A/N: Can I make a Friday reference, or is that going to get me instabanned? 'Cause technically it's Friday, and I'm publishing this chapter on a Friday instead of a Saturday.
Chapter 9 – Poke and Prod
Mordin Solis continued his ever-vigilant watch over the comatose Samantha Shepard. Having essentially taken over the entire project (though Miranda Lawson came onboard as a consultant), he ran identical tests hundreds of times per day. Any variations in results greater than 0.0001% caused him to engage in a flurry of activity in attempts nail down the source—and correct it if necessary.
It was simpler for the Council to visit in person now that Adam Grayson was (secretly) a member than it would have been previously—fewer issues of "putting the Council on a starship with strangers." Satisfied Shepard both still lived and remained under the care of the best physicians in the galaxy, the Council derived great satisfaction that so far, the master plan was working.
[…]
The last thing Garrus remembered was being herded onto a spaceship. Now, groggy, he groped his way around what seemed to be a small cell.
Damn.
He'd been stripped of his heavy turian armor and now wore, as best he could, what seemed to be hastily re-cut human clothes.
Figures. Anthropocentric dickbags.
He scanned his new living space—no windows, no door that he could see. Knowing all the crazy technology around since the arrival of the Pandorans and Trans-Galactic Republic, the door for his cell probably created itself when necessary, then disappeared afterward. As if to confirm his thoughts, a door appeared with a guard motioning for him to follow.
As he stepped through the doorway, the guard slowed him down and held his wrists behind him. Cuffs appeared, and the guard let go of his hands.
"Have fun!" said the guard in a half-mocking, half-sarcastically chipper voice as Garrus was shoved into yet another room.
"Ah, the birdface."
FUCK.
His arms were attached to a heavy chair by the restraints on them. His chair sat in front of a metal table. Classic interrogation—one really bright light, the questioner's face framed in shadow. Not that he didn't already know who he was dealing with.
"So."
Jackie Jakobs sat on the table. On his side of the table. Swinging her legs and acting for all the world as if they were two friends having a chat over alcoholic beverages.
She leaned toward him.
That was one thing he didn't understand about human females. Apparently, to human males, the fleshy bits on the chest were considered attractive, so many human women wore garments that showed off this part of their anatomy. Confusingly, one was not permitted to simply show everything in public, only parts. Like what he found himself staring at now.
Turians attracted mates based on other characteristics, such as reach and flexibility. Or success in the Hierarchy's citizenship tiers.
"If you are trying to arouse me, it won't work" he responded.
"Oh, but I enjoy it" came the reply. "Since we're at my house, we're going to follow my rules."
She was also using that tone of voice which had agitated Axton. Again, this did not create any sexual response in a turian, but she kept it up anyway.
"We are going to have a little chat about your friend Miss Tannis" she continued, now straddling him.
"If you hurt her…"
"You'll what?" she crooned.
"See you dead" Garrus responded, with the same conviction as he'd possessed about Sidonis until Shepard had talked him out of ending the traitor's life.
"I would never dream of hurting her" replied Jackie, sounding insulted and pouty at the thought. "I just need to know what she knows."
Knowing it to be foolish, but seeing an opportunity, Garrus closed his mandibles around whatever he could reach. Hard.
A hand across the face, and he stared blankly at his attempted tormenter.
"You alien bastard" she hissed. "Your entire species will suffer for this!" Her hand throbbed, reddened by contact with the hard, metallic-infused plates of turian skin.
"You don't know turians very well, do you?"
Suddenly, positions had reversed. He was enjoying himself—her, not so much.
"Fuck you" she spat.
Knowing the meaning of human slang, Garrus couldn't let the opportunity to zing this bitch pass by. Keeping a completely straight face and neutral tone, he let it fly.
"I'm sure you want to. You're not my type. Too…squishy."
She stormed out.
Thankfully for Jackie's pride, no video had been taken of the abortive attempt to extract information from the turian, Garrus Vakarian. Really, the entire set of interrogations had gotten worse and worse.
First, Patricia Tannis had utterly ruined any attempt to get her to talk. When faced with torture, she kept up a running commentary on proper technique, tool sterilization, pain points, and how effective she thought each fresh method was. Then, when faced with the "Jackie Special" ("I can make any woman a lesbian when I'm in the room") she became overly enthusiastic about it. Which again ruined it.
Maya responded differently. By responded, it would be best to say she was completely unflappable. Some kind of mental conditioning, Jackie guessed. The Siren shut out the torture and utterly ignored the seduction. In fact, she almost looked bored as Jackie straddled her, having laid the Siren flat on her back. Taking this as an insult, the Jakobs heir again stomped out of the room.
