A/ N: Well, I clearly lied about the smaller delays in between updates. And I've only myself to blame. I'd like to promise you that I'm working on this fic a lot more often but I know that empty promises mean nothing. So I'll just let actions speak for me.

With that aside, I'd like to welcome back those still faithful to this story of mine and thank you all for still coming back to read and help me improve upon my crappy and amateurish story telling skills.

Let's just jump right into it, shall we? Once again, Mass Effect is property of the geniuses at Bioware.

MASS EFFECT: REMNANTS

Chapter 21 – Blindsided

Why did I even listen to that pyjak-loving, bare-faced turian freak? I storm restlessly around the confined living space of the ship. I realize that they've only been gone for a couple of hours and already I'm going insane from the sheer boredom of waiting around. The ship's limited confines didn't do any good for me either. Everything in here feels too small and fragile; as expected of a typical luxury starship that humans find so tasteful these days. The oppressive walls and the heavy air pressing down on me only serve to remind me that I'm trapped in here like a stupid animal.

"Sure, Ralak, volunteer yourself to stay behind and look after the ship," I grumble out loud to myself. "Let the turian know you're kind enough to take one for the team. Hah!" I scoff.

The deal looked harmless at first when those human operatives proposed it to me back on Eden Prime. All I had to do is to keep them updated on our current whereabouts and the credits would flow right in. It was a win-win situation until the stunt those assholes pulled on me back at the Citadel. I know they're after the kid – something about retrieving back stolen property – and thanks to my big mouth, they should be landing here on this frozen hell-hole any minute now. Once I see them, I'll be sure to show those backstabbing bastards what happens when you cross Jorgal Ralak. I take a glance outside the starboard viewing port. It's about damn time.

Several figures clad in armor and gear reminiscent of the men that ambushed the ship back on the Citadel come into view on the docking bridges. Only three of them are armed but I'm not too worried about the odds. The way they're cradling their guns suggest combat-trained expertise but they're no substitute for centuries' worth of bloody melees and dirty fighting. Bringing up the rear is a blonde man clad in a black trench-coat who I assume must be the head honcho leading this operation. Suddenly, the day just got a whole lot better. If I play my cards right, I'll even get to pay the ringleader a visit and give him a piece of my mind. Upon seeing the kid's ship, the three armed operatives break off from the group and sidle up to the airlock of the Vanguard. There's no doubt in my mind anymore that these are the guys.

I crack my knuckles in anticipation. All that pent-up energy is going to be put into good use after all. Time to cut loose and show them a little Tuchankan hospitality.

After hacking through the locks, the airlock doors slide open to reveal the three poor bastards.

"You boys just can't get enough of me, can you?" I growl.

I'll never forget the looks on their faces.

Wilkins always did have a liking for Port Hanshan. The very nature of the place reminds him of his own line of work. The place operates much like he does, where real work is constantly being done from the shadows, away from prying eyes. Now that the matter of the target's starship has been seen to, his team can finally focus on their objective – apprehending the target once and for all.

Having cleared security and once past the entrance doors into the foyer, he strides up to the reception desk alone. He feels a small stab of pain and falters slightly mid-step. For all the good that the cybernetic implants do, Wilkins knows that he's yet to fully recover from his injuries. And yet, here he is, personally leading this field mission to procure the target.

"Yes sir, how may I help you?" the asari receptionist warmly greets him.

"I have business with a turian, a Mr. Leonus Daelon. I have reason to believe that he's here," Wilkins replies in his usual, brisk manner.

"May I see a proper form of identification please, sir?"

Wilkins forwards his falsified credentials on his omni-tool. "Bryce Wilson, Conatix Industries. I'm here to question Mr. Daelon regarding several irregularities in the transaction of our investment funds to some of his research projects."

"One moment please," the asari drops her gaze to the monitor display as she verifies his identity. "Well then, welcome to Port Hanshan, Mr. Bryce. Unfortunately, Mr. Daelon is up in Peak 10 right now and all outbound transport shuttles have been shut down due to the blizzard," she nods apologetically.

"Is there some other way that we could get up there? The matter's urgent, you see."

