Mass Effect is the property of Bioware and Electronic Arts

Mass Effect: Human Revolution

-Chapter 3-

Adam Jensen loathed Donnel Udina. Likewise, Udina loathed Adam. The reason was simple: he was the only C-Sec officer the Ambassador had no real pull over. Admission into C-Sec was a bit more prestigious than most people were aware of. Besides requiring years of service in either the military or a planet's police force, applicants needed to be sponsored by a Citadel Councilor or, barring that, the ambassador of an associate Council race. That meant that if you were human and you wanted to be in C-Sec, you had to go through Udina, and Udina was no philanthropist. If you were human, and you made it into C-Sec, it meant you scratched Udina's back, and if you were in trouble, he would definitely scratch yours to keep face.

Adam had been an unforeseen anomaly: after C-Sec had contracted Adam to take down the Seven, Executor Pallin himself had offered him a position into the ranks of C-Sec upon his success, bypassing Udina completely. The Ambassador took umbrage at that, shouting at the Executor that Adam was a pariah on earth and that accepting him was an insult against all of humankind.

Pallin, of course, didn't give a damn about what Udina or all of planet Earth had to say about the cyborg. Adam had been instrumental in stopping a gang of up-and-coming young terrorists: thousands of lives had been saved. The next day, Officer Adam Jensen put on his C-Sec blues and began patrolling the Presidium.

Udina and Jensen had silently agreed to stay out of each other's way, and both were glad when Adam's trial period on the Presidium had come to an end. Sadly for Udina, Adam had been partnered with Officer Harkin.

Harkin was, in the most polite terms, a disgrace of a human being. Adam wondered how the twenty year veteran had ever managed to get in the force: maybe he had been a decent person once upon a time.

Maybe.

And then Adam found out about the politics behind Harkin's long career, he had tried to stay out of it. Nothing good ever came out of meddling with politics. Besides, Adam was hardly a saint.

And then Harkin stole some Red Sand from the evidence room, destroying a case against a pimp.

And then Adam got mad.

Four days later, Harkin was out of the force. There had been enough evidence of corruption against him to put him away for a long time, and Udina, ever obsessed with keeping humanity's reputation clean, called in every favor he could and every pulled every string he had to control the damage. When it was over, Harkin was out on the streets and on probation. He vanished in the wards soon after, never to be seen again.

That had been six years ago. Udina never forgave Adam for the political embarrassment, and Adam never forgave Udina for letting Harkin just fade away.

And now, here there were, face to face.

"Jensen. Pallin told me he was putting his best man on the job. I suppose you're covering for him?"

"Come on, Udina, you can do better than that."

"I think Pallin can do much better than you." Udina shot back, smugly. "Do you understand exactly what has just happened?"

"A woman was just murdered, and I intend to-"

"-As I thought, you do not understand. Shepard was more than just a woman. Including Torfan, she had overcome three of the greatest military operations in Alliance history! She was a legend in the making: humanity's champion. And if you and Vakarian had done your jobs she'd be alive to make galactic history."

"Our jobs? You mean Saren? We don't know that Saren did this."

"This is the kind of short-sightedness that let him get away with mass murder!"

"It wasn't short-sightedness, it was Council hamstringing. You may not have heard, but the Powers that Be? They don't like it when people sniff around their golden boys' dirty laundry. And the Spectres? Once they knew I was on the case, they started sabotaging the investigation every step of the way."

"That wouldn't have happened if you had been more discreet!"

"Discreet? I was plenty discreet. You want to talk about discretion? Let's talk about you: that public accusation pretty much alerted Saren and his friends to start covering tracks. Oh, and on subject of short-sightedness, who agreed with the Council that two days was a reasonable amount of time for C-Sec to investigate a massacre on a planet exactly two days' travel from here? Gee, I wonder."

Udina cursed himself: he had been less than discreet, but it's not like he had much of a choice. With the exception of the most severe of crisis, the Council insisted on conducting nearly all of their business at the top of the Presidium Tower, an arena far too public for Udina's tastes when one accused a Spectre of the murder of thousands of innocent people. Udina had tried more private channels to make his accusation, but the Council was adamant about protocol: whatever you have to say to us, you'll say it in front of everyone else.

And two days had seemed like a reasonable deadline at the time. Of course, Udina hadn't quite traveled the galaxy long enough to be familiar with travel times. Trips in Alliance space took hours, not days, and he figured a trip to Eden Prime would take no more than a half a Galactic Standard day. He had been wrong.

Of course, Udina being a politician, he couldn't admit it. "I think we've gone off track, here," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about this case."

"Right. I'll say it plainly: I haven't found anything that implicates Saren with the murder in any way whatsoever."

"Oh please, who else could be behind it?"

"I don't know. Although I do hear Shepard was pretty popular with the pirates and slavers of the Terminus systems. And the Batarian Hegemony, by extension."

"Then may I ask what evidence you have found so far?"

"None that I'd care to share with you right now…or ever, for that matter."

"You soon won't have a choice. I've already begun the legal process for Alliance Intel to take over this investigation."