Then came her abortive round with the turian.
Axton proved most interesting. He'd already demonstrated that he was completely susceptible to Jackie's wiles and charm. So she decided to press that advantage. However, she'd forgotten about his Dahl commando training—some of the roughest in the galaxy, with a focus on subversive tactics. At first, he seemed to be clay in her skilled hands—the male guards outside simply rolled their eyes at the loud moans emanating from the interrogation room. As she began to undress, she thought she saw a flash of cognizance in his eyes—no, she must have imagined it. Her hand moved to remove his fatigues. She licked her lips in anticipation.
In one fluid motion, he pulled her belt off, whipped it across her face so hard the guards jumped, and stood up.
"Having fun? You forgot something" he taunted, holding up his wrists, around which the restraints were disengaged. "You liked my hands between your legs, but they're free to do other things as well."
CRACK.
Down she went. "Not all men think with their dicks" he spat, delivering a swift kick to her prone form. He smiled savagely as he heard a rib (or several) crack.
He turned for the door. The guards were too busy laughing and guessing what vicious sadomasochism Jackie must be forcing on her prisoner to realize the person opening the door was in fact that "prisoner."
CRACK.
The two guards' heads slammed together. Not quite Brick he thought, but close enough.
Axton could hear faint screaming coming from somewhere down the hall. Grabbing a gun (Jakobs, of course) off one unconscious guard, he headed in the direction of the sound. It didn't take him long to find the source.
A video screen played something he couldn't see from outside the cell. Trapped in a chair that kept her facing forward was Athena. Crying, bawling, yelling, whatever was on that screen must really be disturbing to her. Realizing he had no way to open the locked cell, he took the risk of heading back the way he came.
The guards and spoiled Jakobs heiress were all unconscious.
I really have to tell Brick about this. He is no longer king of punching.
"Ew" he muttered as he reached down Jackie's half-undone top to pull out her keycard.
"Let's see if this works."
He slapped one guard's toned ass on his way out.
The card unlocked Athena's cell without issue. It also released her from…
Axton stared transfixed at the video. A hand slammed into a man's chest and ripped out his heart. Which was then shoved into his mouth as he died. Soldiers impaled on their own ribs. Guts everywhere. Corpses hit by so many bullets they were unrecognizable.
He emptied all but one shot from his stolen revolver's magazine into the screen.
"Damn it" muttered a guard. The screen had also been a hidden video camera. Thus, no more access to a feed of that cell—though at least they knew where the prison-break was occurring.
Axton didn't know how long he sat, just holding a completely broken, sobbing Athena. At some point, her body could produce no more tears, leaving her dry-heaving into his chest. Clutched in one hand, the necklace she'd always worn. The tiny disk had been removed—that was what kept her awake at night. She'd apparently watched one minute of it before stopping and vowing to never watch any more. The soulless Jackie Jakobs had forced her to watch it on a loop.
At some point, guards arrived and dragged the two of them apart. Axton couldn't find any words. Athena said nothing, though her eyes told him quite a bit as she was taken away. He swore she mouthed something at him as she passed out of sight.
Please, end it.
He couldn't bring himself to pull the trigger. The gun was yanked from his hand.
[…]
Now that Project Olympic actually had a chance to succeed, the engineering design deck bustled with hundreds of personnel going about various tasks. Instead of working on theories, teams turned to implementation. Not "How might we…" but "How will we…"
Fleet Admiral Allison Nimitz was not exaggerating. With a hypermatter annihilation reactor, the design shrank easily from 12,800m down to 797m. With room for three fighter squadrons, a generous helping of secondary weapons, and a souped-up GARDIAN-type point-defense system. One sticky situation remained—Gaige's "elemental property" mass-accelerators vs. Tali's "inertial confinement fusion" mass-accelerators.
The former would possess lower energy demands, but the latter were so epically destructive (over short ranges) that the Council itself almost intervened. On a technicality, they avoided designation as Weapons of Mass Destruction, allowing development to continue. Regardless of which would make it to the final design, neither came close to being ready for prime-time just yet. At least one or two months more would be required.
Informally, the engineering staff split into "enGaige" and "Team Tali"; casual bets on the advancement of each design involving anything from provisioning of morning donuts to shaving of heads (or other, more permanent modifications) came down weekly. One week, Team Tali pulled ahead in a spectacular fashion—electrically charged cannons had gone literally off the rails, giving everyone present (most of enGaige) rather amusing hairdos. The charge was so great some were unable to have normal hair for days. Another, less laughable incident occurred when new nanoBeamz inertial confinement lasers ended up misaligned. An entire turret melted as a result.
