A/N:Chapter Two, made presentable for your reading pleasure. As always, I hope you enjoy this latest instalment. And if you do, be sure to leave a review telling me what you did/didn't like - or even anything you might be looking forward to!

Chapter Two:

Ford dropped to his knees the second the firing started. Screams rang out as he crept forwards, heading for the small merchant's alcove at the back of the business atrium. He was running on soldier's instinct now: find cover, assess the situation from there. His Carnifex rested heavy in his hands as he slid into the alcove, and a one of a terrified pair of Asari let out a tiny shriek. Ford pressed a gloved finger to his lips, before popping his head up and peering through the shelter's glass screen.

He couldn't see much from here – at least, not much of what he guessed was happening further down the atrium. What he could see was the top of a set of stairs nearby, an ornamental water stream trickling alongside it, and a black and white head set upon a bulky pair of shoulders.

Cerberus.

So, they'd guessed right. The bastards really were determined to get Quinn. Well, that wasn't about to happen anytime soon.

The gunfire had largely died down – save for what he hoped was a smattering of warning shots. The alternative answer was a series of executions.

Of course, a lull would mean that the Cerberus soldiers – however many there were – would now be looking through the port's offices for Quinn and the Salarian. Now time to wait for the Elanus response – if there was going to be one.

"Risk control my arse." He grumbled, before turning back to the two Asari, "Right then ladies, just you two stay still and silent and we'll see you through okay."

With a stage whisper and a lopsided Welsh grin, Ford slid out of the alcove, and began to creep around the outside wall. The soldier he had spied now had his back to him, no doubt providing over-watch for a larger group in the lower plaza. A big bastard, wearing the same thick armour that Ford and Harry had seen during the Omega attack.

They were tough buggers in their shiny new duds, but – as he had discovered – a close-up shot from the good old hand-cannon would still tend to do the trick.

Moments later, Llewellyn would find his memory was not lacking. He lengthened his gait, rising as he did so, and reaching the Cerberus grunt quickly and quietly. In a fluid explosion of motion, the stocky Welshman clamped a burly arm around that thick neck, and shoved the pistol's barrel flat against the trooper's head. Before he could verbalise so much as an "Oh shit", of even a "fuck", the left side of the man's helmet was flying across the stairway – pursued by bone, gore, and cerebral matter.

It was then that Ford found he had miscalculated somewhat – his victim had not been alone in his stationing. The thundering report of the Carnifex drew the immediate – not to mention deadly – attention of another trooper. Without a thought for his comrade's corpse, he opened fire with one of the heavy M-96 Mattock rifles which Cerberus had taken to with such gusto. The heavy rounds thudded into the armoured cadaver, and – mercifully – Ford found that it held.

With a silent "thank you" to whoever had engineered the ranger protection on the new Cerberus plating, he braced himself, and then shoved the corpse – hard. It tumbled down the stairs, and at the same moment, Ford threw himself to the ground. A few frantic shots crashed over his prone form, but in an instant, the bouncing body had reached its target. It slammed into the second solider – who staggered violently, and in that second's pause Ford leapt up, firing two more round. The first clipped the hapless' troopers shoulder, but the second found its mark – the softer material of the neck-guard. With an awful gurgle, Ford's foe keeled over, dead before he hit the floor.

Llewellyn moved fast – vaulting down the stairs, and snatching up the fallen Mattock as he landed. He tossed aside the Carnifex, and dropped again, skidding into the cover of the low, second level balcony wall even as more Mattock rounds whizzed above him. He shuffled swiftly along the wall, trying his hardest to ignore the thumping rifle impacts following him.

The ordnance used in the Mattock rifles had some famously brutal stopping power at the best of times, so with no armour and no shielding, Ford was going to have to avoid getting shot even more so than he would usually have done.

Hoping against hope that he had moved far enough from where the troopers thought he was, he took a breath and hopped up out of cover.

Four more soldiers. All in the courtyard. None in cover. Two in the open. Two by the exit that Quinn had taken.

In the instant that it took the Cerberus troopers to register his new position, Ford was just about able to assess the scene below, and snap off two of the rifle's three remaining shots.

He had to duck again before he could admire his handiwork, but judging by the muffled screaming that followed him he'd scored at least one fatality.

Any further exclamations were drowned out by the crescendo of rifles reports, and hiss of a vented heat sink. He crawled along behind the low balcony, heading for a new vantage point; but he was not going to be able to pull the same trick twice.

His ears caught a barked order, and the shooting stopped – only to be replaced by a much more worrying sound. There was a slight swish, and then a metallic clatter as a grenade flew up onto his level, and hit the floor directly in front of him.

With no time to think, Ford reacted instinctively and did the last thing that either he or his enemies would have anticipated.

He pulled himself up, and vaulted over the second level balcony, down into the atrium courtyard.

The grenade's blast caught at his heels, singeing his legs and thrusting him just a little further – so that he landed just in front of a bewildered Cerberus trooper.

Ignoring the jarring impact on his legs, Ford gritted his teeth and grabbed at the trooper – as much for support as anything else – then thrust the Mattock into his midriff and fired the magazine's last shot.

