Disclaimer: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware.
Author's note:
Welcome to my new Mass Effect story: Oneiromancer. I'm aiming for shorter chapters, but more regular ones.
Be warned this will be an AU, because it seems this is the only kind of story I'm able to have fun while writing. If you're averse to AUs, then I urge you to turn back now.
Also: this is not the same Shepard as in my other ME fanfictions. They all just share the same name, simply because I cannot settle on another one.
Enjoy!
.
.
ONEIROMANCER
Chapter I
.
.
Johann hated this place.
Illyria, capital of the history-ridden colony of Elysium. Humanity's first colonial settlement in the Skyllian Verge after the First Contact War. Major hub of travel and commerce due to its strategic location at an intersection of several primary and secondary mass relays. A planet shared by mankind with half the population being alien, though unsurprisingly most of them were blue. But even with the extra security measures in place in order to take non-human scanning procedures into account, a clusterfuck like this managed not to be aborted in time.
Legs pumping beneath him, Shepard sprinted after the assassin. The mimetic polycarbon suit the man wore made him hard to track through the thick wash of rain pouring down in dense curtains. Shepard's neural implant locked onto his target and, interfacing with his ocular implants, highlighted him.
The assassin wheeled around a corner, onto a crowd-packed street, wet brick shimmering in bright neon light. Covered in scratch marks and rust, advertisement drones cast about, bawling about the newest gadgets and insurances available, and, of course, about the puppet parlours littering the run-down streets.
He fucking hated this place.
Johann barged through the sea of people, focused on the shifting mimicry pattern of his target. Some people jumped out of the way, others yelped, fell down, cursing him and his existence. With all the colours and shapes around, the assassin's high-tech suit couldn't keep up, taking on an odd, flickering blend.
High whine of full-brake plasma engines above. The VTOL roared to a stop over the roofs, the Wedge company logo stamped on its armoured hull. The searchlight flared the street into sharp brightness. Now the pedestrians scattered, screaming in fear.
As the masses parted and reared from the searchlight, the assassin tried to slip among them. Realising the futility of his actions, he dashed aside, kicked open the steel door to a tenement building.
'Be advised: suspect is augmented,' said Shepard over the encrypted Wedge channel. The affirmation came, combat-calm, from Lieutenant Lenka Fedokura.
Ukrainian Lisunov Arms RK-5 Hammer pistol brandished, Johann moved towards the entrance. The caution he excised would slow him down, but was necessary in the end. No need to stumble head-first into a trap.
'Lost visual on target,' Shepard said.
'Thermal shows only tenants. No sign of any disturbance.'
Shit. Not mimetic, thermoptic camouflage.
Johann stepped up the stairwell, smart munitions pistol sweeping. He forewent caution with haste for a time. Stopped on the first floor, perched on his haunches.
Fedokura still talking over the intercom: 'Local police have been alerted. ETA two minutes. We'll proceed to cover possible exits.'
'Roger.'
With a mental command he activated the virtual overlay of his visor, checking for any clues as to where the assassin might've gone. Wet footprints, leading further up the stairwell. Johann started to move.
'Picked up target's trail. Leading up. In pursuit now.'
Arriving on the second floor, the trail continued to lead upstairs. Lights circled and high-pitched sirens grew louder outside the window, showering the inside in stuttering flashes of blue.
'Rapid response unit on the scene. Be advised: they're preparing to go in,' updated Fedokura.
The assassin's bootprints ended on the third floor, led to a decrepit hallway, which in turn led to the apartments. Lightbulbs flickered and hummed, whining about their constant usage. The doors were palm-print secured. Not that that would keep an augment from breaking in.
'Understood. Hold them off as long as you can.'
'Won't be long.'
'Just do what you fucking can, Fedokura,' said Shepard. Then switched the Wedge intercom off. Command had sold him this as a solo op, and here he was struggling with other Wedge personnel and the unusually excited local police force.
.
.
'That fucker shut off coms,' Lenka snapped.
Simon Sjöström, belted up under the opened hatch of the troop compartment of the military-grade VTOL, continued to scan the various roofs and balconies of the tenement building through the scope of his, onto the floor bolted, LR-TAKK anti-personnel sniper rifle.
From the sealed off pilot compartment, the only—oddly enough—lightly accented voice of David Innokentievich piped up over the intercom. 'Should I set us down on the roof, lieutenant?'
'Negative. Circle around. Sjös can take out the target if he tries to run.'
'Roger, ma'am. Circling around.' The VTOL adopted a light sideways tilt and accelerated.
Eyes still glued to the scope, Sjöström said, 'If I can spot him. Bastard doesn't show up on thermals, ma'am.'
Lenka nodded. 'You'll manage.'
Two rapid thumps in quick succession slapped into the calm. Accompanied by explosions of light and shattering glass. The beehive of local police began to seethe, now galvanised into immediate action.
'Shit.'
.
.
Talk about overkill.
His full-face helmet-rig's visor scurried to counter the effects of the two flashbang grenades. The disorientation it could do nothing about. Johann's perception of depth tilted. His head rang.
Like in a bad flick, the assassin jumped him from above, appearing out of a ventilation duct.
The augmented legs of the assassin packed the punch of a jackhammer. The kick in his chest threw Shepard back, his Hammer pistol clattering on the floor. The impact should've killed him on the spot. His spine would've broken and the shattering into bone fragments would've severed his nerves, hadn't his entire spine be radically reinforced to account for his own mechanical prosthetic limbs, that is. The surprise when he got up with no evident injury showed in the assassin's momentary hesitation. All Shepard needed.
He crossed the distance in the blink of an unaugmented eye, blocked an incoming kick with his own heel, jabbed at the larynx of the assassin, and hit it with a satisfying crunch. In his panic, the assassin's vertical slice with his monomolecular knife was sloppy. Johann stepped in close, blocked the swipe, turning the motion's energy into a swing with his armoured elbow. It cracked against the assassin's head. He crumpled as if his bones had turned to jelly, the fabric of his skin-tight polycarbon suit too thin to provide any real protection against physical trauma.
Shepard rolled up the headpiece of the unconscious assassin at the neck. Put a dermal patch onto his bruised throat that would keep him under. Proceeded to take off the suit's hood altogether. Strands of dark hair, covered in sweat came loose and splayed onto the ground. Turned out he was a she.
Johann shrugged, grabbed his weapon and secured it at the magnetic holster on the chest piece of his ballistic flex-armour.
Subtle explosions thudded downstairs, quick footsteps approaching his position.
Re-establishing communication, he spoke over his subdermal implant, 'Target secure. Tell them to back off.'
'Too late for that. Advancing on your position,' said Fedokura, annoyed tilt in her voice. Or maybe it was anger.
When the rapid response unit arrived on the third floor with a fanfare of flashbangs, Johann was ready. They pointed guns and shouted at him. Johann, shielding the crumpled assassin with his frame, pointed his Ukrainian pistol back, right at them and outshouted them that under U.N. private military charter the prisoner was now under the authority of Wedge Security LLC. and thus out of their fucking reach.
They finally backed off when Fedokura and her squad arrived. The sight of three Wedge personnel, fully prepped for heavy combat quickly deterred any thoughts of violence.
'What took you so long?' said Shepard up at Fedokura, his smile hidden behind his faceplate.
'Fuck you.'
.
.
