Deus Ex Human Revolution is the property of Eidos/Square Enix
Mass Effect is the property of Bioware and Electronic Arts
Mass Effect: Human Revolution:
Chapter 46: In Sheep's Clothing, part 1
~[h+]~
Executor Pallin is voiced by Michael Ironside
Amelyssan is voiced by Carice Van Houten
~[h+]~
Aboard the half-ruined Junkyard Dog, the way to the Citadel had been mostly quiet. Echo had tried to make light of the fact that they had gotten some pretty good loot out of the Spectre's corvette, most notably, a case with three Spectre Master Gear weapons. Drebin had offered to 'launder' the guns, but neither Garrus or Adam were interested in them right now. Manah was on both of their minds. In Adam's because he had failed to protect her, and Garrus' because he knew Adam would have a hard time with that failure.
Besides gear and loot, they had also found canisters of a deadly neurotoxin, ready to be deployed via breaching missile upon the Durendal.
Adam added an objective to his AR display:
—Thank Conrad for saving us all
There had been a lurch when the Citadel's gravity began to assert itself, and then a crawling feeling of pressure on everyone's skin as they entered the vast station's atmosphere and their suits auto-adjusted to the change in pressure. Knowing that there would be a lot of curious technicians at the Dog's landing dock, there was a limited window of opportunity to disembark safely.
So, a minute before they landed, they were forced to jump off. For Echo and Brea, the fifty meter fall had to be cushioned by high density gas, while Garrus simply fired the last of his cold gas at just the right time, spreading frost all over (and giving him some ideas for some new tactics). The rest, being mostly mechanical, simply landed on their feet with a loud thud.
The group split up, with instructions to lay low but keep in touch until the Durendal landed. Brea had given Echo and Drebin false IDs so as to not arouse suspicions with C-Sec. Ramsus, however, would be staying close to Brea, as nobody trusted him to behave himself on his own.
"Where will you go?" asked Adam.
"To a safehouse," she simply replied, and took a stance that telegraphed she had no intention on elaborating.
"Ah," Ramsus smiled. "Just you and me all alone—"
Brea shocked him, activating a little feature in his suit Hein had added 'just in case'. "And of course, Teg will be providing extra security. Go home, Jensen. Get some rest."
Adam had wanted to do nothing else, but first, he needed to disguise himself. The '108' entering Adam Jensen's apartment would be a pretty big clue as to its true identity, and that simply would not do.
When did I start thinking like a superhero? Adam asked himself as he stole a tan longcoat and a small bag to put his helmet in. He left some platinum on the store's counter, near the register, then left under cloak, not once seen by the store's security cameras.
Outside of his apartment's building, Adam saw that that the spot where the AIA agent he had killed last during their attack on Brea had been cordoned off. Nobody could quite explain what the twelve piles of organic sludge, plastic an metal were doing inside, but pedestrians outside had borne witness to the fact that one of them had been a heavily armed human man. That wasn't much to go on, and no doubt the event was still under investigation.
Adam also took note of the sign outside, that said that a one bedroom apartment was available for rent. Someone must have left, he thought. Don't blame 'em, either.
Once inside, he saw more cordons glowing in the dark, but saw no one on patrol to keep passers-by from tampering with the scenes. Most likely, they had been pulled away to provide security for the big event at the Presidium.
The elevator had a big OUT OF ORDER sign stuck on it, forcing Adam to take the stairs up, and just before entering he saw that a shrine had been put in place there. Quite a few little offerings had been placed around a portrait: pictures, mementos, and card that all said 'farewell' on them. They were all for Mettius, the turian boy the Blacklight soldiers had so callously killed and 'sanitized'.
"I'm sorry, kid," he muttered. "I should have been faster." And Brea should have gone somewhere else, he thought bitterly.
...Do you know how many men and women and children SHE has killed..?!
How many, simply as a consequence of her actions? Adam shook the thoughts away. He just needed to get some sleep, and tomorrow he would report what he could to Pallin, and start looking for T'soni. Adam hoped that by then Brea would have something to go on.
Alas, things would not be that simple, he knew, when his omni-key failed to unlock his apartment door. He hacked into it, and there he found absolutely nothing. None of his furniture, none of his clothes, none of his computer hardware, and none of his most precious personal effects.
"...Fuck."
~[h+]~
"The hell are you talking about?" asked the landlord, rubbing his eyes and on the verge of a yawn.
"You heard me," said Adam tersely, in no mood for any bullshit.
"The men you hired to move your stuff came and moved your stuff! They got your signature on the paperwork and everything!"
"I didn't hire anybody! You got scammed, and now MY stuff is—"
"Hey, scammers don't leave small packages for the people they steal from!"
"What the hell are you even talking about?"
The landlord beckoned Adam to follow him to his office — actually the desk in a living room littered with discarded fast food packaging— and fished something out of his drawers. It was a small sealed metal box, the size of a matchbox, with Adam's name on it and the word 'OPEN' written in fine calligraphy. Adam pried it open easily, and inside he found a key and a note with an address on it. The note was signed 'AB'.
Before seeing those initials, Adam thought Hein had just played one of his jokes on him, but now it seemed it was Aya Brea that was toying with him.
He tried contacting her. No reply.
With nowhere else to go, he decided to head for the address.
~[h+]~
The cab dropped him off right at the doorstep of Tiberius Towers, a luxury apartment building in the middle of the Silversun strip, one of the more opulent parts of the Citadel. It catered to the needs of those with a bit too much money in their wallets and too much time on their hands, and Adam hated it: It reminded him far too much of the Neo-Seoul Arcology. Terran Marines from the OCU, the UNAS and the EU were walking about, trying to decide where to spend their cash for an unforgettable shore leave. Some of them had already spent it all on a holographic three-card monte scam run by a Vorcha.
As the entrance doors slid closed behind him, shutting out the noises of a street that never slept, Adam was hit by the clean manufactured scent of the Tiberius Towers' atrium, meant to evoke memories of a garden in spring. The white marble walls were being polished by small robots, while a finely dressed Asari receptionist — who pulled double duty as security guard, judging by her muscles and the gun resting on her hip — sat at her desk, staring a holo-screens. She quickly noticed Adam, gave him a well practiced smile as he approached, and greeted him.
"Greetings, mister...?"
"Jensen."
"Ah, of course, our new resident. Do you have your key with you?"
Adam gave it to her, and she gave it a look, scanned it, and typed a few commands on her desktop computer. "Third turbo-lift on your left," she said, handing the key back. "twentieth floor, last door on your right."
"Turbolift?"
"Much faster than the standard elevators. You'll be there in less than five seconds. Oh, and here's the key to your parking spot... and your car."
"I have a car here?"
She gave him a curious look, then smiled again. "Yes, and it's quite a fine craft sir. The latest in the X3M series."
"...I see. Thanks."
"You're entirely welcome, sir."
~[h+]~
Less than five seconds and a short walk later, Adam entered his new apartment.
Then, he left his new apartment, with a duffel bag full of the personal effects he could not do without.
~[h+]~
"Here you go," said Adam, as he tossed the apartment keys to a bum. He had given the middle aged, haggard and dirty human one look before determining that the man didn't have a drug habit. He was, quite simply, underfed. "Fridge is full and the place is paid for. Knock yourself out."
The old man stared at the keys, utterly confused.
~[h+]~
"Hey kid, got your driver's license?"
The teenager, loitering in front of the pod hotel, was taken aback for a moment, then replied: "Uh... yeah?"
"Show me."
The boy displayed his card. Adam, satisfied that it wasn't a fake, tossed the car keys to the X3M skycar. "Tiberius Towers, parking floor 1. Have fun, kid."
The weary cyborg cop entered the hotel, checked in, and went into his sleep pod, still wearing the 108 under the raincoat. He closed his eyes, looking forward to the relative normalcy of the life of a police officer. He wondered how Pallin would react to his story up to now, just before sleep took him.
