Chapter Ten:

Shooting the Messenger

"'I don't love you anymore' is all I remember you telling me

Never have I felt so cold

But I've no more blood to bleed

'Cause my heart has been draining into the sea."

Blood to Bleed, Rise Against

14:86, GST

"Remind me why we're here again Garrus," I said for the umpteenth time. We turned the hallway corner smoothly, keeping shoulder to shoulder like it was choreographed. A few of the nearby residents made curious glances at us as we passed, but most either looked away stiffly or did so discreetly. Being a cop meant that people were always watching you with reproach, like you'd arrest them for no reason. I admit, I used to be like that, but now that I was on the other side it just annoyed me.

"Well you see Quinn," he began in a kindergarten schoolteacher tone, "this is what we call a 'lead'. When you have a 'lead', you follow it, talk to the suspects, collect evidence and then you. . . ."

". . . beat your turian partner for being an unfunny asshole?"

He hummed. "I think that's after you get the warrant, though I'm not sure exactly. . . ."

"I'm so glad I got graced with you as my partner Garrus."

We were currently in a more C-Sec friendly part of Bachjret Ward, closer to the Presidium. I cannot describe how glad I am to be out of that god forsaken district. The air in here was cleaner and generally more enjoyable to actually breathe in. And I didn't have to constantly look over my shoulder to see if I had a knife in it, so that was also a plus. All in all, I hope I never have to go back to that hellhole.

But I digress. Garrus and I were currently in a large apartment complex on the thirteenth floor, heading through the barely differing halls. Why were we here might you ask? Well, we were following up on that address Pallin had given us earlier. It felt odd going back to this case after just, you know, discovering that a nightclub owner traffics drugs, but Garrus had told me the evidence would take time to process. A couple of hours at the absolute minimum. So this time we really didn't have anything better to do. And we might as well kill two birds with one stone, Jilla's murder is the reason we had found out about this stuff in the first place.

He snorted. "You know you love me Quinn." I was actually in love with Garrus. In a strictly platonic way. Getting me that guitar, I'd give him my firstborn son if he asked. I had actually offered, but he had politely turned me down. His loss. The axe in question was now safely stashed away in my locker back at Base. Garrus had done some creative "misfiling" of the evidence, so now I had the thing with no strings attached, pun not intended. It was a dream come true. After asking why he had done that for me, he had replied with "He didn't deserve it anyway". Well fuck yeah, I agree Garrus, I deserve it much more than Vince does. I was just happy enough to get it that I could ignore that particular blatant disregard for code and law in general. Bribery is indeed a powerful motivator.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that." I scooted out of the way of a passing human. "But again, why are we here? I don't think we're gonna get much out of these people."

"You'd be surprised," he replied. "Sometimes even the most miniscule leads can turn up evidence."

"But this is her parents! Unless they kidnapped her too, I doubt they'd know anything useful."

"That still remains a possibility actually," he said, narrowly squeezing between a passing asari couple. "We can't rule it out yet."

"But…" No good points appeared in my mind. "God, that's . . . fuck."

"Exactly what I was thinking."

He was right, after all. We couldn't rule it out, though that didn't mean it was likely. But still… it was possible. Working here was making it hard for me to keep my idealistic view of people in general, even if it wasn't that high to begin with.

There was something else that was nagging at me though. "But how are we gonna… you know, break it to these people that their daughter bit the dust?"

He rubbed the back of his fringe. "Well I was, uh, hoping that you would do that for me."

"Oh! The great Garrus Vakarian can't give bad news?"

He frowned at me. "It's not that. I can say it just fine; it's the aftermath I can't handle."

"What like the tears? You can't deal with someone crying?"

His mandibles twitched and he avoided my eyes. "It's just so awkward. I never know what to do." Yeah, that sounds like you Garrus. "Especially humans, I hate it when your kind cries Quinn. All the sniffling, the moaning, it's awful."

"Can't really blame you," I laughed. "You just gotta be there though, you know? Give 'em a good shoulder to cry on. It's not hard really."

"Well, since you seem so confident about it," Garrus said, "why don't you break the news to them?"