Adam processed what Udina had just dropped on him, and then spoke. "Did I not just warn the corporal earlier about interfering with C-Sec investigations? You realize the sentencing for that scales up with severity, right?"

"You did and I do. The young marine might have been…premature, but the fact is once the AI Operative gets here, warrant in hand, you'll have little choice but to follow his every command."

"…You're bluffing. The Council wouldn't let Alliance spooks in the Citadel, not with that kind of authority."

Udina was starting to get smug. "Usually no, but they are allowed to take over C-Sec investigations when an Alliance VIP has come to harm. An Alliance soldier murdered on the Citadel fulfills that criterion. Just thought I would give you fair warning."

Adam was smoldering on the inside: having dealt with Spectres before, he had little tolerance for smug hotshots that swooped in and took over a case with little justification beyond "because we can".

Udina started towards the elevator, but stopped. "One more thing, Jensen. Allow me to give you some proper motivation: Humanity is watching. If you turn out to be a benefit to this case, I just might be able to convince the right people to let you come back on Earth."

"I left Earth. Not looking to come back."

Udina ignored him. "But if you turn out to be a hindrance, if Shepard's killer gets away because of you, I will make sure everyone knows it."

Udina leaned in close. With a lower, more menacing edge to his voice, he added:

"Do NOT fuck this up."

And with that, Udina left for the elevator.

"Damn," said the receptionist. "And I thought my day sucked."

Adam turned to the Asari: she had apparently finished her call and something on her laptop required her to wait for a progress bar to finish. "Heard all that?" Adam asked.

"Pretty much."

Ah, Udina. Master of discretion. Adam tried to steer the conversation away from his earlier chat with the ambassador. "Well, my day is just getting started. There's hope for me yet," he said with a slight smile.

"Not likely," the receptionist started rubbing her eyes. "Everyone's day is pretty much ruined. I swear, one dead human and everyone acts like the whole galaxy is going to- hold on." She stretched her arms and yawned. "Sorry. Been here a while."

"Working overtime?"

"Like I have a choice. I started my shift 13 hours ago. I was supposed to get relieved 4 hours ago, but then my backup calls in sick. Then her backup calls in sick. And then half the human staff does, too." She laughed bitterly. "Aw, I can't exactly blame them. After Matriarch Eneles and…what was that hanar psycho's name?"

"Cylenander," Adam supplied. He winced: the name brought back unpleasant memories.

"Yeah, him. Well, after two sprees of racially motivated murders, it looks like we're up for a third. Makes every human on the Citadel a little nervous. I should know: I've had to reschedule a lot of appointments today, all human."

"So you were here when Shepard was killed?"

"Well…yes?"

"I hate to add to your troubles, but…"

"Aw, damnit. You want to ask me questions."

"Just a few, yes."

"All I can tell you is what I told the 'lieutenant' – thanks for getting rid of her, by the by."

"You're welcome."

Wait, did she just call him a girl?

"Right, well, as I just told her: No I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Too many people come through here at once, and no shortage of weird, either."

And, Adam realized, there was no real guarantee the killer came through the front door. Still, he would have had to go through that elevator to get to the bridge section of the hospital…

"Did you see anyone carrying a bouquet of flowers?"

The receptionist snorted. "Yeah, that doesn't narrow it down all that much."

Adam activated his Omni-tool, conjuring up a hologram of the bouquet found in Shepard's room. "How about these?"

The receptionist took a glance at the holographic flowers, and then did a double take. "Huh. Now that you mention it…yeah, I saw a human carrying a bouquet of those. I definitely remember it…mostly because I had never seen them before.

"Did you have a good look at the person carrying it?"

"Definitely. She even asked me for directions, asked for the bridge sect-" her eyes widened, as she realized exactly who she spoke to. "-oh, Goddess! You don't think-"

"-She? It was a woman?"

"A wo- oh, you mean a human female? I think so. Males are the ones with the fur on the face, right? She didn't have any."

"Well, there are plenty of human males who shave their facial hair off."

"Oh. Oh. Well, it might have been a male…I'm sorry, I've only lived on the Citadel for two years, and for us Asari that's not long enough to acclimate to the subtleties between human genders."

"If you're not sure, why did you call her a she?"

The receptionist looked puzzled. Adam realized that she must have been using a gender neutral Asari dialect. 'He' and 'She' probably translated to the same thing for her, and whatever pronoun she used came out 'she' by default on his translator.

"Never mind," Adam said. "Translator error. Besides the lack of facial hair, did she look like me? Bigger than your average Asari? Broader shoulders? Straight waist?" Adam paused, thinking. Then he added: "Flat chest?"

"…Yes, on all counts. Except she was a bit shorter than you. Yes, definitely shorter. Huh, so that's what makes a human male? I think I owe Robert an apology…"

So, human male. That had taken a bit too long to establish, in Adam's opinion. He mentally cursed his translator.

"Focus, please. Can you describe the man you saw?"

She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose, as if trying to concentrate. "She was wearing…beige pants, loose ones, with lots of large pockets on it…and a dark brown leather jacket with a hood."

"Can you describe his face?"