~[h+]~
Something was wrong about this place.
More so than usual.
At the center of the forest in which oily shadows would stalk him and disembodied echoes would damn him, Adam found a clearing. The cold dirt had been corrupted and there were bits and pieces of ancient Promethean architecture which, apparently, favoured walls of smooth sandstone and glass partitions framed and inlaid with silver. The pieces floated all around him, disintegrating into the ether and reintegrating into the dream world.
Then the voices came, but they were not addressing him.
"Papa! Papa!" shouted a girl happily. Adam wanted to believe that it was Sunny calling to him, but he knew better: the voice wasn't the same. "Look at what I found! It's... It's... It's a bug!"
"It's a butterfly, child," replied a woman. Her voice, he recognized immediately.
"Fahl...?" Adam called out loud, but no one replied to him.
As Adam went further and further into the clearing, the parts of the building materialized more often, and for longer, until it was almost complete... at least, in his immediate vicinity. Beyond the walls, a nightmare still waited for him.
The building, Adam realized was actually a home, a mansion, meant to be surrounded by gardens, its halls illuminated either by sunlight and moonlight. None of these existed, and yet the walls were lit as if it was high noon on a bright summer day. The rush of waterfalls and the flow of rivers could be heard, unseen and far away.
"What is this place?"
"Agartha..." said Aleph.
Adam found the Promethean in the center of what looked like an atrium combined with a meditation chamber, floating gently above the ground in what looked like the Lotus position. Behind him was a great tree, around which floated hundreds of tiny embers of light.
"...or, more precisely, the palace I built for my family, on the island of Agartha, on a world with a name I have long forgotten."
"...You had a family?"
"Is that so strange?"
"...No, I suppose not."
"I've been dealing with quite a bit of data coming from you..." said Aleph, as he landed on the ground and stood up. Just as he did, the palace dissolved, and he and Adam stood in deep space, with the Presidium Ring just besides them. "We've come back to Sigil, have we not?"
"If you mean the Citadel," replied Adam. "Then yes... but you're missing a few things..." Without really thinking about it, Adam willed the Wards into existence, and set them around the Presidium in their iconic configuration.
Aleph eyed the additions curiously, then: "One of the greatest constructs in the galaxy, and you simply name it 'The Citadel'? It seems the people in this cycle are a bit lacking in imagination..." before Adam could comment on that, Aleph continued: "And these cities... it seems there were some additions done, when I last saw it."
"So wait, the Citadel was once called Sigil? And it was just the ring?"
Aleph nodded: "Long ago, yes."
"What was it like, at the time?" asked Adam, as they walked the empty streets of the Presidium as Adam knew them.
"...Less sterile," said Aleph, after a moment's consideration. "There was less metal, and far more stone and wood, and flesh and bone."
"...Yeah, this is a space station, I really don't think wood and stone would—"
Before he could finish, Aleph spread his arms wide, and then it was as if time slowed down on his whim, stopped, and began to move backwards. Buildings came and went in the blink of an eye, each a snapshot of the times, until they became stranger and more alien to one another. Smooth crystal spires shared the same neighbourhoods as homes of brick and mortar. Time resumed its journey forward, and Adam became surrounded by a crowd of a multitude of aliens he had never seen before. He looked up: the ceiling with the fake sky was gone, replaced with an endless void the color of the sky. Past the swarm of Starships of finely wrought metal and Spelljammers grown in the belly of great beasts, a barren planet made of sand and rock hung in sky.
"Is the station orbiting that world?"
"Actually, it is orbiting the station. The mass shadow of Sigil was much stronger back then, strong enough to create an atmosphere the size of a planet... and pull a world into its embrace."
Adam had to admit, that was really impressive. "Son of a bitch..."
"Sigil," Aleph began. "The city of doors. After the Messians retook Gaia, our homeworld, my siblings and I had been sent out into the galaxy to find the Gaian ships that had escaped beyond the bounds of the Origin system. We didn't quite understand what we were doing when we used the Void Rail the Akasha Lords had used to escape, and... well, we were scattered. I was lucky... the tides of the void brought my ship here."
"The city of doors?" asked Adam. "I take it that name's pretty significant?"
"It is as you suspect: Sigil was the very center of a network of gateways that ran through the entire galaxy. Some were the size of keyholes, allowing but a peek into a different world. Others were the size of whales, through which large trade vessels could come through. It was a vibrant place and... it inspired me. Sigil was proof that myriad creatures and cultures could come together in one place, interacting and sometimes even merging to create something new, and in peace."
Just then, a insectoid attacked a giant bear, stung him unconscious, and claimed a measly handful of Macca as a prize.
"Peace. Right." Adam shook his head. Some things never changed.
"Relatively speaking, of course," admitted Aleph. "Compared to the centuries-long conflict that plagued my world, that was nothing. But even a small crime can inspire a greater good."
They kept walking for a time, and Adam could feel himself relax. This was actually a wonderful change of pace from his usual nightmares.
"So you didn't build this place?" asked Adam. "Or the gates?"
"No," replied the ancient construct. "Sigil was ancient when I was young."
"Well, the gates aren't around any more, obviously... I take it that's because of Nazara?"
"Yes, but mostly because of me. When Nazara became manifest, the Void became unsafe to travel through. I..." Aleph stopped himself when he saw a circular building, not even two stories high but topped with a crystal dome. Long red banners had been set on each side of an arch, on which was painted a white flower with five petals. "I remember this place..."
"Yes," Adam found himself agreeing.
"This is where I met my wife," they said in unison.
~[h+]~
Fascinated by the music that comes out of the door, suspicious of the symbol emblazoned on the banners, and disheartened with your lack of success in finding your siblings, you decide to enter. Inside, past the heavy iron doors, you are immediately greeted by the smell of incense, and the sight of varnished, wooden walls supported by pillars of ivory and decorated with various framed paintings. The central Atrium, through which the other rooms of this establishment could be reached, is blessed with a garden filled with beautiful flowers that you recognize to be from the wilderness of Gaia. At the center was the start of a great oak, and you can already imagine how its branches will eventually caress the crystal dome that lets the sunlight in.
The various alien patrons, from both middle and upper classes, are sharing lavish couches with various women of different species from around the galaxy, happily and passionately discussing various subjects such as warfare and religion and even games. They speak of other things you are not familiar with, such as 'art' and 'games'. From one of the rooms you can hear a woman shouting abuse at a man, who seemed to revel in countering with insults of his own. "What a coincidence!" you hear him shout, "You fight like a dairy farmer!"
You think you can hear the clanging of metal. Were they dueling with swords, as well, you wonder?
Your observations come to an abrupt end when your eyes come across a stunning golden-haired woman with cream coloured skin, wearing an azure and blue dress decorated with white spiral patterns at the hems that keeps her chest and neck covered but her shoulders bare. The front of the skirt is cut open to reveal a layer of elaborate white lace that matched her cravat, and dark blue calf-length baggy pants. Her ankles are decorated with the straps of her sandals, which barely cover the toes or the heels.
Her most striking feature is her mismatched eyes: one of them was as the azure of the skies of Gaia, while the other was the colour of spilled blood. With them she surveyed the entire place with a slight smile...
...She is easily the most beautiful woman you have ever seen.
Her second most interesting feature, midnight black wings with feathers tipped with bright cyan, along with her large curved horns and long tail, remind you suddenly that she is a Gria, one of the brood mares of the Gaian Horde. You become incredibly aware of the blades hidden in your forearms. It would only take a moment to slay her: You could just casually bump into her, bury the blade in her vile heart. You scan the area for others of her kind, as you suspect she's kept one of her sons to guard this place. You need to be careful: you lost much of your gear to the Void, and a confrontation with an Ogre could prove dangerous.
