Mass Effect is owned by THEM. You know who THEM are. BioEAWare...

Revan, Thermopile System, Artemis Tau Cluster, 02 May 2175

Author's Notes: And we're off to see the asshole, the wonderful asshole of Oz! Because, because, because, because of the sick shit that he does...

If you've gotten this far, you know you're itching to see who the capo is. But you'll be wrong. Because I am devious and purposefully like twirling my moustache and laughing like a James Bond villain at your plight. Read forth, brave viewer, and behold my evilness.

Ahem, back to the story. (but you know you'll be singing that later, because it's catchy)


Double-gravity and exhaustion weighed on her body, fatigued after so many hours on the high-grav world of Revan. Depraved sights and macabre experiments were etched on her mind, revelations of a twisted plan brought to fruition. Horror and revulsion weighed on her soul, the realization on just how much evil could be done in the galaxy when everyone was left none-the-wiser. She had cried from the pain, vomited from the abominable practices, shivered at the soul-twisting pain with every revelation, and felt her whole life shake at what she had discovered just because of a few mismatched numbers. She had been shot at and almost killed at least half-a-dozen times from rounds, explosives, and even a bloodraging Krogan. Somewhere deep inside, she knew this to be one of the darkest days of her life, a day that, no matter what, would never truly made right. There was not enough justice or retribution in the galaxy to correct what this facility had contained and concealed. But she was here, and despite it all, she would see it through to its aftermath.

Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy Samantha Lynn Collins gripped her Nexus Engagement Reliable Firearms 2169 Lawbringer Assault Rifle in her hands, her ECS-10 Modulus Assault Rifle magnetically placed upon her chest, ready to be switched out if needed.

She stood in an assault stack with three Council Agents; SPECTREs that she had learned to rely upon and trust during her time with them on the toxic soup world of Revan in the Thermopile System. There was Centurion Nihlus Kryik, a member of the Hierarchy Blackwatch and Council Agent, gripping his Cipritine Armory Vapor Assault Rifle in his talons, his helmet hardly able to disguise the cold fury in his frame and in his flanged voice. There was Strike Huntress Tela Vasir, one of the Asari's vaulted Huntresses and Council Agent, holding her Elite Arms CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun in her hands, the weapon held tight against the armored breasts of her chest plate. There was STG Infiltration Technician Jondum Bau, a Special Tasks Group Operative and Council Agent, his ever-present Ariake Technologies M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Rifle cradled in his three-fingered hands, as cool and as professional as one could expect from a Special Forces Warrior. And then there was her, Deputy Samantha Collins, an Alliance Frontier Marshal Deputy, the smallest, youngest, most inexperienced and least trained member among such vaulted operatives. They were here because of her. She was here because of this.

Their intent was clear; to stop what had been so painfully revealed to them.

The stack stood at the last door of the last room they had yet to clear in this million square meter facility, the Elkoss Combine Medium Habitation Unit, Atmospheric Regulation Series Model XV700 colony pre-fab that been the compound to contain such tribulations. Every room of each of its four floors had been breached and cleared. Every corner had been swept and checked. Every opponent they had faced had been apprehended or killed. Now the operation was at its last steps, and each of them knew they had yet to meet the mastermind to this macabre operation. This was about more than just slavery and those who swore to stop it. This was more than just about law or justice, those who swore to uphold it against those who decided to flaunt it. This was more than just an operation. It was about all that was good going against all that was evil. There was no better day than today to reaffirm such vows and oaths, to stand against darkness and depravity, to fight against injustice and immorality. There was no better fight than this, against such who saw biological entities as some sort of means of earning money and gaining power, to play God.

Today was the day where the law would stand tall.

"On three." Nihlus Kryik spoke softly over the communicator, the advanced-encryption protocols ensuring that their words weren't listened to, the power levels reduced to help prevent even its signal from being detect to alert others of their presence. Not one of them doubted that whoever they were knew that someone was coming for them, but time was just as much in their favor as it was for those who ran this facility. It would play on their nerves just as much as it would on the SPECTREs and Deputy. But the time for discoveries, revelations, emotions, and waiting had come to an end. They were there; the boss level, as it were. Behind this door would certainly contain whomever was responsible, the person in charge. Each of them could feel it in their souls that behind this door would be the mastermind to this plot. Each was ready to face that sapient being, to look upon the face that was the cause to all this.