"Had your skin tone, maybe a bit paler? She was wearing black shades, so I can't tell you what her eyes looked like..."

"Do you remember when you saw him?"

"It was… I'm sorry, I can't give you a proper estimate, and I wasn't looking at my watch. I think I was halfway through my shift?"

"Is that all you can tell me?"

"I'm afraid so…will that be enough?"

"It'll have to be." Adam asked the receptionist her contact info as per protocol, and left the hospital. He had a few leads to pursue.

~[h+]~

Adam sat down in the driver's seat of his Spinner hovercar and closed the canopy, shutting out the noise from the outside. He welcomed the calm and quiet, and savored the smell of artificial leather, cleansing the persistent reek of antibacterial foam (with a slight hint of piss) from his nostrils. He pressed a button on his dashboard, summoning a map of the citadel, and set his destination for Upper Zakera. Traffic was light at the moment, so he decided to let the auto-pilot do the flying.

Of course, Adam couldn't very well do nothing while he waited, so he vid-called Euridycia on his Omni-tool. After a few ringtones, she answered.

"Adam? Something you need?"

"Yeah, I just spoke with the receptionist. We might have a suspect: walked through the front door with a bouquet of blossoms and asked her for directions."

"Right through the front door? I would've thought the killer would've sneaked from a backdoor or something."

"Didn't need to, it's not like going into a hospital is suspicious in and out of itself."

"Good point."

"In any case, can you put me in contact with the tech looking over the hospital's security?"

"Sure, let me set up a secure conference."

As Adam waited for the encryption and various other C-sec security measures to load, he overheard some background noise on Euridycia's channel. Two voices were apparently arguing nearby.

"Euridycia? What's going on?"

"Hm? Oh, I'm in the hospital's morgue right now, setting up the victim's body for the freezer. Apparently her commander and Udina are arguing over how to handle her remains. Udina wants her preserved for Alliance Intelligence, and the Alliance marines don't seem too happy about it."

"Is this about Shepard's graybox?"

"Probably. Looks like we won't be able to touch it once those Alliance spooks get here."

Adam was about to curse under his breath when his Omni-tool beeped and a second vid window appeared over his wrist. It was the face of a Salarian in his mid-twenties.

"Nox here."

Euridycia spoke up: "Nox, this is Detective Jensen, he's in charge of this investigation."

Nox nodded. Euridycia continued: "Got anything for him?"

"Nothing right now," answered Nox. "Still looking over the logs, haven't found anything."

"That's okay," said Adam. "I just need you to stream the security footage for the hospital's reception desk on the first floor, around two hours before Shepard's estimated time of death."

The salarian tech complied, and a third window appeared. It was the frozen image taken by a camera with a wide angle lens, apparently placed above and on the left of the reception desk.

"Fast forward," said Adam, "at 12x speed, no frame skipping."

"What are we looking for?" asked Euridycia.

"Human, 'possibly' male, wearing a brown leather jacket with beige cargo pants and military boots."

The image came to life, and six minutes later the three C-sec investigators had seen the two hours of security footage. None of them saw anyone matching the receptionist's desciption. Eurridycia hadn't noticed anything else out of the ordinary, but there was, indeed, something to notice. Between a human with augmented vision and a quick-witted salarian, 12x speed wouldn't hide it.

Adam spoke first, "I saw something at-"

"-time index seventy-two point thirty-eight." Nox interrupted. "Rewinding."

"Right, now play it at normal speed."

"Ah, now i see it," said Euridycia. "The receptionist is talking to herself, there."

Nox zoomed in on the particular clip and set it to repeat. "Slight distortions in front of the desk. Video tampered with." Adam could hear the rapid beeps from Nox's typing. Three other videos came up on Adam's Omni-tool: a shot of the inside of the elevator, a shot the receptions desk on the bridge hospital's bridge section and a shot of a locked door. Nox played each video, highlighting the areas with slight visual distortions. The locked door video didn't have a whole lot, right up until the door opened, and for a split second Adam could see the distorted, pixelated figure of a man entering the room. Shepard's room.

"I think we've got an exact ToD," said Adam.

The video kept playing and the holo lock on the door became red. Adam fast forwarded the video until the door inevitably opened again to let the killer out. The distorted figure appeared again for only a few frames, but Adam could make out his face: He was as the receptionist described, hooded and bespectacled with dark shades. Despite the visual artifacts, Adam could also make out a slightly small mouth and a chiselled jaw.

"And we've got a face." Euridycia smiled. "Good eyes, Jensen."

Before anyone asked, Nox commented: "Distortions due to a Virus with image recognition subroutines designed to edit out a specific person or object from a video file. Not a perfect program: mistakes happen, sudden light from opening doors threw off the subroutines enough for suspect to appear."

"Anything else you can glean from this?" asked Jensen.

"At the moment, no. But now armed with better understanding of hacker's objectives and methods. Should be able to find out more. Thank you, mister Jensen: would have wasted far too much time on my own."

"You're welcome." Adam began backing up the new information. "Let me know if you find anything else."

"Will do. Nox out." and Nox's picture winked out from the comm session.

"Well Jensen," asked Euridycia, "is there anything else I can help you with?"