She sees you, and approaches. She opens her mouth to speak, and you can see the tips of a pair of long, sharp canines. "Well met traveller! How..." she stops for a moment as she sees your own most striking feature: the green glow of your own eyes, that cuts past the shade of the hood of your cloak. A look of recognition flashes across her face, and then it vanishes quickly. She reaches up to brush away a lock of golden hair, and continues speaking: "How may I help you?"
Her tone disarms you completely. You expected the usual: every Gria you encountered either tried to seduce you or screamed obscenities at you. This one spoke with a comforting warmth that you've only heard from your father. You try to call upon the memories of the time you were overwhelmed by the winged monsters, as they clawed at your shell. "Reveal your cock, mongrel!" screeches one. "Give us your seed!" cackled another. "We'll devour your babes, and send the rest against the rest of your vile brood!" screamed their mother. Instead of rage, though, feelings of dread come over you, and you suddenly feel the urge to leave.
"Don't be afraid," soothes the golden haired Gria, with a warm smile. And you find yourself obeying. Your fear vanishes, along with the painful memories of the encounter...
If my brother had not been there, you think to yourself...
"My name is Ayailla Fell. You are new to Sigil, are you not?"
"Yes, I am," you reply. Then you add. "Does it show?" You've actually been here for a few months, fending off the occasional cutpurse's attack and trying to understand where you are, and figure out where you need to go. You haven't made much in the way of progress. In fact, you only just became fluent in Common.
"Not as much as you think," she reassures you with a slight smile. "You carry yourself quite well."
"What is this place?" you ask.
"This is the 'Brothel of Slaking Intellectual Lusts'," she replies a bit proud of herself. Then, she studies you for a moment. "I take it from your question that you did not intend to partake in this establishment?"
"I... what is a Brothel, exactly?" you answer, feeling a bit dumb for asking.
She quirks an eyebrow. "You.. do not know?"
"My Common isn't very good."
She explains the concept, but she quickly realizes how alien it is to you. "Tell me, how old are you, Mister...?"
An awkward pause fills the air, before she finally asks what your name is. "...Argonar," you reply, thinking about the name of your ship. Your real name — Aleph — is one hated amongst the Gaians, and it would not do to declare who you are so openly to a Gria.
"Well met, Argonar. And... how old are you, exactly?"
"108," you reply.
"...And you are not familiar with a brothel?"
"...My long life has been spent fighting a war, and nothing but a war," you answer, keeping things vague. The war between the Messians and the Gaians had been going on for much longer, after all.
A look of genuine pity and sorrow comes over her face. "And there was no time for nothing else at all?"
"None... And I am slowly beginning to realize the shame of it. There is so much I need to learn."
"Well, I think you've come to the right place, then." She gently grabs hold of your mechanical hand, the tips of her slender fingers barely putting any pressure on your ceramic nanospore shell, and yet you do not resist their pull. "Come, let me introduce you to the girls."
"...Am I to have intercourse with them?" you ask, trying not to panic.
She laughs, "No, of course not! You see, THIS brothel in particular..."
~[h+]~
"No!" shouted Aleph, "This is wrong!"
The memory collapsed back into the dream, and Sigil collapsed back into the palace, and the palace became a forest filled with dead trees of blackened bark.
"I shouldn't be remembering this..." said Aleph, more calmly, but still distraught. "The sectors... I tried unscrambling them..." he looked at Adam, who was starting to feel a little nervous. "How did you do this?" asked the ancient. "You haven't found any more grimoires, have you?"
"Not since Caleston, no," Adam replied.
"Then how..."
It was then that Pixie manifested herself. "This needs to stop! He's infecting your memories!"
Infecting his memories? Adam asked himself, confused. That can't be right — I don't have power over a synthetic demi-god, do I? "What the hell are you even talking about?"
"Pixie," said Aleph, "I know this woman, I feel it in my..."
"What, your soul?" admonished Pixie. "You don't have a soul any more! You have his, and it's doing things to you, look!"
With a wave of her hand Pixie conjured up the unmoving, lifelike image of Ayailla Fell, and with another wave she split the image in two blurs that formed into the easily recognizable shapes of Aya Brea and Manah T'soni. The statement was obvious: Fell resembled the two young women greatly: She had Aya's magnificently long hair, and was almost as tall as shapely as she was. She also had Manah's soft, fair skin, and her gentle, graceful manner.
And of course, there were the eyes.
"She's not even a memory!" Pixie declared. "She's a fantasy HE came up with!"
"Now wait just a goddamned—"
"Shut up!" she commanded petulantly. "You don't get a say in this!" she hovered around Aleph. "You need to find a new avatar for him, now!"
"Oh, sure," replied Adam sardonically. "I'll just add THAT to the list of things I need to do. Let's see: Find a new apartment, get to work, report to Pallin, pray that the Spectre candidates play nice and don't start a war, find the Illuminati, stop the Illuminati, hunt down Scholar, hunt down Tela Vasir to find T'soni. Oh, and save the galaxy from an ancient eldritch abomination out to wipe out all life. 'Find Aleph a new body' is right on the top of my list." Adam poured as much sarcasm as he could in that last sentence.
"Adam," said Aleph. "Pixie is only worried about our well-being."
"Our well-being? I've suffered headaches and flashes of your memories and knowledge ever since I interfaced with the Soulcatcher and the Grimoire on Caleston, but when YOU start hallucinating she starts panicking? Come on!"
"Adam, I can't stay in your mind for much longer. If you don't find a new avatar..." Aleph sighed. "You'll perish within the week."
It took a minute for Adam to process what Aleph had just said. "...Great," he said finally. "That's just fucking great. Now where the hell am I going to find one of those?"
"We have options," said Aleph. "I can archive myself and go to sleep... that should give you a month, at most but... you won't be able to use any of the abilities you've learned from the Grimoire."
"I'll make do. But that's only a temporary measure. When you say a new avatar, you mean..."
"Several things. If at all possible, I would like you to find a Promethean Warform... it should have more than enough storage capacity and processing power for me to remain active. It doesn't even have to be entirely intact: as long as the primary Cephalon is functional, we can make repairs while I remain with you in an advisory capacity."
"...I'm thinking that there aren't a whole lot of million year old war machines just laying around. Could take years to find one."
"I know, that's why we should consider transferring me to someone else." With a wave of his hand, Aleph conjured the life-size images of Echo and Tali. "These are the best suited candidates for the task. Sun-Mi Echo Alpha Six is the most ideal, since her storage capacity is considerably larger than yours..."
"...But?"
"...I may have to erase a few things."
"...Just like you did with Shepard's memories."
"Yes. The second best candidate would be Tali. I've had a good look at the implant architecture and her brainwaves. A few modifications, and I should be able to interface with her easily."
"Somehow, I don't think she's going to be too happy about having an AI stuck inside her head," commented Adam. "How long do you think you can stay in there?"
"A few weeks. Your technology is very limited."
"Well, I'll have to ask them, and I can't guarantee you that they'll agree," Adam said this, but he suspected that either of them would do it if he told them that his life depended on them making a sacrifice.
That bothered him.
"There are others in your company," said Aleph, as he made the images of Brea and Garrus appear. "The artificial human has a Praxis implant with conduits that permeate nearly the entirety of her brain. The transfer would be difficult, but I suspect her regenerative abilities would allow her to endure."
"I'm sensing a pattern here... you need to exist inside a cyborg, right?"
"Yes. I can remain in storage indefinitely inside a Grimoire, but in order to be active I need an augmented organic brain."
"So how does Garrus fit in? He's not a cyborg."
"He did not tell you?" Aleph brought the image of Garrus closer, and turned him around. "There, on the back of his head... the plug for his visor."
"Oh... yeah, now I remember. Said he earned that in the Riflemen's Legion."
"Not only that, but he has an embedded memory enhancement wafer close to that plug. A simple modification, and I could transfer to him... though we wouldn't last long together."
