Only the Faithful

by Tilthanial

They held the line when the hordes came. They held the line when the gods came. They held the line when the Worldbreaker came. Now they hold the line against a threat they have never imagined. And they will hold the line. For they are Cadians, and they are faithful.

5. Quarantine

A/N: So after a short update to TWiF, figured you all would appreciate a faster turnaround here than I normally can pump out. One thing I am realizing as I rewrite/edit this story to make it publishable, is that doing a hard run-through of the game it utterly boring and hard to work with, so I have decided to keep the story as a whole, and push the right scenes, but for sake of artistic not-banging-my-head-through-concrete, to hell with staying true to the dialogue. There'll be bits and pieces, enough to make it recognizable.

(Just broke through a massive writer's block, so kind of word-vomiting right now)

IF THE WHOLE CHAPTER IS IN BOLD, CHECK YOUR SITE SETTINGS. (obligatory disclaimer, because I get multiple reviews every chapter about it)

Reviewers:
Ghazkull'sLeftEye- I know, right? Bubbly Shepard works well for a female one, in my opinion. Mostly because the best ME/40k crossovers I've read have bubbly but serious FemSheps. But Bubbly MaleShep just doesn't seem right at all.
Mr Exterminatus- Hee. This isn't even the fun one.
Taintlord- Perspective. Also, of course, Kane realizes very quickly that they aren't as intimidating as they first look.
GustauveDrakenhime- Oh god, a shining Imperial officer. That's just begging for a 85% casualty rate every mission. Even Shepard can't recruit that many followers.
FractiousDay- Kane's not supposed to be a plot mover. Mass Effect already has a plot.
Guest- Tada!
Manwithaplan113- "avoided" makes it sound like the chance is now behind them.
BrotherCaptainShepard- I've noticed that many people have jumped on the Miranda/Kane boat fairly quickly. Angsty people, aintcha? Wink Wink.
deadtrooper- Oh, you might not want he to wake up too soon. After all, Commissar. She's going to be greatly behind on her BLAM quota.
kyro2009- woot!
EmberFrame- Thank you
Allard-Liao- He'll show up soon. Didn't want to make the intro to Omega too busy. Kane is a frail man with delicate sensibilities, after all.
Carre- Miranda definitely has the personality and faith (in her own way) to be a full-blown SoB.
Guest 2- Woot!
coduss- Well, it IS Warhammer 40k. It ain't called grimdark for nothing. Trust me, just listen to the audio drama Red & Black about the Sisters of Battle. SJW's would foam at the mouth over that like PETA did over the Space Wolves.
Jouaint- Thank you
Disciple of Ember- You forgot the 'setting them on fire' part. Omega I thought was a good start for that particular reason. It isn't "here's the bright and shiny Mass Effect-verse and the Imperials realize that maybe aliens aren't bad." Instead, they get "Aliens aren't ALL bad, but here's a bunch of the assholes." Makes it much easier to push a realistic 40k perspective.
SomeGuyOverHere- Kane is going to have a lot of those reactions over the story. "What the hell is melding?" That one... ooo boy
ErnestShippinglane89- Yup, Louk is too much of a 'human being' to be a contrasting character. And dear god do I not need to create another 40k main character. It's painful enough that Louk has developed a group of like 12 side characters that each have entire books' worth of background in my head. If I added a brand new third OC, I'd spend months just thinking up the backgrounds of relations that will never appear in OtF because they didn't make the jump across. The chapters will probably vary in length. Depends on what happens in them. But they certainly won't be as long as the starter.
grey- Of course krogan aren't as good as ogryns. Kane realizes that fairly quickly, but a real soldier will never assume his opponent is weaker than it could be.
kukuhimanpr- Kane's being a blank will have some effect, but obviously it won't be incredibly important. Until you get to Indoctrination, or ardat yakshi...
Nox- woo!
Interested Guest- BAKA! DON'T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT! lol. I don't have a particular voice actor in mind. In all honesty, the characters I put the least amount of effort into describing in my own head are my mains. I kind of leave them as a blank slate, to let the reader fill it in.
OBSERVER01- So much fun to picture that in my head.
shadow- glad you liked it!

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Omega Markets

Corporal Kyle Brunson, Maintenance Officer, Gryphon Squadron Theta of the 248th Cadian Interior Guard… was surrounded by xenos.

His entire life, he had been told that xenos were evil, that they were monsters and sorcerers and vile creatures. There was no redemption to them, nothing good of any kind in their warped minds. From the brutal and warlike Orks to the crafty shadow warriors of the Eldar warlocks, they all preyed upon humanity and sought the downfall of the Imperium. It had been that way since humanity had first stepped into the void of space, and always would be until the xenos were purged from the galaxy. The only option humanity had for xenos was war. Unrelenting, all-permissible war.

Then why did he not feel wrong? Why was he walking alongside Jacob Taylor and Kelly Chambers, humans of the Cerberus agency, an outlaw and reviled organization of pro-humanist ideology, striding across ringing metal grates in a sunken asteroid station, surrounded by xenos of every color and make imaginable, and it all felt… right.

To be sure, danger lurked all around them. The sullen atmosphere, coupled with darkly lit alleys and gang-affiliated mercenaries wandering the streets, all spoke of a culture of antagonism and greed. It was a wretched place. It was a dangerous place. Death stalked in the shadows, waiting for the subtle goads that could incite a murder or a fight at the slightest provocation. Those few humans he saw moved quickly and quietly, avoiding attention, trying to not be caught in any spotlight of note. The humans were a minority here, and they were not well-liked. The four-eyed race in particular, batarians they were called, showed only disdain and seething hatred for his own, whereas others looked down at the humans with contempt. Nothing was right here. Nothing matched up to the standards of Imperial citizenship that he knew so well.

He loved it. He loved the stink of oil and grease in the air. He loved the bright lights and the disorganized layout. He loved seeing so many new things and creatures. Even if they were the enemy. There was no moral threat here. Not in the way he considered it. Debauchery and sadism abounded, but he saw absolutely nothing of the Ruinous Powers. No hidden signs, no telltale mutations among the huddled masses. That reassured him more than anything. For all of his upbringing and learning about the xenos, the only enemy he had ever fought had been those of the Archenemy: the traitor cults in the Kasrs, and the apocalyptic hordes of the invaders. His mind had been exposed to so many tricks and blasphemies, and he recognized none of that here. These were ordinary sins, the kind he had found many times in untainted Kasrs.

He had no experience with xenos before today. So far, they didn't appear that much different. Not these ones, at least. He surveyed the merchants trading at stalls, noting how it was all familiar. Haggling over prices, veiled threats and promises, timing the walk-away to test the vendors. And he had seen far worse behavior from mercenaries and House-guards. It really wasn't anything special. He knew how to deal with all of this.

"You haven't said much" Jacob remarked, shooting him a sidelong glance. The ship's armorer had opted to bring pair of weapons, though of what kind he did not know. The collapsible technology amazed him. To take a full-sized longarm and condense it into a slab the size of his forearm required access to technology far beyond his understanding. Not to mention the concept of mass acceleration rounds and the way it shaved tiny grains and turned them into projectiles. And then there was the whole heat sink technology that he still barely understood.

"This place is intriguing."

Which was entirely true, even if not true entirely. Having achieved station in the Interior Guard, Kyle had never left Cadia in any way. His entire experience with civilization consisted of narrow, angular streets, building in drab colors, and variations of camouflage-patterned clothing. Everything had been designed with war in mind. The structure of the streets, the construction of the buildings, the confinement of all activities to indoors, all with the intent of being prepared in a moment's notice for a bloody fight for survival. Cadians returned from off-world often joked that Kasrs were "ghost cities" or "giant fracking cemeteries" whose occupants hadn't been clued in. The sheer saturation of color and experience here proved near overwhelming. He had a tight grip on his holstered sidearm, he realized. His knuckles were white from strain. Not because he expected trouble, but because he did not know what to expect. He needed familiarity.

Omega could not have been more different from Cadia. Lights everywhere, smells clashing and mingling from every opened door and window. Advertisers standing on the corners of streets, belting out their parent store's goods, or some service they could provide or acquire. They even passed a batarian standing on a supply crate, his dusky red suit overlaid with a stained white shawl, exhorting the crowd around with words that sounded vaguely religious. Of course the xenos had their own gods, he had thought to himself. False gods, not like the one true God-Emperor. But then… he wasn't here, was he? That troubling thought had gnawed at him ever since they had set foot on the Normandy. And the Kasrkin had clearly shown no interest in discussing the idea. Kyle doubted the Kasrkin had the ability to consider an alternative.

He had never met a Karskin before. The Interior Guard rarely interacted with Cadia's best-trained force. The few times Kasrkin had ever tasked to a deployment of the Interior Guard, they had always swooped in with little communication, completed their objectives, and left without a word to anyone save High Command. It was just a rumor, but he had heard a Kasrkin company commander had once executed an Interior Guard regimental commander for failing to properly deploy his regiment to counter a cultist uprising just a short year or so ago. What he did know, what he had seen, was the Kasrkin Sergeant Kane battle Traitor Astartes, and he was still alive. The man was a fiend. He fought like a daemon, and he handled changes like a servitor. They had not spoken much in the past days. Truth be told, he had been afraid to speak to the Kasrkin. There were not many things that scared him anymore. But Kasrkin were on that list for good reason.

"Intriguing, huh? That's the best you got?" Jacob smiled softly and pointed to the Normandy's morale officer, sauntering on ahead of them, her head on a swivel. Judging by the looks she kept receiving, she was smiling at everyone. That was one thing he had not seen on Omega. Nobody smiled here. That wasn't much different from a Kasr. "She's walking about like she's in a market on Earth."

The man's statement broached a question he had been dying to ask. "You've been there, to Holy Terra? Earth?"

The armorer chuckled. "We don't exactly hold it in such high esteem as you all do. But yeah, I've been there a few times."

"What's it like?"

"It's... uh, normal. I don't know." Jacob's pensive frown deepened in thought. "Lots of green. The past century has seen a huge push for reforestation, and reclaiming the ecosystems that were more or less ravaged in the 2000s."