"Actually, yeah: what are you doing in the hospital's morgue? Forensics didn't send a truck?"

"The main precinct had to send the trucks somewhere else: a duct rat found 23 bodies in one of the underground protein vats in Upper Zakera. From what I've been told, they all had gunshot wounds to their heads."

That was odd and fairly coincidental considering Jensen was headed there. "Was there a shoot out?"

"I haven't heard anything about that. In any case, I'm keeping the victim's body here until they send someone to pick it up."

Adam didn't pursue the matter any further. It wasn't his case. "That's all, Euridycia. Jensen out."

Twelve minutes later, Adam landed his Spinner near Amnon's.

~[h+]~

Amnon's was a pawn shop on Upper Zakera's ground level near the tip of the ward. The shop had just about everything you wanted, if you wanted something old and slightly used. Old guns, old clocks, old toys, old cassette players...If it was made in the twentieth or twenty-first century, odds were Amnon had it for sale. That didn't mean Amnon didn't have anything more recent, of course: you can't run a pawn shop in the Citadel without getting your hands on more up-to-date pieces of technology, e-books and vids.

Or, for that matter, some recently stolen jewelery.

Adam opened the door, triggering the door-chime, and walked inside. He was immediately greeted by familiar smell of dust, rust and old oil, as well of the sight of antique clocks, fine pens and fancy mechanical toys all neatly organized and arrayed. Adam smiled: he had a love for old pieces of clockwork ever since he was a kid, and finding this place on the Citadel had been one of the reasons he had accepted Pallin's offer to work for C-Sec instead of having another go at being a farmer.

Amnon Kerensky looked up from his counter at the sound of the bells and, upon seeing Adam with red optics in the shape of crescent moons, opened up his mechanical arms to greet his favourite customer. "Adam!" he exclaimed, his slightly russian-accented voice flanging from a speaker on his dark mask. "Dearest of all my friends! What brings you to my humble shop?"

Adam was about to speak, but Amnon was just getting started: "That clock you fixed for me sold for a very, very pretty penny! Let me give you something to show my appreciation!" He reached under his counter and pulled out an unmarked box of ammo. "Point Three Five Seven Magnums. A box of twenty-four rounds! Tungsten Cores in a steel shell, made just for you!"

"Uh-huh, and how much are these gonna cost me?"

"For you? a mere 1 credit."

Adam whistled. "That's...quite a deal."

"You give me good work, I give you excellent work back...at an unbeatable price. Besides, I also have to show Sasha my love, no? You take good care of Sasha?"

"Yeah," Adam answered with a slight smile as he gave Amnon his credit chit, "I've been taking good care of Sasha." He pocketed the rounds.

"Good! Good! Now, what else can your friend Amnon do for you?"

"I'm looking for an engagement ring..."

"Oh! Have you fallen from our bachelor ranks? You simply must tell me the name of the Lady that has-"

"A stolen ring, Amnon."

"Ah...I see..." Amnon's usual cheery mood deflated quickly. "Adam, my friend, you know I don't fence stolen goods. I own legitimate business!"

"I know you do, Amnon, but we both know your...friends are into things slightly less legit."

Adam activated his Omni-Tool and brought up a hologram of Alenko's ring, along with readouts of the scan.

"This is a scan of the stolen ring's twin."

Amnon tapped the chin of his mask pensively. "Hm, fine craftsmanship there. Finely patterned blend of programmable silver and plati-" And then Amnon went quiet.

"Amnon, are you alri- aw, crap, it's happening again, isn't it?"

A few seconds later, Amnon was a prisoner in his own body, his consciousness having made way for the Citadel Collective of the Omar. Adam loved talking to Amnon, as he always had a good deal or even a piece of junk for him to fiddle with, but talking to the collective consciousness of some three hundred cyborgs was just unsetlling. They always spoke in that high pitched, scratchy, throaty digital voice that grated on the nerves. The first Adam had met an Omar, he had thought he was dealing with an alien. He had been very surprised when he had been told that the cyborgs had in fact originated from Earth.

"This is the work of Argyros," said the Omar.

"Argyros?"

"Asari jewelery consortium. They specialize in the shaping of rare metals for the purposes of self-beautification and mating rituals/contracts. Superior craftmanship standards allow Argyros to sell their wares at ten times the value of the materials used to construct them."

"Well thanks for that, but I'm wondering how that's relevant, here."

"Argyros also drives up its prices by making each set of jewelery they produce unique."

"It's a plain ring. It's as nondescript as you can get."

"You are wrong."

The Omar grabbed at Jensen's hologram and manipulated the image. It enlarged the holographic ring and highlighted an incredibly complex and intricate pattern on the ring's outer surface. The Omar continued: "We are familiar with this item: one of our units works for the Argyros' Citadel branch as a craftsman. Each Argyros jewelery set is the equivalent of a work of art, and difficult to re-sell illegally in Citadel space for this very reason. Even the silver/platinum blending pattern is recognizable and a scan of it is filed in the consortium's archives. Removing the micro-scale serial number engraving would do little to hide its origins...or, with enough research, its rightful owner."