"How long?"
"A day, at the most. He would be a last resort, and we would have to put him in stasis for him to last any longer."
"Wait a minute... Why don't I just shove you back into the Grimoire until I find you a more suitable host?"
Aleph crossed his arms. "The Grimoire you lost?"
"...Yeah. But let's assume I get it back."
"...I tried that already. It didn't work."
"Wait, you did? When?"
Aleph nodded. "Do you recall what happened when Benezia was slain?"
~[h+]~
Adam fell on his knees, and Manah found herself keeping him from falling over completely. A voice boomed from the Monolith, its shaft of light gone.
"ERROR. HOST CAPACITY INSUFFICIENT. INITIATING ANIMA BACKUP."
Wisps of blue light surged out of Adam's head, taking with them millions of years of accumulated wisdom, memories, and skills... and rushed into the Monolith.
"GRIMOIRE SAVED."
~[h+]~
"I intended to leave behind instructions for you to follow as I left," said Aleph. "As far as I can tell, the transfer was completely successful"
"So why the hell are you still in my head?" asked Adam.
"...I don't know. Though, to be more precise"
"And there's another version of you inside that Grimoire?"
"...Yes."
"So even if I were to transfer you out..."
"I might still remain... and we would both eventually perish. But a copy of me would go on to keep fighting Nazara, and that is of paramount importance."
"...Great. Just great." Adam took a deep breath, calmed himself, and said: "I'll see what I can do."
Aleph nodded. "I'll archive myself and keep my activity low. I'm leaving behind a program that will allow you to transfer me out to your chosen host or a Cephalon."
Adam watched as Aleph compressed himself into a glowing cube set on a small tree, its trunk shaped into a pedestal...
...And then, he woke up.
~[h+]~
Tela Vasir woke up to the whirring, wheezing, and beeping of a life support unit, and the smell of disinfectant rushing into her nostrils. The false sunshine that came through the large window tore past her eyelids and got into her sensitive eyes, and it took a moment before she could focus on the figure standing by the window, to her right.
"Don't turn left," she said. The tone was neutral, but the sound was pleasant enough.
It was another Asari, clad in a long, flowing red dress, its vivid crimson cloth embroidered in gold. She turned around, gazing upon Vasir's face with piercing blue-grey eyes, the colour matching her skin tone.
Vasir couldn't feel her own body, no doubt due to the painkillers. The crash had been bad, she knew that much, and the little pale bitch had broken a few of her bones even before then. Such power...
"Do you know who I am?" said the asari in the red dress.
Vasir couldn't reply, as she could barely feel her tongue.
"My name is Amelyssan. I, along with my coterie, came here on behalf of the Old Woman," the asari in the red dress continued. "I was told that you would be bringing Manah T'soni back to us. Imagine my disappointment when we had to wait well past the appointed time... and waited... and waited..."
Vasir tried to defend herself, but only managed a croak.
"And then, we had to learn of the of the reason of your absence. You crashed our gift to you in a slum, for all to see, and you failed to trigger its self-destruct. Do you realize how advanced that machine is? Do you realize the edge that we risk to lose? The girl was nowhere to be found, and since the area was flooded with Metatron... I can assume that the girl is dead, consumed by the fluid... What sort of punishment shall the Old Woman inflict on you? Hm... oh, speaking of which, don't turn to your left."
Vasir could hear wet sounds coming from her left.
"Of course, there is the small, but very small, chance that I am wrong, that Manah was spared the blaze that consumed your legs and that she managed to escape somewhere. Seeing as you're the only witness I can call upon...
There was grunting now, and breathing.
Amelyssan clucked her tongue. "Don't turn to your left!" she insisted, as if scolding a restless child. "Where was I? Ah, yes. I will ask you a question, and you will nod in the affirmative and shake your head in the negative. Do you understand?"
Vasir nodded, though it took quite a bit of effort.
"Good. Now, answer me this: Is Manah T'soni alive?"
Vasir nodded, remembering what she had seen through her helmet's heads up display. Some her craft's sensors had still been active.
"Good. And the artifact? Is it intact?"
Vasir nodded, remembering that damnable, little thieving animal fishing it out of the ruined cargo compartment.
"Excellent. Now, seeing as you can't speak, I'll need to have a little look inside your soul to get all the facts. I am quite aware that, as a Spectre, there are things you may not be willing to share... but for your sake, I strongly advise that you do not make any attempts to keep ANYTHING from me. Why? Look to your left."
Vasir turned to her left, and saw a gaunt looking Asari in black robes chewing something down to the bone with long teeth filed into sharp points.
She was eating Vasir's hand.
"Don't panic," soothed Amelyssan as she turned Vasir's head back to her. "Now do you understand the price of defiance?"
Vasir nodded and nodded some more.
"Do you intend to defy me?"
Vasir shook her head, "Nah... naaaah..." she slurred out.
"Excellent!" Amelyssan's tone was almost too cheerful for someone who just threatened to have a Spectre eaten. "Now, try to relax," she instructed, as her eyes went black and the light of the world seemed to vanish...
~[h+]~
He had to fake a fire alarm to make sure nobody saw him change out of the 108 to take a shower, but Adam was only too happy to do it if only to finally feel clean without suddenly having to explain what the hell he was doing on Noveria. Now, he needed coffee: after Aleph had archived himself, Adam had a really bad dream that involved him climbing a giant tower made of cubes, with Manah yelling for help at the top and some kind of gigantic monster clawing its way up below him. After a long climb, the cubes gave way under him, and he was rescued by the incredible hulk.
As fas as nightmares went, Adam thought that one was kind of funny, as he sipped his chocolate soykaf. He also felt a bit better, like a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
But of course, thought Adam, I've got months to live. That puts a damper on things.
The elevator doors slid open with a hiss, and Adam stepped onto the embassy floor were the C-Sec Executor's office was located, duffel bag full of high tech combat gear in hand. He quickly made his way to Pallin's office, wondering about exactly what he could and could not tell him. He rang the door bell, and was allowed in.
Sitting at Pallin's desk was an asari matron, dressed in a long black Thessian business dress, her face decorated with black make-up designed to imbue her expressions with a sense of beautiful authority.
"Excuse me," said Adam, confused. "Wrong office, I—"
"No, mister Jensen," said the Matron. "You came to the right place." She beckoned him to approach, though when he did she didn't offer him a seat.
"Who are you?" asked Adam. "Where's Pallin?"
"I am Acting Executor Sephtis Falsum..." she put an emphasis on the title, subtly demanding respect. "...And I am afraid that Verum Pallin is no longer with us."
"He was fired?" asked Adam, a uneasy feeling forming inside his gut.
"No. He was murdered."
"...What?"
"I say again," she said, annoyed. "He's dead. And he's left me quite a few outstanding issues to resolved," she complained, lacking any sort of empathy. "Most of them concerning you."
"How did he die?"
"Most of these issues concern you," Sephtis continued, ignoring him. "Let's see, he's made a point to ignore your blatant disregard for the privacy of some of the Citadel's most influential citizens, most notably when you infiltrated Matriarch Eneles' mansion..."
"Eneles was a serial killer who liked to wear the skin of her victims," countered Adam.
"...and then you have the many, many counts of police brutality against the citizens of the Citadel..."
"The citizens who had it coming, anyways."
"...and finally, these." She produced a stack of envelopes from a drawer, and dropped them on her desk. "Petitions to have you fired, half by ambassador Udina, the other from various members of the Alliance Parliament itself. All unanswered..." she gave Jensen a look. "...Obviously. Personally, I find it amazing that Pallin lasted this long in his position with such clear disregard for politics."
"Since when does C-Sec give two shits about what the Alliance wants?"
