"A 5 minute break after 1 hour of playing is recommended. A 15 minute break after 3 hours is strongly advised. If you play for over 5 consecutive hours without any breaks, we advise that you stop playing altogether and take a long look at yourself, making sure to question if you are satisfied with your life, before going back to the game."
The Mass Effect 2 Manual (2010)
Times Main Office
Omaha, UNAS
Earth
The interior of the Times headquarters reminded Cirae very much of one of Thessia's many Atheneums she had spent a good chunk of her childhood in. An open courtyard format on the inside, the first few levels of the skyscraper rimming around the edges of the foundation before the ceiling finally encompassed the rest of the building from the fifteenth story up. The floor here was thinly carpeted and there were endless rows of low wood desks occupied by dutiful reporters and researchers, all staring intently at their consoles. The asari Atheneums had been billeted as centers of knowledge on her world, a repository of her people's combined experience and wisdom, so it always gave Cirae a sense of home whenever she wandered in a location that could replicate such emotions. It was certainly invigorating to know that humans had been building such centers for the development of knowledge for centuries.
Such feelings were perhaps expected now that she was standing within such a vaunted news publication like the Times. Now this was a place Cirae could feel comfortable in.
One could say that the architecture here was efficient. There was a robust sense of the industrial and the minimalist subtly making itself inherent in the overall atmosphere as demonstrated by the clear paneling that exposed the interior wiring and foundational supports on erratic parts of the structure. Staircase slopes were abundant and several information terminals were available to all, slotted into the smooth walls that were painted the color of steel. The floors had been pristinely cleaned, spotless of dust. One could set up an entire manufacturing setup here and not have to worry about contaminants, Cirae figured.
Enlarged graphics of meaningful and in-house quotes in an old-looking font had been etched onto the walls while holographic posters of previous award-winning headlines had been printed out and framed on the supporting pillars, presumably as a way to both brag about the company's achievements while simultaneously boosting morale. The posters themselves were the perfect motivation device. Their placement subtly implied, "Write well enough and someday your work might be on this wall too!" Cirae was jaded enough to expect that none of the average beat writers could ever hope to scrounge up the prose necessary to earn their place on the wall of fame here. Granted, everyone here was good at their jobs, but the Times was a name that spoke of greatness in this industry, not just for humans but for a good chunk of the galaxy as well. This was not just any average publication akin to the reactionary spin-centric rags that were only run by two people out of an extranet site. The Times was humanity's first and probably only source for extensive and sometimes unbiased information, a union from two of the most prestigious newspaper makers on the planet: The New York Times out of UNAS and Der Spiegel out of the EU. Only the best news writers on Earth worked at the Times.
In her own biased opinion, Cirae figured that the man she was here to see, Avi Ben-Zvi, occupied a slot in the top echelon of the Times' writers, but she would never tell him that to his face. The man was humble, but not that humble.
A programmable holo-card "hung" from the asari's suit lapel as she was led through the twists and turns of the building by a receptionist after being let off on the thirty-seventh floor. The card displayed Cirae's name, contact information, and who she was here to see. Normally, protocol would dictate that she wait in the lobby while her contact—in this case, Avi—would be alerted to her arrival, but since she was a government representative and that Avi was in a meeting and would not be looking at his messages, Cirae was allowed to come past the security desk and into the building to seek him out herself.
Downtown Omaha rose past the windows as she walked, though there was nothing particularly interesting about neither the skyline nor the surrounding forested suburbs to attract her attention. Cirae had initially been nonplussed at why such a prestigious institution such as the Times would choose to base itself here. Apparently there was the war to thank for that. The Reapers had destroyed the Times' main building in New York City during their occupation—the paper had a secondary site in Omaha and that city had not been hit quite so hard in comparison. Seeking to minimize financial losses, the offices were moved over to the inner UNAS and had stayed ever since, much to the detriment of its overall accessibility. It was obvious that Omaha's transportation infrastructure was not as expansive as one would find in New York. Many of the Times' staff still lived over on the eastern coast of the continent.
Shame about the scenery, or lack thereof, as Omaha was quite a flat and featureless place. Cirae would have preferred to work with a view that was a little more varied but for once she could understand any sympathize with the perspective of a corporation. The irony was not lost on her.
The asari shouldered her way past hordes of bustling interns and automated carts filled to the brim with research materials, which were shuttling to and fro to deliver their items to frantic writers trying to meet inflexible deadlines. Cirae had to constantly dart out of the way so as not to get run over by an errant cart. A bruise on the shin would be an inconvenience, not to mention the momentary pain from getting hit would be outrageous.
According to the receptionist, Avi was currently in conference room Antietam. All the rooms on this levels were named after famous battles from a civil war that had occurred in one of the former countries that comprised the UNAS. She passed Bull Run, Shiloh, Vicksburg, and finally Appomattox before finally rounding the corner to arrive at Antietam. One of the walls of the conference room was thick-paneled glass frosted in a series of interlacing diamonds to prevent people from looking on in. Cirae could see vague outlines from behind the glass, one of which was presumably Avi. In her earlier days, when she was driven more from politeness and decorum, she would have waited patiently outside the room for Avi to eventually reveal himself after his duties had concluded, but Cirae had found that her patience had worn quite short over the past few weeks. She shouldered the door and walked right on in.
Avi was physically alone in the room, his back to her, on a video conference with someone elsewhere on the planet, judging from the fact that another human woman's enlarged appearance on the screen at the far wall was considering Avi intently. He had not noticed Cirae's arrival.
"—I'm telling you," he was saying aloud to the screen, "the fact of the matter is that we have nothing concrete that we could use for this. It's a shot in the dark. Speculation. You know we can't even run on a hunch with this one, it's too risky."
"Avi, I'm telling you," the woman said, "the intel on this is legit. I can get you quotes from—"
"From people who weren't even there to see it. I'm not saying that it didn't happen, Maddie, but if you can't get anything on an official channel, or from someone willing to go on the record, there's nothing for us to report. We're not a tabloid, we don't just fire off character assassinations without the proof to back it up. I'm not saying it didn't happen to this woman, but unless something comes up legitimately, we're not going to use this."
"You're a real coward, Avi," the woman called Maddie spat.
"It isn't personal, it's just—" Avi tried to say before the call abruptly cut off on Maddie's end. "…business."
The lights brightened and Avi rubbed at his temples. Cirae was still slinking around near the door, hands folded across her chest.
"Shooting down puff pieces now, Avi?" she finally announced after it seemed like the man was taking his sweet time in turning around.
Cirae had to admit that it was particularly funny to see Avi jump nearly a foot out of his seat in surprise. "Cirae?!" he exclaimed. "You… you got here quick! Wasn't expecting you until later this evening."
"Caught an earlier flight out. Shuttles are quick and cheap over here."
Avi managed a shaky grin. He was a rather awkward example of what constituted as a human to Cirae—tall and lanky, hair tangled in a topknot, Avi was olive skinned and his was beard perpetually in a state of five o'clock shadow. It looked like he was always just a couple steps away from looking perfunctory but he deliberately relented in doing so as if that was his own way of rebelling against outdated fashion codes. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Cirae found Avi endearing, even with his atrocious sense of style. The man was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt for crying out loud, a fashion that apparently had been passé for several decades on this planet.
The man offered her a seat, but she preferred to stand. "Did I walk in on something that I wasn't supposed to?"
Avi considered this before shaking his head. "Just yet another occurrence of being swept up in a complicated blackmail routine. It seems like this happens every month—an investigative reporter gets a lead that a man in a position of power took advantage of a vulnerable woman's—"
"Raped, you mean," Cirae cut in.
"I was trying not to offend your sensibilities…"
"I'm several times older than you, you moron. I've both heard and seen it all. The last thing I need is for you to think that I've somehow developed a sudden sensitivity for gristly details."
"As you wish," Avi held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, so the long and short of this story is that the son of a prominent senator on Earth raped an up-and-coming starlet in the entertainment industry. The two allegedly met at a party and went back to a hotel room together. The girl emerges hours later from the room crying but does not report the crime. I wish I could tell you that's the first instance of this story that I've heard in my career. The sad thing is that, these stories nearly always pan out one of two ways: either through private settlements or both parties conveniently forget that anything happened at all. The victim doesn't want to go to the police, nothing goes on the record, which means that we technically can't report it because anything we print could be interpreted as potentially libelous."
Cirae blinked. "Then… you don't believe that it happened?"
"Oh, I know it happened," Avi crossed his legs. "The problem simply lies in proving it. That's the issue reporters like Maddie can't seem to understand. Not only are we stymied politically from commenting on this, there's also the legal obligation we have to make sure that whatever we put out there can be irrefutably backed up by facts. The day we start relying on rumors and speculation is the day we cease becoming a respected institution. That's what happened to the Murdoch companies a hundred years ago—the Times will not follow that route!"
Certainly passionate about the job at hand, Cirae thought. One of the reasons why she liked Avi so much was that he could be particularly effusive about the role the fourth estate played into shaping sociopolitical events while continuing to maintain a solid moral compass. The relationship between politicians and the media could be rather frosty at times, but Cirae had always found that strengthening her connections would sooner or later prove to be more beneficial than a detriment.
"Well," Cirae said as she slowly walked up to where Avi was sitting, "I may have something that could distract your mind from being unable to report on a shady sex cabal, if that's something you're interested in."
Avi's eyebrows raised, his interest piqued. "I'm in between stories right now, so you've already got me at a good time. It must be big if you're here to talk about it in person. You usually would just tell me the details over a call."
"It's a matter of life and death, Avi."
"Are you being sensational or is that literal?"