"And there are hive cities there?"

"There are cities, yeah. What do you mean by a hive city?"

He explained, and Jacob whistled in amazement.

"Yeah, we have nothing like that. Some of the larger cities do hold millions, but nothing like that."

"I'd love to see it." Kyle grinned despite himself. The very thought had him giddy. "I've heard so much about it. But no one goes to Terra. Not in our time. It is too well protected, too full."

"Well, we'll see if it comes up." Jacob patted Kyle on the shoulder. "Business first, though."

"Certainly." He found himself surprised to not be bothered by the man's touch. The first few days, he had been wary of them all. They were all strange humans, almost xenos themselves in their mannerisms, philosophy, and culture. Days of interaction had lessened the differences, somewhat. Not entirely, but enough that he almost felt at ease around them. More than at ease, he privately admitted as he let his gaze wander down the back of his other companion. There was something about the yeoman that he found incredibly… engaging. Perhaps it was her cheerfulness. Or the honesty behind everything she did. She was an agent, he knew that well enough, but she did not lie. That was more than he had ever expected from anyone.

He had chosen to wear the simpler fatigues of the Cerberus operatives. Theirs was not a combat mission, and where the Kasrkin's carapace armor was near fully enclosed, standard Imperial Guard flak left a lot of openings. It would not serve him well here, either as protection from gunfire or from inquiring eyes. The Kasrkin had approved it, grudgingly, but in the end the argument was valid. The less they stuck out, the better. Besides, this was human-made. It was not as if he was wearing armor made by a xenos. In deference to his heritage, though, he kept the laspistol. That settled the Kasrkin's suspicions, and it reassured the Cadian corporal that he had a weapon he could count on should trouble arise.

"Ooh!" Kelly Chambers suddenly veered off the main street, ducking into a well-lit sideroad. Hurrying to keep her in sight, the two men rounded the corner and found her ogling a humble kiosk manned by a slim alien in a fully sealed suit. It appeared environmental-oriented, Kyle noticed in an instant. There was little to no armor plating, and a rather prominent breathing apparatus occupied the front of a tinted visor. Curling blue script, or patterns, he did not know for certain, spread across its dirty grey suit. It did not look threatening in the slightest. If anything, it appeared more afraid of them.

"Quarians always have the things that you can't find on regular streets" Jacob muttered under his breath to Kyle as they followed the yeoman closer. "Their whole race is tech-oriented, and they make excellent scavengers and salvagers."

"I haven't seen one of them on the streets."

"Yeah, you don't see many of them. It's a long story."

That piqued his interest, but he kept quiet and chose to observe the exchange. From what he had seen, he expected a good deal of barter and haggling. That was one thing he had a hard time grasping. It wasn't right that humans should have to barter with xenos. On an Imperial world- well, the xenos wouldn't even be alive. So there was that. New time, he reminded himself with a quiet dissatisfied sigh. The main objective of their trip was the find the T6-FBA couplings that Engineers Donnelly and Daniels had requested for the ship. Whatever those were, they were important. Which made Kyle question why they were trudging the streets of a place like Omega for them, rather than going through official Ministorum channels. Surely the Normandy had high-enough priority for requisitions. Why were they going about this in such a mundane way?

He liked the Engineers. They preferred to go by their first names, Ken and Gabby, and they loved to talk. Mostly they liked to yell at each other and throw some rather inventive insults. While not remotely on the same level as tech adepts of the Mechanicus, they seemed to know what they were doing. Their confusion when he had remarked on the lack of cybernetic augments had only confused him as well. What sort of engineer did not appreciate the benefits of a servo arm, or the strange mechadendrites that Mechanicus adepts took advantage of. He had briefly queried about their knowledge of the Martian path, and they had laughed the idea off as ludicrous.

Ludicrous! These were such strange times.

Which did not even touch on how different the military environment was here. Sergeant Kane had unilaterally dismissed this time's military as "undisciplined, untrained rabble," and he was right. In a way. There was no talk of purges, or Commissariat inspections. Crew members of the Normandy had access to entertainment, to good food, and standard sleep cycles. It was a far cry from anything he had known in the Cadian Interior Guard, although the Commander had assured them that infantry units maintained much stricter lifestyles. Life on ships, with this ship being an exception, were also very disciplined and frugal. The Normandy was an exception to the rule in so many ways. It was not proper military, which accounted for certain discrepancies from the normal standards. Which wasn't to say the crew here were poor at their jobs. Each crew member he had spoken with presented as competent and loyal. They knew their tasks, and they performed them admirably.

It struck him as so incredibly odd that these humans spoke of the times as being one of peace. Peacetime. That was a myth, in his time. Even when Cadia was technically at 'peace,' by definition inferring there were no active enemy forces of magnitude exceeding one hundred thousand bodies, the Interior Guard had its hands full in maintaining order and stability as cults inevitably rose and fell like clockwork. So close to the dreaded Eye of Terror, it was natural to consider every waking moment one of war. Even when not on anti-cultist deployment, the war preparations were endless. Months-long training cycles, building and teardown of fortresses, live fire drills incorporating artillery and naval support. These people were on an active mission, with an active foe, with stakes threatening the fate of the entire human race, allegedly, and they considered the galaxy to be at peace.

Kelly stepped away from the vendor and motioned for them to come closer. They did, with Kyle keeping his attention trained on the xenos. Just in case. The shop was in a sad state. Merchandise and parts stood in disorganized piles as tall as his shoulder, and rusty condensation dripped from the overhead boards that provided meager protection from the harsh lights coming down from the asteroid ceiling. Most of the pieces were junk, as far as he could tell. What could they possibly find here?

"So… I have good news and bad news" she told them.

"Kelly…" Jacob's tone gave cautious warning to Kye.

"Oh, don't give me that look." She winked at him. "So Mister Kenn here has a T6-FBA, believe it or not. And it's in pretty good condition too."

"Great. So let's buy it and go."

"But!" She cleared her throat and shot them both an apprehensive look. "You see, he's in a bit of a tight spot. He's on his pilgrimage, and when he got here he, well, he got hoodwinked. His current setup is he works for this mean old Elcor, somewhere up that way," she pointed obligingly, "and he's making poor Kenn here spot exorbitant prices. We can afford the coupling, mind you, but it's pretty ridiculous. Now, I think I have a plan."

"No. Kelly, whatever you are thinking-"

"Jacob! We're the good guys here." She made a pouting face. It was adorable. Almost enough so to make Kyle want to listen. But he knew where this was going. She wanted to help a xenos. That wasn't their problem. It wasn't their job, nor should it be. He opened his mouth to voice his own opinion, but Kelly kept taking. "Look, all I want to do is go see this elcor, see what kind of deal we can work out to get Kenn… released from his obligations. And then, hey, maybe we have enough left over in the budget to help him get off this rock."

"So you want to help a xenos from another xenos, then give this xenos our money, just because?" Kyle voiced his disbelief.

"Well, when you put it like that it doesn't sound nice." Her pout turned full on him, and he almost felt guilty in the crosshairs of her ire. "He looks like he could use the help. He isn't going to find it anywhere else, you know. And we have a pretty big budget."

"I am not comfortable with this" the Cadian grumbled.

"Lucky for Kenn, you aren't in charge." She poked Jacob in the chest. "Come on, Jacob, You know you want to."

"Kelly, I really-"

"Excellent! This way. Keep up!"

Leaving both men staring, she patted their cheeks and started off. Kyle stared after her, before swallowing his confusion and hurrying to join her. It was an automatic, built-in response. Follow the primary, ensure safety. When in doubt, instincts out. Keeping his hand on the butt of his sidearm, he caught up quickly, followed a moment later by the muttering Jacob Taylor.

"She's a force of nature" the armorer said.

"I heard that" she said sweetly, turning her head to flash them both a brilliant smile. "Come on, it'll be fun."

"What the frack is going on" Kyle asked himself. Jacob helpfully answered.

"I think you're about to see an elcor cry."

So this was life in the late third millennium. He bit back an exasperated sigh. It could be worse. They weren't getting shot at.

-v-

Shepard stepped off the elevator, inspecting his pistol's heat sink for any signs of wear. They were past the last guard post, and all semblance of order now. Checking the sight of his M6 Carnifex again, he stepped clear of the tube and let the others spread out. The last guards had been clear in their warning. If you were human, expect a bullet-laden welcome mat. One had even helpfully noted that they were crazy for coming down here. Kane hadn't been too keen on that one. That guard better pray he never stumbled on the Cadian later.

"It's quiet" Kane muttered, hellgun sweeping the corners with practiced ease.

He was not wrong. The district was silent, almost like a graveyard. The chilled air clung to their armor, threatening wispy vapors of fog on the corners of his visor. It felt like dread, and fear. Not physically, of course. But it was there. A sense of wrongness in the air, mostly in the absence of the usual sounds. Just fifty feet up and through the elevator, everything was bright and loud and the air was filled with scents. Here it was quiet, silent, cold. Like a tomb.

His mind drifted for a moment to Freedom's Progress. It had been spooky, walking through a deserted colony. Shepard was man enough to admit it. That had been understandable though. When he opened a door to find a pile of building blocks half-assembled into a tower, the rest carefully laid out with child-minded precision, abandoned in the middle of construction. Or the casually discarded clothing of a couple engaging in intercourse, the shower pattering weakly on the glass. That had been entirely, one hundred percent, spooky.

This was not spooky. The unease that rose in his gut had nothing to do with vivid imaginary pictures of what had happened to the missing colonists. Here, there was real danger. Enemies could be around any corner. Ambushes could be anywhere, or roving patrols of looters or Blue Suns.

He hated the Blue Suns. They were mercenaries with no moral compass. In his time with the Alliance he had killed more than a few. They were not above raiding Alliance space, and sometimes even Alliance military targets, if the pay was good enough. Though they claimed to be a private security company, they were just pirates. Stupid, greedy pirates, with no oversight and no greater goal than acquiring money and power.