"So in short, it's too hot to sell, few fences would touch it...least of all a pawn shop owner. If they did, they'd be real discreet about it." Adam couldn't hide the disappointment in his voice. He could hope that the killer would slip up and be desperate enough for cash to try and sell it to an Omar, but it wasn't likely. "I'm curious though, how much did that set of rings cost?"

"Two million and five hundred thousand credits."

Adam whistled: Shepard didn't skimp on the fine things in life. The price also made him wonder where she got that kind of money. Rich uncle, maybe? Well, it hardly mattered now. This lead was drying up fast.

The Omar stood there, silently expecting another question. Adam obliged it: "Has the Collective sold any Alliance military surplus to anyone recently? Boots, Knives, that sort of thing?"

"The Alliance Navy does not allow Omar Traders license to sell any of their equipment, high tech or low tech."

"What about the 'unlicensed' stuff?"

"...We do not wish to antagonize the Alliance Navy."

"...Right. Know anyone on the Citadel that has license to deal with old Alliance hardware?"

"Please wait...Unit Kerensky knows of a Turian weapons and armor trader with a fascination for human military hardware, old and new. Decanus Ordo is the only known Alliance Surplus licensee on the Citadel."

"The Alliance won't let you sell their junk but they'll let a Turian do it?"

The Omar said nothing.

"One last thing: Does the collective have any florists that deal in rare Earth flowers?"

The Omar said nothing.

"Hmph. Worth a shot. I think I'd like to talk to Amnon, now."

The Omar said nothing.

"...Hello?" Adam waved his hand in front of Amnon's mask.

"Detective Jensen. We are aware of the murder case you are investigating. The Collective has agreed to assist you in any way it can in apprehending the killer. We do not have any other information that might be relevant for you at this time, but we shall contact you when we do. That is all. Logging you out."

"Hey, wait a min-"

Adam didn't finish his sentence before Amnon shuddered back into his body. "I hate it when they do that," he said. "No courtesy at all! Not even a proper hello and goodbye!"

"Are you okay, Amnon?"

"Oh, do not fret, Adam! I've been dealing with strangers inside my head for a century, now! Ah! but I forget, I forget! You need contact Ordo, yes?"

Amnon activated his Omni tool and promptly uploaded the address and phone number of Ordo's Arms Armour and Sundries to Adam's own Tool.

"Good man, this Turian, seems to admire humans a great deal!" Amnon leaned in close, his voice quieter: "A little too much, maybe, if you catch Amnon's drift, yes?" he chuckled. "I joke, I joke! The man is happily married to an Asari. Lovely woman!"

"Amnon, what was that earlier? No offense but in the time I've known it the Omar collective hasn't been known to stick out its neck for anyone. And how did it know about Shepard's death? Why does it even care?"

"Adam, I am but a small part of a greater whole. A branch connected to a great tree. I do not presume to know everything there is about my Collective...But I agree, that declaration of help came...unexpectedly. And quite earnestly, too. I could feel that. Something big is coming, Adam, and I fear you'll be standing in its path before long."

~[h+]~

Adam got back in his Spinner, closed the canopy and sank into his leather seat and took a deep breath. Talking to Amnon had been a balm, but talking to the collective had been a bit frustrating, mostly because Adam felt he had wasted his time. But it couldn't be helped: there was no way to be sure that a lead would get you to a dead end until your pursued it. Still, he had gotten an address out of it. And twenty-four tungsten core revolver rounds.

Well, maybe it hadn't been such a waste after all.

He typed up Ordo's address on his Nav computer and started up the Spinner's drives. Before he could take off, his Omni-Tool rang: it was a call from his doctor.

"Monsieur Jensen," greeted the french redhead. She seemed a bit nervous.

"Dr Michel," Adam greeted back. "Something wrong? You look a little pale."

Her eyes darted left and right. "I'm afraid i have some bad news, Monsieur Jensen...I've rechecked the scans from your last medical exam and I've found that your implants are causing some severe decay in your ulna. I need you to come in right away."

"...Okay, how bad is this? I'm kind in the middle of an investigation, here."

"You could die, Monsieur Jensen. Please, the sooner we fix this problem, the better."

"...Alright, your clinic isn't too out of the way of where I was going anyways. Is the treatment going to take long?"

"Non, non. Not long at all. An hour at most, and then a prescription."

Adam typed up Dr Michel's clinic's address on his Nav computer and took hold of the steering wheel. The Spinner soared above the street, taking its place amongst thousands of other cars within the void encircled by the arms of the Citadel. Adam checked the Traffic: the augmented reality streets in the sky were getting very crowded.

"I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Thank you," said the doctor, and she hurriedly closed the connection.

Adam took another deep breath. So, it was finally starting. Adam wasn't all that surprised: between the hundreds of years of deep freeze and the wear and tear he endured on Elysium and his seven-year career at C-Sec, something was bound to start breaking. While Adam could maintain his prosthetics easily enough by duplicating replacement parts with the mini Fabricator C-Sec had provided him to maintain his weapons, the Wetware, the electronic components that were stuck throughout his central nervous system, were well out his reach. While Chloe Michel was a competent physician and learning something new about 2020's cybernetics every day, she was still far, far out of her depth when it came to Sarif Industries Wetware. In fact, the only experts left were stuck in a freezer somewhere below Detroit, and they weren't coming out any time soon.