Cirae's face flattened and her eyes narrowed. "Avi, I'm a politician. It's my job to have as level of a head as possible."
"You going to tell me what it's about?" Avi asked.
"Not right here," Cirae frantically shook her head. "Back at your apartment, where there are less prying eyes."
"And here I thought you came all this way just to sleep with me."
"Well… that too," Cirae admitted with a guilty look. "I've had you on my mind lately."
"I see."
"Let's hope so. So, what would you want first? The scoop or the sex?"
The ragged face twisted into a grin of sheer amusement, the sort one gets when they realize they had been holding a greater amount of power than they had initially anticipated. "Oh? I get a choice, is that it? Huh. Such a dilemma: scoop or sex."
"Avi," Cirae said tonelessly. "Need I remind you that this is a matter of life and death?"
The man screwed his lip up into a mock face of admission before giving a pronounced nod to bookend the conversation. "Sex, then."
"I thought so."
Coraltide Vein
The Citadel
The Citadel itself operated on a flexible schedule for its working-class citizens, being that it was a space station with its own artificial day/night cycle on certain portions of its structure. Places like the Presidium, however, were subject to a constant dosage of projected daylight thereby skewing the concept of what was a "working day." A standard day on the Citadel took around 20 hours—most businesses on the station based their work week around that framework.
At this current hour, the vast majority of the citizenry were most likely sleeping in their apartments. Despite the inauspicious time for production to proceed in favor of commerce, a golden grid of glimmering traffic lights constantly marked a boundary that crisscrossed and interweaved its way around the station. The never-ending flux that was the super-conduits of mid-air gridlock. Scattershot strands of transportation strands that served to connect the station with its harboring world below.
The lateness of the night (or perhaps the earliness of the day) meant that the footways in and around the main shopping areas were starkly clear, for the most part. A gaggle of four staggering outlines weaved back and forth down the clear avenues, all laughing and chattering loudly amongst themselves, serving as the only aberrations to the otherwise quiet morning. The broad and open streets acted as a tempting channel to obnoxiously take up as much space as possible. With no danger of colliding with other passerby in sight, the four individuals swayed to and fro as they took the opportunity to inhabit a larger personal sphere than normal, a momentary break from the natural tenet to preserve space as much as possible whilst being free of a planetary body.
Skye was demonstrating this newfound freedom by choosing to walk along the raised platform that split the road into two—hardy trees and shrubs had been planted here by groundskeepers to give the steel pathways a splash of green to the overall décor. A broadly grinning Roahn walked on the road alongside the human, Korridon following closely behind with an ice pack applied to the side of his head. Taylor was leading the way, as usual, arms raised out in appreciation of the uncommon influx of space on this station at this time of the day. Being raised on Earth, Taylor had developed a severe distaste for claustrophobic spaces—the Citadel was tolerable in small doses as the crowds here were often madness so moments like these were no doubt savored by her.
The four individuals existed in a contemplative plane of equanimity that, for the moment, served to supplant the dreadful feelings that had been encroaching from their combined moments of constant combat or from wallowing in terror for long periods of time. Neither of them, Roahn especially, dared to linger their thoughts on the stoic duty that their work would guide them back on again, for that would ultimately destroy the illusion of today, to undo the careful fantasy that they had concocted by only concentrating on the here and now, pushing the worries of the future further away.
Yet those worries could not be stymied forever. They were the tide, always constant, always eroding away the barricades.
Roahn knew that better than anyone. She had the scars to prove it.
But instead in giving into that fear, Roahn still maintained the frame of mind to enjoy herself right at this moment, bolstered by the infectious enthusiasm of her friends and comrades. Even Korridon, wounded in action though he might be, was grinning somewhat painfully as Skye recounted one of her tall tales of fending off several attackers at a dive bar as a way to conveniently draw forth a parallel to her own experiences or perhaps to upstage Korridon with a tale that had just a little more action in it. Roahn had periodically asked the turian if he had been okay—the lump he had garnered on his head by trying to use diplomacy instead of his fists in defusing the situation with that collection of drunks had been an unseemly souvenir that had lingered for longer than expected. Turians had tough skin but the cartilage underneath their outer plating still bruised rather easily. Still, Korridon had told Roahn every time that the injury was slowly subsiding even though was apparently throbbing like a bastard. The sympathetic bartenders had been quick to supply the turian with a pack of ice without being prompted.
Anything to help out one wounded in battle, so it seemed.
"Strange thing is," Skye suddenly said out of the blue, "I'm not really all that tired."
"You too?" Taylor turned around as she proceeded to now walk backwards. "I thought it was just me."
"You, Roahn?" Skye asked.
Smiling, and still just the faintest bit tipsy, Roahn shook her head. "I'm doing better than I thought, actually." That was not facetious. Despite being temporarily hospitalized not 24 hours earlier, Roahn's most previous afflictions had been easily forgotten thanks to tonight's events.
The human sidled up to Roahn and nudged her arm with an elbow. "You see what I see?"
"No. What?"
Skye pointed towards the end of the street, way off towards the left. One of the multitudinous skycar stands offered an unwavering orange light, a beacon for the wayward traveler, but parked right next to it were several of the ubiquitous transports arranged in a row, ready for use.
"You don't still happen to have that root access hack on you?"
Roahn's thin veil of drunkenness fell away completely as though someone had doused her with cold water. She looked at Skye in bemusement. "Surely you can't be serious?"
"Name's not Shirley, babe," Skye laughed as she trotted away in a jog towards the front vehicle, a red-painted model, and tried to lift the hatch. The door refused to budge—locked tight. "Come on, can you open this thing?"
Roahn spread her arms wide in confusion. "Just what do you have in mind?"
"Night's still young. Figure we can have a little more fun."
There was a deep-seated doubt as Roahn tried to read into the human's actions, but there was still the subtle pull of affection and curiosity. She walked over, omni-tool activated, and gently grasped the handle. Her tool automatically connected to the skycar's network and cracked the weak encryption in seconds. The interior lights brightened and the door unlocked with a hiss. Roahn opened the door wide but Skye did not enter just yet.
"A lap around the Presidium ring," the woman smirked. "Guidance systems off. You and me. Interested?"
Roahn arched an eyebrow. "A race?"
"And you thought I was going to behave for the entirety of shore leave?"
That would be out of character, wouldn't it? Roahn thought.
She could have used her superiority to deliver another reprimand unto the woman for suggesting such a foolhardy method of entertainment. This was reckless, even by Skye's standards. Yet, for what it was worth, Roahn faltered in stopping this line of thought before it could take hold in her mind. The welcome craving of adrenaline, the simple and pleasurable rush of speed beckoned. Her rank could not iron out Roahn's spirit completely and a simple smile came to her face.
"I'll take you up on that," she said, perhaps not fully comprehending the magnitude of what she had just agreed to.
Skye winked and made a shooting motion with her finger as she clambered into the first skycar.
Taylor guiltily edged over to Skye's vehicle, looking almost sorry for what she was about to say. "I'll go with her. Make sure she doesn't act too crazy."
"Good luck with that," Roahn commented wryly. She then walked to the skycar parked immediately behind Skye's but not before tapping Korridon on the shoulder. "You're with me."
"No argument there," Korridon murmured as he chucked the now-melted bag of ice into an automated waste receptacle. Roahn had already hacked open the second vehicle and had taken her place on the left side where the steering controls usually generated. The limber turian slowly sat down on the right, gingerly prodding his head and finding his wound to be in the process healing nicely.
Roahn waited a moment for the turian to fully settle in and for the doors to slide shut. There was a slight hissing noise as the door seals secured themselves in a vacuum lock. Once that was completed, Roahn raised her hands in front of her, automatically engaging the manual controls just below her fingertips, bathing the both of them in an artificial glow.
Skycars were meant to follow their automatic programming and fly across predesignated flight routes. However, those with military experience or certain licenses had authorization to switch on manual mode and fly the craft freely. The lights on the dashboard switched over from blue to red as a result of this, indicating the change in permissions.
A holographic dashboard glimmered to life in front of Roahn. There were two empty circles at a natural height for her arms to rest that indicated where her hands were supposed to go—these were the controls for the pitch and thrusters. She slowly slotted her wrists through the shimmering cuffs and the skycar began to subtly tremble as it detected the input. The craft slowly raised from the ground, its undercarriage thrusters igniting, and it gave a languid turn as Roahn rotated her left wrist.
Next to her, Korridon was planting his feet hard against the footwell as he grabbed up at one of the door handles for support. "You ever have one of those moments when you seriously get second thoughts about something?" he asked through a grimace, glancing balefully through the expansive canopy above his head.
"You still have time to get out," Roahn said, her attention more concentrated on the pre-flight checks she was currently performing. The turian considered the offer but something made him stay, keeping him in his seat.
A light on the dash pinged. "All set over here," Skye's voice burst through. Roahn could look up and see that the human had pulled her vehicle next to hers. The two skycars rippled from their pulsating engines, a low purr in their content state. "How are your preparations going?"
"We're finished," Roahn said. "Ready for the count."
"Count? Nah, we don't need a count."
Roahn could only stare as, with a soft whine, Skye's vehicle abruptly shot off the ledge and pitched downward into the transit tunnels below. There was a glimmer of lights and Roahn's skycar was left all alone upon the ledge.
"Cheater," Roahn groused before muttering to Korridon. "Hold on."
"Oh… Spirits," the turian mumbled as Roahn tilted her hands forward, nudging the skycar into a slow dive.
The acceleration dampeners in the craft counteracted the lurch of gravity upon the occupants but it was still a bit nauseating to see the entire scenery yaw and roll as it had been a mere projection against the glass. Roahn eased off the throttle to have the skycar naturally orient itself before she suddenly gunned the engines, taking off in hot pursuit after the reddish pinprick that was Skye's vessel.