"C-Sec is an organization that operates within the very epicentre of the galaxy's political stage. It cannot afford to make any sort of enemies, especially one who is a rising power, and ESPECIALLY not during such a critical a time as the selection of its first Spectre. Speaking of which, I do believe there are a few Spectres who would like a few words with you. Something about attempting to hack into their database? In any case, it is obvious to me that you are too much of a liability to keep around, and thanks to my predecessor's negligence... i have plenty of grounds for you immediate dismissal."
Falsum pressed 'enter' on her keyboard, and Adam's omni-tool beeped. He had just received an email that made his dismissal from C-Sec official.
"Clear out your desk, Mr Jensen," said Falsum, trying and failing not to look smug. "And turn in your badge."
~[h+]~
At the Homicide division, Adam Jensen — formerly Detective Sergeant Jensen of C-Sec — silently gathered his affairs from his desk, suffering the smirks of more than a couple of his former human co-workers and the cold indifference of the Turian ones.
He didn't have much to gather: just some stationary, a desktop computer, and a few mementos from his most notable cases.
Just as he was about to leave, a turian stopped him. It was Detective Chellick.
"Jensen," said Chellick, coolly.
"Chellick," replied Adam in kind.
While Adam never really hated Chellick, he had never really taken much of a liking to him. He really should have: Chellick was a driven and very competent officer of the law. Adam's opinion of him was counterbalanced by the fact that he was very manipulative and quite ambitious: Chellick had made no secret of his aspirations to become Executor, and that coloured his every action.
"I heard the news," said Chellick. "I had a feeling you and Vakarian would not last long under Falsum's regime."
Adam nodded towards Garrus' desk, which had also been cleared. "Was he a 'political liability' too?"
Chellick shook his head. "Falsum couldn't pin anything on him, though I guess working with you for so long was enough reason for her to give him his two week notice and an immediate transfer to the Traffic Desk in a tip-ward precinct. As you humans like to say: rough seas ahead."
"What makes you say that?"
"Falsum, unlike Pallin, is a politician first and a police officer second, and she's going to set the tone at the top. I fully expect that the officers she'll promote will some matriarch's daughter, and the like. It's already begun: There are a lot of Asari Maidens who are now on the Presidium Tower's security detail..."
Left unsaid was that getting a position in the tower's security was both a very cushy position and considered a well deserved honour.
"...Soon after," Chellick continued, "discipline will suffer, and crime will be on the rise. And it's going to be that way for a very long time: Asari executors don't retire until their Matriarch years."
"Well, I won't be around to see it," said Adam.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do now?"
"My immediate future involves a seedy bar somewhere on the Tips and bottle of ryncol. If I survive that, well... I honestly have no clue. Excuse me."
Chellick grabbed Adam's shoulder after he took a couple of steps, stopping him. "You know, I never really liked you, Adam. You're capable, more than anyone here, but you lack ambition, and a sense of practicality. Still, regardless of what you do tomorrow, today, this is what you deserve."
"And what would 'this' be, Chellick?" replied Adam, sensing more trouble.
Chellick let him go, then stood ramrod straight. "OFFICERS!" he bellowed. "ATTENTION!"
It was then that, to the confusion of the human staff, all around the office floor the Turian detectives — around thirty of them in number— stood up from their desks and stood ramrod straight, hands behind their backs.
Adam still wasn't sure what was going on. "What the hell—"
"POSITIONS!" Chellick bellowed again, and with military cadence the thirty turians formed two rows on each side of the path from Adam's desk to the elevator.
"SALUTE!" Chellick commanded, and the Turians put their left fists on the center of their chests, heads held up high.
Adam didn't know what to think of the gesture as he walked past them all.
~[h+]~
In an aircab headed towards the tips of the ward, where the rooms and the drinks were cheap, Adam received an unsecured call from Garrus.
"Hey," said Garrus.
"Hey," said Adam. "Got the news?"
"If you mean I got a slap in the face in the form of 'Pallin's dead and by the way you and your partner are fired," then yes, I got the news. And you? How are you dealing with the news?"
"I'm dealing with them," said Adam. "Just need to find myself a place to stay, first."
"What? What happened to your place?"
"Some bullshit with the rent," Adam lied, not trusting that this call wasn't being monitored. "I'll be fine."
"Hey, if you need a place to stay, you're always welcome at my place."
"Thanks, I'll think about it. But for now I think I'll manage with a pod hotel."
"Look, I'm off to investigate a crash somewhere in the tips, but once I'm done... You remember Euridycia?"
"The lab tech? Worked with her a couple of times, yeah. Didn't you two used to date?"
"Well, she works at the morgue where Pallin's body is stored, and she owes me a favour."
Adam wasn't sure where Garrus was going with this. "...And?"
"And... I'm going to hold a vigil. Have a drink, say a few words... and then tomorrow morning I'm going to spend the next two weeks trying to find the son of a bitch that murdered the Executor. Care to join me?"
"For the Vigil? Definitely. The investigation..." Adam sighed wearily. "I don't have a badge any more, Garrus. And I have a lot of things on my mind."
"I know, but I had to ask. I can manage on my own."
"Just don't go storming a crime lord's den on your own, like last time."
Garrus chuckled. "I won't."
Adam and Garrus set a time for the Vigil, and they cut the connection. Little else needed to be said.
~[h+]~
Jondum Bau entered the office of Councillor Valern, representative of the Salarian Union's leadership on the Citadel Council. It was a rather large space, with little in the way of furniture or decorations. This was done on purpose: to deny an intruder a place to hide, or a nook to hide any piece of malicious electronics. Even the glass desk's placement was well thought of: it provided one with a complete view of the circular space and kept one's back against the wall, preventing an attack from that angle.
"Ah, Spectre Bau," greeted the Councillor. "...come in, come in!" Bau noted that it took a whole seconds for the Councillor to beckon him over, and realized that he had just been thoroughly scanned — no doubt by the scanning drones disguised as floating glow globes. Evidently, Bau had passed said scan to Valern's satisfaction... which was a bit odd, because he was currently armed and quite capable of killing the other Salarian in the room.
"Councillor Valern," greeted Bau. "You called for me?"
"Yes, I just read the non-redacted report of your mission to Noveria that you sent to the STG... the implications are... disturbing."
"Which parts of the report, specifically?" said Bau, as he took a seat in front of Valern.
"The AIA and a Terran megacorp using these... bioroids to replace a prospective Spectre has... turned some of our initial assumptions about these synthetic infiltrators around."
Is that what you are most concerned with? wondered Bau. He had seen much more perturbing things on Noveria than skeletal robots wearing human skin. The giant creatures that emerged spontaneously from the foul smelling liquid raining down on them had been an example. The creature calling itself Hashmal Lephantis somehow causing hundreds of Terran soldiers to go into comas after inducing vivid hallucinations of flaming ghosts had been another. And then there had been the sea of fluid in Upper Dosadi: further analysis of the stuff suggested that it was made from human bodies, and there had been tens of thousands of Noveria's citizens unaccounted for...
The worst part? The man responsible for all this was still at large in a dreadnought-sized pyramid. After the first human spectre was selected, Bau planned to go after him... but he could already tell Valern had other plans.
"We had assumed," continued the Councillor, "that it was Saren that had deployed the Nielsen Bioroid in order to sabotage human interests in the Citadel, culminating in the murder of Junko Zayne Shepard. The technology required to create such a machine and Saren's interest in Prothean technology supported that theory..." Valern tapped the data pad in front of him. "...You're saying that it was a Terran biotech megacorp that provides the bioroid's skin? And at the behest of an agent of the Alliance's own counter-intelligence agency?"
Bau nodded. "That's what I've seen. If you have doubts..."
"I saw the encrypted footage," reassured Valern. "I'd like to hear your thoughts on the matter, in light of these new facts."