"I'm sorry sir, but unless you're a representative of the prime benefactor renting the research facilities with a garage pass – of which Conatix Industries is not – and an authorized clearance to access the facilities, we can't risk sending out any transport shuttles right now. Would you like arrangements to be made for accommodations while your team waits for the blizzard to blow over?" she inquires.

Wilkins pauses for a moment to decide on their next course of action. It's a good thing he came prepared to address such a scenario. "Yes, that would be lovely."

"Sure thing," the asari beams. No sooner than a few keystrokes later, the rooms are prepared. "Your rooms will be on the fifth level, Mr. Bryce. We hope you have a pleasant stay."

Wilkins nods his gratitude and signals his team to move out. It's time to move on to the next phase of their plan. They make their way into the main atrium of Port Hanshan towards the vehicle garage. Despite being snowed in, the residents of Port Hanshan looked no worse for wear. The air teemed with lively chatter and people were going about their daily routines undeterred by the blizzard. Good, it would be easier for his team to blend into the crowd and slip into the garage unnoticed.

After taking a few steps, Wilkins can't help but feel as though he's being watched. He shrugs it off, assuring himself that it's just his imagination. There's absolutely way anybody here would know who they really are and what they are here for. He glances around the crowd and nobody seemed to be paying his team any attention. Then, his eyes spot an elderly asari sporting a rather ornate headdress boring down on him from the level above. Years of experience have honed his instincts to let his gaze sweep over her nonchalantly so as not to give his presence within the crowd away. Yet, Wilkins finds himself unwittingly making eye contact with the asari. The two hold each other in their line of sight for what must seem like an eternity for Wilkins before she cryptically smiles and retreats from view.

"Sir? Sir, you okay there?" one of his operatives snap him out of his trance.

"Y-yes, I'm fine, Strousland. No cause for concern," he replies assuredly.

Wilkins knows it's highly unlikely that the asari would know of their team's motives. Yet somehow, her demeanor suggests that she knows something about them that they don't. For all he knows, this operation could already be compromised and that Noverian authorities have already alerted the target of their presence here. It takes Wilkins a sizable amount of effort to put the thought aside as he evaluates the facts. It's unlikely that the krogan would give them away seeing as how they've financially secured his discretion. With the tracking beacon on the Vanguard disabled when the target left Eden Prime, the target has no reason to suspect that Wilkins's men could have tailed him all the way here. Wilkins doubts that even the fiasco that was Operative Tobias's retrieval attempt on the Citadel could have alerted the target that they knew of Noveria as the target's next destination.

With all the facts pointing towards a sound conclusion, Wilkins still can't shake the thought at the back of his head that the asari knows more than she's letting on.

"You know the plan, Strousland. I'm putting you in charge of this phase of the operation until I return. Keep in radio contact," Wilkins orders.

"Sir?"

His operative's confusion is well-justified. Wilkins never lets himself get distracted while he's on the job but somehow, here he is trying to track down this asari for no clear reason. Part of him is convinced that he needed to neutralize her to tie up loose ends but he knows there's more to it than that. "You heard me. Gain access into the garage, secure the vehicles and we'll rendezvous there. I have some…personal matters to attend to."

"Aye, aye sir," Strousland nods and leads the rest of the team off.

Wilkins looks up to the overhead railing where the elderly asari once was and proceeds to climb the stairs to the upper levels of the atrium. Upon reaching the top, he glances around for any sight of her, eventually spotting the folds of her black gown disappearing behind a room at the far end. He cautiously makes his way over to the door. His scans detect only one source of heat signature within the room, confirming that the asari is alone. Wilkins takes a deep breath and steps inside.

"Mr. Wilkins Briggs, what a pleasant surprise," the asari greets him from where she's seated on the lone table inside the room as if already expecting him. Despite her rather questionable attire – a black, low-cut dress gown with an ornate headpiece – the asari still made for an intimidating figure. "Of all the places to be in the galaxy; fancy meeting you here."

Wilkins's eyes widen in surprise. His entire body clenches in trepidation, realizing that he has just played right into her hands. "Have we met before?" he says, at the same time cursing inwardly at his carelessness.

"I can't say that we've crossed paths before but I do believe you've met an associate of mine back on Eden Prime," she shrugs but there was no mistaking her sinister aura.