Adam, in other words, was doomed to die from lack of maintenance. It was a wonder he lasted this long.

He took another deep breath. You were prepared for this. You were prepared for this. He mentally repeated the mantra in his head to prepare for the inevitable, and tried to remind himself that the inevitable would be a long ways off as long as he kept seeing his doctor and stopped the cowboy ninja cop antics.

He also tried to remember which part of his brain the Ulna was supposed to be. You know, just to know what the fuss was about.

~[h+]~

Dr Michel quietly, desperately hoped Jensen remembered enough human biology to remember the ulna was located in the forearm and, since his original arms were gone, he technically didn't have ulnas any more. She had hoped he would catch on with her lie, that he was being led to a trap. She hoped...but Jensen didn't seem to have caught on at all.

The green-crested Krogan aiming a shotgun to her head grinned. "Thank you, darling." He motioned to one of his thugs, a human. "Take her in the back with the beds and keep an eye on her. Nothing freezes up a cop like a hostage." He then turned to his two salarian goons planting something on each side of the clinic's main entrance. " Are the EMP mines set up?" he asked them.

One of the goons got up and rubbed his hands. "Yep. As soon as Jensen crosses that door, the mines should render him mostly harmless and defenseless."

"Good. Only mostly." The Krogan smiled. He may have been a hitman, but he did like a little sport.

"Hey, Thog?" asked the Salarian.

"What?"

"Why is Fist sending us to kill a C-Sec agent? This is trouble we don't want."

Thog was annoyed, he didn't like answering stupid questions: "Jensen and Vakarian are krant. We were lucky the turian came at us alone, but once Vakarian is reported missing, Jensen will be alerted and he will find his partner. Trouble will be coming at us, it's only be a matter of time. Might as well fight on a ground of our choosing."

"Right, well, two things? One: I'm scratching my head as to why we haven't killed the chicken and dumped his corpse into a vat."

Thog groaned and rolled his eyes. Were Salarians always so insubordinate? "Ask Fist."

"Two: this setup? A one-room clinic the size of a flat with only a chest high wall by the beds for cover? Close quarters is your thing, not mine. We could just-"

"It's a good enough setup. You take your friend there and take that cover, get yourselves ready to fill Jensen with holes when the mines take him down."

"We could just kill him in his sleep!"

No. That wasn't good way to kill a man. Not ever. Thog started seeing red. "Look, You want to run this job?"

"Actually, yes, I do want to run this job!"

"Well guess what?" He cocked his heavy shotgun for emphasis. "You CAN'T. Now get behind cover and keep your mouth SHUT. Your constant yapping is harming my calm."

The Salarian goon knew better than piss off a krogan, so he obeyed. That didn't stop him from muttering a few curses under his breath while he configured his sub-machine gun to fire Disruptor rounds. Thog watched him disappear behind the chest high wall and, satisfied that the salarian wasn't giving any more crap, loaded a Hammerhead polonium ammo block into his shotgun and a noise canceller on its muzzle. If by some unlikely chance the EMP mines and the disruptor rounds didn't faze Jensen at all, Thog would be able to pound him into submission and watch as the poison robbed the light from his eyes.

Sixteen minutes of waiting. Sixteen minutes of telling that whimpering little human to stop her crying. Sixteen minutes of looking forward to savor the kill, and finally, the door chime rang. It was time for Jensen to die. Good. Thog quietly ordered the human holding the woman hostage as he took up a position just out of sight: "Get her to ring him in from her laptop. No talking: she might try something stupid."

The humans complied, and the red holographic ring on the main door turned into a green lozenge. Thog licked his lips. The door opened. It was almost time...

Nobody came through.

Thog squinted, his eyes straining to make out the tell-tale distortions of a cloaking field, but he saw nothing. He listened intently for the sound of footsteps, but he heard nothing. There was no one there. Something was wrong.

"Lizard, turn off those mines."

"Hey, that's offen-"

"Shut up and do it."

The salarian tech typed something on his omni tool and the two mines on each side of the door switched off. Thog approached the open door quietly. He holstered his shotgun: he didn't want to alert any passerbys on the street. Thog stuck his head out, hoping to catch sight of his quarry. Nothing. So far his eyes had not served him well, so he decided his sense of smell would do a better job. A deep breath, and the scent of a dead animal's skin, tanned and dyed, tickled the room of his mouth. It was a fresh scent, and Thog smiled. Adam was close: Thog had heard the human had a fondness for fine, real leather. But then, Thog's eyes had decided to make themselves useful, and he caught sight of a bundle of blue leather just below an open air vent just three meters above the ground. The Krogan thug was puzzled and decided to poke at the leather bundle (which, as it turned out, was a human-sized coat), realized that Jensen had sensed the trap, and he rushed back inside back to his three henchmen.