The interior of the Presidium ring was a labyrinth of steel channels and canyons that coalesced into overcrowded pathways. Tight right angles presented gut-wrenching obstacles. Instrument vanes sprouted from every angle upon the walls, creating a savage boundary that threatened to impede one's flight path. Thin windows alongside the corridors shimmered like quartzite and diamond, blending into a single hue as the scenery whisked by at slightly over a hundred miles per hour.
Roahn was leaning forward, her eyes in constant flux as she took care to notice every detail of her surroundings. Her hands made slow movements on the controls, never jerky, always composed. She made careful banks of the craft, sending the skycar into smooth turns that clipped each apex nearly perfectly. Up ahead, Skye did not seem to be quite as skilled with her own craft—she was having to slow down too much to make the tight turns and she was overcompensating with her controls as if they were overly sensitive to her input.
The wedge-shaped skycars were making low-pitched whistling noises as they cut through the thin air. Lucky it was still late at night otherwise this conduit would be filled to the brim with commuters or long-haul truckers. The two racers still had to avoid the occasional flyer on the road, but they made sure to give them all a wide berth so as not to cause any accidents.
Roahn took a split-second to glance over at Korridon. The turian was still clinging tightly onto whatever handholds the skycar had within reach, his eyes bulging at their widest. Clearly he did not look comfortable.
"Having fun?" she facetiously called over to him. When he did not answer right away, she sent the skycar into a quick corkscrew just to elicit any sound from his throat.
"Any more moves like that and I'm going to throw up," Korridon groaned.
"Susceptible to motion sickness?"
"No," Korridon said. "Just crazy flying."
The quarian's maneuvers had brought her skycar to within several dozens of meters from Skye. The human had undoubtedly noticed that Roahn had caught up to her with ease and was now going to employ a few dirty tactics to keep her lead. Skye yanked her vehicle back and forth, blocking Roahn's path down the tunnel, ensuring that if Roahn were to try anything, a collision could become a definite possibility.
Crazy bitch, she thought.
"Crazy bitch," she said.
"And I thought I was alone in that sentiment," Korridon commented, trying not to puke.
Still Skye continued to whip her skycar all around, forcing Roahn to slow down. "What's wrong?" she taunted over the radio. "Trying to pass me?"
Oh, I don't need to try to do that.
A solution to this problem was quickly presenting itself that Roahn noticed well before Skye could even react. A small crevasse hurriedly onrushing on the right, marked by construction lights.
Roahn grinned tightly as she sent the vehicle scything through the air to thread the needle down the small service corridor. Skye had chosen to stay to the main roads while Roahn was using this path as a shortcut. No doubt the human would be frantically looking around, trying to pinpoint where the hell Roahn had gotten to.
The metallic gorge was even tighter here and connected by a span of walkways, horizontal pylons so thick and close they looked like the walls had been peeled apart to form layered pedestals. Roahn had to shift the skycar up and down to dodge them all while maintaining a steady speed and a relatively constant bearing. A few repair drones shot by overhead, creating a soft blanket of whirring ory parts and artificial flotsam.
"Oh, this is insane," Korridon said as the walls seemed to close in tighter and tighter.
The bumpy embankments all melded together in a blurry screen, a restriction upon Roahn's vision as it seemed the horizon was slowly disappearing under a tight and solid blockade. The orientation of the shaft twisted and turned until both driver and passenger had completely lost their bearings. But still they sped on, withstanding the ramparts and the limiting palisades until, at the last second, the paneling opened up to a wider shaft. The skycar burst free with a limited whine, a momentary surge of victory now that they had made it home free.
And, what do you know, Roahn noticed on the rear cameras. Skye's vehicle was now bringing up the rear, the woman behind the canopy glass no doubt slack-jawed in amazement.
"No way!" her voice predictably came over the comm. "How did you get in front?!"
"You going to answer her?" Korridon asked after Roahn made no motion to respond.
The quarian shook her head as she sent the skycar diving underneath a large transport rig. "She wants me to respond. Staying silent gets into her head, and I kind of want to mess with her."
Now Korridon stared at Roahn with the sort of nervous expression that indicated a severe amount of hesitation that was stymying his next words. It was as if he found some potential line of thought in his head to be discomforting and overall inappropriate. But sometimes these battles were never destined to be won, merely considered.
"Sometimes I really don't get the two of you," he murmured, trying to focus on Roahn instead of the stomach-churning background.
"How so?" Roahn grunted as she edged the skycar faster, taking a corner at speed so that Skye would not find a clear passing lane.
"I can't tell if you want to hit or hug Skye a lot of the time."
"She's…" Roahn spoke before she halted, trying to find the right words which would be a challenging prospect even while not operating a fast moving vehicle, "…a handful."
Korridon's head lowered, his eyes lidded into piercing and judgmental slits. "But you still care about her, don't you?"
There was something in the turian's voice that served to emit a frosty pang deep within Roahn's chest. Was it from the realization that her personal squabble with the human had been noticed by others? Others who she would have never intended to get caught in or even notice the crossfire? Did Korridon see her failure to make proper amends with Skye as a flaw in her character or was there something more deep-seated to his question that she was not considering?
Or… was she being paranoid and reading too much into his query?
Gaps in the Presidium ring caused thick rays of sunlight to bolt in, momentarily blinding the passengers while the canopy worked to filter out the incoming UV radiation. "It's hard for me to completely let go of her," her honesty spilled right out from her. "Spend a good long while with someone during one of the most strenuous periods of your life—those kind of bonds are difficult to break. I loved her at one point. I guess I still do. But it's not an easy love to put into words, do you know what I'm saying?"
"I think so," Korridon said, but Roahn did not notice that the turian had broken eye contact to stare off into the distance, his face drooping into a series of emotions so inscrutable and private that she would never have been able to decipher his true feelings had she even been paying complete attention.
Continuing on, Roahn shook her head as if to clear her mind at the same time she brought the skycar sideways in a slow bank, the side of the station now whisking by at a rapid spin directly overhead. "If her fidelity was only a little more unshakable, perhaps I'd be able to love her wholeheartedly. But there are limits to my trust. She still needs to rebuild what she broke."
"How so?" Korridon asked, his face coming back around in interest.
Roahn was initially unsure if she wanted to reveal this to Korridon, but thought better of keeping it a secret. The turian had proved himself worthy of her confidence, at least at this level.
"She cheated on me years ago," she said. "Hard to come back from that, I'd say."
Korridon clenched a hand in surprise. "I didn't know that," he said. "I'm sorry."
"The funny thing was that Skye thought she was doing it for the right reasons—as though as she thought she could justify cheating—but I couldn't look at her the same way after that. To be so… careless in many ways. I see her now and I'm not sure if she still realizes what she did was wrong."
"Yet you think you can go back to the way things were?" Korridon leaned forward, a tremble now barely discernable at the edge of his quiet and layered voice.
Roahn's hands relaxed on the controls as the docks came into view. The last turn. The homestretch.
"Maybe," was all she said as her skycar crossed the invisible endpoint with little fanfare and a dark feeling residing in her heart.
The two of them were clambering out of the skycar at around the time Skye was angling in her own vehicle to land. The human had a befuddled expression on her face through the canopy—she had clearly expected to win, considering her blatant head start. That look remained etched upon her mouth as she stepped out the instant the doors opened, causing Roahn to silently answer with a knowing glance of her own.
"Well, I'm not a sore loser," Skye said as she walked over to Roahn and Korridon. "I know when I've been beat."
"Despite your best attempts to cheat," Roahn added, earning a chuckle from Korridon.
Skye shot the turian a glare, who clamped his mouth shut fearfully. "I figured that would make things more interesting," she explained. "Regardless, you won. I lost." Skye then raised her chin high. "What do I owe you from my loss?"
Roahn felt put on the spot. She had no idea that she had been supposed to wager anything. Was this another one of Skye's ploys?
"It wasn't a competition," she evaded but Skye would have none of it.
"Every bout has to have an award," the human persisted. "You don't enter into a poker match and walk away without a pot as the winner."
"Except this wasn't poker," Roahn stood her ground. "I wasn't doing this for money."
That shrewd smile was back on Skye's face while a new and subtle little glint took up residence in the corner of her eye. She remained silent for a minute before dissolving into an agreeable shrug. "Didn't say that I was putting down money as my wager. Still, I'll wait until you can think of what I owe you. Shall we press back to the ship?"
Miffed, Roahn watched the departing Skye for a few moments until she followed in her steps. Korridon and her briefly locked eyes, sharing not a gesture between them, but the implications were still clear as day. There was something suspicious going on with what Skye had unexpectedly proposed—was the human trying to get inside her mind by making her feel like she was owed something? Or was Skye simply setting the foundation for something else?
All this time and she still had not completely figured out that human yet. Damn it.
Los Angeles, UNAS
Earth
Despite the housing market in Omaha being relatively stable and cheap, all things considered, Avi did not live anywhere close to his place of work. He had always harbored a longing to be near the ocean, and with the income he gained from both his employment and from releasing a few highly acclaimed biographies, he was able to afford a high-rise in Los Angeles, the largest metropolis on the western seaboard of the continent. It was not like the commute was inconvenient—flights out of Los Angeles only took 45 minutes to get to Omaha. As far as he was concerned, he had it made.
Cirae had been in Avi's apartment several times already. Though she it had been a few years since she had last visited the premises, upon entering this time she was surprised to realize that she retained every detail quite well. Either that or Avi never put in any attention into redecorating his place which made the most sense, given that every single item in the apartment appeared to be in the last position that she was able to recall.