And the Blue Suns were in the district. Ostensibly to keep the peace, but Shepard did not have to delve too far into the situation to understand the real reason. The plague would go away, one way or another. Either it would die off after killing the population, or it would be cured. Either way, with so much real estate opening up from the death toll, they intended to secure the district and become the new landlords. Even on Omega, personal living quarters were expensive. Getting a personal suite, even if was the size of a closet, cost an arm and a leg. And that money could go directly to the Blue Suns, if they retained control once the people started flowing back in. And they would. They always did. The Blue Suns just had to wait out the plague.

That had been the plan. Once the Blood Pact had caught on, the district had deteriorated into an odd turf war, with both sides fighting over uninhabitable real estate. In a way, it was the best kind of turf war Shepard could ask for. Almost no civilian bystanders, and the two organizations were fighting tooth and nail for the territory. They were dying in droves on both sides. Shepard did not weep for either group's casualties. They were all scum. The only losers here were the people avoiding the plague, caught in the crossfire.

Unique as Omega was, it also had the distinction of being one of the few places where mercenary organizations like the Blue Suns, or the Blood Pact, operated in large numbers in such close proximity. There were leaders here, for each group, but multiple smaller detachments that operated under supervision. As far as Shepard could tell, this battle for the district was almost a gentleman's war. The two leaders and most of the organizations, of course they were not friendly, maintained civility and did not shoot at each other. It was only in the district. The two sub-leaders of the opposing groups were in it on their own. If either succeeded, it would be a win for them. If they failed, well, there were always new opportunities on Omega. The casual disregard the leaders had for their men astounded him. And it sickened him to think that such men still could rise to power.

Forcing the thoughts aside, he concentrated on the mission at hand. Mordin Solus was out there, near the center of the district. It would not be an unopposed journey. But it did not have to be a shooting gallery either. Motioning for Kane and Miranda to flank, he took the center of the street. Until they established hostile contact, there was no point in crawling along. They would not be encountering highly trained assassins here. Only rent-a-thugs with standard gear.

"Keep your eyes peeled" he reminded them, perhaps unnecessarily. "Ask first, shoot second. I will initiate any contact."

They moved quickly, but with caution. The lights were muted here, compared to the rest of the station. Dedicated living districts drew less power as it was, and with the onset of the plague Aria had given the order to cut main generator access. Redundant local generators kept things powered, but they did not have the combined juice of the asteroid's main systems. What came out of that was flickering street lights, and the whisper-quiet echo of air recyclers. The quiet kept him on edge. But he trusted his instincts to protect him, and his comrades to warn him of danger.

He had no doubt they both could. Miranda hugged the right side of the street, her M9 Tempest a pointer for his vision, inspecting anything and everything as it revealed itself. Her expression was grim and focused, and her free hand curled in a half-fist, ready to summon her biotics should the need arise. Sergeant Kane, on the other hand, moved with the experience of a man used to urban combat. His hellgun never ceased moving, smoothly tracking from windows to doorways, clearing each alley, ducking from cover to cover as if aware of some invisible sniper attempting to draw a bead on him. His body language and ease of motion told Shepard he was used to urban combat. Moreso than Shepard was.

Urban combat was a fading memory to the Systems Alliance. He knew what it was, he had seen plenty of footage from the old wars on Earth, and from the more recent First Contact War. The battle for Shanxi had been a nightmare, by all accounts. The human military had not been prepared for the overwhelming technology and firepower of the turian fleet. True urban combat though, Shepard had never seen it. He had fought in cramped space stations, on board ships, and in the more open colony prefabricated style. But not urban combat like this. Where there was just enough space to get comfortable, but not enough space to breathe easy. The Cadian had an advantage here, over most. It was rare to have open conflict of any significant scale in a civilized city anymore. Usually that was reserved to ships and colonies.

Which was not to say he had never practiced for urban combat. The path to N7 had led through thousands of hours of training for every combat situation. Shepard knew the theory behind urban combat. He knew the theory behind every combat. But knowing and experiencing were two different things. It would be interesting to see how Kane handled himself here. And to see how their styles of combat differed.

Shortly after setting out, Shepard noted a green glow emanating from above the Cadian's left wrist. It had not been there when they had stepped off the elevator. It was not an omnitool, but it offered some sort of aid, because the man consulted it often. Just as he did before the street reached an intersection, and he signalled them to halt with a very familiar raised fist. Crossing over to his side, Shepard took a position behind the Cadian and inspected the device.

It was built into the armored sleeve, with a small screen the size of an ancient smartphone, and several dials and buttons next to it. From a quick glance, it reminded him of a radar-type device. He counted the two dots beside the central ping, himself and Miranda, and three more to their forward and left. Two together, and one a little further away by itself.

"That what I think it is?"

"Auspex." Kane offered no more than that. Lifting his fingers, he indicated the two contacts, then the lone third, to Miranda. "Middle of the street, I would assume. And one near the buildings. Distance, thirty meters, forty meters."

"Trouble" Miranda asked, peering past Shepard's shoulder to inspect the device.

"No idea. This is your world, not mine." Kane closed the cover of the device, smothering its light. "What are your orders, Shepard?"

He chewed on the question for five seconds. "Keep me covered. I will advance and initiate. Follow my lead, don't shoot unless it is necessary."

They both agreed, and Shepard holstered his Carnifex. Taking a short breath, he pushed off into the middle of the street and took the corner. They would have his back. He had nothing to worry about.

This was his first firefight. First real firefight, at least. He did not count Freedom's Progress of the station where he had awoken. Those were damaged drones. Dangerous, of course, but not a trained threat. This would be a real test. A test of what had been recovered, and what he had lost. His palms itched as he pondered what it would be like to kill again. Would it be the same surge of elation, fear, and shame he had felt back in the infantry? That was a face he would never forget. The PanAm separatist, wearing civilian-grade military surplus, armed with a gunpowder automatic. That was the day he had realized that the military was his only life. Would be his only life. That was the day he had learned to kill, and it had been a bitch. He did not need to go through that again.

The two contacts together were Blue Suns mercenaries. The unease fled into his veins, losing itself in the sudden flow of adrenaline that kicked in at the refreshingly familiar sight of armed hostiles. Turians, they stood near the center of the road, idly strutting forward, their loose posture betraying their lack of interest in what was probably a routine patrol. Their armor had been augmented by environmental protection, a necessity in a plague zone. It limited their peripheral vision, and slowed down their reaction times due to the weight.

But they were still armed.

They saw each other at the same time. Shepard kept his arms out, in easy reach of his sidearm, ignoring the M99 Mattock assault rifle on his back. The heavy pistol would do the trick against lightly armored mercenaries. The Mattock was still a new weapon to him, cooked up in a Cerberus-affiliated weapons research lab. Limited to single-fire, but quick to shot and powerful for its class. It struck him as more of a marksman rifle, and he liked that.

One turian moved to the side, the other advanced quickly, rifle trained on the Spectre.

"Stop right there, human! This is Blue Suns territory."

"Relax, I'm just looking for a friend." Shepard showed his hands. "There's a salarian down here named Mordin Solus. You heard of him?"

"That bastard?" The closer turian lowered his rifle for a moment, and motioned for his comrade to join him, then lifted the rifle again. "You're a friend of his?"

"Sort of. Will be. I need to talk to him."

"You're heavily armed for a man going to visit a 'sort of' friend."

"Heard this place was a bit dangerous." Shepard shrugged. "Am I wrong?"

"No, you're right." The speaker muttered something to his comrade, too low to hear. "Doubly so for you. That salarian bastard killed some of my buddies not too long ago. Get on your knees. I'm taking you in to see our commander. He'll decide whether or not he likes your story."

"Sure." Shepard tried to not look at the shimmer of motion that was Miranda circling around to his right. He had no sight on Kane. For now, he complied, and slowly lowered himself to his knees. "What then?"

"If you're lying, we'll shoot you. Can't be too careful, especially since you humans are so conveniently free of the plague."

"And if I am telling the truth?" He could see them both tightening their grip on their rifles. They were nervous. Must have been new.

"Then you're a friend of an enemy of the Blue Suns." The turian seemed to think that was all the answer Shepard required. The unspoken half was implied well enough. Shepard frowned. This was not going to end peacefully. His finger twitched in anticipation of speed-drawing his Carnifex.

The first one started to close in on Shepard, while the other kept a weapon trained on his chest. It was their last mistake.

"Now, keep that hand up and away from that sidearm, human. Wouldn't want t-"

Kane's massive armored bulk exploded out of the shadows, snatching up the rearmost turian like a vengeful spirit. One hand slipped around over the turian's neck, his powerful limb crushing through the environmental gear and the alien's windpipe. Not bothering to offer the alien a clean death, he twisted and hurled it to the side, sending it tumbling like a doll. The man's broad knife slipped free of its scabbard as he bounded forward to the second turian.

The survivor hesitated when his partner fell. He couldn't see it, of course, with his attention on Shepard, but he must have heard something over his radio when his squadmate fell. The rifle twitched up, misaligning, and Shepard dove to the side. Drawing his pistol, he spun over onto his back and lifted up to sight on the turian's head. It was unnecessary. The Cadian reached him just as it turned to check on its partner. Foregoing the knife, he grabbed the turian by the chestpiece and hurled it straight to the ground.

Every native-born turian served in the military. Even those on colonies served in the military. The whole concept of the Turian Hierarchy's military revolved around conscripted service. If these turians had been in the military, even if they hadn't, turians were tough and strong. They had evolved from avian predators, and their physiology retained that lean grace and explosive power. It took effort to shift them, unless you knew martial arts or hit them with the right leverage. But only a krogan could physically pick up a full-grown turian and hurl it to the ground as if it weighed nothing. And that is exactly what Kane did. Dropping onto the turian's chest, Kane threw a punch that cracked the turian's visor. A second punch, delivered with the same lightning speed, shattered the visor and drew blood. The third punch accompanied a crunching sound, and a whole lot of turian blood on the Cadian's knuckles.

Rising from the turian's corpse, he turned back to the first one and almost mechanically hurled his knife into the gasping mercenary's chest. Shepard pulled himself to his feet, pistol lowering to its holster. He did not need to check and confirm that they were both dead. Stepping over to the closest, Shepard inspected the ruins of the mercenary's face and grimaced. Kane might as well have taken a hammer to it. The turian's crest had been thoroughly shattered, and a thick gooey layer of blood drowned half of his features. The physical trauma, coupled with shattered mandibles being driven into its brain, must have killed it instantly. Brutal, efficient.