"Hey, you're the more experienced one here! You should know how to do this!"

"Come on, do it for me." We reached our destination, a barely distinguishable door in the hallway. Garrus racked his knuckles sharply on the door. "I did get you that . . . what was it called again, quitor?"

"Guitar. And blackmail Garrus? I thought you were above that."

"Blackmail is such a strong word," he said, enjoying the sound of his voice. "I prefer extortion, sounds much more sophisticated."

"Uh huh. You also broke the law Investigator. Stealing potential evidence is a big no-no."

"Maybe," he said casually. He didn't seem too phased by that accusation. He had always been a diamond in the rough anyway. "But I did stop Matt from shooting you too."

"Alright, fine Garrus, I'll do it. I'll do most of the talking and you can stand off in the corner and be useless like you usually do."

"I knew I could count on you Quinn," he chuckled.

The door opened and a rather large male turian appeared in the doorway, wearing civilian clothes. He was old, if I was correct. His plates were worn on his face and his white colony marking had faded pretty significantly on his face. But that wasn't what caught my attention about him.

His right mandible was gone.

That wasn't entirely accurate but it was mostly true. There was just a short stub where it should've been, leaving part of his mouth permanently exposed. I could see the point where his colony markings should have gone along his face. I had to force myself not to stare. "Can I help you. . . ." He paused and narrowed his eyes harshly when he noticed me. Shit. ". . . officers."

I, despite myself, was too fascinated with his missing mandible to respond. Thankfully, Garrus did it for me. "Good afternoon sir, can we come in?"

He hadn't taken his eyes off me. If the phrase "staring daggers" was true, I'd be full of bloody holes. "What for? I haven't done anything wrong."

I forced myself to blink and look into his eyes. "We can, uh, explain inside sir. May we?"

Something low rumbled in his throat. "Fine," he said, sounding like he was chewing something tough. "Come in." He disappeared back in the doorway and Garrus and I followed behind with just a moment's hesitation.

The apartment was rather spacious, by Citadel standards. It was about sixty feet down and across, with a huge living room and two little alcoves on the sides for the kitchen and a reading area respectively. Two couches facing each other in the living room along with a rather large TV attached to the wall. But the wall was the most amazing part. It was one giant window that offered a magnificent view of Bachjret Ward and the Serpent Nebula, illuminating the room in a tranquil purple light. A very nice apartment, one that must've cost quite a good sum of credits.

"Who was it, dear?" A voice called from behind a red locked door to the left. It sounded feminine.

"Investigators," he said, leading us into the apartment. "They want to talk to us about something."

There was a loud crash as something fell to the floor behind the door and a poorly silenced voice whispering "Investigators?" before more fumbling resounded out.

The turian flicked his head over to the couches. "Have a seat."

Garrus and I obliged, heading over and plopping down the couch facing the window wall. However, my ass, expecting to meet soft cushion, found itself slamming into a rock hard wall. All the breath whooshed out of me in a painful burst. "Fuck!" I swore with what little air I had, making sure to keep it quiet.

"Something wrong?" Garrus asked, having not been fazed by the harsh furniture.

"Fine," I said, straightening myself. "This couch . . . made of concrete. . . ."

"It is designed for turians," he said, amused at my suffering.

"Fucking turians. . . ."

The locked door opened to reveal a hasty asari with intricate, pearl white facial tattoos barreling through, straightening her clothes to perfection along the way. "Investigators!" she replied with friendliness I couldn't place as genuine or fake. "To what do we owe the pleasure?!"

The turian, who had moved over to the kitchen, snorted at the word pleasure. I get the feeling he doesn't like me too much. Call it intuition.

I glanced over to Garrus, who was giving me a look of "go ahead". "Um, please have a seat Ms. . .?" I realized at that moment I hadn't actually checked the info Pallin had sent us for their names. I'd only scanned for the address. A rookie mistake.

She didn't seem to take offense to my ignorance. "Leia T'Onni." She placed a hand on her chest. "And that's my mate Anturo Soviria." Anturo was now putting away some odd food items in the cupboard and paid us no mind. The disfigured part of his face was facing me however and I had a hard time making eye contact with Leia. From a casual glance, it looked like he was baring his teeth at me.