Revenge, after all, was a dish best served with bullets.

"One."

Sam did her best to control her breathing, ready to assault the room that was labeled 'Operations' on the schematics for the pre-fab facility, what looked to be a standard-sized office for a colonial mayor or governor. Ten meters by ten meters. It could hold as many as thirty assailants, if necessary. Booby-traps were a possibility, too.

"Two."

Fear, rage, nervousness, anticipation flooded through her body as the Deputy fought to slow her rapidly beating heart, adrenaline surging through her blood, the feel of sweat beading on her skin under her Devlon Industries' Explorer Light Armor despite the thermoregulators in her sealed hardsuit unable to overcome her biological response to fight-or-flight. There would be no flight, today.

"Three."

Like a well-oiled machine, the four-operative stack breeched through the door into the Operations Room, skill and tactics leading them as the Blackwatch Commando was first through the fatal funnel, a veteran of such exploits as Breech and Assault, the Strike Huntress, STG Operative, and Marshal Deputy following his lead. They trusted one another in a way that only occurred on battlefields and operations. Despite the differences in their species and training, each held in regard for the other, to trust them to do their job while each did their own. Respective fields of fire and arcs of engagements were followed by protocols made universal throughout Council Space in an effort to make a more efficient warrior as the best and most proficient tactics were written and practiced, flaws corrected and superiority gained. Four lethal warriors entering a room with no knowledge of what laid in it was a tactic that each race had used for hundreds, if not thousands of years through various militaries and situations, one of the deadliest scenarios that could reasonably be expected. Each knew their position and role, the expectations and reliance, to have one's back and to trust their own to another. They entered into Operations, threading through the door and getting into their respective positions with speed and alacrity, despite the gravity and nerves, despite the discoveries and rage. Each was an expert in their own fields of their own rights, and each had proven it a dozen times over to one another.

This was the accumulation of all they had suffered, the line in the sand.

They found their target.

Waiting for them.

With a smile.


"Impressive." Came the voice of someone that Deputy Sam Collins hadn't expected as she stood to the left flank of the assault team, Strike Huntress Tela Vasir just to her right as the Deputy trained her 2169 Lawbringer upon the first target that was in her assigned line-of-fire. The first two seconds of the assault was dedicated into breaching and entering the room, clearing the fatal funnel that the access door represented, and getting into the assigned position under the possibility of withering suppressive or tactically-placed return fire. No rounds had been fired, but that didn't mean that the danger wasn't present. In fact, someone had gone and upped the ante as the seconds ticked by and Sam's eyes swept the room, finding herself in a scenario that all cops feared.

A hostage situation.

Nine sapient beings stood opposite of the SPECTRE assault team, four of them with firearms, though none of them were aimed at the SPECTREs or Deputy. Instead, the various weapons being held by the Batarian hostage-takers were held against their hostages. Not to their heads. Not to their backs.

To their bellies.

Sam's eyes widened as she saw who and what the hostages were, almost in awe of the plan, no matter how cruel and evil. Four females had been brought to the Operations Room, woken up from their chemical sleep and revived to full cognition. Each was of a different species; a human woman, a Turian female, an Asari Maiden, and a Salarian Dalatrass with a gag were held hostage with what appeared to be Elite Arms Retaliator Shotguns pressed into the abdomens of each of the females. The human woman and Asari Maidens' bellies were huge with child, while the Turian females' own normally-tapered waist was thick, almost as wide as her shoulders. The Dalatrass... well, Sam couldn't tell the difference, but she didn't doubt assuming that the Salarian female was pregnant, if the other three were. If there was anything that would stop a law-oriented person from exacting justice, it was a hostage situation. A pregnant female only magnified that scenario.

"Please, please you've got to help me!" The human woman cried, her eyes right at Sam, obviously having recognized the human of the group. Tears stained her cheeks as her hands cradled her enormous belly, not even dressed. Her breasts were engorged and decorated with stretch marks, and her belly looked like it was ready to pop like an overfilled balloon at any moment. "What's happening to me? Where am I at? Please..." The woman sobbed, crying hard as the Batarian pressed the barrel into her enlarged abdomen a little harder, pressing it into the taunt skin. Collins could hear the other females pleading as well, though she couldn't understand the Asari Maiden, and the Salarian Dalatrass was gagged from talking.