A trickle of cold fear runs down his spine as he recalls the encounter at the beacon's dig site. He struggles to maintain a calm façade. "You seem to know a lot about me, asari, but I'm afraid I don't even know your name."

"Oh, how rude of me. I'm Matriarch Benezia," she replies, her voice dripping with thinly-veiled condescension. "A pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Briggs."

Wilkins doesn't like the turn that this conversation is taking by the minute. The fact that an all-powerful asari Matriarch who seems to be allied with Saren has taken an interest in him doesn't make for a good omen. Complicating matters further is her knowledge of his real identity that he's worked hard to keep under wraps. "And I believe your associate – Saren Arterius has told you all about me?"

"Oh yes. Why in fact, it would seem that he has plans for you yet."

"Plans? What plans?" Her words are definitely starting to pique his intrigue. He knows there must be a reason that Saren didn't put a bullet in his head back on Eden Prime.

"In due time, Mr. Briggs. It is not in my place to dictate of what you're destined for…at least, not yet," she remarks cryptically.

"Will all due respect, Matriarch, but I'm not overly fond of the mind games that you seem to love," Wilkins says, fast losing patience. "Why did Saren spare me back on Eden Prime? I don't appreciate being used as an unwitting pawn in anybody's schemes – not even a Spectre's. Not when I have other matters to worry about."

"I would advise you to watch your tone. You have no idea of the powers that you're dealing with here," she responds coolly just as two asari commandos march through the door behind Wilkins, blocking his only exit. "Have you ever seen an asari commando unit before, Mr. Briggs? Few are privileged enough to see one in person, much less survive an encounter with one."

Wilkins sizes up his opposition. He's unarmed, but an accomplished hand-to-hand combatant. He could take one on, but they'd sooner rip him to shreds with their biotics if he tried. Which only serves to remind him of the insanity of this little stunt that he's pulling. He decides the best course of action is to just play along. He relaxes his posture as he tries regaining some semblance of composure.

"Good, I'm glad to see a man with reason. Saren chose wisely," she smiles smugly, pleased with her dominance over him. "And don't you worry about our interference with your work, Mr. Briggs. In any case, consider ourselves lending you our aid."

Wilkins can't decide which is more unsettling. The fact that the turian who tried killing him before is now offering help or the fact that he knows of his mission to retrieve the kid. Then again, he catches himself in time to realize that Matriarch Benezia never did explicitly mention his current assignment. There's hope to salvage this situation yet. "What does he expect to gain from helping me?"

"Even I cannot tell you for certain of what Saren has in store for you; I am merely here to point you in the right path. But I can tell you this, Mr. Briggs," she fixes him with an intense gaze, her eyes piercing into his very being. "There are forces out there with powers beyond our mortal comprehension, and you've been deemed worthy enough to be a part of it. A time will come when the old ways of this tiresome galaxy would cease to exist. And you, Mr. Briggs, will have the privilege of bearing witness as the galaxy is born anew – a fate in which you will play a most important role in."

Wilkins returns an incredulous expression at the sheer madness of the Matriarch's delirious words. "Well then, all the best with your endeavors, Matriarch but I wish to have no part in it whatsoever. I think the galaxy's fine just the way it is."

"Doubt me all you wish, but I can sense that your words have already betrayed you, Mr. Briggs. The desire has already taken root in your mind. It will only be a matter of time before you realize it."

The enigma shrouding her words are really starting to grate on Wilkins's nerves. His questions are only answered with more questions. "I've had enough of all this nonsense, Matriarch Benezia. Let's just cut to the chase and tell me what is it that Saren wants from me?"

"I have said all that needs to be said. Our conversation here is over, Mr. Briggs. Now if you'll please leave us be, I have more important things to see to," she says with a tone of finality.

The two asari blocking the doorway stand aside to let him pass. Wilkins debates if he should pursue the matter further but he decides that he's clearly in no position to bargain with the Matriarch. He turns to leave.

"Oh and one last thing, Mr. Briggs. Should you come to your senses, you'll find the answers you seek deep beneath the ruins of Feros."

