Chapter 3: Difficulties
After dark, Thaddaeus made his way through the alleyways of the city to the fence that divided the Slums from civilisation. From there, he dropped down into the subterranean routes associated with the old sewers designed by Balzagette, long since abandoned. This was how Ombre navigated the city, avoiding detection with ease, as only an avid student of history could, given the fact that the old sewers had even been forgotten by law enforcement. He navigated his way to Canary Wharf, still the centre of London's most influential companies, though no longer limited to finance, or even entirely legal enterprises. That is, if any of these companies had even been strictly legal.
At around this time, the immigrants would be cleaning out the offices on the lower floors, just as they always had done-still willing to sacrifice more of their dignity than anyone else to make some money. This meant that while external security measures were active, internal measures were not for the vast majority of buildings in the area. Ombre used an archaic palmtop computer that had the latest software for Omni-tools adapted to it, and successfully hacked the external security of the Eldfell-Ashland Group's building, which occupied the most advantageous spot on the plaza for a sniper. Avoiding the cameras and cleaners, Shepard made his way to the first floor, then locked himself in an office with an acceptable view, and a window that he opened. He had chosen the first floor due to the requirements of this job involving direct intervention, which might also require moving in to close quarters. The jump from a first floor window was survivable, and therefore also the quickest route, if a little sloppy. However, it didn't really matter. He would soon be leaving this entire planet behind. He assembled the M110, flicked the scope onto night vision mode, loaded and cocked the weapon, before settling in to survey the area for the two hours before the rendezvous. The plaza was empty, with no activity at all, suspicious or otherwise. Shepard surveyed the offices next, for other individuals of a similar occupation to himself. He almost wished for them, never having had to pit himself against another of the same profession. However, perhaps fortunately, there were none.
It was five minutes before the rendezvous with Miranda, and Thaddaeus was having to actively prevent himself from becoming restless and impatient. These were the marks of a poor assassin; things that led to mistakes, a lack of employment, and probably death. Something in the peripheral vision of his scope drew his eye, not from the ground, but from the Rossum Corporation's building. A flicker of light in one of the upper office windows, a door opening, perhaps. Ombre tensed. This was followed by more flashes of light, more yellow than white. Muzzle flashes; gunfire. The night vision scope was compensating admirably, but it was impossible to see what was going on, however hard Shepard strained to see. The muzzle flashes began to be accompanied by a more constant blue glow, which suddenly flashed out, blowing out a number of windows on that floor. A blue explosion. Chemical weapons? Shepard could now, however, see what was going on. The beautiful Miranda Lawson stood framed against the shattered window, her back to her ally.
Then, quite deliberately, she turned and threw herself out of the window, startling the boy into releasing his breath in a gasp. She was dead, and it would not be pretty when she hit the ground. Shepard almost packed up his equipment there and then, but a kind of morbid curiosity caused him to track her with his scope as she plummeted to her doom. Then, about ten metres off of the ground, she began to glow with that same blue light as he had seen in the building a few seconds earlier. Her fall decelerated rapidly, and she managed to land well, rolling with the impact with the hard concrete and staggering to her feet. Sure no one would be watching him during that spectacle, Shepard granted himself a violent oath.
"What the Fuck?" Behind her, at the main entrance to the Rossum building, armed personnel stormed out, weapons raised, and opened fire. Shepard reacted instinctively, exhaling and holding his breath, before squeezing off three shots in rapid succession out of his opened window. Three of the mercenaries dropped; bloody, ragged holes in their skulls. Shepard adjusted his aim and fired again, reducing the number of personnel by half to four men. The others retreated into the building, searching for the hidden sniper. Shepard spared a moment to check Miranda's status. She was barely staying on her feet, clearly dazed and staggered, not even making the effort to open fire on her pursuers or escape. Shepard swore vehemently; whatever she had done to survive that fall had clearly eliminated her energy reserves.
He opened fire on the glass walls of the Rossum building as a few of the now reinforced security guards attempted to advance again, shattering the transparent material, killing two of them and sending the rest diving into more secure protection. Shepard cursed again, realising he would be unable to bring the rifle with him, as it would impede his movements. He flicked the safety back on automatically, cast it aside, and braced himself, before casting himself out of the open first floor window. The impact was jarring, but not as bad as he'd expected it to be, as he landed and rolled to his feet with catlike grace, his lightweight pistol already in his right hand as he sprinted towards his client.
"Move!" He snapped at her as she turned to look at him, her eyes unresponsive. He fired a brace of shots at the building she had come from in order to buy himself some time, then quickly plunged his left hand into his jacket pocket, and brought out an adrenaline needle in a sterile packet. He ripped it open, tested the syringe, then quickly plunged it into the muscle on the inside of Miranda's right thigh through her clothes, before injecting its contents. The reaction was immediate. She grunted in pain, her eyes now alert, and let him withdraw the needle and cast it aside, before spinning to look at the main entrance, out of which security personnel were issuing once more. Her eyes widened, and she fumbled with the machine pistol she was carrying, somewhat unnecessarily as it turned out. Coolly Shepard once more turned his pistol on their assailants, firing in quick bursts of two rounds, each of which brought down an enemy. He fired three bursts, then pulled the trigger once, achieving a headshot, before reloading smoothly, with practised ease and speed, before opening fire in his two-round bursts again. His form was flawless, Miranda observed, then turned to glance at him, seeing a look of total focus on his face, and a very slight (probably unnoticeable to those who didn't know what to look for), blue aura. The boy-assassin was a biotic: and a damned powerful one if his instinctive, probably unknowing use of his power without implants to improve his marksmanship and movements was any indication.
"Move." He said flatly, not turning his attention from his work. "My ammunition is not unlimited."
Miranda raised her own VP70 machine pistol, and fired a spread of three-round bursts at her father's men, causing them to falter, before running towards the opposite side of the plaza, Shepard bringing up the rear. They were both in exceptional shape, but with Shepard's relative youth, being not yet fully grown, despite his biotics, he couldn't maintain this all-out sprint for long. In her exhausted state, neither could Miranda. It was, however, gaining them some breathing space, lightly armoured and armed as they were compared to their pursuers.
"Where's the transport?" He asked her brusquely, looking over his shoulder to monitor the progress of the likely vengeful mercenaries.
"We're being extracted from the river." She gasped, her utter weariness evident in her voice. "It's not far."
Naturally, it was at this point that they heard the growl of pursuit vehicles in their wake.