He did not bother inspecting the second one. The Cadian had retrieved his knife and, lacking a soft surface on the turian's armored plates, wiped the blood on his pants. It was such an odd thing, to see a man wearing soft clothes in a combat situation. The general inclusion of armored hardsuits in everything from professional military to low-level mercenary bands meant that suits like Sergeant Kane's were rare and far between. So was the knife. And the way he just used it. It was eye-opening to see his speed in action. And to see the viciousness of his fighting. It reminded Shepard of a well-trained attack varren.

Miranda slunk out of the shadows, her weapon trained further down the road. She paused her vigil just long enough to glance down at the fallen, her own response masked. "One further down, not a Blue Suns. It appears to be civilian, and wounded."

"One of those batarian things" Kane agreed, slotting his knife back into its scabbard. The Cadian spared the turian a quick look. "Hmp, they are not as soft as they look. Their whole body armored like that?"

"Turians developed a carapace as they evolved" Shepard answered. He motioned for them to keep moving. "Palaven has a weak metallic core, which means heavy radiation, and they evolved to counter it."

"Noted. So these are the Blue Suns." The Cadian grunted something under his breath. EDI still had not developed translation for some of their words. Probably because they had no clear correlation. Shepard had heard this particular vocalization enough times to assume it was a curse or epithet. "Don't seem to have much training. That was easier than roping a mind-neutered grox."

As curious as he was to what a grox was, Shepard ignored the jab. "These won't be the Blue Suns elite down here. This district is seeing a pissing match between low-tier Blue Suns and Blood Pact bosses. It is important enough to fight over, but not important enough to sink significant resources into. Most of them will probably be recruits."

"So we're fighting conscripts."

"More or less." Shepard waved them to silence as he caught sight of the third contact. It was a batarian, as Kane had said. Gutshot, judging by the blood leaking through the fingers held over its belly. But that wasn't what was killing it. Oily blood spilled from its mouth and nostrils, red tinted dark to a near black. It streaked messily down the batarian's clothes, discoloring the dull orange fabric like bloody gashes. The skin around its cartilage was taut and pale, an unhealthy white against its richer chestnut flesh.

Its head lolled weakly in their direction, and it panted. "Humans, should have guessed. What, you are here to…" it coughed pathetically, gurgling through the spittle and blood "...to start looting?"

Dropping to a knee, Shepard opened his omnitool and started scanning. The orange light washed over the batarian, who made a show of trying to push him away, but hardly mustered the strength to even lift its hand. Settling for a soft growl, it stared defiantly at Shepard.

"Go… away. Let me die in peace."

The medical scan returned two results. The first, the easy one, noted the fragmented bullet shrapnel lodged in the batarian's midsection. It had been a close-range shot, and the pieces were still hot, meaning it had to have been fired just minutes ago. Probably by the two now-dead turians. A quick patch of medigel would heal most of the damage, and at least keep the batarian whole until he could receive proper medical attention.

But the second result came back inconclusive. An overwhelming trace result of a biological irregularity, spread through the blood and tissue and, well, everywhere. It must have been the plague, the one Mordin Solus had come down here to stop. Whatever it was, it was pervasive. It spread through the blood cells, infecting everything, but it was not the spread of the infection that mattered. The batarian's digestive systems were collapsing, the pituitary gland was rotting, and other vital organs unique to batarian physiology showed signs of deterioration. It was thorough, and it was deadly. Nothing medigel could do against that. But maybe Mordin Solus had made progress in developing a cure.

To tell the truth, Shepard still new less about the salarian than he would have wanted. STG history, everything redacted. Even the Illusive Man had only uncovered a portion of the agent's dossier, at least he claimed to have. From what Shepard had learned, this Mordin Solus was a leader in biogenetics and the like. He was a true scientist, and they needed that sort of brainpower to fight the Collectors. And he was STG, of course, so he had plenty of military experience too.

"Hold still." Shepard activated the medigel dispenser and aimed at the bullet wound. "This will sting a bit."

The medigel ejected onto the wound. Kane shifted uneasily behind them.

"Stay with me. This isn't going to cure you, but it will help."

"Great. So I can die slower." The batarian spat up a glob of bloody saliva. "Curse you humans and this damned plague. I hope they kill you all for it."

"Yeah, yeah. Blame the humans." Shepard applied a small coat of medigel to the batarian's face. It wouldn't help the infection, but it might ease the pain and some of the symptoms. The alien sighed as the gel took effect. Its pain visibly eased. "We're looking for a salarian, named Mordin Solus. He's here working on a cure. You know where he is?"

"Middle of the district. You… can't miss it" the batarian grumbled. "I hope the vorcha burn that human sympathizers' clinic to the ground."

"Sure they will. When you feel up to walking, follow us there. He might have something to help you."

Rising to his feet, Shepard gestured for them to resume walking. He bit back his own irritation at the batarian. It wasn't different than what he had expected. Batarians were batarians. They trusted no one, hated everyone. That sort of response was exactly what he hated about them. Lying bleeding in the gutters, dying of plague, and when offered help the only thing they have is contempt. It was hard to like batarians. Even the good ones.

"So what did that accomplish?" Kane had not returned to the shadows of the streetsides. He walked proudly alongside Shepard, unafraid. Perhaps his first brush with the Blue Suns had boosted his confidence. That could be dangerous. Overconfidence could bite at any soldier.

"What did what accomplish?"

"Wasting your, medical kit, on that thing."

"It was the right thing to do. There doesn't have to be a purpose to it." Again, he heard the cursing. "I take it you disapprove?"

"We might be needing that spray you wasted."

"It wasn't a waste," Shepard growled. He was rapidly getting tired of the Cadian's xenophobia. Not that Shepard was unused to the kind. There were plenty of human rights groups in Alliance space, all preaching the same nonsense about human purity and superiority. That's what Cerberus believed, after all. But Sergeant Kane was a whole other case to himself. He was unyielding, and unbending. The human supremacists all claimed that humans were better than humans the aliens. With Kane, they weren't any better than animals.

"It didn't seem keen on thanking you for your… mercy."

"And it's a good thing I don't do things for gratitude. I am a soldier, not a politician. You said you would follow my orders. Is this a problem?"

"No. Just commenting."

"You're allowed that." Shepard ground the words out through his teeth.

"It is going to be dead in hours anyways. I don't need to be a medicae to tell that this plague has a firm hold on it."

"Well maybe I want to believe he won't be!" Shepard rounded on the Cadian and shoved his hand into the larger man's chest, stopping him. His blood boiled at the man's clinical observation. It was cold, heartless, and it was correct. The batarian wasn't going to last long, even if the bullet wound hadn't been there. Shepard doubted it would have survived long enough to reach the salarian's clinic on its own power, assuming there even was a cure there. That did not mean he would have left the man to die. All lives were worthing saving. Even the ones he didn't like. "Sergeant, you can spout your xenophobic bullshit all day long, I don't even care, to be honest. I get it. Your time sucked. The people sucked, the aliens sucked. Everything fucking sucked. We. Aren't. Fucking. There. If I choose to save a life, it's because it's worth saving. If I choose to shoot someone, it's because they are worth shooting. Do you understand?"

His left hand was shaking, slightly, clenching and unclenching by his side. The slightly ragged breathing tearing at his lungs told him he had been shouting, even if he hadn't quite realized it. If there had been observers or bystanders, they would have all been staring. Miranda was, in a not-staring sort of way. Standing off to the side, her attention ostensibly down the street, but the tension in her body language was obvious. Of course, he couldn't read Kane's face. Not through his opaque visor.

"Understood" the Cadian's voice gave no indication of his response. Placing a hand over Shepard's, the larger man pushed it away. "As I said, I was just commenting."

He took a deep breath, expelling the anger, and took a step back. "Then maybe it's better you keep those comments to yourself."

"Yes, sir."

They continued onwards, and Shepard chided himself for losing control like that. Inexcusable. They were on a mission, and he had lost his temper. Over something so simple and insignificant. That was not the sort of leader he was. That was not the soldier he was. In his years with the Alliance, he had dealt with far worse than the cruel sniping of a dissatisfied subordinate.

Or maybe he hadn't. This was different. Everything about them was different. The way they moved, talked, thought. That was one thing Shepard had noticed right away about them. Being a soldier was not an occupation to Sergeant Kane. He was a soldier It was his life. Shepard considered himself to be a professional soldier. He had gone through years of training, combat, promotions, and all of it had come with a degree of hardship most others in uniform never saw. But, at the end of the day, it was his job. A job he loved, and a job he was damn good at. But Kane did not consider his soldiery to be a career. It was his beginning and his ending. Very few Alliance soldiers expected to die in combat, these days. There just weren't that many battles. Kane's dossier, which he had provided after Shepard had expressed interest, had thirty engagements in it. Thirty. And not a one composed of less than company-sized combat. And only one against a force composed of less than a thousand enemies. Kane wasn't just a soldier. He was a weapon. Weapons did not think for themselves, nor did they grasp a bigger picture. Point, aim, fire. There wasn't room for anything else. Such a simple thing, giving medigel to a wounded batarian. That was outside of his thought processes. It wasn't that he did not want to consider it. Shepard doubted he even could.

The other reason it had galled him, was because Shepard recognized that attitude. In his early years as a Serviceman Third Class, fresh out of basic training, he had been filled with hate. His first combat deployment had been against turian pirates, a small-time gang that had chosen to prey upon shipping lanes under Alliance protection. It had been a swift and brutal series of engagements with frigate-sized ships. There weren't prisoners in those battles. The pirates all had bounties on their heads from Citadel authorities. Not that Shepard had needed incentive to leave none alive. Every turian he killed was vengeance for his father, an N7 that had perished in the siege of Shanxi. Those first years in the Alliance, Shepard had taken great pleasure in killing turians. More than any other alien they fought. It wasn't until years later, after numerous disciplinary boards, and long visits with his mother, that he had learned to forgive.