"Oh... oh fuck..." Sam whispered to herself as she kept her weapon trained on the Batarian holding his shotgun into the belly of the Dalatrass. She dare not move her weapon to any of the others, especially towards the Batarian who was holding his own weapon on the human weapon. Any false moves, any kind of indication of action would have those women shot in the stomach, killing the females and their children.

"Entertaining. One and all."

The smile that appeared upon the thin gash that represented the lips of their primary target held no humor or emotion on them, merely a muscular response of superiority as dark oval eyes studied each and every one of them, flitting back and forth to them at a speed and clarity that would be considered a nervous twitch among human beings. If, of course, the being in question was a human being.

Sam found herself looking at a fast reflexes, fast-thinking, highly intelligent Salarian.

"So wonderful you should come." The Salarian male announced from behind a desk, standing as oppose to sitting, as if a gentleman. He rubbed at one of auditory horns, as if in contemplation with a three-fingered hand, nimble fingers stroking the Salarian earport like a man would rub at his earlobe in thought. "Yes, delightful. That such renowned specialists would come seeking me, attempting to foil my plans and designs. Such an event!" Great, a Salarian mastermind type. Sam was uncomfortably reminded of human vid troupes about mad Salarian masterminds, cackling as they gave off James Bond-villainesque explanations of their master plan. It was obvious that the Salarian was the one in charge; he was talking, after all.

"We should plug them now." One of the Batarians' voiced, the one holding the Turian female. Unlike the others, his hostage was actually big enough for him to actually effectively hide behind, considering that Batarians were nearly of the same size as Asari. The one hiding behind the Dalatrass was barely covered at all, consider that she was merely tall, yet very lithe. "But leave the monkey to me." The four sinister eyes of the Batarian in question were all on her, malevolent and soulless. Collins noted that his armor appeared to be of better quality than the others; thicker, with more pieces attached. That one wasn't a lackey.

"Ship's Captain, I think. Pan'mekk." She remembered the message that her Marshal had sent, discovered on the Kolwoon-Class vessel. The Captain's name had been Pan'mekk, a Batarian name. Better armor and not talking like a lackey? Captain, most likely.

"And spoil the surprise we have in store for them?" The Salarian commented, smiling once more with that soulless smile. "It would be interesting to see how it was they discovered this facility. I covered our tracks well, and nobody talked." His eyes went to Sam. "Your Marshal was not very informative in how it was you discovered our location, save that you somehow tracked our ship from your post on Therum. Most interesting, human, most interesting indeed." His eyes went to the SPECTREs. "The guests that you brought were also a surprise. Most resourceful of you, human, calling the Office of Special Tactics to your aid. You truly are a credit to your species, Deputy Collins. Admirable, really."

Great, a Salarian with delusions of grandeur. She had fully stepped into a Blasto! vid.

"I'll make a deal with you, human." The Salarian's eyes narrowed as he stared at her and only her, completely brushing aside the three SPECTREs with the high-powered weaponry as if they weren't even there. "Tell me how you locate this facility, and I let one person of your choice leave this facility with you alive, hostage or SPECTRE." One of the Batarian gunmen chuckled at that as he prodded the Asari Maiden's belly, making her whimper in fear. "A fair deal, letting two live. Not many in the galaxy can say that they have met Doctor VorhenNisuses Ben Vares Tol Ingree Saleon and lived to tell about it."

Great, a MAD Salarian scientist with delusions of grandeur! Where's the cat that needs petting when you need it?

"Is... that name suppose to mean something to me?" Sam asked out loud, her helmet's speaker turned on. The Salarian just looked at her like she was demented. "Seriously, I thought some human was doing this because of the fertility drugs, considering we've been using them for the past two centuries." She noted that a couple of the Batarian flunkies were looking... impatient.

"Keep talking. Bore them." Bau whispered over the communicator. The Salarian STG Operative must have noticed, too. "Wait for my mark."

"You do not know who I am?" The Salarian Doctor looked aghast at the thought, his black eyes widening as a real emotion began to appear; indignation mixed with lividity. "I am the one who created a fertility drug for all species so that we may produce more slaves! No more expensive raids or running! No more bribes or..."

