Victus regained consciousness in confusing bits and pieces and flickers of memory. He had no idea how long he drifted, waiting for the puzzle pieces of his memory to show enough of the picture to give him an idea of where he was. When he had it, though, his eyes snapped open.
He was lying on a cot, in a brightly lit room that looked like a hastily partitioned corner of a large shipping container. He couldn't feel the thrum of engines, so they clearly were either still docked or not yet aboard a ship; the container implied they were in a warehouse. He waited to let his eyes adjust to the light, then tried to sit up. He was more than a little surprised to find that he could sit up, and could even stand. He was not restrained in any way.
The reason he wasn't restrained became readily apparent as his eyes swept the room. A large, well armed and armored krogan sat near the door; there was a shotgun in his lap, and his eyes were fixed on Victus. The final puzzle piece fell into place.
Sparatus' smug reference to hiring outside help, the hissing voice of a vorcha in Sparatus' office, and now the krogan. He was being held by the Blood Pack.
Victus nearly groaned. The one mercenary group with the most reason to hate turians, he wondered how Sparatus had gotten them to work with him in the first place.. This would not be easy. Then, Victus' quickly churning thoughts ground to a halt. The Blood Pack was made up largely of krogan; they used to have the most reason to hate turians, because of the genophage. But that was cured now, and if he could convince these mercenaries of that… there might be hope after all.
So instead of doing anything threatening, or anything that would make him seem nervous, Victus sat down on the cot, met the krogan guard's eyes, and nodded calmly. This seemed to amuse the guard, who snorted before returning the gesture with a mockingly exaggerated air.
"Are we still on the Citadel? Who are you?" Victus gave the expected questions in a calm and unconcerned tone that clearly confused the guard. When the guard just stared at him, mouth hanging slightly open, Victus continued. "Do you know who I am? Do you know what you risk by holding me? The one who hired you is a traitor to the Hierarchy, you don't want to be working for him. How much is he paying you, anyway?
At each question, the guard looked more and more confused and annoyed. Finally, he spoke. "It's not my job to answer your questions, turian," the krogan spat before turning his attention to his gun.
"Well then, I think that perhaps you should go get someone who is willing to answer questions." The comment, though it was phrased as a suggestion, carried all the weight of an order; responding to that tone of command, the guard was already halfway to his feet before his brain caught up with him. He froze, scowling as he tried to work out what would carry the least embarrassment. Finally, he decided to finish standing, and go get his commander. Better to let someone else deal with the annoyingly bossy turian.
As the door opened, Victus leaned over to get a quick look outside. Definitely a warehouse, it was much too large to be a ship. Good, he was still on the Citadel, then.
Left alone in the room, Victus did a quick visual scan for surveillance devices. Seeing none, he did a more active search for anything that could be used as a weapon. His captors hadn't been particularly careful - the cot had narrow metal rods to support the middle of the thin mattress. These made it very uncomfortable for sleeping on, but as they had promise as unexpected weapons. Pulling two of these out, Victus quickly hid one along the edge of the mattress near the pillow, and the other along the back wall behind the cot where it wouldn't readily be seen. Then he sat down again, and wait patiently.
He hadn't been waiting long when the door swung open to admit his original guard and another krogan, this one with sharper eyes and a larger hump. Older then, probably the leader of this band of the Blood Pack. Victus remained seated, his hands open on his knees, showing that he knew how to be a good prisoner.
The new krogan looked him over slowly, then turned to the guard.
"He doesn't look so intimidating to me, Woss. What worried you about him?" The krogan's voice was low, the words spoken in a slow drawl.
"H-he was asking questions, sir." The guard, Woss, turned to glare at Victus. "Go on, then! Don't just sit there! Ask your stupid questions!"
"I would prefer to discuss them in private, if you don't mind." This time, Victus kept his voice and his subvocals deliberately neutral; there was no point in antagonizing the leader of these mercs without cause.