He still remembered that anger. That fire had kept him going through Hell Week. Through Akuze. The pleasure he'd found in carving off a turian's mandibles while it screamed for death. That part of his life was long gone. It shamed him to think of what he had done, now. What a monster he had been, and almost become for good. It had all ended at Torfan, when Shepard had stared into the abyss, and flinched. That wasn't a path he ever wanted to see again. And now a living reminder was walking alongside him.

"Commander Shepard."

Kane's gruff voice waked him from his morose thoughts. Eager for something to take his mind away, Shepard checked his map and told them to take a right. This district was surprisingly large for being jammed into an asteroid.

"What are the odds this xenos doctor of yours has made a cure?"

"No idea."

"In my time, it takes years to counter and defeat plagues. Even the normal ones."

"Years?" He scoffed at the thought. "How bad is your medical system?"

"Our medical systems do not concern themselves with countering plagues and outbreaks. They merely heal. It is the Magos that deal with such events."

"I understand what you mean. On Earth, the CDC does the research into stopping outbreaks wholesale. But it can't be that hard. With all the technology you'd have after tens of thousands of years."

"A lot of that was lost." The Kasrkin's boots stomped ominously on the metal grating. "I spoke with your medicae, Doctor Chakwas. She mentioned how our… immune system is much more robust than yours, that our bodies are incredibly resilient to disease and the like."

"Yes, she said that you have developed an incredibly durable immune system, probably evolved over time."

"Then I am sure you can understand that a disease which would affect and spread through us at a comparable level to how a disease would spread in your time, what sort of apocalypse it could unleash were it brought here."

"So you are saying that the diseases of your time are all super-diseases?"

"Just that you shouldn't judge a Whiteshield until you shoot him."

"I… what?"

Even Miranda stole a bemused look back at the Cadian.

"Your problem, Shepard, is that you keep assuming I am like you."

"You're a human, just like we are."

"No, I am not. This isn't the time or place to have this discussion, but when we get back on the ship, I believe we need to have another talk. To set straight the issues that we are having, and are going to continue to have as long as you keep up this foolish pretense that I am going to become like you. I am not like you, Shepard. Stop trying to pretend otherwise."

Uncertain of what to say in response, Shepard merely nodded and kept going. Again, the man was right, even though it rankled him to admit the truth. These Cadians were so incredibly different they may as well be aliens themselves. He started to wonder if bringing Kane along had been a mistake, just like everyone had said. Hell, even Kane had pointed it out. What was he doing here? What was he trying to accomplish? Proof that Kane could function like one of them? Establish a common bond to help convince Kane to join them? Shepard wasn't even sure anymore.

-v-

Their first real contact with the Blue Suns mercenaries came minutes after the the Commander lost his temper.

She debated whether or not to put that in her report. The Cadian had deserved it, arguably. The Commander had been well within his rights to address the Cadian's grumbling, and the manner in which it occurred could be excused. A living weapon such as that could only be controlled in a select few ways. Had it been any other agent, she most certainly would have disapproved. This was not another agent, however. This was the Cadian. The usual ploys and maneuvers did not work with him. Not that her opinion mattered, the matter had ended, but she privately thought that the Commander had handled it well enough. The outburst was forgivable. They had not been in hostile contact, the streets had been clear. As legendary as he was, the Commander was only human. EDI's readings on his stress levels had given her great concern, even before these strangers had arrived. With those numbers climbing daily, the Commander needed an outlet to relieve the 'steam,' so to speak.

All that aside, the Commander had not disappointed yet. All projections had listed a marked drop in effectiveness for at least a standard month, improving over time with expedited reintroduction to the modified timeline. The Commander had bounced back like a rubber ball, outwardly projecting the confidence and efficiency he had been known for before his death. Inwardly, the man was a mess. They needed to find a way to alleviate that soon. Even a man with such incredible force of will could only go so long before he broke down.

That could be dealt with later. At the moment, Miranda busied herself with toggling the disrupter mod on her Tempest submachine gun. Satisfied with the selection, she inched forward to the edge of the wall and glanced downrange. It was a Blue Suns barricade, the prefabricated kind composed of a heavy composite rampart with a raised walkway and chest-high protection. The single gate, large enough for a krogan to squeeze through, locked into place by pneumatic clamps, reading to drop down at the push of a button, but until then, it did not move. These sorts of temporary barricades were favored by anyone and everyone with the money to afford them because they were sturdy, easily transported, and effective. Small arms fire did nothing to the thick plates of the barricade, and defenders on the other side had numerous gunports to shoot through. It usually took at least a squad to assault one of these, assuming five or so defenders. Judging by the number of voices on the other side, there were more than five.

"This is a problem," she muttered to them both. Ever vigilant, her attention whisked around the courtyard leading to the barricade, searching for anything that might help. She and the Commander spotted it at the same time. "Balcony, directly above us."

The courtyard was faced on three sides by multi-story habitation units. Someone wealthy must have lived here, because they had shipped in actual marble for use in crafting an expansion over the leftmost unit, a nice-looking, for Omega, collonaded balcony with modified ferns treated to grow in low-light conditions. The Commander stole off to find the stairs that led to the second floor, a position that would give him an advantage over the barricade, while the Cadian studiously inspected the glowing green device on his wrist.

"At least fifteen," the Cadian told her. "Possibly more. Their signals are too tight for an accurate reading."

Fifteen versus three. This was such a Commander Shepard situation. She closed her eyes for a moment, unwilling to let the Cadian see the frustration building on her face. Her free hand began to flex as she nudged the eezo nodes in her body, awakening the power, feeling the subtle surges of energy spiking into her muscles.

"Miranda, I am in position. Assault the barricade, try and draw them out. I will provide overwatch."

The Commander's voice blared loud and clear in her ear, even though he whispered. Bringing the Tempest up to rest against her chest, the disruptor icon blinking welcomingly on the side, she pointed to Kane and gestured across the way.

"I take left, you take right. Keep yourself protected, and shoot straight."

"There isn't any other way to shoot" the Cadian growled. His hellgun emitted a near-imperceptible whine as he flicked the power setting to medium. Her curiosity would finally be sated as to the killing power of the weapon. The video footage from the armory had left her with a sense of unease. It was horrific, but that was not what had worried her. They had no defense against it. Of any kind. The worst weapons, no matter how powerful, were the ones you could not stop.

The first spitting crack of the Commander's Mattock initiated combat. Responding with superhuman speed, she whipped around the corner, chasing the gunfire and searching for targets as she scurried behind a column for cover. Confusion reigned on the other side of the barrier. A full three seconds passed before return fire sounded. The thunderous hail shattered marble and stonework, sending the Commander scurrying for new cover. A lone Blue Suns mercenary leapt up onto the rampart, his omnitool glowing brightly as he toggled an ammunition mod onto his rifle. That would not do.

She pooled the biotic pulse into her fist, whole arm tingling with barely-restrained energy, and channeled it out in a powerful throw. Humans were perhaps the second most powerful biotic race in the galaxy, arguably third behind krogan in natural ability, but above them in potential. But no one could hold a candle to the asari. With a high, near total percentage of their population having biotic potential, and their most powerful biotic users able to take on dozens at a time, the asari monopolized the biotic pyramid. Even the most proficient human with the best mods could only hold their own against a mid-tier asari biotic user.

Nothing about Miranda Lawson was ordinary, however. Her father had seen to that. Genetic enhancements had not only increased her physical prowess and biology, but it had also unlocked biotic potential that no human should have. Her technique was mechanical, her abilities precise. While she would never match an asari in form, in a direct power struggle she could handle her own.

Her throw caught the unsuspecting Blue Suns rifleman just as his weapon icon flashed red for incendiary. A muted yelp cut short the instant it emerged, and the body hurtled out of sight like it had been slung from a ballista. The sound of impact could not be heard over the chattering gunfire, but she did hear the curses of Blue Suns mercenaries.

"They're damn asari" one screamed, voice filled with panic.

And then the Cadian joined the fight.

Sergeant Kane did not take the right as she had ordered. What he did was charge straight down the center of the courtyard, hellgun raking fire across the closed gateway. Each shot punched a hole through the sturdy metal barrier, and screams erupted from the other side. A turian in white armor with a Blue Suns logo hastily spray-tatted onto his shoulder pad appeared on the rampart. His shotgun barked twice before the Commander's crossfire battered through the turian's shields and sent it ducking for cover. Both shots struck true, sparks rippling across the Cadian's shields like static, not slowing the large man down or knocking him off balance. He carried on as if he had not been hit.

She swore and charged off after him. The fool was going to get himself killed.

Muzzle flashes began to appear from the gun ports just moments after leaving the column, and Miranda had to slide into cover behind a heavy planter to avoid the peppering spray of the defenders. Unable to effectively target them behind the barrier, she hugged close to the ground and muttered darkly under her breath, chest nearly touching the ground from the angle. Peeking out from behind the planter, she fired a short burst at one of the gun ports, knowing the mathematical odds of piercing the small port and disabling a weapon were slim.

Then the Cadian reached the gate. Weakened by repeated shots from his hellgun along the borders, it crumpled inwards when he slammed into it with his armored shoulder. What happened next was lost from her position on the far side of the barrier. But she heard the screams, and the number of firing weapons drop so quickly they might as well have been throwing them down. Pushing up from her position of cover, she rushed to the gate and scuttled through, Tempest raised and searching for targets.

There were ten bodies on this side of the barricade. Not counting the one she had hurled down the street. Eight of them bore horrific wounds from the hellgun. The other two had been claimed by Shepard.

"Clear," the Cadian grunted, ejecting his power pack and inserting a new one. His armor bore several new scuff marks from rounds that had deflected off the dense armored plates, but otherwise he appeared to have suffered no injuries. Stalking past the dead, he took position at the nearest piece of cover and assumed overwatch of the street.

Bodies lay strewn about the barricade, twisted and tossed about as if a god had sprinkled them from the heavens. Overturned chairs and card tables occupied the side of the street to the right, next to an open habitation unit converted into a small barracks. One corpse lay just inside the door, spilled to the right and facing away, as if the person had tried to shut the door and his behind it. On the other side of the street, a portable grill still flared, a dozen small steaks rotating on spits.