Through the explosions, melted parts, burns, cuts, concussions, and near-death-experiences SETTLE's personnel developed a rapport transcending age, species, gender, and even galactic affiliation. Unlike the last "team" effort, no vengeful bloodlust drove the process—no blind desire to destroy everything in sight motivated anyone.
It seemed to be true, as Elizabeth Booker had written, "Crafted in anger / Bastard children of blind hate / Will destroy us all."
[...]
Durius, Melius, Velocius, Fortior.
In pursuit of that goal, Mordin Solis's team worked round-the-clock. Basic neurological tests finally reached a level that satisfied the motor-mouthed salarian. Moving to intermediate tests, the only mistake of the project would thus occur. In an attempt to signal Shepard's right leg (artificially—her brain remained in a coma), no "power level" control was given. This small oversight caused the cybernetic leg, strong enough to slam through durasteel armor plate, to kick out full-strength. The whipsaw motion damaged both artificial muscle fibers and the knee joint, requiring some reconstruction of the reconstruction.
"Understand limitations" insisted the doctor. "Avoid problems in future" he lectured. Quaking in fear, those responsible thought themselves good as gone, but the "angel of Omega" kept them on.
Narrating into his log, Solis remained pleased with the pace of progress, though it was slower than initially hoped.
"Projecting full consciousness possible eight months after initial surgery. Damage to right leg caused by inattentiveness repaired. Kept staffers responsible on project. Good people. Tired. Made mistakes. Only human."
He began conducting prep-work to begin full neural processing. Simulations of mental functions would be run on Shepard's brain, and if any issues arose flash-cloned version of the brain would be created to iron out problems. It was akin to testing a computer's hardware while the operating system remained in a state of hibernation.
Eventually, micro-waking would bring Shepard's mind out of limbo for extremely short periods of time, searching for any instabilities. The periods would be extended until the team became certain she could be woken full-time.
[...]
What remained of Sanctuary almost wasn't worth rebuilding. "Mad" Moxxi's eyes brimmed with tears as she looked over her bar—or what was left of it. She'd lost her children, most of her former husbands, and a few dear friends. Some time ago, a cryptic communication came through suggesting a "benefactor" would be willing to assist with rebuilding of Sanctuary at the site of Shepard's old base. Initially, she figured it was Marcus trying to pry his way back into her pants, but he vehemently denied being the origin. The two remained business partners, mainly because "He has the money, I have the pizazz. And nicer tits."
As the pair surveyed the site of their former home, Moxxi's communicator buzzed again. The mysterious voice emanated from it, indicating benefactor and client would finally meet.
Noise from an incoming craft caught Moxxi's attention. Some kind of gunship, painted in garish yellow, black, and white colors. Could it be? But then, the weapons hanging from its wings looked like anything but Torgue—glowy, colorful, dancing lights everywhere. The trademark of elemental munitions—and Maliwan. She'd heard of the "MALITOR ALLIANCE" but never really believed it.
IT PLEASES ME THAT YOU ARE ALIVE.
The towering man, whose pecs had pecs, bounded from the gunship.
"Why all the secrecy?" wondered Moxxi. "It's not like there are any Harvesters left…"
YES, THE HARVESTERS HAVE BEEN EXPLODED. JVLN HAS NOT. THEY MUST BE HIT SO HARD THEIR F*CKING GRANDMAS EXPLODE.
"They're still working together?"
AM I FOND OF EXPLOSIONS?
It seemed Torgue always related everything to explosions somehow. It didn't bother Marcus—after all, explosive-primed munitions tended to sell rather well, especially when it became apparent they worked wonders on some forms of Harvester wildlife.
"Why the Maliwan arms?" demanded the confused arms dealer. That Torgue loved explosions was not news. That he had any use for elements other than explosions was.
THE MALITOR ALLIANCE CAME FROM HAVING THE SAME GOAL. EXPLOSIONS. FIRE, ELECTRICITY, ACID… REGULAR EXPLOSIONS BEST OF COURSE.
"So how exactly are you proposing we rebuild Sanctuary?"
MOXXI, YOUR QUESTION IS APPRECIATED. MALITOR WILL FUND A TOURIST ATTRACTION HERE. IT WILL BE TOTALLY F*CKING AWESOME.
"Two guesses as to whether this involves explosions" sighed Marcus. "First guess is free…"
YOU ARE CORRECT, MISTER KINKAID. THE TOURISM WILL BE FROM PEOPLE WHO WANT TO SEE EXPLOSIONS.
"Hmm…" Moxxi could guess (and fantasize) but she highly doubted…
WE WILL BUILD A BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE THAT WILL MAKE THE UNDERDOME AN UNDERWHELMING PARK FOR P*SSIES.