"Uh, Michael Quinn and that's my partner Garrus Vakarian." Garrus nodded and returned to staring at the wall like the helpful partner he was.

This caught Anturo's attention. "Quinn, you say?" He set down a box of food he'd been holding and went for a nearby door. "Let me get something."

"Honey. . . ." Leia facepalmed, her voice part annoyance and part weary.

"No, no, I want to show him." He disappeared through the door into what looked like a bedroom. I managed to glimpse a rather impressive stack of bottles on a nightstand before the door closed behind him.

My eyebrow shot up. "What is he. . . ?"

"I'm sorry," she said, almost pleading. "He does this to every human that comes by."

"Does what, exactly?"

"I'm so sorry," she repeated. "You see, he's a war veteran and-"

Anturo reappeared through the door, this time carrying, of all things, an old human helmet in his hands. Leia sighed. "Honey please, we never get guests anymore…"

He ignored her and practically shoved the helmet in my face. "Do you know what this is?" His voice had a very edgy undertone to it.

For a moment, I didn't know what to say and simply stared at the headgear in front of me. The thing was covered in little scratches and dents with most of the paint faded away. It had obviously seen some serious combat. ". . . a helmet?"

His mandible flared for a moment. The other one made a healthy effort to also. "Yes. A human helmet. Do you know where I got this?"

"And why do you think he should know?" Leia asked angrily.

"Stay out of this," he said back, eyes rapt on me.

"Not all humans know each other Anturo!" Leia seemed close to yelling now.

Anturo glared back at her without moving. I could barely sense a wordless conversation travelling between the two, though I couldn't understand what the hell they were saying. It seemed Leia lost this battle of wills because she scowled and crossed her arms, turning her head away in anger. Silence filled the room like an awkward liquid. I almost choked.

"Uh, we can do this another time," Garrus said, starting to rise off the couch.

"No." Garrus sat back down slowly, mandibles twitching uncomfortably. "Do you?" Anturo said, staring into my soul.

My mouth opened but words wouldn't come out for a few horrible seconds. "I . . . an antique store?"

He leaned into me and it was only when his face was close to mine did I smell the alcohol in his breath. A fair amount of it too. "Shanxi, human. I got this at Shanxi. Tore it off the pyjak that did this," he jabbed a talon at his stubbed mandible, "to me."

Oh fuck, a racist veteran. A racist, malformed veteran. A very, very bad combination. "I'm sorry?" Please don't hit me, please don't hit me, please don't hit me. . . .

He grunted, like I had just insulted him. "Are you?"

"Anturo. . . ." Leia now just sounded disappointed.

"Well yeah. I mean, I don't want you to be. . . ." The word disfigured threatened to escape from my mouth. ". . . hurt or anything."

He watched me for what felt like a long time, scanning for any telltale expressions. I had to force myself not to cough and I noted out of the corner of my eye Garrus shifting in his seat. "Read the name on the helmet." He dumped the heavy thing in my lap, right on my more sensitive region and sauntered over to the couch his wife was sitting on. He tried to sit next to her but she scooted away just enough to leave a gap.

I turned the helmet over in my hands and finally I found a name scrawled with a knife just under the left ear. "Brendan Quinn," I read aloud. I kept my face neutral and tossed the helmet over to Anturo. "Sorry, don't know 'em."

If he was disappointed that he hadn't killed one of my relatives, he didn't show it. Or I couldn't tell. "You're sure?"

"Yup." I wasn't actually. What if I did have some long lost relative that had fought in the First Contact War and had been slaughtered by this guy? I may have crossed dimensions, but didn't Mass Effect have the same twenty first century timeline as my reality? Ergo, it was just in the future? If so, I absolutely could have a lot of surviving family members at the moment, a whole plethora of them in fact. I might've already passed one in the streets and not recognized them.