Thog really, really shouldn't have checked out that coat. If he hadn't, if he had turned around soon after sticking his head outside, then he might have been seen Jensen tap the human hostage taker on the shoulder and then punch his lights out as the poor sap turned around. He might have been able to do something as Jensen cloaked, rushed the two salarians, grabbed them by their collars and bashed their skulls together. Since he had wasted his time, Thog came in just time to see a decloaking Jensen dropping one unconscious salarian down on the floor. Thog's second mistake was holstering that shotgun. Drawing a weapon was quick enough, but letting it deploy from its collapsed storage state took exactly one point two seconds. He also loaded a Carnage Round, which added another second of charging time on top of that. Two point two second. Enough for Jensen to crack a smile and exploit Thog's last mistake. The salarian Jensen was still holding by the neck had his omni tool on, and it was still connected to the two EMP mines. The cop pressed the big red holographic button on it and the mines woke up to the presence of a large, fully armored Krogan drawing out a shotgun. Naturally, they exploded, causing every shield capacitor in Thog's armor to discharge and the mass effect field holding up the glob of compressed molten metal inside Thog's weapon to collapse. The hot metal oozed into the shotgun's innards and turned them into slag, rendering the large weapon useless.

Now, the Krogan was getting mad: he really loved that gun. He dropped the ruined weapon, bellowed out a challenge to the cyborg cop and began to charge. Jensen's response was to vault the chest high wall and charge right back at the Krogan. Thog was surprised: he had expected the cop to come at him sideways, use some trickery or even his weapons to try and kill him. But that was fine: Thog didn't care how augmented the puny human was: No one could beat him at a charge, he was seven hundred pounds of muscle running at twenty-five kilometers per hour. Nothing could stop him.

But Thog didn't factor several things. One: Adam could run at one hundred kilometers per hour. Two: Adam was about to punch Thog in the face, not counter-tackle him. Three: Adam's fist was made out of carbon nanotube reinforced polymer with a reinforced titanium endo-structure, making it quite capable of punching through walls. Four: Thog's unarmored face was not a concrete wall, despite boasts of the contrary to impressionable females.

Thog's face broke under the combined force of his own charge, Adam's running speed and the extra power from the myomer bundles in his cybernetic arm. The Krogan was knocked back six meters and his back slammed into the wall, robbing him of his consciousness. His healing factor kicked in, trying to repair the damage to his face, but there was simply no regenerating the trauma to his brain. Thog drifted in and out of consciousness for a few seconds, haunted by one last thought before the darkness took him.

Yes, he should definitely have killed Jensen in his sleep.

~[h+]~

Officer Lang came in the clinic, investigating a code 415 that dispatch called in just as he was walking by. He was about to open the door when he heard a loud banging noise emanating from the wall, and he decided to draw his sidearm before entering the small clinic.

The young, blonde, and somewhat babyfaced human C-Sec officer hadn't expected to find an unconscious, fully armored Krogan, and much less a cyborg binding said Krogan with high strength restraints flash forged from an omni-tool. Was he a mercenary? A bounty hunter? Same difference, and probably illegal on the Citadel.

"Freeze!" commanded Lang, pointing his gun at the cyborg. The cyborg simply got up with his hands raised and pointed at the badge attached to his belt. Lang deployed his augmented reality visor and scanned the badge. It was authentic, and relayed info about the man carrying it.

"Oh. Detective Jensen?" Lang lowered his gun. He had heard about C-Sec's very own cyber-cop, but he had never met the...man personally. Introductions were in order. "Officer Eddie Lang. I'm answering the 415? Someone saw a flash of lightning then heard a Krogan roar in this clinic earlier."

Jensen receded his shades and spoke: "Hostage situation in progress, but I defused it. By the way, I've got three more perps unconscious back there -one human, two salarians- I'll bind them up, you secure their weapons and omni tools."

Lang secured the crime scene as directed, occasionally taking a glance at Jensen's hands. The man worked fast, with practiced efficiency. They were both done in less than a minute. While they worked, Jensen had asked the french woman is she was alright, then asked her to explain what these four men wanted with her.

"These are Fist's men! They said they have Garrus! You have to rescue him!" The woman was tired and very distraught. Lang had just finished removing the ammo block from the last weapon, and decided to try to calm the woman down.

"Ma'am, take a deep breath, try to relax, and start from the beginning. Who is Garrus?"

She pointed at Jensen. "He's his partner." Then she turn to him. "Your partner. You have to go rescue him now!"

"Michel," said Jensen, sternly. "I am NOT going anywhere, not after you practically baited me into walking into a trap-"

"I tried warning you!"

"And you're lucky I remembered my high school biology, otherwise I would be cuffing you with the rest of these scum! Now do as the man says: take a deep breath, calm the HELL down, and start from the beginning or we WILL continue this at the station!"

The doctor was taken aback. She was evidently not used to men being this harsh with her, but it worked. She collected herself and started her story.

"Yesterday, a Quarian girl came to me in need of medical help. She had been grazed by a several polonium rounds, but she wouldn't tell me who shot her. She was scared and on the run, asked me about the Shadow Broker. She wanted to trade information - something to do with the geth - in exchange for her safety, so I put her in contact with Fist, one of the shadow broker's agents." She rubbed her hands anxiously. "I though nothing of it until four of fist's men came knocking on my door..."