"Very well." Bau took a deep breath, and began: "In light of the fact that it were humans that attempted to replace Elsa Devereaux with a Nielsen-type Bioroid and that it were humans providing them with their disguises — and, possibly, their programming — we can safely assume that Bioroids are in fact a Terran creation, and that they have access to advanced manufacturing machines capable of alloying element zero with various high-tensile strength metals... possibly a pre-collapse Universal Constructor."
"Let me stop you right there?" said Valern. "Why would Terrans kill Junko Zayne Shepard, easily their best candidate for Spectrehood? Nihlus' evaluation of her had guaranteed her the honour of being the first!"
"I apologize: I said 'Terrans'. I should have said 'a Terran organization'. Perhaps Shepard was killed because she did not fit in their plans, and their plans involved a Spectre under their control. Or, perhaps they had her killed because she knew about them, and had evidence of their activities."
"Why not just replace her with one of those Bioroids, then?"
Bau had to admit, he had to give that one some thought: "Her biotics," he realized. "Shepard had a reputation being a powerful and somewhat spectacular user of biotics. While a Nielsen Bioroid's endoskeleton is fused with element zero, Detective Sergeants Vakarian and Jensen's reports made no mention of Diana Nielsen using biotics when she attacked them. Shepard suddenly NOT using her greatest abilities would immediately alert those around her that she is actually an impostor."
Valern nodded, agreeing with this assessment. "And our assumption of Saren's involvement was completely erroneous, then."
"I... think you were actually correct on that one, though your reasoning was incorrect."
"Oh?"
"The reason why I wanted to apprehend AIA agent Lawson was because I strongly suspected that he knew the Geth attack on Freeport S9 was coming. Furthermore, he and Johnathan Scholar obliquely implied that they had a hand in the defeat of Frederick Häyhä at Saren's hands. Häyhä was Devereaux's superior and in charge of bringing down Saren in the name of the European Union, and were apparently close. His tragic death was possibly staged in an attempt to manipulate her to come and receive 'treatments' from Europa Genomics, and thus get 'replaced'."
"Staged? But that would mean..."
"Yes, that Saren is under the AIA's control... or, at the very least cooperating with them. As for the AIA, they could themselves be compromised by another secretive organization, or..."
"Or perhaps we are completely wrong to assume that the Bioroids are their servants," Valern shut his eyes, and rubbed his temple, an attempt at working out the stress caused by what he was hearing. "And every major organization on Earth has been compromised by these synthetic abominations."
"...That's another possibility, yes, " agreed Bau. "A very worrying one. Of course, there are too many possibilities and not enough proof to support any theories. I'm hoping that my colleagues in the STG will be able to extract some information out of agent Lawson and Urdnot Wreav, but... The AIA has a policy of compartmentalizing their information, and I doubt Wreav was privy to Saren's plans. I request your permission in pursuing Johnathan Scholar... he may very well know far more about the Bioroids and their makers."
"I agree, but that's not our priority right now. It's obvious that the first human Spectre is high on the Bioroids' list of people to replace, and so the Bioroids are now your top priority."
"Sir?"
"When Pallin brought the Nielsen case to our attention, I knew immediately that we needed to root out any other possible infiltrators in the Citadel. I have put three Spectres on the task already, and I want you to work with them."
"I understand, but I have never really worked well with other Spectres. I find it better to gather my own team of specialists for any given task."
"If that's how you wish to operate, that's fine, but I would prefer if you coordinated your efforts with others."
"Of course."
"Do you have anyone in mind for your team?"
"As I matter of fact, I do... but the less you know, the better." Bau only hoped that he could contact them in short order.
~[h+]~
The Trough was — as far as watering holes frequented by scumbags went — surprisingly clean. The owner, Tuak, made a point to keep the place clean after a customer had made his dislike for dirty glasses known. Ever since then, The steel walls were kept clean, the jukebox was kept clean, the slightly rusted and leaky old pipes were kept clean, the makeshift wooden bar was kept clean, and even the cockroaches were kept clean.
Said customer, after an absence of maybe six years, had just stepped through the front doorway (which had lacked a proper door ever since that fight yesterday) and was now walking up to the bar.
"Tuak," said Adam Jensen, duffel bag over his right shoulder and a small crate under his left arm. "Long time."
"...Jensen," said Tuak, who could not believe his four eyes. "Gods... I thought you were never coming back here. Aren't you a cop, now?"
"Was a cop. Now I'm just a nobody looking for a quiet drink... Whiskey and Ryncol. Leave the bottles."
"The, uh, whiskey..." said Tuak nervously, "...I got plenty of. I'm down to one bottle of Ryncol, though."
"...And?"
"And if I don't ration it my Krogan customers will get pissed."
"...Fine. A bottle of whiskey and a glass of Ryncol, then. And a glass of ice with a mixing spoon. Bring them to my table."
"Good, good! Coming right up!"
The line about the last bottle of Ryncol was a lie: Tuak remembered that a drunk Adam Jensen was an Adam Jensen in the mood for a fight, and he really, REALLY didn't want to deal with that right now. He also hoped his other customers wouldn't try anything: The Trough wasn't exactly a human-friendly bar. This wasn't done by policy: it's just the way the clientèle went.
Funny thing is, Jensen had a hand in that. Six years ago some Alliance Marines had come in here looking for some cheap drinks and entertainment, and when they saw that Tuak was a Batarian, they decided to get some payback from Elysium. The barman had protested that he wasn't a slaver, that he had never been to Elysium, but they weren't interested in hearing him out. It was, of all people, Adam who had come to his defence.
"I didn't see him on Elysium," he had said. Then, bitterly, he had added: "And I certainly didn't see YOU punks there, either." That had gotten the fists flying just as someone put on some terran song about 'staying alive'. The Alliance marines had gone down quick, but as brawls always tended to go, others had joined the fray, and Adam had taken on all comers for exactly 3 minutes and 27 seconds before the cops had come in and arrested everyone involved. A few days later, Jensen had come back from prison with a pocket full of credits and an even bigger need to drink.
And then he became a cop.
There were parts to that story that Tuak had missed, of course. But since Adam had kept Tuak from getting a beatdown, the bartender had every intention of keeping Jensen's glass full, and at half price.
~[h+]~
A spoonful of Ryncol in two fingers of whiskey on ice didn't create the best of flavours, but it gave the drink a slow burn that Adam couldn't get otherwise. Usually, the Sentinel RX system broke down alcohol before he could really enjoy a buzz, and Ryncol was the only thing potent enough to clog the Sentinel system up. In the bad old days, Adam secretly had hoped that the infamous Krogan moonshine would break down his internal augs, and that he could finally drink himself to oblivion. No such luck, of course. As powerful as it was, straight Ryncol never flipped that switch in Adam's brain that would have made him an alcoholic.
God damn you, Sarif. God damn you and your quality standards.
Adam mixed his drink with his spoon, but before he could drink from it, the news came on the dingy old flatscreen Tuak had over the bar. "Hey, turn it up."
Tuak nodded, and the image of Emily Wong, now an anchor on the Citadel News Network's livestream, was no longer mute.
"...C-Sec officers are baffled by the scene of the murder. According to them, the Asari was crushed to death by what appears to be a Wanzer sized fist, based on the indentations on the concrete... though no such machine was found or witnessed near the scene. Here's Sloan Sabbith with eyewitness accounts. Sloan?
"Thank you, Emily. This is Mrs..."
"IT WAS A GIANT, I TELL YOU!" screamed the old woman. She had seen better days, and so did that old coat of hers. "THERE WAS A CRACK OF THUNDER! AND A RUSH OF WIND! AND THE LIGHTS WENT OUT SO I COULDN'T SEE IT, BUT IT ROARED LIKE—"
"Uh, thank you, ma'am," said Sloan. "Uh, I'm afraid, Emily, that this is the best testimony that I could find."
"Did she say something about a crack of thunder and a blackout?"