And, if I follow this thought, wouldn't that mean that I had in fact existed in this universe, a hundred and eighty years ago? Lived my whole tragically short life on that existence? So I, right now, could be a skeleton in the ground or a pile of ashes in a vase as I sit here perfectly alive, my name written down on falsely positive eulogies and my face etched on dusty photos crammed and forgotten in an attic somewhere. I had died a long time ago and had been reborn through death. Does that mean I'm simultaneously alive and dead, at the same time? Like a human Schrodinger's cat?

Jesus, this is a mind fuck. I might just slip into solipsism if I think about it too much.

He hummed for a moment, an unreadable tone. Then he turned to his mate. "Sorry, I had to be sure."

"No you didn't," she said bitterly, not making eye contact.

The stub twitched. "Yes I di-"

"No." She finally met his face, a pissed aura in her eyes. "You didn't."

Anturo looked down to the floor and I was reminded of a dog that had just gotten caught shitting on the floor. He picked up the helmet without a word and stalked back into the bedroom, metaphorical tail between his legs. Leia watched him go but didn't say anything.

I ran a hand along my face stubble absently, an uncomfortable knot in my throat. And Garrus seemed to be sitting on the business end of a rather sharp stick.

"Should we come back another time?" I asked.

"It's fine," she muttered, revealing the opposite. "Are you okay, Michael? You have quite a good collection of bruises."

My tongue licked my cheek where I knew a nasty bruise was. "I'm alright. And please, call me Quinn." I stole a glance over to the bedroom. "Is he gonna be a problem?"

"He won't attack you, if that's what you're implying. He's a good turian after all." Garrus snorted at that remark. "He's still a little sore over what happened on Shanxi."

I didn't like the sound of that. "What, uh, what happened?"

"He never went into detail about it," she admitted, with a tone of both understanding and annoyance. "But his unit got captured early on in the siege. They didn't treat him too kindly."

"Jesus, I'm sorry." War crime is terrible no matter how you look at it. Though I definitely didn't think it justified racism, I could at least be sympathetic towards him.

Anturo reappeared without the helmet and plopped down on the couch, not bothering to get close to Leia this time. He avoided making eye contact with anyone. Leia's eyes flickered to him for just a moment before returning to us. "So why are you here Investigators? Is it something to do with Jilla?"

My throat clicked and Garrus still had the same look of "I'm not doing this". "Yeah, it does."

"That's not a very happy tone you have," Anturo said.

Leia's face changed without moving. It turned into the face of someone bracing for bad news. "You… found her didn't you?"

Oh God. . . .

I took a deep breath. Time to rip the Band-Aid off. "Your daughter was found dead this morning, killed by a gunshot to the head in a back alley."

"Goddess, Jilla. . . ." Leia's face twisted into something awful and Anturo ran a hand along his fringe, face unreadable. I saw the beginning of tears before Leia buried her face in her hands.

"I'm sorry," I said lamely, "but we'd like to ask you a few questions about Jilla. If that's alright."

Anturo shot me a look that made me feel guilty for asking and wrapped an arm around Leia, who leaned into him and kept her face hidden. They stayed like that for a good while, Anturo whispering something indecipherable to a now crying Leia who became gradually more and more distraught.

I hadn't expected this big of a reaction. I had figured (hoped is a better word actually) that, since she'd been missing for so long, that the wound would've scabbed over for them by now. And that they'd take the news of her death better than, well, this. They were taking it pretty hard.

Of course they are you fucking idiot, they just lost their daughter.

I wanted to go over there and say… fuck, something! Maybe give her a hug along with Anturo, who didn't appear much better off. But it would be awkward, especially coming from the guy who just told her this awful information. So I resigned to simply staying on the couch and trying rather pathetically to not be aware of what was happening in front of me.

"Ask your questions Investigators," Anturo said after a minute or so, in a strict, unwilling tone.

Garrus, once again, didn't seem willing to help so I started with the first question that came to mind. Even though it felt like pulling teeth. "Do you know anything about Jilla's disappearance? Anything that could help us get a suspect?"

They both shook their heads. "No, nothing," Leia said, unburying her head. "She just . . . vanished one day. We. . . ." She paused to sniff something back. "We asked C-Sec to help but they couldn't turn up anything. Nothing useful, anyway."