Woss snarled, aiming his weapon at Victus' chest. "Do you think I'm stupid? I'm not leaving you along in here with him! Idiot turian."
The older krogan chuckled darkly. "The day I can't defend myself against a single unarmed turian prisoner is the day I cut off my own quad, Woss. Go wait outside; you can come rescue me if you hear yelling."
The door closed behind the glowering guard, and the krogan merc turned to face Victus again, taking a seat in the chair that Woss had occupied previously.
"Well, then. You have your privacy. What questions did you wish to ask?"
"I would like to know who I am speaking to, actually."
The krogan grunted. "I am Kordek. And I already know you are Victus. What else."
Victus nodded confirmation. "Yes, I am Primarch Victus. Tell me, did you know I was at Tuchanka recently?"
Kordek scowled. "What were you doing there, turian?" His voice filled with suspicion, the last word was heavy with menace.
"Helping Urdnot Wrex and Commander Shepard cure the genophage." Victus said this in the most nonchalant tone he could manage, and barely kept the smirk from his face. While "helping" cure the genophage might be a bit of an exaggeration, he had certainly been instrumental in allowing the cure; he didn't think Kel would mind sharing the credit. Much. For a good cause.
Kordek leapt from the chair with a roar, crossing the room in quick strides to tower over the still-seated Primarch. "You lie! Turians would never just cure the genophage!"
The door slid open on the end of that sentence, and Woss stood gaping in the doorway, shotgun hanging loosely from his hands.
"Uhh, boss? Did you just say they cured the genophage?"
Kordek didn't turn, "Get out, Woss, and keep your mouth shut."
When the door slid closed on the stunned guard, Kordek glared at Victus. "Do you have proof of what you claim?"
Victus shrugged slightly. "Well, I doubt I had any that would convince you, and with my omnitool gone I have even less than that. You could always call Wrex and ask him. No? Perhaps you'll just have to take my word for it." Victus launched into an abbreviated version of the war summit, the Sur'Kesh mission, and the cure. By the time he finished, Kordek was looking thoughtful.
"That's one hell of a story, turian. I'll even allow that making up a story like that and trying to pass it off as true would take a larger quad than I've got. Still, though, I can't just take your word for it."
Victus sighed. "I suppose there is one more argument I can make." Gripping the end of his makeshift weapon, Victus stood, and threw himself towards Kordek. One smooth motion had the narrow rod buried in the shoulder joint of the krogan's armor - deep enough to stay there when Victus just as quickly backed away, but not deep enough to break the skin. Victus moved around to the far side of the cot, crouching slightly so he could dodge if he needed to. He fought to keep his voice level, despite the adrenaline triggered by his attack. "If I wanted you dead, you would be."
Kordek stood still, staring at the metal rod sticking out of his armor, then back at Victus. He pulled the rod out, and tossed it on the ground with a heavy sigh. "This is going to hurt."
Victus tensed, but when Krodek didn't move towards him, he asked, "What's going to hurt?"
The krogan snorted. "Cutting off my quad, remember?" He gestured over his shoulder towards the door, indicating Woss. "Told the whelp that if I couldn't defend against one unarmed prisoner, I'd…" he trailed off with a wince.
Victus stared at him for a minute, then laughed. "Tell you what. You help me get out of here, and I won't mention it to anyone. No cutting required."
Kordek looked hopeful for a minute, then shook his head. "I'd like to. You're pretty ok for a turian. But the Councilor paid us, and the Blood Pack doesn't back out on a job we've been paid to do. I can't do anything to help you."
Victus let out a frustrated sigh, his thoughts spinning through the possibilities. One stood out, and he spoke quickly. "I don't need you to do anything, actually." He waited for that to sink in, but it clearly wasn't going to anytime soon. "What if you didn't do something, instead? For example, what if you didn't remember to pick your shotgun up when you leave? And then, what if you didn't remember to send someone back to guard the door?" Victus shrugged. "What if you didn't realize that leaving only vorcha troops in this area was a bad idea?"