Lowering her Tempest, she knelt down and inspected one of the corpses. The damage was, in a word, horrific. Watching the footage from the armory had not prepared her for just how gruesome a weapon the hellgun was. The rank stench of sizzling meat seeped into the air from a half-dozen corpses, fouling her breath and inducing familiar and unsettling nausea. Charred meat dribbled crystalline ruby liquid, the colors clashing against the blue and white armored hardsuits. One thin mercenary, potentially a teenager by the look of him, had lost his entire arm below the shoulders. The stump lay several feet away, still clutching a heavy pistol that had never been fired. She had seen dead bodies before, killed her share of sentients.

This sickened her.

The Commander entered, also having survived unscathed. He paused in the gateway, surveying the carnage, his expression carefully schooled to show nothing. Offering a nod and a noncommittal grunt, he pushed past the dead and approached the Cadian. That was fine. She had finished her inspection, and they had wasted enough time here. Each showed an eagerness to move on, though she suspected that the Cadian had now tasted combat, and was looking forward to more.

"Conscripts" the Cadian said. "I counted two trained bodies. The rest must have been recent additions."

"Sounds right" the Commander agreed. "One more, Miranda sent him off that way. Add the two from the patrol, and this is a full outpost. Twelve-man squad, half veterans, half recruits."

"Will there be more?"

"Not out here. The fighting is on that side of the district. These ones would have been here for control. I doubt they have more than a couple of these outposts on this side of the district."

They moved on, past the Blue Suns outpost, until the sound of gunfire reached them. They recognized the signature of a firefight instantly: sustained chatter of automatic weapons, small explosions. Advancing carefully, they closed in on the battle and took a vantage point surveying the scene.

The Blood Pact were making a push into Blue Suns territory.

A force of what had been twenty Blue Suns guns held the near side of a square, their numbers whittled down to less than eight left. The dozen corpses spread around cover points or caught between were far outweighed, however, by the carpet of dead vorcha littering the square itself. Fighting a force at least three times their number, the Blue Suns held the line grimly and with precision. These were the professionals. They did not panic, and they coordinated fire as best they could, keeping the horde-like vorcha of the Blood Pact at bay with a wall of bullets and grenades. Stuck on the far end of the square, she counted dozens more of the vorcha lurking in the shadows, guided by a pair of krogan, being released in waves to rush into the square and die so that heavier weapons could maneuver to eliminate the entrenched mercenaries. The vorcha charged willingly, their bloodlust overcoming any sense of self-preservation, and died just as quickly. But the numbers were telling. It was only a matter of time before the Blue Suns' defense cracked, and once it did, the battle would be over.

"Hold tight" the Commander ordered, surveying the scene through the scope of his Mattock. "Flamer teams, four, evenly placed across the square. Krogan, two, shotguns, back of the square. Wair to engage, but mark targets. Kane, watch those krogan. Miranda, flamers."

She holstered her Tempest to free both hands. It would take effort to throw a warp that far, but the results would be spectacular. Flamethrowers were an incredibly outdated tool of warfare. Especially with the advent of biotic powers, most noticeably the warp ability that most every combatant-grade biotic possessed, flamethrowers had become too much of a liability. If biotics were involved in a battle, no one brought flamethrowers. Except the vorcha. Cheap and disposable, just like the flamethrowers, vorcha did not care about the odds, nor did their masters. A trained biotic could reliably destroy one or two flame-equipped warriors before being overwhelmed. The Blood Pact always brought more than that. Their vorcha often went into battle with scavenged weapons, and sometimes no weapons at all, but the one tool that the Blood Pact made sure they had access to was flamethrowers. Give a dozen vorcha flamethrowers, and at least one would make it across the lines. And no race in the galaxy was immune to a gout of superheated flame. Just as no sane sentient maintained their composure when a flamethrower started burning down their allies.

Those had to go, she thought grimly, counting how many warp she could throw before they achieved range. The Blue Suns would help with that, providing they prioritized the flamer teams. Once the flamethrowers had been removed, and the krogan handlers, the rest would be mop-up work.

"When this next wave strikes, start shooting." The Commander took a hand away from his rifle and pointed directly at the Cadian. "No charging. Keep these bastards at range."

"They have flamers" the Cadia growled, as if that answer had been obvious enough. "No one advances towards a flamer."

The gunfire started to calm down just a hair as the last of the charging vorcha toppled over, barely having made it halfway across the square. There had been no hope of success, but that had not been the point. While the Blue Suns had frantically gunned down the chattering vorcha, two teams of vorcha armed with short-range anti-personnel missile launchers had scrambled into cover, and the resulting volley they unleashed obliterated a wall of crates and boxes the Blue Suns had erected for their defenses. Three of the blue-clad mercenaries were tossed wide by the explosions, even as several poorly-aimed missiles streaked past and exploded against habitation units. One came close enough to shower them with debris. She shook her head slightly to clear the dust from her hair.

With a gap achieved, the krogan handlers blew their whistles, and thirty more vorcha charged into the square with whoops and hollers. The Blue Suns recovered quickly, with four rising to launch a volley of grenades into the vorcha before pouring fire downrange, while the fifth rushed between the three fallen to check on them. The Commander opened fire as well, a sharp burst dropping two of the missile-vorcha as they rose to launch a second volley. Taking that as her cue, she sent power hurtling into her fists and launched a furious warp into the square, targeting the front-runner of the flamer teams. Tucked safely behind a half-dozen bodies, the carrier did not have time to dodge as the warp snapped down onto it, catching it in a biotic field that crumpled the tank on its back so quickly that sparks ignited the fuel inside. The vorchas' screams were lost in the roaring fireball.

The Cadian's hellgun snapped alongside her, launching fiery bolts across the square with a hissing of burning air. She did not see what happened to the krogan, but by the time the first fireball died out the hellgun had changed targets. The Cadian raked automatic fire across the vorcha, dropping the front rank with ease. The instant cauterization of the weapon neutralized their impressive regenerative abilities, with the result being each shot took a vorcha to the ground, rather than knocking them about.

She took down two more of the flamer teams before they reached the Blue Suns, setting off each in a spectacular explosion that flattened those around. The fourth dropped just moments after unleashing a spray across the Blue Suns' line, one of the Cadian's bolts punching through its torso and blasting the fuel tank into a hellish inferno. Only a few more vorcha remained at that point, but they pounced on the Blue Suns with the fury their race had made itself known for. Abandoning their firearms, they struck with razor-sharp claws and needle-like teeth, tearing the screaming Blue Suns to pieces. Drawing her Tempest, she decided to rest her eezo nodes and assisted in clearing out the remainder the old-fashioned way.

When the last body on either side ceased twitching, the Commander ordered them forward.

Trying to ignore the awful stench of seared flesh, she scanned the Blue Suns for identification. Two registered Citadel Security Services bounties. She flagged the corpses, used her omnitool to gather an appropriate DNA sample, and logged it for upload when they returned to the Normandy. It would register under a shell-identity, and the funds from the bounty would transfer across numerous companies under Cerberus' control before returning 'cleaned' to the Normandy's operating budget.

Why not?

-v-

They reached the xenos doctor's clinic without further contact. With a real battle under his belt now, Kane had started to solidify his opinion of the warriors of this time. The vorcha, as Shepard had called them, were no better than the ragged cultists of the Archenemy. Actually, they were weaker, because he had yet to see a vorcha sporting horrific mutations that kept it alive after losing its head, or wielding a vicious crushing claw that ripped chunks off of armored vehicles. The vorcha were cut and dry, cheap bodies with expendable weapons. He could handle that easily enough.

The krogan were tough targets. It had taken several shots to drop them, firing at low power, and they had the benefit of redundant internals to keep them moving after taking grievous damage. Perhaps when he had laid out that one back in the bar, it had merely been off-foot. Seeing a fully-engaged krogan in combat would be quite different, he mused. So they were still an unknown. For now, he had seen them shrug off lasbolts. That made them dangerous.

Despite it all, the dim lighting, the claustrophobic streets, and the xenos surrounding them, he felt comfortable. This was what he knew. They were on a mission, there were targets to kill, and he had competent allies at his side. Perhaps not as competent as he would have liked, neither Shepard nor Madam Lawson possessed a Cadian's approach to warfare, but they had capabilities and the knowledge of how to use them. Her biotics were… strange, to say the least, but effective. She emulated the powers of the Warp without truly tapping into them. He would have to study this biotic concept, and see if any hidden truths could be found. While he doubted it was anything to worry about, he had to wonder just what hid at the bottom line.

The clinic was guarded by servitors, or 'battle mechs' as Shepard called them. LOKI models, hard-programmed mechanicals with limited programming capabilities. Whatever that meant. Kane did not like the way their single eye-slot followed them. Unshackled intelligent machines were a reality here. It would take much getting used to.

At a word from a human guard, an aged and balding man who had no business holding a weapon, the LOKIs averted their attentions and resumed watching the street. Shepard exchanged words with the guard, and they were let in with the expected warning to not cause trouble. That amused him. As if there was not enough trouble going around this district as it was.

Here, Kane found something both comfortingly familiar and startlingly not. The clinic had not been designed to ever handle more than a few patients, it appeared, and the resulting influx of plague victims had exploded into the typical Imperial quality of care that Kane had too much experience with. Rows of cots lined every wall, clumped so closely together one could hardly stand between them. Not that most of these victims were likely to ever stand again. Bleary-eyed humans attended to the sick, mostly xenos, but a few humans were present and suffering from more natural causes. The desk near the entrance must have originated as check-in to process patients, but now it doubled as a makeshift surgery table, and a too-young human couple were in the middle of struggling to sedate a writhing turian that let out grating screams every few seconds.

The atmosphere of the clinic was charged with despair and hopelessness. The sick lay dying without a chance of reprieve. The healthy stared numbly at the walls, or shuffled from place to place carrying medicine that would not offer aid. A pair of turians wearing environmentally sealed armor carried a body out the back door, covered by a bloody tarp. He stole a look outside as they passed, noting the pile of dead outside waiting for a proper disposal.