His omni-tool chimes as it displays a notification of an incoming data packet from the Matriarch. He hesitates a little before he presses the button to initiate the download sequence.

"May our paths cross once more, Mr. Briggs." Her final words leave a haunting echo in his mind as he exits the room. Wilkins exhales deeply, only realizing that he's shuddering slightly from his time with the Matriarch. He still has a job to do and his operatives will no doubt already be waiting on him for further orders.

He buries the ominous encounter with Benezia deep into the recesses of his mind to address later and focuses on the task at hand. He walks at a brisk pace towards the garage and notes the absence of a security detail posted at its entrance. His men must have already secured the vehicle garage and discreetly disposed of any potential resistance. The garage door unlocks for him and he enters the main hangar without a hitch.

Operative Strousland strides up to him. "Sir, the garage has been secured. Video surveillance in the vicinity has already been hacked into and fed a looping cycle. Nobody knows we're even here," he reports.

"And what's the status of Echo Team?"

"Patching you through right now, sir," Strousland says as he links Wilkins's communications feed into Echo Team's.

"Echo Team, give me an update," Wilkins speaks into his earpiece.

"Sir, we've uh…we've run into some complications with the starship's security system. I-it's nothing we can't handle but we'll just need more time to hack into it," comes the reply. "We'll rendezvous with you up at Peak 10."

"Copy that, Operative Olwin. Meet us up there as soon as you're done with your objective. Over and out." Wilkins shuts off the line, completely unaware that only one member of Echo Team remains. And that the afore-mentioned operative is staring down the barrel of a gun wielded by a very pissed-off krogan.

"Alright men! Grab your gear and let's move out! Once again, the mission parameters remain unchanged! Feel free to dispose of his guardians in whatever way you see fit but above all, I want the target alive!" Wilkins addresses the rest of his team who are retrieving their equipment and weapons from a crate smuggled into the hangar. He gets a resounding chorus of affirmation.

It doesn't take long for his team – seven of them, including himself at the moment – to climb into two transport shuttles and make their way out into the blizzard. As Wilkins sits in silent contemplation during the journey, he subconsciously muses over Benezia's enigmatic words.

I lean back against the laboratory countertop from where I'm sitting on the floor and go through the library of information that's displayed on the datapad in my hands. Dad sits in his usual spot in front of the computer terminal as he helps me make sense of some of the data pertaining to my unique Prothean-human hybrid physiology.

"So….I still don't get it. If I'm infused with Prothean DNA, then why do I still look human, and not like some horror freak-show?" I ask, puzzled.

Dad turns to me with an amused expression on his face. "I could go into the specifics but I'll likely bore you out of your mind with the details."

"Then keep it as short as possible. And in plain English, please."

"Basically, what little we know about Protheans seems to suggest that they're a species with advanced haptic sensory capabilities," he explains.

"Advanced haptic sensory capabilities?" I raise an eyebrow. It's clear by now that I haven't inherited the smarts from Dad, if that C- grade in Biology classes is any indication.

He furrows his brow for a moment as he searches for a way to dumb it down further. "Well, to put simply, their minds are directly linked to their sense of touch. Say, when a Prothean touches another sentient being, they're able to see and live out that being's life experiences. All their memories, emotions, higher mental faculties – a Prothean can access all that from just a simple touch."

"Okay, I think I get it now," I say. "Now, back to why I still look like a normal teenage human kid."

"Ah yes. Well, from what little sample of Prothean DNA that we were able to extract from a heavily-damaged stasis pod that we covertly uncovered years ago from Eden Prime, we manage to isolate the gene sequences that pertained only to their haptic sensory mechanisms. After a lot of work, we successfully transplanted those gene sequences into a human DNA matrix – mine actually – randomized several genetic alleles and then….well, here you are."

I try to connect the dots. "So what you're saying is that I may physically look human on the outside since you didn't mess with those particular genetic codes but up in my brain," I tap my head for emphasis, "that's where those Prothean genes manifest themselves?"

"Correct. But it's a lot more accurate to say that your whole entire neural network – which your brain is the central hub, of course – is tailored to that of Prothean physiology. As a result, you have the haptic sensory abilities like that of a Prothean, although to a lesser extent. In theory, we believed that we could exploit this unique trait to bridge the communication barrier between us and them. For one, it would definitely make the process of deciphering the data packets left behind in their beacons a whole lot easier."

