Nick questioned his own judgment for a moment. He regretted making move like that. Lucky, only one of the mercenaries had opened fire. They must be more senior members of the Suns, having more trigger discipline than the average goon. Unluckily, the mercenary who did fire hit his target, sending a round right through Nick's previously injured leg. He fell headlong into the wall, and endless stream of obscenities leaving his mouth.
"Son-of-a-BITCH!" he shrieked, sliding down the wall to the floor, taking the weight off of his again-injured leg. He didn't look at the wound, but he could already feel blood soaking through his pant leg.
"If you had listened to me, I wouldn't have had to do that." The turian officer took a few steps forward.
"Back off." Nick spat, raising his pistol. He studied the alien with an inquisitive look on his face.
The mercenary laughed. "You are in no position to make demands, my friend." He took a few more steps closer to the medic, seemingly not concerned with the gun being pointed at him.
"I said... Back. Off." Nick was ignored again. "I'm not mentally stable, I'll do it." He tightened his grip on the pistol.
"He is pretty crazy..." Vox spoke up, now free from the biotic stasis that had him frozen moments ago.
"Thanks for the help." Nick leveled his sights on the mercenary officer. He pulled the trigger six times in rapid succession, each round bouncing off of the officer's shields. "Well... Can't say I didn't try." He tossed the overheated weapon down. It hissed and steamed as it hit the ground.
"Your friend over there was right... Most people without a death wish wouldn't have done that. Now, please, cooperate. Or I'll have to shoot your other leg." The turian said flatly, clearly unamused.
Nick raised his hands then dropped them, sighing in resignation. "Shaft me."
"What?"
"Nevermind..." He put pressure on his wound, pulling his leg up to his chest. "What do you want? I'm telling you right now, I ain't got nothin' for cash."
"No, I'm not interested in money... Well, not from you, at least." The officer picked up Nick's discarded pistol, handing it off to one of his cronies.
"Well, you're screwed then, 'cause I'm not telling you shit."
"What do you want to know?" Vox interrupted, still holding his hands in the air. "I'll be willing to cooperate. If you'll let us go."
"There's someone who has some sense..." The officer approached Vox, giving him a friendly smack on the shoulder. "I'm Colonel Crixus. You spent time in the Hierarchy, son?"
Vox nodded, staring into the Colonel's icy grey eyes.
"I did my time, too... I'll always have respect for my fellow veterans."
"So do I," Vox lowered his hands. "But I don't have respect for someone who is nothing more than a glorified thug. No offense."
"None taken," Crixus chuckled. "I used to think just like you."
Vox tilted his head back to regard Crixus warily, a 'look-down-your-nose' motion he'd learned from Nick. "What changed?"
"It's a long story... I'd be happy to tell you after you answer my questions."
"I can't tell you I'm all that interested now."
"I don't mean to interrupt-" Nick raised a bloodied hand. "Well, I do, but are we just going to sit here and let me bleed? Or can I get to my damned kit?"
The Colonel nodded, and one of the mercenaries responded by grabbing the medic's kit. Two of the thugs rummaged through it, checking for anything that could be used as weapon. Satisfied that there was nothing hidden in it, they tossed the case to Nick.
"You wanted information. What was it?" Vox started again as Nick went about tending to his own wounds.
"I'd like to talk with you alone for a few moments." Crixus motioned to a room off to the side. Vox simply stared back. He reluctantly began walking forward when one of the other thugs gave him a stiff prod with a rifle. There was a table with a chair at each end in the cramped room. The other turian shut the door as he entered, sealing the two off from the other group.
"Have a seat." Crixus offered as he took a spot on one of the chairs. Again, Vox reluctantly complied. Even though officer seemed friendly, there was a threat behind every single request. If you didn't go along with their good mannered charade, then the guns would come out. "I separated us so we could discuss business more easily than in front of the others."
"I'm not stupid. You separate the two parties when you begin an interrogation. No matter how you frame it, you're not doing me a favor." Vox was growing impatient.
Crixus sat back in his chair, the fake smile quickly leaving his face. "You're more like me than I had first thought." His tone was even colder than before.
"I'm flattered."
"The Blue Suns have noticed that you and your human pet have been working for a medical clinic."
"That much is true." Vox had no idea why the mercenaries were so interested in the clinic.
"Run by a doctor Mordin Solus."
Vox nodded again with an impatient tapping of his hand on the table.
"The Blue Suns have a...rich history with the good doctor. He's stepped on a few too many toes recently, so, as you can imagine, we've decided to act."
"Act? In what way?"
"How do the Blue Suns usually act?"
"Extremely violently. With little or no disregard for others."
"You have your answer. He's also getting a little...too close to a cure for the plague for our comfort." Crixus sighed, calling up some information on his omni-tool.