The healthy all watched them warily as they strode through. Fear and apprehension broke through their miasma, and they shrank back from contact with the newcomers. Not a bad decision, when a trio of armed soldiers pushed their way through a medical ward. Even in this cocked-up time, the people knew what that meant.

Commander Shepard maintained a stoic grimace as the moved, betraying nothing about his thoughts, but Kane could sense the man's bleeding-heart sentimentalism bleeding through his armor. Uncertain of what the man was pondering, but certain he would not like it, Kane braced himself for another round of unpleasant naive fumbling.

They approached a room guarded by a flickering neon sign that read SURGERY.

"...on hand. Almost as good. Causes cramping in batarians. Supplement with butemerol."

Like every specimen of its race Kane had seen in the past few hours, this Mordin Solus was ugly. The salarian race reminded him of evolved bugs, and not the voracious terrifying Tyranid bugs, but actual, squishable, toad-like bugs. Their skin was smooth and unarmored. Their eyes were large and vulnerable. Most salarians had two skin-covered horns growing over their skulls; this one they had come to find had lost part of one in some past event. Their mouths were small and not suited to a predacious lifestyle. And their hands did not have any claws or nails to speak of. They were, in short, a race of prey. Kane did not understand what value this could possibly bring. Bad enough it was xenos, but couldn't it have been a krogan or even a turian. Those at least had potential.

The creature did not look up at their approach, too intent on the the glowing orange device attached to its arm. It wore a dirtied white smock, and carried a weapon on its hip. Kane noted that and adjusted his impression of the creature to possibly dangerous. Add in the trace of scars criss-crossing its face, and perhaps it was tougher than it looked.

"Mordin Solus," Shepard stated, giving the creature a look-over. It was impossible to tell what the Commander was thinking, but again, Kane assumed he knew what was coming next.

The xenos doctor glanced over at them from the edge of its tool, and blinked several times. As of annoyed by the intrusion, it held up a single finger in the universal sign of 'wait,' and ducked back into its tool.

"Too well-armed to be refugees. Not mercenary, and quarantine still in effect… Face matches profile of Commander John Shepard, Council Spectre, deceased over Alchra in 2185. Facial structure same, except for scarring. Reconstructive surgery in mimicry? Body double?" Its eyes flicked over to Madam Lawson. "Cerberus. Rumors of Commander Shepard's return and Cerberus affiliation. Not possible. Saw reports myself. Commander Shepard is-"

"He's the real Shepard," the Cerberus woman interrupted. "And yes, he died. We brought him back. Professor Solus, we are on a mission and we require your assistance."

The xenos regarded her as if she had just slapped a glass of amasec out of its hand. "Cerberus rumors true, then. Success of Project codename Lazarus. Resurrecting from brink of death and restoring to peak fitness. Interesting, must scan."

It took a step forward with its tool raised. Shepard put up a hand to stop the doctor.

"Mordin, I am Commander Shepard. And we do need your help."

"Mission? Odd for Cerberus to request help from alien. Goes against company line. What mission? No! Too busy. Clinic understaffed. Can't afford to leave. Plague spreading too fast, out of control."

"What can we do to persuade you?" Shepard crossed his arms and offered a placating tone of voice. Kane groaned quietly, and focused on looking at anything in the room that was not xenos. He recognized the technology of many items as comparable to those in the Normandy's medical bay. Not the same quality, but serviceable, he assumed.

"Crossed paths with Cerberus on occasion. Thought they only worked with humans. Question: Is Cerberus changing? What stakes would cause them to look to aliens for assistance? Why request salarian aid?"

"The Collectors," Shepard answered.

Kane took a long, measured breath, and strode out of the room. The others noticed, but none moved to stop him. He passed through the squalid entrance area and pushed straight through the back door, heedless of the surprised occupants scurrying out of his way. The door slammed shut behind him, sealing him away in the silence of the outside. He reached up and unclasped his helmet, tugging it free, and took a long, calming breath of the stale recycled air. The rotting stench of the dead pile bothered him less than the sickening scent of xenos inside the clinic. Left alone, he took a few meandering steps to place a wall at his back, and inspected the fate of the plague victims.

Their bodies were bloated and marred with pustulant sores. Bloody gashes trailed down their bodies from injection points turned infected. It was ugly, and it was effective. Doubly so because he could tell in an instant he had no worry of seeing these corpses get back up. A simple, ordinary plague. Killed slowly, killed horribly, but it killed. That humans were supposedly immune was just a bonus.

Minutes later, Miranda Lawson stepped out of the clinic and joined him. Her ivory skin had paled slightly, and her discomfort at her proximity to the dead seeped through her calm. It was not fear that whitened her face, but the lucid certainty that chance of infection increased near corpses. The plague would not be the only agent at work among that pile.

"You left in a hurry" she stated, sidling up beside him and leaning against the wall. Her hand drifted down to her thigh, fiddled with something, and a hidden zipper opened. Drawing a thin stick, she held it out to him. "Smoke?"

"No."

"Not a smoker?"

"Occasional." he shrugged. "Not certain I should be putting that inside me unless I know it will not give adverse effects. Your medicae told me that I should limit ingesting substances other than basic foods until she finishes studying our physiology."

"Suit yourself." She put the cigarette between her lips and flicked her finger under the tip. A flame sparked, and she took a long drag, exhaling it out in a smooth smokeless cloud. "This brand has eezo particles in the tip," she explained. "No, I did not just start a fire by snapping my fingers."

"Wasn't going to make that accusation" he grunted, eyeing the cigarette, curiosity gnawing. She held it delicately between two fingers, lips pursed in a sultry frown as she stared at the dead.

"That's a miserable way to die."

"I thought Cerberus wanted the xenos out of humanity's way."

"Not like this." She shook her head and took another drag. "Cerberus wants humanity to be its own power, not a lesser member, or even an equal member, among alien races. But we don't use biological warfare. Not all of our methods are clean, I admit. We have assassinated, we have pushed ethical boundaries in research. But we would never stoop to something like this."

"I would." Kane noted the hint of surprise cross her features. "If the Magos created a plague that killed Eldar by slowly forcing their organs out through their skin pores, we would take it and use it in a heartbeat."

"That is terrible."

"It isn't any worse than what they do to us."

Neither said anything for a while. The Cerberus agent contented herself with her smoke, and Kane kept silent vigil over the dead. When her cigarette had drained to the filter, she flicked away the last bit of ash and tossed the butt next to the dead. "He's in there negotiating. Is that why you stepped out?"

"I thought it best if I removed myself from the situation."

"Best for you, or for them?"

"Would it surprise you if I told you I preferred sharing air with corpses than with a xenos?"

"I doubt anything you say would surprise me anymore." She let out a long, relaxing breath, and slid down to a squatting position, resting on her toes, knees tucked close to her body. A moment later she rose back to her full height, stretching her calves and shaking the tightness out of her legs. Kane looked sharply away when he caught himself staring.

"What started your war with the … Eldar?"

"No idea. I would assume it had to do with humanity's expansion into the galaxy. Every race we discovered fought us, tried to destroy us and our worlds. The Eldar were no different. A sad, pathetic race of mystics that hid on their Craftworlds and struck from the shadows."

"Surely not every race fought you."

"Every race of importance. There might have been a few that did not, but they aren't around anymore. There isn't space in the galaxy for peaceful neighbors, Madam Lawson. There is only humanity, and those in our way."

"The first race we met attacked us" she told him. 'The turians. We attempted to open a Relay near their space. Of course, we did not know it at the time, but the Citadel Council has a very strict law against opening Relays until they are mapped out and carefully explored. The turians that responded to our attempt attacked us, destroyed a small exploratory fleet, and chased the survivors back to our world Shanxi. They sieged it, killed most of the colonists, and it took the direct intervention of the Citadel fleets to force a ceasefire."

"So the Citadel races attacked you, then demanded peace?"

"The Citadel Council is not a direct ruling body. The Turian Hierarchy does as it pleases, and works in coordination with the Council in matters of interspecies law. The turians that attacked Shanxi served the Hierarchy, not the Council."

"But the turians have a representative on the Council, correct?"

"They do." She did not show her surprise that he had figured that one out, but he could tell it was there.

"Convenient for the turians. They punch humanity in the nose, bleed it a bit, then when things start swinging against them, they go suing for peace while hiding behind a larger body."

"The turian fleet had stepped outside its legitimate authority. Fleets operate in broad swaths of space, here. They have standard remit and purpose, but the particulars of fleet action are decided by the commanders, and transmitted to the Hierarchy for approval. The commanders that led the fleet against Shanxi refused to record their engagement, attempting to operate a shadow war without the knowledge of their government or populace. After Shanxi they were prosecuted and put on trial for war crimes."

"What is a war crime?" He laughed bitterly. Her lack of response only confirmed his impression of the term. "Do you people put rules on your warfare?"

"Civilization is founded on principles and codes of honor," she insisted. "Yes, we had limits and regulations on what sort of warfare is permissible and what is not. This," she gestured to the dead, "is exactly the sort of thing that is prohibited in Citadel space. Weapons of terror, targeting civilian populations, the kinds of things that degrade a conflict from war to anarchy and murder."

"Wars are won much faster when you bomb the populate into dust. You don't have to worry about rebellions when everyone is dead."

"And you don't have to rebuild a planet from ashes if you leave the population centers intact."

"Hmm… how long has humanity been space-worthy?"

"Less than a few hundred years."

Kane studied her face for a long moment. She was incredibly beautiful, he reminded himself. Even if she was arrogant, naive, and a spy. "You won't understand warfare until you think centuries in advance. We, the Imperium, have thousands of years of history under our belt. Planets can be repopulated. Mountains can be rebuilt. Destruction that takes five hundred years to recover from is not a great task."

"The more I hear about your Imperium, the less I like it."

"No one does. It's rotten, it's bloated. It's a Throne-damned mess of corruption and bureaucracy. But it is ours. And it has held humanity together for ten thousand years. That is worth something."

The doors to the clinic opened, and Commander Shepard stepped out. He gave them both a tired smile, and patted a bulky cylindrical container hanging from a clip on his belt. "New plan. Going to the environmental systems. Once there we can disperse the cure, and Mordin will come with us back to the Normandy."