"Yes she did, and before you ask — Yes, the estimated time of death of the victim just happens to coincide with the recent blackout in the area, and the sighting of a bolt of lightning dismissed "
"Coincidence, Sloan?"
"Too early to tell, Emily. C-Sec is on the lookout for two other persons of interest witnessed at the scene: a large blonde Roegadyn male in uniform and a teenage human girl with a fluffy dress and cherry red hair, and request that anyone with information of their whereabouts contact C-Sec immediately."
"Thank you, Sloan. Well, viewers, there you have it, another murder mystery near the tips. Will the Citadel's dynamic duo solve this one?" she smiled, and winked. "Time will tell! In other news..."
"Not this time, Emily." Adam slowly downed the whole glass in one long gulp, and he savoured the burn with his eyes closed, focusing on that warm feeling, trying to forget all his troubles for a while...
~[h+]~
The Trough
Seven years ago...
"Beware the Ragman..."
"Mmmh uuurgh whaaaa?" the cyborg mumbled as his head shot up amidst a small castle made of empty metal bottles. His artificial eyes needed to recalibrate to focus on the person sitting across his table. 'Table' was a bit of a misnomer, here. It was really a large, empty metal spool meant for industrial power cables.
"Adam Jensen." The voice was deep, and warbled. "I spent the better part of the day around these parts, using that name to look for you. Almost nobody could answer me. You know what they responded to, however? The Ragman. And now I finally understand why they call you that. I had hoped the money we gave you as a reward would go towards cleaning yourself up, but..."
The Turian shut his nostrils at the stench of the human cyborg in front of him. His clothes, while not rags, were worn and dirty, the consequences of living in a filthy alley for a couple of months. His hair and his beard were long, and unkempt, with bits of food in them.
"Go away," Adam slurred. "Leave me alone," he added more clearly, the alcohol already getting out of his system. He looked around: it was well past closing time, and besides Tuak sweeping up the floor nearby, there was nobody else here save for the dark skinned turian with the white facial markings.
"Sobering up already? Good. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Verum Pallin, and I am the Executor at Citadel Academy."
Adam laughed sarcastically. "Right, and I'm king Arthur, once and future king."
Pallin ignored that. "And I'm here to offer you a job. More precisely, I want you to finish the one you started." He set a datapad on the makeshift table and slid it towards Adam, who barely glanced at it. There were mugshots of several humanoid aliens, their scaly skin varying shades of red, green and blue. They all looked to be around their mid-to-late teens.
"Nice kids," said Adam, "Yours?"
Pallin tapped on the rightmost mugshot. "That's Ullr. That's the one you caught. He's one of the Seven, and those are the rest of his gang, and I want you to catch them. You'll be fairly well rewarded, of course. The bounty on each of them alive is around two million credits."
Adam remembered Ullr. He was the alien kid with the augmented legs that had kicked an old man to death in front of everyone just as Adam was being escorted out of the presidium, right after his stint in the drunk tank. The kid had dared the cops to catch him... but it was Adam that answered the challenge and succeeded.
"Alright, 'Executor'. Don't you have a small army of cops at your command that can deal with these?"
Pallin sighed. "Do you know who the Illuminated Primacy are?"
Adam shrugged.
"They're the governing body of the Hanar. Being fragile, floating squids, they use Drell like Ullr to do their dirty work. For a while now they were quite happy with them, being one of the most athletic sapient species in the known galaxy... but then around the same time humans showed up, they started experimenting with ways to boost their assassins' physical performance."
"And now their little experimental subjects have gone loose, for all to see. They want you to deal with it, but..."
"...but, if I put out an APB or a high enough bounty on them, then it won't be long before everyone knows about them, and then the Primacy will have to deal with the backlash. The Primacy has enough pull here to get what it wants, and what it wants is those kids in prison and ready for pickup, and a minimum of damage to their reputation."
"It's a little late for that," commented Adam, checking the bottles. All Empty. "So you want me to clean up the squid's mess, is that it? No thanks. Let them deal with it, and suffer the consequences of their bullshit."
"It's not being dealt with properly. Every bounty hunter that has gone after them, every agent I put on this has either come back in need of hospitalization, a burial, or hasn't come back at all. Everyone that has tried to catch or kill them has failed... Everyone, except you."
"And why should I give a damn?"
"That's a human expression, isn't it? Why should you care? Because those Drell are dangerous, Mister Jensen, and while they are free they are a threat to the good citizens of this station. Right now the Seven's operations are pretty small time... but they're getting bolder, and crazier. Ullr's little display was just the start."
Adam looked the turian in the eye for a while, noticing a small scar over his left brow, close to the center, almost hidden by the ridges and wrinkles and white paint. "Tell you what?" he said with a smirk. "Ryncol ain't cheap, and I'm almost out of booze money. I'll think about it."
Pallin nodded. "Good. Report to the nearest C-Sec precinct and give them this." He gave Adam a card with a data chip on it. This will get you outfitted for the job, and register you as a bounty hunter."
"Hey, I said I'd think about it," protested Adam.
Pallin ignored him. "And there's one last thing I want you to do, once you're done with them."
Adam sighed. "What is it?"
"Enlist in C-Sec."
Adam just gave Pallin a look, and then laughed. "Yeah, no. I tried being a cop before. It didn't work out."
"I think you would do quite well in C-Sec, Mister Jensen. If you're half the man I think you are, you could make sergeant in a year and become a detective in two. In five, you could become chief of an entire precinct. Who knows, you might even catch the attention of the Spectres. They've been recruiting from our best, after all."
"And what kind of man do you think I am, hm?"
"The kind that acted when an innocent man was killed while everyone else just stared. The kind that woke up from a drunken stupor from under a pile of rags and acted when an street kid was about to be kidnapped, never to be seen again. The kind that acts, when nobody else will. The kind of man that C-Sec will need in the coming future."
"The kind with mech augs you can't afford," said Adam bitterly as Pallin got up.
"You can sit here and try to find solace at the bottom of a bottle—"
"—I'm working on it."
"—But you're not going to," said Pallin out loud, as he approached the way out of the Trough. "You know you can't. You're meant for greater things, Mister Jensen. And C-Sec would be happy to help you accomplish them." Just as he opened the door to leave, he turned around and said. "I DARE you, to accomplish them..."
An hour after Pallin left, Adam was staring at the card in his hand.
And then, he tossed it in the garbage.
~[h+]~
The Trough
The next morning...
"Go away," said Adam at the bar. It was a busy morning, much to his chagrin. Something big was brewing in the underworld, and apparently the Trough had been picked as a meeting point for it.
"YOU go away," said the Krogan with gold teeth. "You fucking stink, human."
"Yeah!" hissed his Vorcha with the spiked dog collar. "You listen to boss. Boss might be nice and only break one arm, yes?"
"...One," replied Adam.
"One what?" asked the Krogan, sneering.
"Guys..." warned Tuak, fearful. "Come on, can't you just walk away from this one?"
"Shut up, Tuak!" snarled Gold Teeth, "and get me another Ryncol on the rocks." He turned back to Jensen. "One what, pyjak?"
"Two..." said Adam, his tone menacing.
"Yes, TWO!" screeched the Vorcha. "Two of us, One of you! You understand, yes?"
"Oh, I see." Gold Teeth chuckled. "You're counting to three. Go on, pyjak, show me what happens at three..."
"Guys," Tuak was backing away slowly. "Please, I just finished fixing the windows!"
Adam smiled. "T—"
"HEY!" shouted a Turian. "TUAK! TURN UP THE VOLUME!"
Tuak looked at the old flatscreen, and saw that the usual morning show was replaced with the news. The words BREAKING NEWS PRISON BOMBING LIVE FROM KITHOI WARD streamed under live footage from a hovercraft, showing the burning ruins of a prison facility near the tip of one of the Citadel's arms. Tuak grabbed the remote, both worried at what he was seeing and relieved at the distraction. Everyone was waiting for him to turn up the volume, so he did.