The two did not mince words once the door to the apartment had shut and they were standing in Avi's foyer. The two approached and found each other in a passionate kiss, their arms looping around each other's bodies in the pale light of a lonely overhead lamp. Together, they stumbled past the sparse living room and knocked against every wall in the hallway before finally arriving at the bedroom, shedding clothes as they went. Avi's bed was low to the ground but the mattress was quite soft. A decent set of gray sheets and a healthy collection of pillows was an immediate locus for where to place their bodies. The expansive window directly to the right showcased the glimmering scope of the city before them—streetlights, skycar headlights, and windows from other buildings all shining like stars. It was night at this part of the world and it, including the room, had been doused in darkness.
In no time, Cirae and Avi had clawed off the last of their garments and the asari was soon atop the human, bouncing upon him wildly with abandon. The bed gave several groans and creaks as it sagged in time to the couple's lovemaking. Cirae bobbed and writhed, her torso nearly vertical to Avi's while his hands were playing with her breasts.
She had forgotten just how quiet of a lover Avi was in times like these. When they had sex for the first time, Cirae had asked Avi afterward why he did not make any noise. It was just his way. His enjoyment was all conveyed through his expressions, though they could be so subtle that Cirae would miss some of them entirely. The asari gave a mental shrug—she was probably making enough noise for the both of them right now. She was half-expecting the neighbors to come pounding on their door at any moment, irritated from the series guttural sounds that was emanating from her throat.
The rough sex continued for several more minutes. Cirae came twice as she bounced upon Avi. He had to sit up and take her from behind so that he could finish. Once satisfied, the two soon fell upon their backs next to each other, chests slowly rising and falling as they sucked in tender breaths, their bodies not touching, keeping each other at a distance, albeit a close one. The sheets were crumpled underneath them. Several of the pillows had been kicked off the bed during their session.
A solitary lamp in the corner was unable to bring light to the entire room. What little luminescence there was crawled over any surface it could find, smothering the asari's and the human's bodies in long shadows that accentuated their contours.
After a while, Cirae suddenly sat up in the bed. "Thirsty," she announced to no one in particular before turning to Avi. "Got any beer?"
"There are a few bottles in the fridge," Avi lazily waved. "Bring me one too?"
Cirae swung her feet off the bed, her bare soles finding thick carpet. She padded over to the exit, nearly bending over to retrieve her undergarments but thought better of it. She walked to the kitchen stark naked, found the beer in the fridge, exactly as Avi had said, and grabbed two bottles. Entering the bedroom again, she could not help but smile as she found Avi propping himself up on his side seductively, his eyes not even attempting to be subtle as he gazed at her womanly areas.
"Degenerate," she smirked but handed him one of the bottles anyway.
"Hey, I appreciate an attractive woman, thank you very much," Avi fake-pouted. He took a swig of his beer as Cirae settled next to him. "You're going to wear me out one of these days, you know."
"You've caught on to my master plan. I'm just biding my time until the day that I'll be able to throw out your hip from fucking you senseless."
Avi raised an eyebrow and gave a low grin. "I can get on board with that. Did I ever tell you that longevity is my fetish?"
"Shut your mouth," Cirae lightly slapped Avi's leg as she pulled up one of the sheets to cover themselves below their waists as they had gotten rather chilly. Their torsos were still bare and the two drank their beers as they sat up, backs propped by some form-fitting pillows. "I take it you enjoyed tonight?"
"I always do when I'm with you."
Cirae hid a small blush. "Flattery doesn't work on me, you know."
"So you say, yet you're still smiling."
Under the covers, Avi slid his hand over so that he was touching Cirae's bare thigh. Had this been a couple of years ago she would have jolted in surprise from the contact, but now she had been accustomed to this sort of treatment from the human. Avi was not one to display his affection through words, despite his occupation. Rather, he told everything with his eyes, with his hands, anything he could short of saying it out loud. Cirae did not mind it when he touched her like this. If anything, she liked it a lot.
There had been many times like this where the two of them had just lied in bed for hours after making love, just touching each other with their hands, exploring each other's body. Cirae particularly found the contrast between their skin tones and textures to be fascinating. Humans had such a soft feeling to their skin—simply being enveloped in a bare hug by them was incredible. Likewise, Avi seemed to have a thing for the cartilage ridges on Cirae's head, in addition to some of her more obvious female analogues.
"Have you ever thought that there's a conflict of interest somewhere in what we've been doing?" Cirae said out of the blue, eyes closed as Avi's hand began to idly move back and forth upon her leg.
The human chuckled. "All the time. But I do take solace in the fact that what we have isn't all that scandalous. Happens all the time in human politics—it's very common for politicians to wind up sleeping with members of the press."
"You know I never wanted you to feel that you were taking advantage of me throughout all this," Cirae looked over at the man, her eyes growing more limpid and honest.
Avi nodded. "And you know that I didn't go along with this purely because I might have felt that you were an 'in' to the Council's inner workings."
"Maybe we're just too timid to use each other like that. I kind of like the benefits that come with what we already have."
"As do I," the human agreed, his hand now stopping on Cirae's hip. "So, was there anything else planned for tonight that you had in mind or did you want to save what you wanted to share for tomorrow?"
"No, I'm wide awake," Cirae said as she set her beer down on the nightstand next to the bed. She then raised her arm, omni-tool switched on, as her face turned serious. "Um, before I do anything else, you realize what I'm about to show you is big, right? I mean it, Avi, I could be putting your life in danger by showing you what I've got."
"'A matter of life and death', as you put it," Avi quoted, giving his eyebrows a bump. "Cirae, I used to be a war correspondent before I became a reporter. I've been shot at several times and been in danger more times than I can count."
"Nothing like this," she warned.
"What makes this time so different?"
"Well," Cirae considered, "during the war, we actually knew who our enemies were."
Avi stroked his chin thoughtfully, weighing the repercussions in his head. He was not a man who panicked easily. Cirae had known him to be maddingly sober in his thought process. It was a trait she admired in him. He would probably have made a better politician than her.
"Just show me," he said. "Consequences be damned."
As you wish, Cirae thought before she went into her rehearsed presentation. "Consequences be damned," she repeated lowly.
She left nothing out as she explained it all to Avi. The rampant violence perpetuated by the PMCs. Her savage frustration with the Assembly's impotence to do anything about that problem. Her meeting with Miranda Lawson and her subsequent revelations about the representatives and other politicians being paid by the corporations under the table. She also recounted her conversation with Christenson and her suspicions about there being a slush fund that was grouping all the payments together. Cirae both read and showed Avi some of the documents and clips she had managed to uncover from all her investigating on the subject. The more she revealed, the further Avi's face slid into horror. That struck Cirae as unusual—whenever she had come to Avi before regarding a topic that had piqued both of their interests, Avi had never been caught off guard when Cirae was the one delivering the news. The fact that he was reacting so strongly simply served to confirm Cirae's worst suspicions about the information she had uncovered, a feeling which manifested as a heavy weight sinking lower and lower in her gut.
What she had stumbled on had massive implications for not just the political sphere, but for the entire galaxy. And now one more person was privy to only the barest glimpse of the widespread design.
"Jesus Christ," Avi said after Cirae had finished. He ran his hands through his combed hair, unintentionally undoing his topknot. "Jesus Christ. Jesus Christ. I don't know why I'm saying that, I'm not even a Christian. It's just… Jesus Christ."
"It's a lot to take in, I know," Cirae gave his shoulder a sympathetic touch.
But Avi suddenly leaped out of bed, as if possessed by a maniacal spirit. The fact that he was still naked made it mildly amusing for Cirae to witness. He paced all over the bedroom, hands still clenching his temples, his hair becoming more and more askew as he walked.
"I feel like I need a cigarette," he muttered. "Oh yeah, I'm definitely craving a light. I don't know why that is, I don't even smoke. Fuck, my mind is going in so many directions at once, Cirae. I just… I need…"
Before Cirae could offer more words of reassurance (not that she would believe them), Avi tore out of the room, leaving the asari all alone. She stared limply at the empty space the human had just occupied. A self-conscious feeling was overcoming her and she was about to shyly bring the covers up over her chest before Avi came back in the room at a fast-walk, ice cubes clinking in an alarmingly full glass of whisky that was now in a hand.
Avi took a larger than recommended mouthful of the alcohol and was amazingly able to hold it all in without succumbing to a savage burn. He was momentarily paralyzed in a full-body wince after swallowing it all down though, his esophagus not at all thanking him for the sudden abuse placed upon it. It took the man a few more seconds to calm back down to a sensible state and he returned to the bed but did not rejoin Cirae under the covers. He instead sat with his feet off the side, glass still in hand, staring off into nowhere while the dark blue night of Los Angeles merrily twinkled around his head through the windows, oblivious to his plight.
"If I told you that the Times had been repeatedly punting story after story about PMC political corruption being linked over the past several years, would you find it all that surprising?" Avi asked morosely. "The fucking timing of it all…"
Cirae's hand smoothed over the lush brown skin of Avi's back. "If you had asked me that a year ago, I would have said yes."
The human shook his head. "And now you're the person looking to spring the whole thing wide open."
"All I wanted was to have my own spot on a committee," Cirae said defensively. "It was a selfish gambit from the outset."
"Does that matter now? It looks like you've shed your personal stake to me."
Cirae gave a morose stare. "Someone should have done something before I came along."