"Eeeeee! Gooooo! GOOOOOO! KILLING SPREE!" Moxxi (and specific parts of her) nearly bounced off Pandora in excitement.
MISS MOXXI, WILL YOU DO THE HONOR OF HOSTING THE BADASS ARENA OF BADASSITUDE?
Torgue (all almost two meters of him) knelt before a surprised Moxxi, offering a box a bit too large for a ring. It opened to reveal a key, made of pure Eridum.
THIS IS THE KEY TO MY ARENA. AND POSSIBLY OTHER THINGS.
"Let's get started, shall we?" said Marcus, some disappointment showing in his voice (as he had once been the lucky man who came home to Moxxi warming his bed).
INDEED WE SHALL GET STARTED. FIRST, THIS F*CKING EYESORE NEEDS TO GO. GET INTO THE GUNSHIP.
[…]
When Jackie threatened her prisoners with death-by-lack-of-New-U, she purposefully neglected to mention that the system remained available for a select few. Such as herself.
After she regained consciousness, she found out what had happened. Thankfully, her guards took care of the problem, re-securing the loose prisoners. Competent guards were a luxury many contemporaries either could not afford or didn't bother with—but paying the extra (or "paying" as she occasionally did for exceptional service) tended to be worth it. Due to Garrus biting her (and not in a fun way, sadly) combined with Axton's belt-whipping/kicking, she needed a quick healing. Using her Judge pistol, she respawned herself.
Each prisoner remained in solitary confinement now. First, she stopped by Axton's cell. Putting on a pouty, hurt expression, she pressed her face against the barred window on his door, only to have to yank herself back lest she be punched.
"You know what, you are no fun. I'd let you out if you promised to put that aggression into me…" She batted her eyes suggestively only to get a double middle-finger in return.
Next up, Garrus. "I know you can't get enough of me, so I fixed myself up for you" she hissed, walking toward his cell door with her top open. Garrus might well have been staring at blank space for all the reaction he gave, however.
She was ready to up the teasing, until she received a page. Analysis of cell footage from Athena had possibly produced something of value. She zipped up, whispered "Later, sexy" and headed to the upper levels.
On her way up, she cursed Maya. She hated to admit it, but that Siren was hot. And yet, she was unable to experience any enjoyment or pleasure from tormenting the woman.
The arrival of her elevator at its destination interrupted her thoughts.
"Ma'am." Salute.
"Through all the endless screams and meaningless babble, we deduced a phrase that she kept repeating."
A cleaned-up, though still low-quality audio clip played. "Tannis!" shrieked Athena, squeezing her eyes shut only to open them again as electricity surged into her as punishment. "Control the first! The first! Control the first!"
From seized records, it was determined that the phrase did have meaning. That phrase also matched the inscriptions on Judge. If only Athena hadn't been so traumatized, thought Jackie, she would have rewarded that woman with such a night…
Of course, it never crossed Jackie's mind that she had in fact been the source of the trauma. But that was what being entitled, spoiled, and power-mad did to a person.
Exploration teams reported finding traces of an expedition which ventured below the Prime Vault, or "Altar" as Patricia Tannis called it. Bits of dextro food had been found at some suspected campsites, so she deduced Garrus might have been involved. Jackie Jakobs might have been sex-crazed, vicious, seductive, and ruthless, but she was not stupid. It helped many opponents assumed her to be a brainless bimbo who got by on looks after she tried to seduce them, only to find out there was more to her than breasts. If the turian had been digging (presumably with these others, especially the Tannis woman) there must be something valuable around.
A huge piece of what looked like Eridium had been discovered in Axton's pack, so it now stood under the analysis of an army of Jakobs specialists.
Coincidentally, the very machinery Patricia Tannis suggested the quartet steal when the mission began happened to belong to Jakobs. Using Eridium crystals to focus an excavated Eridian weapon, later Trans-Galactic Republic analysis would compare it to superlasers, the device could easily punch through to the planet's core given enough time. Jackie ordered it to be brought to the pole, though that would not be a quick process. Instead of crawling back and forth like peons, she would simply drill her way in.
Heh, drill. Drill hard. Drill fast…
She forced herself to focus. There would be time for self-exploration later. It was essential to make sure neither Bart nor Buckshot (unlikely) interfered—if anyone saw her moving the Drakken Laser Drill, Overcharged (DLDO) they might team up on her.
Why must everything be an innuendo to me? My own family! Ew, Jackie, ew!
A devious plan formed in her head. Overly-complicated, likely. Expensive, yes. Time-consuming, definitely. But if it worked, there wouldn't be any problems moving the giant DLDO.