"How is finding the cure a bad thing?" Vox narrowed his eyes.
"We make good money off of providing quarantine and security for affected areas." He typed something into the holographic keypad, looking up occasionally.
"You mean protection rackets." Vox scoffed.
Crixus shrugged. "What we need from you is intel on the kind of security the doctor employs... Among other things. In exchange for your—and your friend's—freedom."
"You can't expect me to give that away." Vox put his elbows up on the table, leaning forward. "Plus, I'm not sure what I do know would even be of any use to you. Mordin also knows how to structure an organization. No one knows any non-essential information. Must have learned it in the Special Tasks Group."
"I figured you'd say something like that. Fortunately, we have...other resources to use on your friend."
"He doesn't know anything more than I do."
"That's not what my colleagues and the other room are saying." Crixus nodded down at his omni-tool. He must have been getting updates from Nick's interrogators. "Humans. Their minds are so... Fragile. I don't know why you waste your time with such a being."
"He's saved my life. On more than one occasion." Vox let his frustration show through his voice and the way he shifted in agitation in his seat.
"I never said they weren't capable. I was involved in the First Contact War, I've seen their...unique brand of ingenuity myself. But individually, they're so...disgusting."
"I never said I found the man appealing." Vox almost laughed, just barely managing to hold it back.
"Well. I have to cut this talk short." Crixus stood, motioning for Vox to follow. The high ranking mercenary led him back out to the main room. Other thugs were about the room, seemingly in a more relaxed state than before. Nick sat at a table in the corner of the room, a frustrated human mercenary sitting across from him. Vox noticed something was off about Nick; the medic stared blankly off at a wall, rocking back and forth.
"Damn... What the hell did they do to you?" He asked, being directed by Crixus to sit down next to the man.
Nick looked over at Vox, his eyes glazed over. He simply stared for a few moments, before taking a deep breath. "Well, I gave myself a r-r-rather stiff dose of pain meds for my leg, then they wanted to talk to me so I came over h-here and then they stuck me with a mixture of temazepam and sodium thiopental in an effort to get more i-information out of me, but I kind of feel like the room is just spinning right now." Nick strung together a long sentence, stumbling over and slurring a few words.
Vox nodded, amused by the human's drugged state.
Nick took another deep breath, continuing his mumbling rant. "I'm not sure why you guys chose to use those drugs while interrogating me, they do inhibit some higher brain functions, but they really just make it harder to distinguish between reality and fantasy and make me really talkative, so while I may run a higher risk of giving away information, it will be unreliable at best. I told this guy that, but he insisted on shooting me up." He nodded to the human mercenary. "Which means I now have an excuse to act like a total asshole."
"You've never needed one before." Vox remarked.
"You're r-right, I didn't need one before because... 'cause..." Nick lost his train of thought and the room seemed to spin even faster. He steadied himself, burying his face in his arms. "I am very dizzy..."
"So, Mr. O'Neil..." Crixus returned, shooing away the other mercenary that had been seated at the table.
"Yeah," Nick's voice was muffled behind his arms.
"You did well answering some of our questions, but you left out a few of the more important ones."
"That's-" he lifted his head up, letting his glossed-over eyes fix on Crixus. "That's 'cause I don't kn-know the answers to those ones."
"What was your job at the clinic?"
"Come onnnn..." Nick groaned. "You're asking me again? The drugs ain't helpin', can't you tell?"
"What was your job at the clinic?" Crixus repeated again, more forcefully.
"Doc Mordin would send me out after patients who couldn't get into the clinic. I suggested the idea; I didn't like being cooped up in there. He thought it was good because it might improve r-relations with the multiple factions on Omega. What bullshit that ended up being." Nick flashed a wry smile.
"What was his job?" Crixus pointed at Vox. Nick looked at his friend for a moment, the gears slowly turning in his head.
"Besides an emotional wreck? He did security when I'd go out... Ya know, keep folks from bugging me while I worked, watch my back, that kinda stuff."
"I see... And-"
"But mostly, he was an emotional wreck." Nick cut his interrogator off, continuing to ramble. "You'd never know from seeing him when he was working, always cool headed and professional. But during his time off, he'd sit in a corner and mope. Then one day, he lost his temper, got piss drunk, and tried to kill himself. Girl issues... Brings out the worst in us."
If Vox had been human, he would have turned red out of embarrassment and anger.
"What other types of security does the doctor have?"
"I dunno... Lots. Any volunteers with combat training, and a few mechs. He takes what he can get." Nick slurred.
Crixus nodded, typing some more on his omni-tool. He took a breath in, ready to say something, but a batarian mercenary tapped on his shoulder. He stood and walked to the other side of the room, having a hushed conversation.
"If you weren't on drugs, I'd have killed you for that." Vox said under his breath when he was confident Crixus was out of earshot.