"Yeah, well they all had their chance, didn't they? It passed them by. They screwed up. Now you're the one looking for a reckoning." The man then gave a joyless chuckle. "Everyone at work knew something was up, Cirae. It was practically an open secret amongst all our forums. Across our rivals, even. There were just too many rumors of there being a full-blown scandal about the PMCs. At some point, the frequency of the rumors becomes just too hard to ignore, you know? But every time someone tried to investigate these rumors, there would be an order from higher up, without fail, informing us that trying to dig up dirt on the PMCs was irresponsible and would open the Times up to litigation. So we never learned anything for all that time. And now you come in and not only show that our hunches were correct, but the speed of the corruption's spread has flourished without the press poking around."
"You were sidelined, same as I was."
"And now this has been the most definitive proof we've ever received on this whole disaster. Concrete video evidence of politicians receiving donations from the PMCs above the legal limit. You couldn't ask for better proof than that."
"So what are you thinking?" Cirae tilted her head, fingers at Avi's shoulder. "Is there a story here?"
Avi glanced back at her, playfully bemused. "Is there a story? You're damn right there's a story here, Cirae. Front-page potential, if you ask me." A minute escalation of Cirae's pulse surged through her body, causing her to sit up slightly straighter. But then Avi kept speaking. "I'm just wondering one thing, though."
"What might that be?"
"You have the PMCs. You have the politicians. You have this theoretical slush fund. This whole thing is so comprehensive that it's pretty much guaranteed of there being immense financial implications. Do you know how high in the Council this actually goes?"
It was a good question, one that Cirae had actually been considering for weeks now. She had tried to find a definitive answer for so long that the very act of turning the problem over in her head gave her nothing but a splitting headache for being unable to find one.
The asari shook her head. "All I was able to uncover was that my faction leader was involved. Beyond that, I couldn't really say."
Avi was silent for a moment before he slightly nodded his head. "Well, I was thinking that the scope of the PMC payouts—that we know of—is already incredibly widespread. The first thing that I think of is that something like this would not escape the notice of the councilors. They would have to know about it already, if they aren't part of it."
"What are you saying?" Cirae leaned forward. "That the councilors are also being paid by the PMCs?"
"All I'm saying," Avi emphasized, "is that we should consider that as a very real possibility."
Cirae's heart sank. She knew where this was going next. "So you're not going to push the story, I take it?"
"Oh, I am going to push it," Avi said as he stood, grabbing a robe off of the back of his desk chair. "But I want to know the whole story. Not just the bits and pieces, which is what you've brought me. I'll do some digging with what information the Times has. Unofficial, of course. That'll allay any suspicions. Now that I know what to look for, I may be able to help connect the dots somewhat."
Thrilled, Cirae leapt to her feet, her hands snaking underneath the human's robe, around his waist. "Just be careful, okay? Don't tell anyone what you're researching. I don't want you to get needlessly hurt from what I just told you."
"Cirae," Avi's face softened, bringing out a swell of warmth that had been previously locked away, "when you say things like that I get the sense that you think I'm new at this gig. I may have a lower lifespan, but humans are fast learners."
"Let's hope for both of our sakes that's the case," Cirae said.
The two swayed in place upon the carpet, the slowly undulating lights of the city barely illuminating half their bodies. The asari drew herself in closer, her skin pressing against the human's chest. She rested her head in the nape of Avi's neck, enjoying his body heat while he applied his tender touch to her lower back, massaging her tortured muscles.
"Headed back to the office tomorrow?" Cirae asked after about a minute of this.
"Bright and early," she felt Avi nod against her head. "You taking a shuttle to the Citadel in the morning?"
"That's the plan."
"Did you… uh…" Avi coughed, "…did you want to do anything else before you left?"
Cirae cracked open an eye so she could roll it in her socket. "If this is the kind of subtlety you're planning to use from here on out then we're all doomed." She brought herself out of Avi's embrace so that she could pull his robe wide open. She then looked down. "Yep. I'd say that words would just be redundant."
"Can't help it," Avi looked guilty but there was also a flash of arousal at having Cirae be so forceful to him. "My imagination wanders when I'm being hugged by a naked woman."
Cirae impishly lidded her eyes. "Does it wander anywhere worth residing?"
"Sometimes, though I'd say that reality is always better than what I can conjure in my head."
The asari's face levelled into a coarse sigh but she carefully led Avi back over to the bed so that she could shove him down upon it. The human flopped comically upon the sheets, sans robe, a satisfied smirk plainly evident in his look.
"You're lucky I find you attractive," Cirae muttered before she climbed atop Avi.
"Of that, I'm keenly aware," Avi grinned before he grabbed the back of Cirae's head and brought her in for a hungry kiss.
RRV Sindra
Empty space filled the tract of James' view from every camera angle. Motes of light, billions of miles away, glistened and shimmered as they hung in the air, as if they had been set there by a celestial hand. Mindlessly, with his feet propped up on the dashboard, the soles of his boots clipping through the holographic keyboard, he scrolled through every one of the feeds on his omni-tool, checking each side of the ship, the view from each lens, though he found nothing to have changed with each loop. Their ship was alone in the sector of the galaxy. No other objects in range. Still he cycled through the camera grid, hoping… just hoping to find something out of the ordinary, to bring a glimpse of the unknown into what would otherwise be classified as the mundane.
Behind him, slowly spinning in a chair, Jack's face was blank, teetering on the edge of sleep. Her feet gave the occasional kick to the ground, providing her with enough momentum to keep her chair rotating. Her orbit would on occasion bring her staring straight at Phoria, who had been propping up her head with a hand while she leaned onto the armrest of her own chair, eyes similarly drooping lazily.
Things had not been going well since the three of them had left Hatay. Taking refuge, temporary though it might have been, in that festering cesspool had only been the tip of the iceberg with regards to their bad luck. The fact that they had wound up killing a Spectre of all people was just another brick in the wall of hopeless regrets and otherwise inconvenient misfortunes.
James' brow furrowed sourly. So much for his intuition of there being a way to get out of this mess. Whatever communications he had sent out to the embassy—and therefore the councilor—had either been monitored or the actual Council was in on the whole conspiracy. After all, a Spectre had been sent to "clean up" this whole affair. Who but the Council would have such authority? He was not at all riding high from the quick fight he had endured with the salarian. One victory today merely meant that a greater response would come later. For all he knew he was forestalling the inevitable tidal wave that was just starting to approach.
And now he was back on Phoria's ship, trying to conjure any ideas on where he could park this thing next. He was really getting tired of being on this vessel. Despite being built for comfort, the novelty was starting to wear quite thin. Ordinarily he would be itching to leave this ship at a port of some kind, but after the bout of luck they had just went through, James did not feel like risking anyone's safety.
"Illium," Jack suddenly piped up.
"What's that?" James asked, not looking up from his omni-tool.
"Safe harbor. Illium. Any reason why that wouldn't be a good place to hide out?"
James shook his head, though the chair was blocking the movement from Jack's view. "The asari regularly patrol the area now. Illium's no longer the haven it used to be. Plus," he leaned over, "half the PMCs in the galaxy are based there. For tax purposes, so I've been told."
Jack's face fell, disappointed that her little contribution had been for nothing. "Illium, Noveria, and all of the capital worlds are all busts, then. Used to be that anyone could name five planets off the tip of their tongue as a safe harbor. Now they're either all surveillance worlds or have been dominated by the fucking corporations. Even Omega got it rough. It's been a slag heap for years now, ever since the PMCs blew it up."
"Shame," James said. "I would have chosen Omega to be our port of choice if it was still there. If Aria were still alive, she would have kicked the PMCs out long ago."
"You kidding? She never would have let them step foot on the station at all. You knew how much of a grudge she harbored against Cerberus. No way was she going to let the same thing happen to her twice."
James had never interacted with the so-called pirate queen of Omega, Aria T'Loak, in his professional career or at any time in his life. Not that he would ever get the chance—she was killed several years ago by a PMC operative in her own club. Stabbed brutally through the stomach and left to bleed out. It was foreshadowing of the sort of misfortune that Omega would soon undergo without Aria around as a guiding hand. The pirate gangs on the station, no longer left with someone to keep the peace, had erupted in all-out warfare in the streets of Omega mere hours after her death was reported, fighting over turf, over resources. Anything that was perceived to give an outfit value over their enemies.
The fighting was symptomatic, like a disease, and it had infected every square inch of the station. The volatility was so virulent that it managed to concern the politicians over on the Citadel into thinking that other gangs around the galaxy would be riled up by the devolution of civilization on Omega, spurred into violent action to take advantage of this new wave of carnage. The Council had undergone several days of debates on what to do about the "Omega Problem," but others had decided to take matters into their own hands. The asari, fully aware of the threat Omega posed, had hired a PMC to destroy Omega completely rather than risk their own troops, as they had judged this to be the more politically savvy move. With a fleet of warships arriving en masse and several thousand missiles later, Omega was nothing more than shattered rock and melted steel now acting as additional detritus for the asteroid belt in which it inhabited, along with the few million people who had been reduced to ashes within it.
Officially, the asari government had been censured by the Council for going behind their back and utilizing a PMC to commit one of the worst war crimes in recent memory. Unofficially, the punishment that was due to be meted out never actually took place—the Council's actual opinion was that the judgment of the asari had been harsh but necessary as they had made a determined effort to contain the violence that was threatening to spread throughout the solar system. Also, no politician wanted to stake themselves as being an advocate of the people of Omega. Not only were they not constituents of any one member of the Assembly, Omega had never exactly prided itself as a lawful place. Possessing a supportive stance for Omega was considered needless and an impediment to one's political career anyway. Most condemned the violence that had been displayed but bit their tongues and turned their backs once the cameras were away from them.
And if the asari had not been so hasty back then, we probably would have had a place to hide and rest today, James thought.