"Was there anything Jilla did that might've gotten her in bad situations?" I said. I didn't want to continue but knew I had to.

"Jilla liked the nightlife. She'd always stay out late at clubs, meeting the shadiest people I'd ever seen. I was always so worried for her."

"Did she go out often?"

Leia nodded. "All the time. We'd get into the worst arguments over it. She'd always yell at us for not respecting her independence."

"Even though she was living with us at the time," Anturo muttered, almost to himself.

"I wouldn't have had such a problem with it if it wasn't for the people she'd always meet…"

"People like who?" Garrus finally asked.

"All kinds," Anturo replied. "Turians, other asari, humans. . . ." I noted he said that last one with particular disdain. "But batarians mostly. I'm fairly sure most weren't even legal."

Oh, what's this now? "Batarians?" I said. "What kind exactly?"

"Too many to remember." Leia wiped her eyes and finally sat up all the way straight, though she was still within easy grabbing distance. "We usually didn't get a name."

"No, I remember one," Anturo said. "Amuk or something. Worked at some club in the projects. Jilla would never stop talking about him."

"I think I remember meeting him actually." Leia straightened her back. "Had a nasty scar across one of his eyes. I hated when he looked at me."

"Do you know what club he worked for?" I asked.

"Tartarus," said Leia. "At least I think so. There's so many clubs on this Ward, it's hard to remember the names."

I did my best to keep my face neutral. "I see." A miniscule glance at Garrus told me he was thinking the same thing I was.

Amok is a guilty fucker.

"Is there anything you can tell us about this Amuk? What he looked like, something?"

Leia shook her head, causing a fresh tear to cascade down her face. "Nothing. Even Jilla barely knew anything about him. I think that's what she liked most, his mysteriousness. She was always curious about everything, always searching for answers. One time she. . . ." She paused and her eyes glazed over ever so slightly for a moment. "Sorry, I'm getting off track. We knew nothing about him."

"Nothing at all?"

"She said no," Anturo said, mandible pressed hard on his face.

I held up my hands for placation. "Okay, sorry." I glanced over to Garrus. He appeared to be avoiding gazing at the now softly crying Leia at all costs. God, I wanted to leave just as badly as he probably did but I needed to ask more questions. It was vital. "Could you tell us anything about the night that Jilla disappeared? Anything unusual?"

Anturo started to talk, probably to tell me to fuck off but Leia interrupted him. "It's okay." Anturo hesitated for a moment and, thankfully, resigned to glaring at me. "It was a normal night by all means. Jilla had just gotten home and had immediately made to leave, saying she wanted to see Amuk again. We tried to get her to stay but she insisted. Things got heated and. . . ." She stopped again and this time the hurt in her face was almost unbearable to see. "She ran out the door, screaming that she hated us."

"I tried to run after her," Anturo said suddenly, "but she hailed a cab before I could reach her. That was the last time I saw her, refusing to look at me in the back seat of the car."

"And she," I paused to clear my throat, "she never came home after that?"

"Obviously," Anturo said, fixing me with a hard stare. "Or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Honey. . . ." Leia tried to squeeze his shoulder but he didn't budge.

"Do you have any suspects at the moment?" Leia tried to put a hand on Anturo, but he shrugged it off.

I resisted the urge to scratch at my face. "Yes actually, the batarian you mentioned, Amok'Tesh, is currently the prime suspect."

"And I'm assuming he's sitting in a cell right now?"

My hand won the conscious battle and I scratched my itchy face. "Uh, no, he's, uh, on Khar'shan at the moment."

Anturo's face hardened. "You let him get away." It wasn't a question; it was an accusation.

"He left before we had sufficient evidence to convict, actually," I said.

"Aren't you going to bring him in?" Leia asked. "He's a wanted criminal, you can't just let him leave."

"It's outside of our jurisdiction. We aren't allowed to pursue any suspects past the relay. C-Sec policy."

"So you're just going to let the man who murdered my daughter run free?" Anturo said, his mandible hard pressed to his plates.

