Reptilian Complex

Act 1: Post haste…of ME2.

The neon sun of Afterlife beckoned closer and closer.

A stranger sauntered towards the glow, gently pushing his way through the long line of bystanders. The massive Elcor bouncer held him up, but the stranger laid a gloved hand on what passed for the aliens shoulder, whispered into what passed for the aliens ear, and passed by without a further incident. He sauntered, arms swinging and shoulders set, through the outer crowd of the dank nightclub, and brushed through the automatic door, into the belly of the beast itself. He strode to the middle of the floor, and stopped. So did the music, the chatter, and the movement throughout the club.

The stranger had been a soldier.

The boots he wore looked Alliance issue, and old, judging from the wear on the leather. The pants that had been tucked into the boots, or "bloused" as some humans called it, were dark and had a multitude of pockets. His shirt looked padded and bullet resistant, where it was visible through the black poncho that clung to his shoulders. On his left arm, which had escaped the cloaks protection, a tattoo of the words "R-Complex" bulged on his muscle.

His right arm was hidden beneath the cloak.

The strangers face was angular, scruffy, relaxed, with calm brown eyes and neat eyebrows resting under thick, tangled jet black hair. He looked around with disinterest at the multitude of beings staring at him, then moved towards the bar. The Turian barkeep eyed him suspiciously, but matched the stranger's eye and asked, "What do you want?"

"Whiskey." The stranger was soft spoke, voice laconic with a faint dryness to it.

"Now, just what in hell's name is whiskey?" The Turian barkeep asked harshly.

"Bastardized grain juice that we humans enjoy from time to time. Surely even a Turian barkeep knows what it is?" False shock spread across the strangers face. "No? Then how do you earn tips from all your human customers? Stripping?"

Bursts of mirth oozed out of the silent room, and the music began again, along with the dancers and the chatter. The Turian's mandibles clicked angrily, and he silently poured amber liquid from the ornate bottle into the glass. The stranger took it gracefully, took a sip, and smiled, shook his head. "Damn! Excellent stuff, my friend! I would have been okay with some cheap watered down shit but here you are springing Johnny Walker Black on me…"

"Drop the act, merc."

The strangers eyes widened. "Well, what, what?"

"I don't need to be told how good whiskey is. I'm a barkeep. I tend bar all day and all night, I serve damn good drinks cause that would be what I wanted if I was on the other side of the bar. As it is, I'm not on that side of the bar, I'm on this side of the bar. And you know what I'm wondering while I'm on this side of the bar? It's not whether or not a human's precious whiskey is to his liking, its why the human drinking the whiskey found the balls to show his ugly cup in here at all?"

The stranger took another sip of whiskey, and shrugged. "You're one to talk, handsome."

The turian growled angrily, claws self consciously rubbing the long scar on the left side of his face.

"Besides, you got the expression wrong."

"What?"

"The expression, it's 'your ugly mug'. Mug, not cup."

"What's the fucking difference?"

"Well, a mug is usually a thick cup made of ceramic, used to hold hot liquids and keep them hot. A cup is just a regular cup."

"That's horseshit, then. If a mug is a cup and cup is a cup, then there's no difference."

The stranger sipped his whiskey and retorted. "No, see, you've got it all wrong. A cup is basically anything you can drink from. If you cup your hands, you cup them to drink from them. If I could drink from my dick, I could call it a cup."

The turian started. "Yeah, yeah, now that's about the most disturbing thing I've heard all day."

"Your own fault. If you're going to insult a human, at least do it properly."

"There is no way to properly insult a human."

"A proper way to insult a merc, then."

"Same deal." He sighed. "You want another?"

"No, not really, no. I'd rather some information."

The barkeep's mandibles twitched in what could have passed as a smirk. "You waltz in here three years after you shot up this place and got kicked off this rock, and expect me to supply you with something worthwhile?"

"You already have." The stranger toasted the barkeep with his glass. "Whiskey, in any form, is worthwhile." He swirled the dregs in the bottom of his glass, then added, "Besides, it's only a question."

The turian snorted. "With you, it always starts as a question." His eye noticed a faint blur, about twenty feet behind his customer. He leaned forward, trying to keep said customers attention on him. "So, what is it now?"

"The Alliance hired me. A big, beautiful contract that'll propel me straight into retirement."

The turian let out a low whistle. "So, what's the contract?"

The stranger deftly fitted a cigarette into his mouth, ran a lighters flame over the coarse tobacco, and breathed the thick smoke into the confined space. When he continued, it was with a slow, patient air. "Well, it's like this. Out in your backyard, the Terminus, there's a bunch of Alliance colonies. And next to all of them have been raided and raped by some mysterious and malevolent force."

The blur appeared again, just twenty feet away now. The turian barkeep eyed it out of the corner of his lilac iris. "I've heard of that."

"You have?"

"Yep."

"What'd you hear?"

"Human colonies…are being attacked."

"Humans are being abducted by the colony load is what's happening." The stranger corrected dryly. "No survivors, no traces. Now the Alliance isn't alright with that. So they've hired me to go after their only lead."

"Hmmm, I see. And what's your only lead."

"She's a rogue agent, a real renegade, high clearance special forces officer. She also happens to be the savior of the galaxy."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, she's a big goddamn Alliance hero. Saved the Council in the battle of the Citadel. Declared KIA a couple months after that."

The blur was getting closer, that much the barkeep could tell. He kept his face blank as he listened. "That a fact? If I didn't know better, I'd say the Alliance has sent you on a wild duck chase."

"Goose chase," the stranger quietly corrected. He shifted in his seat, left arm on the table, right arm hidden under his poncho. "I'd agree with you. Except that this big goddamn hero surfaced a couple months ago."

"Really?"

"She came up for air from whatever little pocket she had been hiding in. And that's not all. Scuttlebutt says she's working with a terrorist group, a rogue Alliance black-ops unit."

"No shit." The turian shook his head amiably.

"She's a mad dog killer who broke off her leash. She's connected with these abductions. I've been tracking her for weeks now. Popular tale says she hangs around here."

The turian's eyes widened.

Then stranger leaned forward, and said in a gravelly, dangerously low voice. "Now, my friend, I'm going to ask you one goddamned time, and you better straight up answer this one question that I came here with. Savvy?"

The blur was getting closer. The turian nodded slowly.

"Where's…Shepherd?"

The blur was right on top of the stranger. The turian bared his mandibles in a cold smile.

"Fuck you."

Then he focused on the blur.

"NOW!"

The blur struck. All hell broke loose.