"You could always try Rannoch," Phoria drawled for the first time in several hours as she flexed her fingers, trying to stave off boredom. "Lots of places to hide out there."
James sagged in his chair. "You know damn well that the quarians have imposed restrictions about allowing aliens on Rannoch. We'll need permits for that and that involves jumping through god knows how many official channels to accomplish."
Phoria shrugged. "Didn't say that Rannoch would be a place for you to hide."
"How about this?" Jack jutted in. "If you don't have anything useful to say, just shut your fucking mouth? You think that's going to be too difficult?"
"Only if you manage to watch what's coming out of yours," the quarian glared.
"I could renege on what I said to you earlier," Jack warned as she leaned in closer. "I'm not the one you want to antagonize."
"As you have proved to me time and again."
A harsh screeching noise suddenly erupted from the pilot's console, accompanied by a blinking red light. James took his feet off the dashboard, sitting straight up as he began tapping corresponding switches as they activated.
Jack stood from her chair and moved behind James. "What is it? Maintenance alarm?"
James was slow to respond as he flipped up multiple screens, using his finger to trace invisible paths upon maps of three-dimensional space, his lips moving silently at first. "No. Proximity alarm."
As soon as he finished the final word, there was a sliver of movement just outside of the canopy. So slight it could have very well been a figment of the imagination. Black on black. A shadow amongst its kin. The alarm was going haywire though, and it was showing that an unknown contact, outlined in red, was rapidly approaching their position.
And it was big. Very big.
It took James a few seconds to realize that several of the stars past the glass were not stars but windows. The lights moved amongst the still backdrop, brief punctures into an enormous shape that eerily overtook the little yacht in moments. It was a dreadnought. Rainier-class. Spotlamps on the underside of the dreadnought briefly fell upon large steel panels, gunmetal gray, rows and rows of turrets, and several hangar bays for launching fighters. The three were agog as the ship slowly passed by overhead, a dagger amidst the void. A jagged predator, completely armed to the teeth.
Placed light fixtures on the side of the hull prominently made the Alliance logo stand out amidst the coldness of the ship's contours. James stood from his chair, a hand grasping at one of the overhead straps, as his eyes unconsciously tracked the frigate's trajectory. He had heard about the Rainier-class dreadnought before but had never seen one in person. It was the newest type of warship the Alliance had built since the war ended. They were said to possess 180 broadside mass accelerator cannons, house six squads of fast-attack fighters, and had two main railguns mounted on both the deck and hull of the ship, the largest sort of non-nuclear ordinance deemed legally permissible in the Milky Way. This thing was a monster. It could kill an entire planet if its commander had a particularly sadistic streak.
The thing was that James had a feeling who the commander of this ship was.
"This is the SSV Denali to the RRV Sindra," a voice burst over on the comm. "You will power down your engines and prepare to be boarded. Try anything and we will exercise only a fraction of our power to turn you into vapor. This is your only warning. You have 60 seconds to comply."
James nearly slumped back into his chair with a sigh. "The Denali," he said. "Huston's ship. How did he find us?"
"Look at it this way," Jack said as she sidled up next to him, similarly looking upon the dreadnought with awe, "it's not choice I would've picked first, but the Alliance is the best way out of this mess. Whatever the Alliance will do to us, it's a lot better than being caught by a PMC or by another corrupt politician."
"You've got it easier than I do," James grumbled through his teeth, a hand now squeezing at his chin. "You didn't have Huston as your superior. You're not going to be the one he wants the explanation from."
"You think there's a better choice?"
His carbonized eyes glanced over at the now-delicate seeming Jack, studying the faint scratches that marked her skin at her cheekbones. "I wish there was a better choice."
"It won't be too bad, marine," Jack laid a hand upon one of James' broad shoulders. "We'll find a way through this. We've gotten this far."
"Don't be so sure," their companion with the synthesized voice sneered.
James and Jack looked over to see Phoria reclining back in her chair. Smug look in her eyes. Hands folded on her lap. Enviro-suit free of wrinkles.
"You're acting pretty arrogant for someone who is about to find themselves in custody," Jack growled.
Phoria gave a dry rasp of a laugh. "Perhaps. Though I wonder if you truly understand what is at stake." Before anyone could ask her to clarify, Phoria dropped her poise and leaned forward almost conspiratorially, voice down to a deathly whisper. "You think this the end of your worries? Mark my words, it is only just beginning. You and I are about to have similar circumstances befall us. Just you watch."
SSV Denali
Six heavily armed Alliance soldiers had been waiting at the end of the docking tube, fully armored and ready for a conflict. James, Jack, and Phoria had slowly eased their way off the Sindra, hands raised to show that they were coming on board without weapons. After a quick pat-down, the soldiers escorted the three down the halls of the gigantic warship. It still smelled fresh here, acrid tang of recently welded steel and a sharp note of burned plastic, having just come off the assembly line. Segmented grates marked the pathway from the boarding gate to the top level of the ship. Electrical cabling and fluid conduits ran in circuits overhead, not yet covered by decorative paneling.
James had been on enough Alliance bridges to realize that they all looked exactly the same and had very little, if any, differences that otherwise made them stand out amongst themselves. Rows of technicians and engineer workstations formed a phalanx of sorts before one could reach the commander's position near the main war screen at the far end of the room. The soldiers took James and the others past the war screen, which was currently displaying a galaxy map, and into a side room. Huston was waiting there, his cap upon a desk in front of him, gray hair tightly trimmed upon his craggy face. He was wearing a tight scowl, looking like a dog about to attack. No weapon except for a long combat knife hung from his belt. He had been reading something on a datapad before the soldiers had brought the others in—he deposited it onto the desk with a casual toss before standing.
"Captain Vega," he started as he slowly began to orbit around his desk, his footsteps plodding and deliberate, "I'm sure you understand that I'm in a most vexatious mood. After all, when I provided you with that ultimatum to turn yourself in for a court-martial, I admit I was not anticipating what lengths you would go to in order to avoid a potential mark on your record. Though I almost don't want to hear what possessed you to participate in a full-blown shootout at CytoSystems' headquarters, the killing of N7 personnel notwithstanding. But… adding to my confusion is apparently the fact that Madam Phoria has been travelling with you in a willing capacity. I would advise you not to mince words, Captain. My patience is dangerously thin right at this moment."
James swallowed, finding that the room had gone uncomfortably cold in this moment. Huston was not the sort of person that could be easily intimidated. He stood at nearly James' full height and was almost as broad-shouldered, but the admiral was leaner than James and more finely honed from his additional years of service. This close James could now see the faint lines of scars scaling across the man's neck. Laser surgery had faded most of the damage, but the it was well known that the admiral was one of the most battle-scarred soldiers in the entire military. Huston had been spaced once when his ship had taken a direct hit from enemy fire and had lived through the entire ordeal with a nearly severed leg and an almost fatal cut to the throat after his suit brushed up against the shattered viewport. Noncoms serving under Huston usually whispered that the combination of such events had completely eradicated Huston's sense of humor. A good thing to remember as James would not use such glib comments for this encounter.
James determined that he could not outlast Huston's short fuse. He needed to say something. Anything. "Admiral, under the official Alliance Maritime doctrine, I hereby claim immunity ratione materiae for myself and for Jack on the basis that our conduct was of imperative importance to the Alliance."
He did not notice Jack's eyes squinting to near-closed behind him as a result of her immediate discombobulation with such a statement from his mouth.
"I'll need you to run that by me again," Huston said, the corner of one of his eyes developing a nasty twitch.
"Customary law bestows immunity on those who perform legitimate acts of state, Admiral. My direct orders as a soldier in the Alliance Navy are to protect and to defend humanity's borders, and my rank as a captain in the N7 special forces gives me the scope to carry out my duties as necessary. I will argue that my mandate gave me clearance to pursue my investigation into Phoria'Gula as well as CytoSystems as a whole. If you would like to hear me further explain myself, I will be happy to do so."
It was clear that Huston was not pleased by the string of words that had exited James' mouth, but it was also evident that he was trying to think of what to do next as he had not anticipated this sort of response.
"Functional immunity was not devised as a shield for our soldiers to run rampant across the galaxy, Vega!" he was able to respond, though with a fair amount of frustration as he headed back to his desk.
James nodded, gripped by a sudden boost of confidence. "That may be, sir. But I am prepared to defend myself with such a justification."
Jack gave a nudge to James' side. He glanced over while Huston was not looking. "'Rationae materiae?'" Jack breathed.
"There was a small chapter about it in the Alliance handbook," James whispered back.
Huston went back to his chair and sat upon it heavily. Resting a hand upon the desk, he clucked his tongue a few times before only his eyes moved to stare back up at the marine. "So…" he growled, "…say I decide to humor you, Captain. For you to claim immunity ratione materiae, you will need to tell me the very circumstances that warranted this 'erratic' behavior from you, for lack of a better word. If you can make the case that you truly believed that what you were doing was for the good of the Alliance, I might possibly be able to forestall or even do away with any sentencing that would otherwise besmirch your record."
That was just the opening that James had been hoping for. "I can do better than just explanations," he said as he unclipped a mini-drive from his omni-tool and dropped it onto Huston's desk. "The words of 'Madam' Phoria herself. According to her, the entire merger between CytoSystems and the Alliance was a sham from the get-go. She was being used by an unknown benefactor the whole time. Everything she told Jack and I is on that drive. It proves that there was something inherently wrong with the whole deal and that another party was using it to piggyback itself into the Alliance's supply chain."
Huston reached over and picked up the drive and turned it between his fingers. He then glanced over at Phoria, who had been quiet this entire exchange. "Is this true?" he asked the quarian.