"Don't worry, ma'am." Lang reassured her. "They won't be waking up any time soon."

"Non, non! Not these men! It was still yesterday, I was getting ready to close the clinic when these four men - humans - barged in and made threats. Garrus was coming, and they didn't want me to tell him about the Quarian...but the truth was he was already stalking these men. One of them started getting...ideas about me, and Garrus intervened. Shot all of them in the head!"

Lang couldn't believe his ears. This Garrus fella just shot four men in the head in cold blood? Without so much as a warning? That was against regulations!

"Lang, this is your beat. Did Vakarian call that one in?"

"No," answered Lang, shaking his head. "If there were four dead perps I'd have heard about it!"

The doctor spoke up. "That's because Garrus told me to not call C-Sec and hide the bodies in the freezer where i keep my samples."

"He did what?" the two policemen said in unison. Adam continued: "Michel, do you realize how much trouble you're in? Hiding bodies is a goddamned felony!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Garrus said that he needed to keep the Spectres off the scent, that they wanted to destroy his case against Saren, and that if C-Sec knew he was on to Fist, the Spectres would move in on Chora's Den and destroy any evidence, maybe even kill the Quarian!" She started crying. "Please, he said he'd take care of me, that I wouldn't lost my license over this! I-I just wanted to help! Please don't arrest me!" And then she wept openly.

Lang was wide-eyed. He just didn't know how to deal crying women: no matter how much he tried to calm them down they seemed to cry all the harder. Jensen didn't seem to care, though, and he seemed keen on crushing her some more: "So you led a Quarian girl and a lone C-Sec officer into gangster's lair? You're just on a roll today, aren't you, Doctor Michel?" He walked away from her in disgust.

"Sir," said Lang meekly as he followed Jensen. "She's trying to cooperate."

"Don't care." Adam didn't break stride. "I'm headed for Chora's Den. Call for backup, but don't surround the Den just yet: I'm going to infiltrate the place to confirm Vakarian's presence, secure him and, if possible, exfiltrate him. If I don't call in within an hour, you move in."

"Sir, you're going at it alone?"

"I sneak in better on my own. Besides, a whole group of C-Sec patrollers at Fist's door and he might try and hold Vakarian hostage, or just kill him."

"But I've been to Chora's Den, sir! The place is surrounded by armed thugs! Even the dancers are packing! You need to wait for reinforcements!"

Adam looked over his shoulder, fixing his metallic yellow-green stare on Lang.

"I am the reinforcements," he said, as his shades deployed.

~[h+]~

CODEX ENTRY: CITADEL RACES: HUMAN: OMAR

The Omar Techno sects (or Collectives) are societies of radically cyberneticaly modified humans that emerged during the Collapse. They originated from the city of Yekaterinburg, when a group of scientists submitted themselves to radical biomodification in an attempt to survive the famines and diseases brought on by the global disaster. The Omar, cut off from the rest of the world, predicted an age when nations didn't exist and humanity was divided by ideology, and prepared themselves to be the living embodiment of the black market. When global communications were re-established a decade later, their predictions were proven wrong, as the nations of earth merged and consolidated into larger superpowers.

The Omar found themselves unwelcome in a global society that shunned all forms of human augmentation. In a bid to 'fit in', the second generation of Omar bodies were designed to respect the difference between 'prosthesis' and 'augmentation', and Omar recruitment targeted the disabled and terminally ill with offers of an immortal mechanical body. This did little good for their reputation as they appeared extremely opportunistic, a problem made worse as the Omar's business acumen (which has allowed Yekaterinburg's economy to flourish) became the envy of every nation on earth. UN politics often vied to outlaw Omar cyber-modification to excuse going to war with the Yekaterinburg Omar city-state, and the UNAS would have nearly succeeded were it not for the outbreak of the First Contact War. In order to escape the political turmoil caused by their very existence, the Omar went on a mass exodus into space, leaving the gleaming spires of Yekaterinburg forever.

The Omar individual is part of greater, merged collective consciousness, achieved through the implantation of a wireless cortical interface around the brain. While a single Omar has a semblance of a personal life, he or she is in fact always being watched by the gestalt entity composed of hundreds (sometimes thousands) of linked human brains. When the entire collective wishes to speak, they can do so through a single representative. Sociologists in Citadel space are fascinated by the Omar, as they are a prototype for a 'perfect democracy', but most people find the prospect of having next to no privacy frightening and unsettling.

The galactic communities perceive the Omar as uncaring capitalist robots willing to do anything to anyone and sell anything to anyone if the price is good enough. In reality, each Omar collective has its own moral code. The Terminus Collective specializes in gun running, drug running and mercenary work, but despises slaving. The Noveria collective can be best described as a 'mad scientist', but draws the line at experimenting on live sentients. The Citadel Collective is mostly composed of law abiding merchants and craftsmen, but are also willing to trade in black market goods C-Sec has relatively no interest in policing, such as medicine.