Goddamnit, this is getting volatile. "Sir, we haven't confirmed that he-"

"That doesn't matter," he said, his gaze boring a hole in my head. "You're letting the prime suspect get away because you're too lazy to pursue him."

"Look buddy," I said, starting to get angry, "it's not that we don't care, it's that we physically can't-"

"Don't lie to me," he shot back, no less appeased. "You both don't really care about my daughter. You're just looking to finish the 'case' however you can, so you can sit on your asses and not care about the people you're not helping."

"Anturo please. . . ."

"Why couldn't you find her human?" he shouted, starting to lose control. "Why couldn't you bring her home? If you had just found her, she'd still be alive!"

My hand instinctively crept closer to the gun at my hip. It was a part of training and it almost made me ashamed. Almost. "I'm sorry, sir, but I-"

"Don't give me that shit!" He jumped up, flinging Leia off him and holding out an accusatory talon. "You're not sorry! You only care about your own kind, you filthy fucking prima-"

"Anturo!" Leia grabbed his arm from the couch. He didn't move from his spot and my hand didn't move from its spot near my holster. I didn't register Garrus nor anything else at the moment, just the furious turian in front of me who seemed to want to rip my throat out. My entire being was concentrated on his next action.

No one moved. A car raced by next to the window and a rapid shadow coursed through the apartment like an unwelcome specter. I could almost feel Anturo hitting me in his mind.

After an eternity of tension, Anturo broke eye contact, jerked out of Leia's grasp extremely easily and stomped off into the bedroom with his hands balled into fists. A heavy silence filled the room which was broken only twice. The first by the sound of something heavy falling on a bed where Anturo had went and the familiar crack and hiss of a bottle being opened. Garrus, in true form, eventually shattered the noiselessness.

"Well . . . that was sudden."

Leia kept her gaze firmly on the bedroom door. "I'm sorry Quinn, he likes to blame humans for everything. I'm just glad you weren't around when Jilla first vanished, Goddess, he wouldn't stop yelling."

"It's alright." My hand settled back down in my lap. Shit, I'd been mad enough to yell at a powerful deity when I had lost my family, I could definitely relate with the guy. To a certain extent.

"I'm sorry Investigators, but we really don't know anything," she said, rubbing at her eyes. "C-Sec never turned up anything on Amok, other than some past drug dealing crimes. They couldn't stick anything on him."

"Yeah, well, I think that's gonna change." I stood up and Garrus, noticing this, did the same. "I know this is hard Leia but we're gonna have to ask you to come to Base later. Any information you can give us about your daughter will help us find her killer."

"Of course, I understand." A bottle suddenly shattered in the bedroom, making all three of us jump. Leia swore under her breath. "I need to talk to him. Can you two show yourselves out?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Thanks for the cooperation."

"Wait!" she called suddenly. "There's something we didn't mention!"

Garrus and I exchanged a glance. "What?" I asked.

"Jilla. . . ." She stopped to consider her words. "I think I know why Jilla liked Amok so much. He'd . . . well, sometimes I'd see him carrying these odd boxes. He'd never say what was in them and I never figured it out either. But one day, when he was leaving, he dropped the box, spilling these little white bags. He scooped them up like his life depended on it and left without a word."

"White bags?" I said, feeling like I was completing a circle. "You mean like the kind red sand's usually in?"

She nodded. "Yes, I think so." She leaned into me. "I think Jilla was using it too. Sometimes she'd come home with the reddest eyes I'd ever seen. One time she just collapsed in the middle of the room, barely able to talk."

"Doesn't it seem a little odd that Amok would bring drug filled boxes to your home?" Garrus said.

Leia, surprisingly, blushed. "Well, like I said, I didn't like Amok. So sometimes I'd follow them, to make sure she was safe. I didn't like my little baby going out to the streets by herself with that man."

"We understand," I said. I'd probably do the same thing. "Have a good day Leia, we'll see you later."

Leia showed a painful smile for a brief moment and, with great courage, walked into the bedroom where the angry turian had retired himself. Seeing that as our cue to leave, Garrus and I obliged. However, during the extremely short trip to the door, my hand had the fortune to hit my pocket, revealing a noticeable absence in that area. My credit chit, with all my current wares (the grand sum of one hundred and three credits) currently on it.