"Boooooring."

One of the Batarians got a chuckle out of that. The Doctor glared at the offending lackey for a second before returning his attention back to Sam. Now the Salarian really looked offended.

"This plan was flawless!" Saleon screamed, his head almost twitching left and right; probably a sign of rage. "For four years, everything was perfect! Breeding slaves! Selling them at premium prices for longetivity and breeding capabilities! Cutting into cost not having to scour worthless destitutes for dregs and the unwanted to capture on colonies none the wiser! All the slaves that the Hegemony could ever want! All the test subjects that the Union could ever need! Target practice for the Hierarchy!" The Salarian was practically frothing at the mouth like a rabid dog. "And some backwards monkey somehow stumbles onto my macheons as if she is my intellectual superior?"

"Does he pay you guys to listen to this shit? I mean that's... bad dialogue out of a third-rate plot in a Blasto! flick. I've seen better on the SyFy Network, honestly."

Two Batarians actually chucked at that one. The third one was snickering. Pan'mekk's four eyes narrowed on her even further. The Asari Maiden's face looked so shocked that Sam was surprised she didn't have a premature contraction on the spot.

"You shut your con'desh mouth, monkey bitch." The Captain said, his shotgun going from the Turian female's belly to pointing at her at a distance of less than four meters; more than close enough to be potentially lethal. The Elite Arms Retaliator Shotgun wasn't like some of the less-than-standard weapons they had seen assaulting the colony pre-fab building, in the hands of the cannon-fodder on previous levels. No, it was a serious combat shotgun that was well known to break shields and pierce armor and flesh. One shot with that could kill her at that distance. Everyone was paying attention to Pan'mekk's forceful display; the lackeys, Saleon, and Pan'mekk himself. The lackeys' weapons weren't pressed against the bellies of the hostages anymore, having drifted away from the drama unfolding before them.

"Mark."

Five bursts of gunfire echoed through the room at the same time.

Four Batarians dropped to the ground, dead or incapacitated.

The four hostages stood there shivering and naked as the Khar'shanians that had been holding them dropped to the floor from the headshots that had struck them. None of the Batarians had been wearing helmets, and the lack of protective cover meant that their kinetic shields didn't extend to their skulls. When the bursts of gunfire came from the three SPECTREs and one human Deputy occurred, there was nothing to protect them. Such was the testament of their accuracy that, during the high level of stress felt during a hostage situation, the bursts of gunfire from the Vapor Assault Rifle, CS-18 Rapidstrike Submachine Gun, and M-90 Indra Automatic Sniper Rifle were all on target and immediately lethal, and the lone 2169 Lawbringer's single non-lethal round struck the Batarian holding the Salarian Dalatrass right between his upper pair of eyes, snapping his head back from the shock of the round, knocking him back and out. Doctor Vorhen Saleon's eyes had gone wide as his thin slit of a mouth popped open, the Salarian Doctor's jaw dropping open. So much for masterminds.

But there had been five shots, only four of them coming from the SPECTRE assault team.

Deputy Sam Collins felt her hands begin to shake as the Lawbringer slid out of her nerveless hands, feeling as if someone had shoved several burning hot fireplace pokers into her abdomen, the shock of it slowly becoming apparent to her. She grunted as the pain grew within her, a burning sensation that felt like it was inside of her. The assault rifle clattered to the ground to her feet as one of her hands instantly went to her belly, where the growing pain was centered. She looked at her armored hand, and it came back red.

"Sam? Sam!" Nihlus's voice came quick and harsh as she tried to turn to him, to ask him why it was hurting, why she was hurting, but the words came out a senseless series of vowels as her leg muscles quivered and turned to jelly, unable to support her. She started to fall, but was caught before she hit the floor, a pair of taloned hands catching her before she reached the floor, easing her to the ground. That was nice of Nihlus; she was feeling pretty tired, actually.

"N-Nihlus?" Sam looked at the helmeted head, seeing how it kept the fringe armored, looking so sleek and intimidating, like an alien version of death's head looking back at her with its darkened visor and ergonomically-designed features. Why were her lips trembling? They were nowhere near the pain in her belly that seemed to be growing. "H-hurts." It was all she could say. Why was she trembling?