Now Kordek was getting it, a savage grin spreading across his face. "Good plan, pyjack!"
He chuckled to himself as he turned, made a rather obvious show of 'forgetting' to pick up his shotgun, and left the room. A moment later, Victus could hear him bellowing orders assigning all available vorcha to cover this area of the warehouse, and all krogan troops to report to the shooting range for practice.
Taking a deep breath, Victus moved silently towards the abandoned shotgun. Hefting it, he listened carefully at the door. There was still a good deal of movement out there, but none was right in front of his door; he decided it was probably best to start moving while there was still some confusion. He leaned against the wall next to the door, then opened it, quickly snatching his hand back. When he didn't hear anything, he risked a glance around the edge.
The immediate area was empty of troops, but held plenty of shipping containers and boxes to provide cover. Victus stepped carefully out, shut the door behind him, then sprinted to the farthest crate he thought he could reach before someone came into view.
Ducking into shelter behind the crate, he knew he was just in time as he heard approaching footsteps. The two vorcha who were walking towards him wasn't paying much attention to anything, grumbling to each other in their snarling language. Victus took advantage of their inattention; letting them get past his crate, he rose up behind them. The first one went down without a sound, his neck snapped by a powerful twist. The second yelled something, but went down equally easily when Victus stabbed the metal rod from his cot into the creature's eye.
No shots, very little noise, even less blood, and two fewer enemies between him and freedom; between him and Kel. Victus let out a triumphant snarl of his own and kept moving.
….
Fifteen minutes later, he was cursing. The warehouse was enormous, and the vorcha troops seemed endless. While he hadn't seen any krogan troops - proving that Kordek was upholding his end of the bargain - he was nearly out of heat sinks, and had no idea how to get out of the warehouse.
Another small band of vorcha rounded the end of the contained he was resting against. At least the stupid things had never heard of stealth - between their constant snarling threats and their preference for flamethrowers, Victus was confident they wouldn't be sneaking up behind him anytime soon.
He hefted the assault rifle he'd found during a hasty search through one of the shipping crates. Six shots later, and the four vorcha lay dead. He checked the bodies hurriedly, hoping for heatsinks, but found none.
Victus glanced at the door he'd been avoiding. It didn't lead out, that much was clear; it seemed to lead to a medium sized room, and might hold communications equipment or the layout of the warehouse. Either would help. Of course, if it was a barracks or break room of some sort, it could easily hold a large quantity of armed mercs. There was no cover near the door, and he'd decided the risk was too high to be considered if he had other options. He'd been trying to find his own way out, and all he had to show for it was a rather nice assault rife and a lot of dead vorcha. He only had one clip left. He'd have to risk it.
Working his way carefully towards the door, Victus listened for any sounds of pursuit. The last thing he needed was for more of them to get behind him when he tried that door. There didn't seem to be any vorcha left in the vicinity, fortunately, so he made his way over to the door. It occurred to him, belatedly, that he wouldn't be able to hack it without his omnitool; the door swished open obligingly, though.
A quick sweep of the room showed it was empty. Breathing thanks to the spirits, Victus stepped inside, and locked the door behind him. It would at least slow them down if they tried to corner him. The room held some equipment lockers and a terminal. He turned to the lockers first, rifling through them quickly. No thermal clips, no omnitools. One held a flamethrower, but without armor Victus was unwilling to get close enough to his enemies to use that effectively. He pulled it over to the terminal, just in case though.
Sitting at the terminal, he activated the keyboard and swept quickly through the options. It held some shipping manifests, some records of the group's business dealings, nothing useful. One folder caught his eyes - it had Sparatus' name on it. He glanced nervously at the door; he'd been stationary too long now, but he had to know how far Sparatus' connection with the Blood Pack went.
Just as he opened the file, the door gave an indignant beep - someone was trying to hack the lock. Victus picked up his rifle and crossed the room, wedging himself between the last locker and the wall. It wasn't full cover, but at least it was something. Lining up a shot on the middle of the door, he waited.