"Shit. . . ." I glanced back hopefully and, sure enough, it was back on the couch I'd been sitting on. Must've fallen out of my pocket. "Hold up, dropped my chit."

"Of course you did," he said with a sly undertone.

"Garrus?"

"Yeah?"

"Fuck you."

I strolled over to the couch, making sure to stay as quiet as possible. And I just had the little device in my hands when I heard Leia's stern voice echo out from the closed bedroom door.

"Why do you have to berate every human that comes by?"

"Because they did this to me!" came Anturo's answer, much louder.

"One did that to you!" she said. "One! You can't blame them all for it! And put that down!" There was a loud clatter as what sounded like glass bounced off the metallic floor. "You're killing yourself!"

A flanged growl was just barely discernible. Silence reigned for a few seconds.

"Let's go Quinn," Garrus called. I put a finger to my lips for him to shut up.

"Are they gone?" Anturo asked, calmer and seemingly more connected.

"Yes, after your little outburst."

A humorless laugh. "Guess that's the last we'll see of them then. They won't care enough to come back again."

"Honey," Leia's voice softened, "you have to trust them. They'll find the killer, you need to believe that."

"Why?" His voice returned to the usual volume of loud as hell. "What have they ever done for us? They let Jilla's kidnappers get away! It's their fault she stayed missing and their fault she's dead!"

"I said put that down!" Another clatter, followed this time by the distinct sound of shattering glass. "And it's not their fault, your fault or anyone else's! Nothing could've stopped this Anturo!"

"Not my fault? If I had been just a little faster, I could've stopped her! She'd still be here if I had only run faster!"

"It's not your fault Anturo," she insisted, firmly.

"Yes it is! It's my fault and I have to live with that for the rest of my-"

His voice cut off suddenly and I had to strain to hear the next part.

"It's not your fault."

Nothing. Nothing else for the longest time preceded that. Time passed. Just enough passed, in fact, for me to realize what I was doing and become rather disgusted with myself. I shouldn't be listening to this. But right as I took the first step towards the front door, I just managed to catch this little snippet.

"I'm sorry. . . ."

The tenderness, the absolute broken quality to those words sent a shiver through my body. My face lit up with embarrassment despite the fact I hadn't been caught. I netted my chit and proceeded out of the apartment without a word or glance backwards. Garrus, probably registering the solemn expression on my face, followed in silence as well.

You know, I couldn't promise these people much. Their daughter was dead and nothing other than some freaky reanimation shit would bring her back. It sucked and, judging by the sound of things, how they left their relationship with her will haunt them for a good long while. Jilla screaming at them, Anturo failing to stop her from leaving. It was terrible.

Seeing the fallout of murder is a very humbling experience. Growing up, you always see those war movies with the grunts mowing each other down with brutal weapons, men charging towards a hill like sheep to the fucking slaughter. People killing each other with desensitized ease, the bodies clustered on the ground as blackened blood soaked the dirt. Yet no one in the theater bats an eyelash. Many died but almost no one showed the consequences of this, the soul shattering pain it brought on families, the loved ones, the friends of those reduced to worm food. The anguish, the blind hatred, the crushing guilt, the fingers raised to the sky, nothing. They make them all faceless. You know why?

Because no one but the people who deal with this issue daily realize that, when a murder is committed, you're killing two people. The victim and a part of everyone else's soul who holds them dear, every fragment of them embedded in their close ones. Murder isn't isolated, it's a stone thrown into a calm pond. It ripples and disturbs everything in its path, an unwelcome force.

I don't make promises I can't keep. If I can't do something for someone, I will tell them plain. I'd much rather be known as an honest asshole than a lying friend. Mincing words and diplomatic answers are for those without the balls to tell the truth. Whatever I say I will do, I will do.

And I can say one thing, one thing in this whole fucked up situation. One thing that I will try as hard as I can to accomplish, one thing that is in my grasp to achieve. Just one simple task.

I can make Amok fucking pay.