"Relax, amico." The Turian purred, his tone calming, friendly. That was nice. Sam tried to smile, her mouth stretching out in a mimicry of the action, feeling more like a rectus grin than a real smile. "Just lie down."

"O-okay." Sam touched his helmet, wishing she could see his face. His colonial markings were pretty awesome, and she wanted to see them again. Unfortunately, she had somehow stained his helmet with red. Where had the red come from?

The Batarian had been pointing a shotgun at her.

Deputy Sam Collins tried to look up, raising her helmeted head to see what had happened. Nihlus said something, some warning, but her trembling limbs and burning poker feeling didn't let her listen. Unfortunately, raising her head meant she was trying to sit up, using abdominal muscles to lift up her upper torso, much like a sit-up. Abdominal muscles that were no longer functioning.

She had been shot in the gut by the shotgun.

What pain she felt before was nothing compared to when she tried to sit up and made the many wounds in her stomach worse. Before, the pain was a ghost, like the memory of pain haunting, a sort of distant feeling that was there, but at an intellectual level.

No more. The pain amplified a thousand fold.

"N-N-Nihliss... h-h-h-hurts-s-s..." Collins whimpered as tears practically exploded from her eyes as her hands found the source of pain in her middle, desperate to press against it. God it made it feel better and worse at the same time as the raging inferno burned in her gut, feeling as if several spikes had been shoved into her belly, twisting inside of her. "H-hurts bad..." She tried not to scream, but oh God she wanted to. She wanted to scream the pain away. One of her hands wormed its way into his taloned fingers as she clutched to it, desperate to hold onto something, to keep from being swept away. The talons held her hand as she looked at the helmet looking at her. "Take it off." Sam asked, looking at the helmet, wishing she could see those strange alien eyes. "Want to see you." The Turian complied easily, detaching his helmet one-handed, holding onto her hand with the other, never letting go. That was nice. She found herself looking at those not-quite circular green eyes, brown-plated face with its full-faced white colonial markings. "I-I like... these. So f-f-fierce." She pointed at his markings with a hand, leaving a little red on it. The burning was there, but looking at him helped, somehow.

"Just stay still, Sam. Don't move too much." Nihlus told her gently, his voice almost cooing at her. He really was a nice guy, wasn't he? So caring and protective? "Is... is there anyone we can call?"

"C-Captain Steven Hackett. He's... the Scout Flotilla Commanding Officer of the Verge." Talking was getting harder, the pain overriding everything. Her mind felt like it was being filled with cotton. "He can get help for these females. Help them."

"I meant for you, Sam. Anyone we can call for you? Parents? Siblings? Loved ones or friends?" Nihlus asked softly, a taloned hand brushing her cheek tenderly. That was sweet of him, wanting to let someone know that she was okay. But there was no one to call.

"Just you guys. You're my family." For some reason, it felt important to say that to them. She saw Tela and Jondum looking at her, their helmets off as well. They really were so nice. Nihlus had one hand, and Tela the other. She felt like they were really bonding. "We did it, right? We won?"

"We won, sister." Tela replied, her voice thick as she blinked rapidly, streaks of indigo drawing their way down her cheeks. Wait... those were Asari tears? Such a cool color! She wished she could cry that color. "Because of you, we have saved hundreds... no, thousands of innocent lives."

"That's good." Sam coughed a little bit, and the pain really flared for a moment, but then simmered down. "That's funny. I don't actually remember the lights being that dim before?"

"Sam! Hold on, please!" Nihlus pleaded, even begging! Tough guy like that, begging? She almost didn't believe it. "I... I need to know where to take you if... if this is all over?" That was certainly an odd question. Did he mean a vacation?

"I'd like to see my parent's graves again. Haven't in a while." The Deputy replied, feeling her smile growing weaker, feeling weaker all over. Something must be wrong with the thermoregulator unit in her armor; she felt cold. "We can go there. It's a nice place by Neo Hong Kong in Shanxi." Her parents were buried near the town she had been born in.

"Sure. We can do that." The Turian replied softly, his flanged voice thick and strained. "I would like that, Sam."

"Me too." Funny, did the lights go dim again? Sam could hav