"And…uh…are there any other abilities that come with this physiology?" I hesitantly ask, thinking back to the time when I almost brought an entire building down in Omega.

Dad strokes his chin for a moment before turning his attention back to the computer terminal. He pulls up a several files and studies their content. "Apart from what I've just said…not really. You might have a higher mental threshold for pain and higher brain activity owing to your more robust neural system but nothing superhuman in particular."

My eyes widen a little in surprise. So Dad never thought I might be able to manifest biotic abilities? "Well….what if I told you that I just recently found out that I was capable of biotics?"

Dad freezes dead in his tracks and slowly fixes his eyes on to me. A gleam of scientific curiosity burns brightly in his eyes. "I'm sorry if I misheard you son, but did you just say biotic feats?"

"Yeah, it's a funny thing really," I say sheepishly, scratching the back of my head. "You see –"

Aunt Lynn cuts me off as she and Uncle Leo burst into the room. "Nick, I'm not sure if you noticed but we might be expecting even more unwanted guests,"

"What is it this time?" All manner of curiosity is gone from Dad's voice as it's replaced with concern.

"Sensors at the valley have picked up two transport vehicles heading straight here. ETA would be 5 or 7 minutes at the most given the blizzard." She turns to Uncle Leo, "Are you sure you weren't followed here, Daelon?"

"I'm pretty sure we ditched the Broker's men back after they attacked us on the Citadel," Uncle Leo replies.

"What do you mean they attacked you on the Citadel? You said you destroyed their tracking beacon back on Eden Prime," Aunt Lynn says.

"Granted, it was a stupid move heading back there, but we had to get Aurania's data backups. They must have left some men behind and picked out our ship registration tags on the Citadel's docking logs. But I'm certain they don't know we're heading here," the turian says as he tries to defend himself.

"Well, only one way to find out. You two stay here and lay low," she gestures to Dad and I. "Daelon, you, me and the asari are going to roll out the welcome mat for them at the reception area."

"What about Nazreil?" I ask.

"You mean the quarian?" She pauses as she weighs her options. "I'd feel better if I left him with you two. You know how to use a gun right, Nate?"

I nod and catch the gun that Aunt Lynn throws my way. It's my pistol that I've left behind in the bedroom. "Keep it with you at all times, you hear me?" she chides me but I know she's just half-joking. "Same goes for you too, Nick."

Dad reaches into a drawer at his side and pulls out his pistol. "Don't worry about us. You'd better get ready for them."

She nods and they hurtle out of the room, weapons at the ready. Nazreil comes bounding in a few moments later, looking slightly disheveled and out of breath. "Sorry I couldn't make it here sooner, Mr. Sunderland. I just got up from a nap when they told me to come here."

"Hey, it's fine, Naz. Don't worry about it," I give him a tap on the shoulder. "This day just keeps on getting better and better. You ready for this, Dad?"

"I've been doing this with your aunt for several years now. I think I can hold my own but you," he fixes a stern look at me, "Just get behind me and try not to play the hero. I don't need anything happening to you after all I've been through just to keep you and your Uncle Leo safe."

A little part of me feels angry that I'm still being belittled like a six year old but Dad has a point. After all that he's been through just to keep me out of harm's way; the least I could do is to follow his lead. "Fine," I say.

The three of us huddle behind a countertop as we keep a vigilant watch on the main entrance doors of the laboratory. A few tense minutes go by but all is quiet. The silence is nerve-wracking. It's like those moments when you know something is going to happen in a horror movie but you just can't tell when or where it's going to come from. I can even feel my hands starting to ache from keeping a white-knuckle grip on my gun. I'm about to think it's a false alarm after all when the bullets start flying.

"Shit…" I whisper under my breath.

"So they really are here. They sure are persistent," Nazreil quips from beside me.

The firefight outside reaches us as a dull and muted cacophony of shouts, gunfires and ricocheting bullets. Despite the throbs of pain, I hold my gun even tighter, gulping down a lump that's starting to form in my throat. Suddenly, the side door into the laboratory opens up to reveal three of the Broker's goons, one of whom is the blonde man in the trench coat.