Phoria looked up at James, almost as if she was disappointed that the marine was looking about to hand her over. Then again, that had been the ultimate goal that James had been pursuing this entire time. It was not like this day was going to come as a complete surprise to her.
She nodded. "It is," she simply said.
The admiral's mouth twisted and he let the drive fall from his hand back onto the desk, where it bounced a couple of times before falling still. "Then it looks like your claims might have some merit after all, Captain. Guards, take Phoria'Gula into custody and leave me alone with the captain and his cohort."
The soldiers gave their acknowledgements and gently gripped Phoria by the arm, leading her out of the room and back towards the bridge. Once the final guard had exited, Huston leaned back in his chair and gave a begrudging sigh. "I hope I won't regret rescinding your court-martial, Captain. You take more than your fair share of liberty that comes with your rank."
"Honestly, sir?" James said, "I asked myself what Shepard would do."
"Shepard," the word came out as an almost-sneer. "Yes, the poster-child for free reign. Not exactly the sort of role model that I would have you idolize at a time like this. One of these days, I would like to see if you will be able to think for yourself instead of trying to impress someone who is currently not here. But if it's red tape you wish to avoid, Vega, you might want to lobby to have your name considered for the Spectres. I hear they have a few openings."
"I go where my job takes me."
"That's a limp excuse," Huston soured. "People who say that are merely convinced that they're fighting for the preservation of ideals. Let me tell you something, Vega, we are not in the service of ideals. We serve humanity—one people—and are responsible for our preservation at any cost. Why do you think the Alliance was interested at all in making a deal with CytoSystems? We simply saw value in their services to help keep humanity safe. It was all business, nothing more."
"A deal rather absent in due diligence, if you ask me," James quipped.
Huston nodded in agreement as he reached into a nearby jar on his desk to grab a sweet before popping it into his mouth. "Yes, I anticipate an inquiry will have to be launched within Alliance Intel in the near future to pinpoint the lapse in judgment here. A dozen analysts in Berlin were poring over this deal and not one of them noticed this. How exactly did you discover that Phoria was being funded by a third party?"
"She admitted as much," Jack stepped in with a sideways glance at James. "CytoSystems' public financial records also gave it away that the company had secretive funding."
Huston gave a wry laugh. "All that in plain sight and still it was missed." Suddenly interested, he turned in his seat to look upon the tattooed woman. "And what of you, Jack? Were you stricken by the same chivalrous streak as our dear captain here or did something else convince you to join him? Your regular duties at Grissom a chore compared to an opportunity like this one?"
Jack's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, which was enough of a sign to James to indicate that she did not like Huston all that much. The admiral did not seem to notice because Jack's expression changed minutely back to her normal resting position.
"The captain asked me for my help," she shrugged. "Said he needed another set of eyes to hopefully catch what he missed. And, he fought under Shepard, same as I did. Hard to ignore a comrade in need with the same type of personal history."
Huston clapped his hands together as he rose from his chair again. "I see Shepard's penchant for uniting disparate people is still coming into play years after his retirement. My thoughts about the man may differ from the consensus but I do have to admire his natural talent for inspiring loyalty." He adjusted a few items on his desk before he straightened his jacket and headed for the door. "I have to apologize as there are several things that I need to attend to before the Denali sets back off, but give me half an hour and I'll be back to tend to your statements. In the meantime, I'll have someone come by to give you food and drink in case you haven't eaten lately."
"Just one question, Admiral," James said as Huston just started to edge by him. The elder man stopped in his tracks and slowly tilted his chin up expectantly, his stony face showing miniscule cracks as he awaited the question. "How did you manage to find us all the way out in deep space?"
Huston cracked a smile, which James found odd because he had never known the admiral to smile like that before. "You think that we happened to chance upon you so far away from a civilized port? We tracked you the old-fashioned way: careful analysis and patience. The Sindra's registration was listed as CytoSystems, an entity. A quick accounting after your firefight at CytoSystems showed that the Sindra was absent from the building. All that we had to do was take the registration papers from the ship and trace them back to the original owner, which was Madam Phoria, Captain. It enabled us to get a lock on its beacon. Now, will you excuse me?"
James took the answer and gave a slow nod. Huston tightened his chin in passing and swiftly walked from the room, leaving his hat tipped up on his desk. A lingering sign that heralded his quick return.
The corridor that led to the detention cells was slightly too thin for two people to travel abreast. Huston's entire frame nearly took up the width of the hall to the point where he had to shuffle sideways to avoid running over his own men that stood interspaced at every checkpoint. The cell in question that he was searching for was one door out of a hundred, nothing else differentiating it sans the number atop the doorframe. His omni-tool granted him access without him needing to key in any information on the attached pad at the side.
Phoria was waiting in the cell behind a thin curtain of blue barrier light. She looked up as Huston entered, the door silently sliding shut behind him. The quarian straightened upon the bench, the tails of her sehni curling behind her. Phoria's hands were bound in front of her with thick biotic-dampening cuffs. It made no difference that she was not a biotic—that sort of equipment was standard for Alliance prisons.
She lifted her cuffs hands as Huston deactivated the barrier between them, perhaps to prove a point. "I find all this to be unnecessary, don't you?"
"On the contrary," Huston slowly closed the gap between them, "I would think that it helps give a certain authenticity to this spectacle."
"The spectacle," Phoria hissed in amusement, eyes camouflaged behind her white visor. "It's all in the presentation for you, isn't it? You get to think up creative ways on how to portray this whole thing while I had to spend more than a week practically a prisoner in my own ship with your two lackeys!"
Huston turned his head away, finding himself unable to look at the quarian in that moment. "Yes, well, if you had taken the proper precautions this whole thing might have been avoided from the start."
"And if you had been actively looking, you would have noticed when I covertly switched the Sindra's secondary beacon on several days ago! It took you until now to come and find me?"
"It is incredibly naïve of you to assume that altering an entire battle group's course is something that can be done at the flick of a switch. Proper planning has to be adhered to in order for this entire thing to come to fruition."
Phoria stood in a fury, wrists taut within her cuffs. "I did everything that was instructed of me," she seethed. "I performed my due diligence prior to enacting this deal with your military. Everything went according to plan—it was only on your end that you failed to hide the public documents that exposed this whole thing as a farce to begin with!"
"The documents belonging to CytoSystems," Huston's tone was dangerously even.
"You know very well that my company would not have been able to alter public documents once they were out in the ether. I was counting on the Alliance to take care of that in my stead as you have the resources to carry out just that!"
Huston absorbed the verbal blows, keeping his own strength sheathed. For now. "When I said there would be a reckoning for Alliance Intel, I meant it, Phoria. There will be hell to pay for whoever allowed this oversight. But for now, tell me about these public documents. What sort of information was exposed on them?"
"Not that much," Phoria shrugged.
The admiral's steel eyes shifted in annoyance as he moved to lean against the cell wall. "Develop that further," he instructed. "If there was nothing in the files to indicate anything particularly unsavory, how was it that the good Captain Vega managed to use them to his advantage?"
"The contents of the files were redacted," the quarian confirmed as she sat back down. "Nothing concrete could be identified from them. But apparently there were portions of the data—areas in which indicated the correct ownership percentages—that were not excised from the files. They didn't reveal the owners of the shares, just the fact that CytoSystems was not under my complete control."
"A shame that it seemed like such a manageable oversight," Huston sighed before he tilted his head, his back still against the wall. "But if we are to continue our work together, I'm going to need to hear exactly what you told Captain Vega and Jack."
James was puzzled to find out that Huston's office did not come with the same type of amenities that Shepard had enjoyed as a commander of a vessel. Despite Shepard's lower rank and smaller craft, the captain's deck of the Normandy had been as large as a hotel room and had even come with a few accoutrements that would rival it against what the finest hospitality firms would have to offer, the fish tank and the trophy cases being clear examples. Either Huston was an even tidier neat-freak than Shepard was, judging by the fact that the admiral's desk was stark clear of any personal touches, or the Denali was so new that he had not had the time to spruce it up some.
Even so, the office in addition to Huston's quarters were clearly smaller than Shepard's own cabin. The bed, parked off in a smaller room no bigger than a broom closet, was not even queen-sized.
Jack sat next to James in one of the stiffly constructed chairs, her knees pulled up to her chest. "You know," she said, the first thing uttered after a five minute span of silence, "it's kind of fucked, seeing as how we managed to free ourselves of Phoria so easily."
"Almost too easily," James mused as he tried to orient himself into a comfortable position. No such luck, this chair did not even have lumbar support.
"Did you know that that whole immunity thing would actually work?"
James shook his head. "It was the only card I had left to play. Huston wasn't even going to look at the evidence we brought him. He just wanted to see what I could come up right then and there."
Jack raised her head, blinking as she brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "He never did look at the evidence at all, did he?"
Groaning as he got to his feet, James reached over and plucked the tiny drive from where it had remained on Huston's desk, the only object marring its surface. "No… he didn't."
"Don't you think he would have wanted to confirm your statements right away? I mean, if the proof's all there…"
"I can't speak for his thought process," he murmured as he turned the drive over in his hands. "But for him to suddenly trust me when he's never done so before…"
James eyed one of the media slots that had been built into the side of Huston's desk. He walked over, held the drive in his palm for a bit before he plugged it into the proper port. Immediately, Huston's console activated, already unlocked, and a dialogue box popped up after the drive's contents had been read.
You have ONE file(s) that is already on this drive. Would you like to overwrite?
The marine completely froze in place as he looked at the alert three times over, certain that there was some mistake. Jack immediately noticed James' face and sat bolt upright, placing her feet back on the floor.