Even as the man fell – his stomach blasted into a mess of metal and blood – the two remaining members of his cohort opened fire.

They were still close to the door, and it was probably the distance that saved Ford. The furthest soldier's shots buried themselves in his fallen comrade's slumping body; but the other had moved closer, and one of his rounds punched into Ford's shoulder. He bit back a yell as he felt the red hot projectile spear clean through muscle and bone, and he threw himself to floor - not quite sure how this action would help, but determined to keep moving.

Providence played its hand in the form of the dead terrorist's side arm: a brutish pistol – the "Talon", he seemed to remember? Not important!

He grasped it with his good hand, doing what he could to brace it with his damaged right arm, kicking himself up off the floor in a frantic lunge towards the two soldiers.

For a horrendous second, he tried to recall how many shots the pistol held – three? Four? But this was it – he pulled the trigger till the pistol clicked and he hit the floor again, as buckshot spewed out of the snub barrel, accompanied by four thunderous reports.

He had fired from a truly ridiculous dive, with the crippling pain of his ruined shoulder and a split second in which to share four shots between two armoured targets, and with murderous recoil to take into account – but somehow, miraculously, both white armoured foes fell. The nearest trooper's toppled without a word, the scatter blast tearing into his head and neck with a spray of gore, and the other collapsed, screaming, as the final volleys of shot caught him square in the chest.

Adrenaline keeping him mobile, Ford scrambled to his feet, and staggered towards the panting soldier. As he neared him, the man tried to lift his weapon – but Ford was still too quick. As he reached his victim, he brought up his omni-tool, and then plunged a hard-light blade down into his enemy's throat – finishing him off in a final, vibrant spray of blood.

Ford groaned, pulling away from the grisly execution and only managing to smear the splashes of blood that he tried to clean off. He turned to the office door that the troopers had been so focussed on – only to find them blocked.

She was stood there. The woman that had caught his eye earlier – blue dress, blonde hair, blue eyes. In her hand was a pistol that matched the one clutched in his own. As she levelled it at him, he was reminded uncomfortably of the soldier whose skull had caved in when he'd fallen victim to the pistol's devastating buckshot.

"Alright then luv, no need for any more of... all this eh?" he croaked, nodding over his shoulder at the scattered corpses behind him. But even as he spoke, his eyes were drawn again to hers. Those dead blue eyes, stripped of any mercy long ago. Soulless.

She was Cerberus.

And he was dead.

The shot, when it came, was much quieter than he'd expected. Substantially less painful too. Quite unlike his previous experiences with the Talon.

Then the Cerberus imposter sank slowly onto the ground, a red flower blooming darkly across her chest. Ford's eyes went with her, before they snapped back up.

Harry Quinn, grim faced, his shirt splashed with a cocktail of green and purple blood, stood in the doorway. His Predator pistol glowed slightly, trailing smoke as he lowered it.

"You're hurt." He spoke calmly, his face devoid of emotion. Even his eye gave nothing away. That was his gift – the deceiver's mask – but Ford knew better.

"Nothing a spot of the old medi-gel won't fix, Bach." Ford grinned unconvincingly, with a shrug that ended up giving away the searing pain in his shoulder, "You're all set then. Green blood, eh?"

"Echedon's. He sold us out." Quinn looked down at his shirt absent-mindedly, before moving over to Ford, activating the medical app on his omni-tool, "Cerberus got to him. The idiot... The purple is from his secretary, I had to..."

"Course you did," Ford cut in, knowing from experience not to let his friend dwell, "Shame about Maris, but this just shows us that the bastards aren't giving up after Omega – you were right to stay wary – Ouch!"

"Don't be such a child." Quinn muttered, finishing with the gel application, "Yes, yes I was right, and as usual neither of us have much cause to be pleased about that. They were never going to stop, of course, what I've got is too valuable to them."

Harry was already moving away, and as Ford turned to follow, he saw that several of the Noverian traders were reappearing; now the Cerberus troopers were neutralised.

All that remained for the two of them now, was to leave. However, even as he made off in the general direction of the space port, Ford became aware that Quinn was not with him. The taller man was walking, almost trance-like, towards a cluster of traders, crowded around a flashing vid-screen.

A shining cityscape met his eyes – all beauty marred by grievous, still smoking damage and the static of a disrupted feed. He saw scenes of utter devastation, and nightmarish, gargantuan dark blue shapes stalking high above, livid red beams carving into a city that was not his own, on a planet that was.

Any exclamation Ford Llewellyn could have produced was cut brutally short, as a singular, horrifying truth dawned upon him, Quinn, and all those present.

Earth was burning.

A/N.02: Hopefully you've enjoyed all that you've just read, and hopefully you've begun to take a shine to Harry and Ford. If so, I'll have to disappoint you, as we'll be dealing with a whole new set of characters in the next chapter - but I'm sure you'll enjoy them just as much.

Don't forget to leave a review or even to add this story to your alerts so you can keep up with the narrative!