"Hmm?" Nick had spaced out again.
"Nothing."
"No, I heard you say something."
"Nevermind."
"Okay." Nick rested his head in his arms again. "Narcotics do not mix well with barbiturates... I feel like I'm falling... And there might have been some other stuff in that cocktail, I'm pretty sure I can hear colors right now." He rubbed his eyes, trying to clear up what sounded like a mixture between a busy city street and rushing water. The room seemed to stay dark, even after taking his hands away from his face. He blinked heavily, but there was nothing more than the loud white noise and darkness. He could feel himself slip out of his seat and hit the ground. After that, nothing.
Everything shook. Something burned his nostrils and the back of his throat. Nick moaned, squirming around on the cold and slightly damp floor.
"Nick!" He could hear a voice hiss, still sounding like it was underwater. He tried to ignore it, his brain wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. "Nick!"
"What?" he finally blurted, annoyed at whoever was trying to wake him.
"Wake up!"
Nick moaned again, bringing his hands up to his face. "I'm awake..." he grumbled, struggling to keep his eyes open. "Did I go out drinking last night?"
"No, you got captured by mercenaries, drugged, and then sold to batarian slavers."
"Oh." The words didn't have an effect on him. At least not right away. Once some of the memories started coming back, his eyes shot open. He sat up against the wall as quickly as he could, taking in his dim surroundings. The walls were closed in on all sides, completely smooth apart from some small rivets near the edges. The floor was slippery and wet. "Where the hell am I?"
"On a batarian slaver's ship." The voice whispered again.
"Vox?"
"Yeah."
"Where are you?"
"Over here." Nick glanced around the tiny cell, stopping when he saw a small slot which was most likely used for passing food to whoever was unfortunate to be trapped inside. The metallic flap was being held open, and a beady pair of blue eyes were peering in.
"What the...hell happened?" Nick asked again.
"I told you. We got captured, you got drugged, then the Suns sold us to slavers. We're on their transport ship now."
"Damn... I don't remember any of that..." The human sat up a bit more. "Holy shit!" He hissed as a sharp pain shot up his leg. He looked down at his tattered pant leg, catching sight of a blood soaked bandage. "What the hell... Did you shoot me again?"
"No, that wasn't me." Vox shook his head.
"I don't believe you." Nick shot him a glare.
"I don't care, listen..." Vox paused, checking to make sure the coast was clear. "I was able to get out of my cell, the stupid bastards left me with my omni-tool. I was able to get a distress call out from one of their communications terminals, and someone picked it up. They're trying to board us now."
"Wait... What?" The flood of information had overwhelmed Nick.
"Give me ten minutes, I'll have you out." The metal flap closed with a light clink.
Nick sat alone in the dark cell, trying to process what had just happened. He remembered leaving the clinic and going to Afterlife. Everything else after that he couldn't recall. His head pounded, and his leg was throbbing...again. After checking the state of the wound, he concluded he must have been shot at least a few hours ago.
The whole ship shook again, this time Nick was sure it wasn't the drugs. He could tell something had just attached itself to the hull... Something big. Worried sounding voices and footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by gunshots. A few loud clunks of a lock, and Nick's cell door swung open.
"Human." The batarian in Blue Suns armor stood in the door way, pointing a finger at the cell's only occupant.
Nick looked from side to side, then pointed to himself. "Me?"
"Don't be smart." The bararian growled. "Your friend escaped and now there's a Cerberus ship docking with us right now, and they're sending troops aboard. I don't know why they want you, but you're going to be my insurance policy."
"Bite me." Nick stated simply, looking up at the menacing alien.
"What?"
"Go screw yourself."
The batarian responded by giving Nick a stiff kick in the ribs. It wasn't a terribly hard impact, but painful nonetheless.
"The more you cooperate... The less I'll have to beat you."
"Funny..." Nick spoke in between light chuckles, holding onto his ribs. "That's what your mother said last night." The batarian kicked him again, harder this time.
Nick shielded his face from the blows, blocking his view what happened next. Out of nowhere, the batarian was hit from behind, sending him sprawling against one of the walls of the cell. A fraction of a second later there was a deafening shot from a pistol, and the slaver slumped down to the ground in a bloody mess. Nick pulled his hand away from his face, looking at the dead batarian with a shocked expression.
"You all right there?" A soft feminine voice chuckled.
"Uh... Yeah." Nick tried to focus on the human woman, but his vision was still blurry. He could tell she had dark hair that was pulled up neatly, and was wearing some type of expensive military-grade armor.
"There's a turian out there who told me to find you. You're Nick, right?"
"Yeah." Another absent-minded nod.
"Well, we should get out of here." She extended a hand to help the medic to his feet. "My name is Cara...Cara Shepard."