"What's wrong?" she asked, but James was temporarily distracted.
To the console, he said, "Which file on the drive already exists on the local server?"
Filename: [22140128]-CytoSystems_Shareholder_Distribution
James slowly backed away from the desk, his face growing grave. "That doesn't make any sense. Huston already has a copy of the financial records?"
"Maybe he thought to do some research of his own after you had mentioned you were doing an investigation?" Jack offered.
The marine turned to his friend, sadness starting to creep into his eyes. Looking at Jack's own expression of confusion, James held a brief sliver of envy, for there were things in this cruel galaxy that she was not aware of that would not eat upon her soul for as long as they had been in James' case.
"I never mentioned to him that I had been looking at the shareholder documents," he said. "The only way he knew I was doing that would be if…" He stopped, a lump halting in his throat uncomfortably. "Phoria," he managed to get out before he suddenly lunged for the door, banging through it before it opened all the way.
Alarmed, Jack sprang to her feet and followed the marine out the door, agonized sparks of biotic energy lingering upon the armrests of the chair she had just vacated.
Phoria had glumly recounted the events of the last few days to Huston with all of the enthusiasm of a condemned man being sent to the gallows. Huston had given noncommittal or otherwise meaningless grunts or sparse prompts for her to expand on something if he felt he had not gotten a good enough picture of the situation. When she had finished, she placed her cuffed hands between her legs and stared up at Huston, waiting for her jailer to announce her sentence.
The admiral took another moment of silence to comprehend what Phoria had just said. "And you mentioned nothing that would compromise the Alliance? That would compromise me?"
Phoria definitively shook her head. "I freely offered nothing to them. All their questions were related to CytoSystems only. Your name never even came up."
"Good. That's good," Huston said idly as he shifted his weight back and forth from foot to foot. He reached over and offered a hand for Phoria to take. He helped the quarian to her feet and gave her space to stretch her limbs. "We'll have to make it seem like we're going to prosecute you," he told her. "You'll have to go with the flow for the time being. You'll keep your mouth shut and in no time a plea deal will be extended to you. You won't serve any jail time or suffer any repercussions. Before long, you'll be back in your position as though nothing has happened."
Phoria raised her cuffed hands, giving the human a look as though she expected him to release her. "I assume you've had to go through something like this before?"
"I've been informed that this is the strategy we're going to take."
"From whom?" Phoria asked before she lowered her voice an octave. "From… him?"
Huston faintly nodded, well aware that his face was centimeters away from Phoria's visor. He could almost see the outlines of her face through the smoke-like glass, intrigued at the human-like proportions. She could almost be one of us, underneath that suit. "Integration is what he wants," he said evenly. "The first linkage between a private military company and the Alliance is not something to be discounted. You and I are setting the precedent for the future."
The quarian gave a harsh chuckle as she slowly turned to face the rear of the cell, her back to Huston, as if she was looking longingly upon the room. "As long as I get to see the Tranquility through. I was promised that, at least."
"The funny thing is," Huston said from behind her, "that promise was only contingent on your performance."
Phoria was in the process of turning, presumably about to question why Huston would say such a nonsensical thing, when in the next moment, a limb as large as a python abruptly wrapped around the quarian's neck. The woman's cry was immediately strangled as Huston bodily grabbed her, his forearm digging into the side of her throat as his enormous arm snaked completely around her body. There was a ripping sound as Phoria's sehni tore. Her cuffed hands tried to beat the admiral's arm away, but in her restrained state she could not even touch him, let alone reach him. Her feet wildly kicked in mid-air, banging into the metallic walls loudly, terrified moans and grunts rushing through her throat in a sheer panic.
There was a soft sound, almost liquid, of metal rubbing across a felt surface. The quarian's eyes opened wide as she felt another line of pressure touch upon her neck. Huston's arm forced her head upward, exposing her taut throat.
The pressure at her neck turned into white-hot pain before it blistered into a searing chill. There was a bubbling sound followed by a gush. It sounded like someone had spilled a large glass of water down Phoria's front.
In her pained confusion, Phoria tried to mumble a cry for help, but it only came out as a pathetic gurgle. To her alarm, something warm was billowing up her throat. She coughed out a thick and hot liquid, spraying the interior of her visor with a dark substance.
Blood. She was coughing out her own blood.
Her mouth was filled with the taste of iron. It was now spilling from her mouth freely, gurgling down her chin as her breaths suddenly became shorter and shorter. Now she finally understood what had happened and just how deep Huston's betrayal had been set.
The pain did not cease as it felt like teeth were gnawing anxiously at her larynx. But as her breath continued to lessen, and the blood still dribbled from the corners of her mouth, her brain was able to come to a sad conclusion just as she lost her ability to speak.
Her throat had been slit wide open.
Now tears flowed down her face as she realized she was going to die. Her lips continued to fumble as she mewled and blubbered, deliriously repeating a plea for her life over and over and over in her head. Her throat felt raw and her vision was starting to gray. Phoria realized that the blood in her brain was draining. She would lose consciousness in the next few seconds.
She did not notice as Huston's arms finally released her from his grip. She did get a final glimpse of the knife, stained with her blood, softly glinting in the low light as it moved away from her. Her legs lost all control and she began to pitch forward, her center of gravity nonexistent. The ground raced upward to catch her, everything travelling in slow motion. There was a startlingly large pool of blood at her feet. Her shin guards had already been stained red. Had that all come from her? The answers would not come as she rushed downward to collapse right in the center of the lake, to drown in her own spilled life.
"It would have been better for you if you had not said anything at all," she heard Huston say, though his voice sounded from far-away as if he had shouted it across an ocean.
The approaching pool of blood beckoned in her deteriorating view before the darkness finally swallowed her.
James knocked aside several armed guards as he raced down the stairs towards the detention level, Jack hot on his heels. The man practically bounced from wall to wall, unable to halt his momentum in time as he scrambled through the dreadnought's endless corridors, trying desperately not to get lost along the way.
He rounded the corner and came face to face with a hall riddled with doors of the same make and size with exactly three feet of wall separating the two. No names were displayed on the front of the thresholds, just numbers. James did not notice his breath growing shorter and shorter as his eyes raced in his sockets, trying to locate some hint as to where Phoria's whereabouts were.
James was so absorbed in his searching that he did not notice Jack calling his name from behind him. Nor did he notice the two special forces soldiers that jumped out of a nearby enclave in time, weapon stocks already fitted against their shoulders.
"Contacts in sight. Engaging," one said. "Non-lethal rounds only."
In an instant, James' battle instincts took over. Hands dropped down to his side only to fumble at a holster that was empty. In a panic, he glanced downward. He had completely forgotten that his weapons had been confiscated upon boarding the ship.
"Shit," was all he could say.
There were two flashes from the guns and James felt something small strike him on the chest. In the next second, electric sparks fizzled from the stun probe that had embedded into his body through his shirt, overloading his nervous system and sending him spinning to the ground. A similar thump next to him told him that Jack had been hit as well.
He blacked out, but just for a moment. In that moment, his eyes had felt like they had been pinned down with heavy weights, his thoughts momentarily vanishing in that time span. James came to on the floor, drooling all over the grate. Jack was groaning as she lay on her back, limbs limply trying to support herself but lacking the strength to do so. They spasmed upon the ground, delusional and short of breath.
Blurry eyes revealed a broad shape marching through the sudden phalanx of soldiers that had appeared in the corridor. His vision cleared to reveal Huston in his prim and proper uniform, only that his left arm appeared to have been splattered with something resembling… blood.
The cold and unfortunate truth speared into his head with an agonizing throb.
"Ph… Phoria?" he croaked, his tongue feeling like it had swelled to twice its size in his mouth. He feared he already knew the answer. "Where's…?"
The admiral shook his head, his fingers unconsciously brushing the handle of the knife that was sheathed at his hip. "Met with an unfortunate accident. Seems we forgot to confiscate one of her blades when she was brought on board. She decided to take the easy way out rather than face the consequences of her actions."
The lie was so bald-faced that James would have croaked out a laugh, if the barbed stun probe had not been overloading his muscular system, twisting his face into contorted expressions. For god's sake, Huston was still wearing Phoria's blood on his sleeve yet he was talking as if his outfit was pristine.
"You…" he had to mumble through thick lips, "…killed… her."
A faint smile touched the edges of Huston's mouth, as though as if James had just cracked a light joke. He kneeled next to the marine, eyes slowly moving from him to Jack, satisfied that neither of them would be getting out with those probes stuck into their chests. He remained within James' reach, but as much as the younger man's arms were sliding along the ground, desperate to reach even the admiral's shoes, James still lacked the strength to even pick up a feather.
"If that were true," Huston dipped his head before he slowly looked back up, "who would believe such a story from you if it's against my word? Phoria just couldn't hack it, but you might still have a chance. Time to see if you're more agreeable to our point of view, Captain."
Gauntleted hands clawed at James' shoulders, hauling him up. Similar grunts told him that Jack was being lifted as well. The marine tried to hack up a globule of spit towards the admiral but someone shoved a black felt bag over his head before he could complete the action, stuffing him into a vacuum and abandoning him to the silence.
A/N: Anyone get a chance to play Ori and the Will of the Wisps yet? Having a blast with it so far. It's not like I don't have any free time these days, what with the current state of the coronavirus and all. Hope everyone's staying safe out there.
Playlist:
Skycar Race
"Black-Blue-White"
Wang Chung
To Live And Die In L.A. (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)
Throat Slitting/Futile Rescue
"Kingdom of the Flies - The Final Standoff"
Ludvig Forssell
Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain (Original Video Game Soundtrack)