"What the hell?!" I ask incredulously before Dad unceremoniously tugs me around the adjacent corner of the countertop so that we at least have some sort of cover to use.

"Lynn! Did any of them manage to get past you?" Dad barks into the communications channel on his omni-tool.

"Negative! We're keeping them pinned down here! No way any of them could have gotten past us here!" comes Aunt Lynn's reply amid the roar and chaos of gunfire.

"Then why are there three of them inside the lab right now?!"

"What?! They must have broke off from the main ranks. Sit tight, I'm coming to get you! Wait, hold that thought….another transport shuttle just pulled in! Reinforcements, keep your eyes peeled –" she cuts off mid-sentence but I think I hear a familiar battle-cry amidst the din.

Nazreil pops out and squeezes off a few rounds from his assault rifle at our adversaries. I join him in laying down some suppressive fire. Glassware shatter and other costly apparatus go up in smokes as we pepper the entire room with lead. Two of the operatives have already taken cover behind the laboratory countertops while Blondie hangs back at the threshold of the door. Again, I hear the familiar buzzing hums of stun rounds being fired at us. My shields barely hold out against the onslaught of bullets. By the time I retreat back into cover to vent my pistol, I hardly have any charge left on my shields. Nazreil's more robust shield system fares better than mine as he manages to keep up a sustained fire with his assault rifle.

"Lynn, we could really use a hand here!" Dad shouts desperately into his omni-tool.

"I'm coming as fast as I can! And you wouldn't fuckin' believe who I'm bringing along!"

The two operatives in the lab room keep us pinned down but the three of us just blindfire across the countertop. Hearing a temporary lull in the bullets, Dad pops out to take a few pot shots which send our opponents scrambling back into cover.

"Argh!"

Dad collapses into a heap beside me, his whole body convulsing. I just realize that he doesn't seem to be wearing any shields so one of the stun rounds must have clipped him. I can see Blondie's smug expression as he advances on us, the barrel of his gun still smoking.

"Dad!" I exclaim. I try shaking him to jolt him back to his senses but no dice. He doesn't respond so I pull him back behind the relative safety of the countertop.

Suddenly, something heavy and colossal comes hurtling through the laboratory's main doors along with an almighty battle cry. The figure tackles right into one of the operatives unlucky enough to be in its warpath, sending the operative flying off his feet. A rectangular object that the operative was carrying unceremoniously falls off his body towards the floor. A stray bullet from Nazreil pings off the metallic-looking device. Then, a red warning light starts flashing on its exterior.

Blondie and the surviving operative are quick to retreat beyond the door which doesn't lend itself to good news on our part. The device's beeping picks up in intensity.

From the corner of my eyes, I see Aunt Lynn bounding towards me, a look of pure alarm on her face.

"It's a bomb –"

BOOM.

My whole entire vision is filled with an expanding ball of fire and shrapnel. The force throws my perception of gravity into disarray as the blast knocks me clean off my feet. I faintly feel myself tumbling and rolling across the tiled floor when I come to my senses….only to see myself plunging head-first into the artic abyss that awaited me below. The explosion punched a gaping hole in the labs to the blizzard outside.

"Oh shit!" I flail my arms wildly in hopes I could grab onto something to stop my fall when I feel a strong grip wrapping itself around my wrist.

"I can't…hold on!" Aunt Lynn grits her teeth against the physical exertion as she teeters precariously on a ravaged ledge that could collapse at any second.

Please don't give way, please don't give way. I furiously chant in my head. With a groan of screeching metal, the ledge starts crumbling under both our combined weights. I look into Aunt Lynn's eyes and see my fear reflected in hers.

"Whatever happens, don't let go," she says.

The ledge finally collapses, sending us plummeting into the icy unknown below.

A/N: And that's another chapter done. With all the exposition and plot development in the past few chapters, I decided to finally change things up and kick the action up a notch. And that means the obligatory cliffhanger!

Once again, thanks for still sticking with me and I hope you enjoyed this latest installment. Well, that's all I have to say….so until next time, guys and gals!