A woman's voice came through, the tone worried, but professional.
"—estimated thirty officers killed in the initial bombing and twenty more by the rioting prisoners. Reports are coming. We are now live with Emily Wong, on the ground with C-Sec's response. Emily?"
"Hello, Agamene, I'm here — ah!" The young asian human woman ducked at the sound of bullets whizzing by her head, then quickly moved to a spot with better cover at the urging of a pale grey turian patrolman with blue stripes on his face. "... I'm here on the scene with Special Response Team Alpha and several patrolmen attempting to retake the west wing from a group of prisoners. The group raided the armoury some time after the explosion, but were caught by surprise by the swiftness of C-Sec's response!"
"How many prisoners are they dealing with?"
"Fifty... out of close to a thousand unaccounted for and out in the city as we speak!"
"Have they made demands?"
"None! They just started shoot— Oh GOD!"
Suddenly, Wong's camera drone captured the sight of Ullr leaping on top of a Special Response officer, followed by him kicking his head clean off. The footage became more frantic, receiving only glimpses of other Drell with augmented parts killing C-Sec officers.
One of them, a large man with huge synthetic arms, approached Emily with a huge, evil grin on his face. "Come here, pretty lady..."
"...no! NO! STAY AWAY!" Emily grabbed her camera drone and tossed it at the giant, and then there was the sound of gunfire, and the turian patrolman shouting at the reporter to run the hell away.
"My camera!" she shouted, her voice becoming distant over the static transmitted by the camera.
"Emily? Emily!" called out the newsanchor. "Oh no, can we get eyes on her...?" she asked her crew, but she was cut short when the camera drone began to transmit again.
The angle was off, a worm's eye view, but one could make out the figure of a young drell woman, her body riddled with scars and synthetic skin grafts. Her legs and arms had been replaced with elegant, white mechanical prostheses, with glowing lines cut into the frame.
"Watch," she said, her calm voice hiding a tranquil fury. She lit up a flare, and tossed it somewhere, and then crushed the camera with her foot.
They cut back to the newsanchor. "We're getting a report from our eye in the sky — more explosives have been detonated in the prison... And we're going live at the scene with Caelum Videns!"
"Caelum here!" shouted a Turian over the din of a skycar's engines. "The prison is now completely engulfed in flames!" The video stream switched to the skycar's camera. "Survivors from Special response are coming out to escape the blaze and... Oh, no... they're shooting them!"
Zoom in. Turian and Asari officers falling, shot in the back.
"The prisoners are shooting the stragglers! And... wait, there's Emily, making a run for it, she's okay!"
"Caelum," asked the newsanchor. "Did you see that? In the courtyard..."
"You're right... It seems whoever is behind this massacre left everyone a message in... let me check... English? Terran English? It reads... let me translate..."
The camera swivelled, bringing the courtyard into view. On it, written in huge letters of gasoline, lit by a single flare, was written:
RAGMAN COME OUT
At first, Adam's expression became pained, and horrified, then it twisted into a mask of cold, trembling fury as more reports came in, of chaos and destruction across the ward.
"Agamene," said Caelum. "I think the question on everyone's mind is, who is this Ragman, and how will he respond to this?"
Adam crushed his glass into a hundred little shards.
"Whoa!" exclaimed Tuak, surprised. "Hey, that's coming out of your tab.
Adam glared at him. "Where's the garbage disposal?"
~[h+]~
The officer at the reception desk looked anxiously at the holo-screen, worried sick. Her boyfriend was in Special Response, and she hoped that the cameras would, just for one second, show him, alive and well, or at least wounded but stable, being tended to by a medic.
It was then that someone burst through the front door, striding towards her, but she barely paid him any mind. He was obviously a bum, coming in to report his shopping cart full of crap stolen. Her eyes were still fixed on the holo-screen even as he walked up to her and cleared his throat. "Fill this out," she said, not looking at him, handing him a stolen goods form.
He cleared his throat again.
"Look," she replied, annoyed, slowly turning towards him. "I don't have time to—"
The bum smacked something on the desk, getting her attention immediately. The bum removed his artificial hand and revealed a C-Sec card with a data chip embedded on the center, and PRIORITY ONE printed on the top in Basic.
It was covered in slime, and stank of garbage.
The officer scanned the card immediately, and before long she was speaking to the Executor himself. "Who are you?" she asked, after the call was done and she received her instructions.
"Your new bloodhound," said the cyborg, bitterly.
~[h+]~
Adam was snapped out of his strangely, very vivid reminiscing when someone loudly pulled up a chair and sat in front of him.
"Hello, Adam," said Hein, who had a couple of cuts and bruises on his face. "How are things?"
"Things are shit," replied Adam.
"Yeah, they're shit for me too."
"Oh really? Well, did you lose your job, your apartment, and someone who depended on you to keep her safe?"
Hein gave Adam a reproachful look for a moment, then smiled. "Well, after helping Anderson repel an attack on Galbadia Garden by Blacklight—"
"—The hell?!" Adam almost shouted, and looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. "Blacklight attacked a school?!"
"Hey, don't interrupt! Yes, Blacklight attacked a school. Don't be too surprised. Galbadia Garden's got plenty of scientific geniuses and prospective soldiers of fortune — almost every Tarsus Garden does. Treasure troves of talent, and in an war of ideas... well you get the idea."
"And Anderson, what was he doing there?"
"Well he was, thankfully, not in on the Alliance's latest act of douchebaggery. He went there to give Junko a proper send off." He took Adam's glass of Ryncol, sniffed it, coughed, and put it away. "Kahlee Sanders, an old flame of his, runs Galbadia Garden, which happens to have a very nice conference hall... and more than a few students there were fans of Junko, so they were happy to attend."
"And then Blacklight came in and ruined everything."
Hein seemed lost in thought for a moment, then spoke again... "They used her coffin as cover."
Adam's expression softened. "...Shit, Hein. I'm sorry."
"Don't worry," Hein said darkly. "I didn't need a gun to kill them... Anyways!" he shouted merrily, the anger in his face suddenly gone. "We managed to kill Blacklight and the Batarian mercs they hired, and saved the students, and as thanks for my heroism someone high in the Alliance chain of command decided that I should be arrested and dragged before them for, ah... you remember the Bhatia situation?"
"You mean the body you held from a grieving husband? Yeah, I remember. You got Zorah to test out those Geth weapons?"
"I did, but..." Hein rubbed the back of his head. "I was remiss in delivering my report to Alliance R & D... oh, and they wanted to know how I hacked the Normandy's computer. And Anderson... well, he really didn't want to be the one to bring me in in chains, but he's a good soldier at heart, and he did as he was told. The Normandy took me to an AIA facility, where I am currently held prisoner and due to be interrogated right about..." Hein checked the time on his Omni-Tool. "Now."
~[h+]~
Elsewhere, in a secure AIA facility...
"What the fuck?!" shouted the prison guard, as the Omni-Gel puppet in the likeness of Hein melted into liquid.
Better luck next time, said the note in the middle of the puddle.
~[h+]~
"Hoo, heads are going to roll for that one!" Hein's laughter died at the sudden cold hard stare Adam was giving him. "What?"
"...So," said Adam, coldly, as he discreetly reached for his gun. "The Alliance basically kidnapped you, took you to an AIA facility, and then... conveniently, you escaped?"
"Well, I was never actually inside the facility. I made a copy of myself and then hid in an airvent for the better part of the trip."
"Right." In one swift motion, Adam drew Sasha from her holster, cocked it, and pressed it against the center of Hein's chest.
Right where the Snatcher's power core should be.
~[h+]~
Author's notes
Ayailla is, visually speaking, a cross between Planescape Torment's Fall-from-Grace and Lost Odyssey's Sarah Sisulart. She's also voiced by Jennifer Hale
