, even a Locust could shred armor. And Elthonas wasn't wearing armor.
The results were...messy, to say the least.
As Elthonas' corpse slumped to the ground, Sin knelt down and, removing a glass vial from his belt, carefully caught the blue turian blood, corked it, then returned it to his belt and set off for the hangar at a sprint.
He managed to make it to one of the shuttles and get out of the hangar thirty seconds before the explosion.
His new personal best, he thought.
The shuttle he'd stolen was, fortunately, fully fueled, and able to make the journey down to Ilondras. Though heavily populated, there were areas concealed from scanners, and he would land the shuttle there, go to one of the cities, and call the Alliance. They could pick him up from there.
This was what had happened on every previous mission, and he had no reason to believe it would be different this time.
Mike arrived on Ilondras as planned and slipped into a city fairly easily. There, he found a private terminal, ensured it was totally encrypted, entered his comm code and was surprised to find a message waiting for him.
Selecting it, he frowned when the face of his Alliance contact appeared on the screen.
Jasmine Chen was an old friend of his, the younger sister of one of his closest friends in high school. They'd served together in N6 ops, before she transferred out to intelligence after one too many close calls. Still, she always made sure to provide him whatever information his official handlers couldn't...or wouldn't.
Something told him this time would be of the latter.
She was worried, definitely. Green eyes, usually full of suppressed mirth, stared worriedly at him. As the message continued, she began to tap the table repeatedly with one finger.
"Mike, bad news. I know you were sent on that black op to kill that slaver/diplomat last week, don't try to figure out how. Alright..." She took a deep breath, steadying herself. "When you were caught, they inspected you, right? Elite human infiltrator supplied with state-of-the-art equipment? It's safe to say they reported you to the Hierarchy as a 'dangerous human assassin attempting to murder the respected diplomat Elthonas Kenthral'. Still, you failed, and there wasn't any proof to tie you to the Alliance, despite your genome. So nothing happened.
But a few days later, the ship blows up. Now, the Hierarchy hasn't said anything officially, but because of that transmission, the brass thinks you're compromised."
Mike's eyes widened. Jasmine seemed to have anticipated his reaction. She attempted a smile, and dropped it a second later.
"It gets better. The brass is planning to pick you up once you call them, denounce you as a rogue and traitor who, on his own initiative, killed a respected turian diplomat just because of rumors that he might be a slaver, then toss you in jail. No way out for you."
Mike's fist clenched.
Jasmine continued. "You should lay low, Mike. I know you, and I know you want to go and beat the shit out of the brass, but you can't risk it. The Alliance is already sending out feelers for you, just so if the Hierarchy demands you be dealt with they can say they're already on the case. Sorry, Mike, but from now on you're on your own."
The image faded.
My name is Michael 'Mike' Patterson. My codename is Sin, because I do all the dirty jobs the Alliance can't acknowledge they ordered. Their 'sins', if you will.
And now, someone's decided I am a sin. They've decided to cast me aside, treat me like a used piece of toilet paper, after all the shit I did for them. I've no doubt some of the people I killed were on the list because they pissed off some bureaucrat, not because they threatened the Alliance.
Fucking traitors.
They didn't even think I was worthy of being warned. If they'd at least called me up and went, "Hi Mike, look, we're spineless assholes who're worried about a fight with the turians, so we're going to cut you loose and pretend you're a rogue. Lie low, watch yourself, and since we're worried about nothing you should be able to come back soon," I wouldn't be quite as mad. Black ops are black for a reason, and any operative should be ready to be cut loose.
But like this? Without even telling me-without any support whatsoever, just because the fucking turians might-I say might because they probably won't-get angry at the death of a total asshole, I'm going to be tossed in jail the minute I show up to let them know I took out the trash?
Fuckers.
I swear, one day, every one of those pompous-assed pricks is going to get a special visit from an X-95 Mantis. A very special visit.
Now what the fuck do I do? I can't go home. Jasmine risked everything to tell me about this, and I'm not going back to blow her cover. Not even to settle scores with those assholes.
I guess I'll sign up as a merc or something, try to find work. Maybe the Blue Suns'll take me. I'm good in a fight. Like I told that old frog Pierce, you have to be to make it as an N6.
My leg hurts. Always has been, ever since one of those drell assassins shot me in the thigh while I was hunting his boss. I always liked the drell. Professional, quiet. Not at all like some human assholes I've worked with. The hanar...can't say I really take them seriously. I mean, look at them! They're giant jellyfish! But that one did fight pretty well. Almost choked me before I punched his ticket.
Getting sidetracked. People are looking at me. I'd better leave-
Wait. Is that-
Mike Patterson, former N6 Operative, stands alone in the crowd.
Before him are two familiar figures: the massive humpback form of a krogan battlemaster, and the slender, lithe physique of a salarian. Both are armed; the krogan carries his Revenant machine gun and Eviscerator shotgun on his back, while the salarian bears a holstered M-5 Phalanx and Locust submachine gun at his belt.
Putting aside the strange sight of seeing a krogan and salarian standing together, Mike focuses on the situation.
"Hi. What's up?"
The salarian talks first, quite excited, judging by his speech, which is faster than normal.
"Was-going-to-gather-mercs-for-job, but-Pierce-refused-. Said-to-come-back, wait-here-for-you. Asked-him-why, smiled-and-said-human-black-ops-soldiers-get-cut-loose. Said-with-you-on-mission, chances-of-success-increase."
The assassin-no N6 operative now- fixes the krogan with a steady gaze.
"And why would that be?"
The krogan smiles, revealing yellowed teeth.
"I know what warriors look like. The eyes show everything. You, human, are a warrior. Willing to put everything on the line to kill your opponent, to accomplish your mission, these are warrior qualities. You will be a valuable asset on our mission."
Mike shakes his head. "How did you know I'd be cut loose?"
"Humans are a weak species. They seldom take the consequences of their actions, always hiding behind qualifiers and trivialities. Your Alliance was afraid of the Hierarchy, and with good reason. The turians are fine warriors. Your Alliance is made of shivering, soft insects, rather than proud warriors. They wish to avoid conflict, while warriors thrive on it. You are a warrior. You thrive."
The assassin considers this. "That's true."
Karoleis pipes up again.
Karoleis pipes up again. "Contact-waiting-for-us, now-merc-squad-is-assembled. Should-leave-immediately."
"Just the three of us?" Mike raises an eyebrow.
Pierce smiles. "Will that be a problem?"
The assassin shrugs.
"Not for me."
Karoleis raises a finger. "What-is-your-name? Cannot-refer-to-you-as-human, ."
Mike considers this too.
"Call me Sin."