Kane grunted and donned his helmet. Miranda Lawson pushed off the wall and motioned for Shepard to lead the way. Barely a dozen steps later, a massive shuddering rippled through the massive chamber, accompanied by a grinding noise that echoed ghost-like from one end of the district to the other. Like a giant series of machines abruptly shrieking to a halt.

"That would be the environmental systems shutting down" Shepard noted dryly, unfazed. His conversation with the xenos must have brought up this possibility.

"Bloody hell," Miranda grumbled.

"Guess we'll have targets there, then." Kane unslung his hellgun, his pulse quickening ever so slightly at the prospect of battle.

"We need to move fast. The controls are deep in Blood Pact territory."

Shepard did not use caution this time. They hurried along the streets, moving to the controls, which of course were a good distance from the clinic. The Blood Pact seemed less concerned with scouting their own territory, and no outposts arose to oppose them.

"Think Blood Pact is behind the plague, then?"

"Doubtful" Shepard replied. "The Blood Pact is almost entirely krogan and vorcha. Neither race is known for their scientists, and the Blood Pact always preferred a good fight. But their races are notoriously hardy and resistant to disease, so having them provide muscle for whoever is behind this plague makes sense. Someone hired them for this job."

"So this isn't a turf war."

"Maybe," Shepard agreed. "Or the turf war is a convenient side-job."

Their movement to the environmental controls went unopposed nearly all the way. Shepard had a map, courtesy of the xenos doctor, to guide them, filled with surprisingly accurate notations of Blood Pact patrols and barricades. The only detour they took came seemingly at random, as a small blip appeared on the map that drew Shepard's attention immediately. The blip led them to an utterly ordinary habitation unit. Unremarkable, save for the noises coming from inside.

"Professor Solus said his assistant disappeared out here. His biochip is in here."

"Biochip?"

"The doctor has his assistants were biochips for monitoring."

"Is that normal?"

"Is anything a salarian does normal?"

Kane had no answer to that. Stacking up against the doorway, he put an ear to the door and listened. Gruff, angry voices mumbled inside The Commander glanced over at him, eyes dropping to the wrist-auspex. It counted five signals inside.

"Stay ready, but don't fire unless you have to. Sergeant?"

"Understood. Only if a suitable threat arises."

Shepard palmed the rune to open the door, and they rushed in with weapons raised. A confused mass of bodies greeted them: four batarian bastards spread in a near line, all armed and facing away from them, towards a shaking young human with a similar coat to the one worn by the xenos doctor. A lab coat, then. That was what at least some medical professionals wore. Of more immediate concern were the rifles and shotguns that spun frantically to greet them, flinching as the Commander's voice filled the small habitation unit.

"Weapons down" the Commander shouted, weapon trained on the most well-armed xenos.

While his three compatriots remained half-stunned by the sudden arrival, their weapons lifted but not quite aimed, the leader sprang into action. Ducking behind the human medicae, the leader threw an arm around the man and pressed a sidearm to the side of his skull.

"Don't move or we kill your friend!"

"Do it and you won't walk out of here alive."

"But he'll be dead."

"So will you." The Commander took one hand off his rifle and pointed to each of the xenos in turn. "Look, you're scared. The plague is killing so many. The vorcha are crawling over this place like termites. But this man isn't to blame. He has nothing to do with spreading the virus. Why would he? The plague already came through here. There's nothing for him to do."

"That… actually sort of makes sense," one of the xenos grumbled, casting a nervous look at the others.

"This man works for the clinic back a ways. He's an assistant to Mordin Solus, a salarian. They are trying to cure the plague."

"Those vials don't look like a cure." The leader took the pistol off of the man's head just long enough to point accusingly at some small medical vials lying on the counter, along with the ransacked contents of the medicae's satchel. Kane braced for shooting, fully expecting Shepard to take the shot, but the moment passed, and the pistol returned to the man's skull.

"They don't look like plague either. You are running scared. I get it, I really do. Shit's gone sideways here real fast, and you are caught up in the middle of it. But do you really want to risk dying here, over something that may or may not even be true? Even if it is, what's the benefit for you? Say you kill him, and kill us, what does that accomplish? Because you won't. Not all of you, not even some of you. You don't need to die, and I don't need to kill you. Lower your weapons, and you walk out of here. We aren't your enemy. Don't be ours."

One by one, the xenos lowered their weapons. All except the leader, who cast withering glares at his comrades. They each stepped away, back, and slowly holstered their weapons. When it became clear he was on his own, the speaker conceded.

"I'll release him outside" the batarian snarled.

"You'll release him here. We need to talk to him."

"And we walk?"

"You have my word." Shepard's aim did not waver. "You let him go, and I won't shoot you."

Kane found it hard to believe that it worked. The batarian lowered the pistol but kept it close to his hip. Pushing the medicae roughly out of the way, the batarian kept his glare fixed on Shepard.

"So we're walking then."

"Yes." Shepard motioned for them to lower their weapons. Kane did so grudgingly, attention switching back and forth for any sign of trouble. The three lesser xenos were appeased, cowed. The leader did not show any sign of taking this in stride. Murder simmered in his eyes, plain for them all to see. It was angry, and it had Shepard in its crosshairs. "We had a deal."

"Human nobility." The batarian sniffed. "Didn't know such a thing existed."

It did not put its weapon away.

-v-

Shepard breathed a sharp sigh of relief as the batarians moved to shuffle past them, their hands wide and free of their weapons. The first three had the fight sucked right out of them; they were not soldiers; just scared civilians trying to make right of the world. Not the fourth though. He was a slaver. The insignia on his clothes denoted he was Mountain Clan. Odd to see one of their caste here in the bowels of Omega. He must have been caught in the plague while conducting business. Regardless, he was trouble. Would be trouble for the people here.

But that was not his worry at the moment. Trusting in the others to watch his back, he approached the trembling Daniel and offered a hand to steady the man.

"Mordin Solus sent us out looking for you."

"Thank you!" The man shook Shepard's hands, swallowing nervously as his eyes darted past to the batarians. "I thought they were going t-"

Kane's hellgun screamed into life behind him.

By the time Shepard spun around, the last of the batarians' bodies was hitting the floor. To his left, Miranda stood with her Tempest raised but unfired, her eyes wide and alert, mouth half-opened in an unformed shout. The batarians lay strewn across the exit of the habitation unit, steaming vapors rising from their riddled corpses. For a terrifying heartbeat, the room was silent, and he heard nothing but the pounding of blood in his temple, and the harsh breaths of those assembled. That, and the sibilant hiss of discharging heat as the hellgun's coolant systems vented the barrels.

"Clear," the Cadian grunted.

And then it crashed like a dam shattering under the weight of the flood. Shepard threw up his rifle and sighted on Sergeant Kane.

"Drop your weapon, Sergeant!"

The Cadian's helmet inclined his way, voice modulated with that infernal monotone. "I don't think so, Commander."

"Miranda, take his weapon, right now." Shepard took a threatening step forward, toggling the incendiary mod. His executive officer took a hesitant step forward, her own weapon aimed at the ground, but one hand reaching out for the hellgun. Hardwired instinct kicked her feet forward as she moved to intercept the larger Cadian.

"You touch this, and I will kill you." The Cadian did not look over at Miranda, but the intent was clear. She stopped, fingers tightening around her Tempest. Her free hand began to shimmer with biotic force as a scowl overtook her, jaw setting in determination.

"What the hell was that Kane? I said they could walk."

"And they did." Kane did not deign to lift his weapon at either of them. The confidence oozing from his posture infuriated Shepard. He wanted nothing more than to punch the man in his face and send him reeling.

"They had surrendered, damn it!"

"They still had weapons."

"You…" Shepard stomped up to the man and grabbed the hellgun. The Cadian twitched, his whole body tensing, muscles coiling for action. But he did not move. He remained stationary, waiting. Like a trap when the mouse was sniffing the cheese. Except it wasn't a mouse that was about to trigger. "I gave them my word, Sergeant! And I gave you an order! You do what I say, when I say it. You told me that would not be a problem."

The Cadian did not say anything. Shepard held onto the hellgun for a moment longer, considering his options. He wanted to take it away, but that would help nothing. They were deep in enemy territory, and he needed Kane's marksmanship. More than that, he had no way to detain the man. Fighting the Blood Pact while watching a very dangerous prisoner would go nowhere. And they did not have the time to proceed carefully. They needed speed, and Kane was efficient at killing, if anything. Shepard suppressed an angry scream and released the Cadian's hellgun.

"This," Shepard gestured at the man, "is done. When we get back to the Normandy, you will be relieved of your weapons and escorted to the brig. From there, you'll be handed off to an Alliance research team. Is that clear?"

"Better to be a prisoner of humans than working with xenos." The Cadian nodded curtly, though Shepard could read the man's own anger boiling under his armor. The larger man dripped disdain and contempt. It was like arguing with a concrete wall. There simply wasn't a way to reason with a man whose entire mindset had been poured in an unbreakable mold. And that mold was just as dangerous and problematic as everyone had warned him it would be. Even Sergeant Kane had said it.

He gestured for Daniel to come closer. "You. Mordin wants you back at the clinic. Go."

"But I…"

"Just. Go."

Daniel scurried off, tiptoeing around the dead, eyes wide as saucers as he looked from Kane to the batarians and back. A greenish hue had come over the man's face, and they heard retching noises just as he disappeared down the street.

Shepard let out a long, frustrated breath. His gaze flicked over to Kane, standing silently over the batarians in vigil. Miranda had stepped out, ostensibly to keep watch in case others were drawn by the shooting. More likely, she was distancing herself from the godawful stench of seared flesh. His stomach twisted at the thought of a battlefield filled with these weapons. The screams and blood were bad enough. He could not imagine what sort of guts it took to slog through all of that, plus the stench. He could not imagine what sort of monsters could mow down his foes in cold blood.

Not anymore, he reminded himself. Not anymore.

"We're moving," Shepard ordered, pushing past Kane and back out onto the street. His skin crawled with the Cadian outside of his vision, behind him. And just for a flash of a breath, he imagined the Cadian lifting his hellgun and squeezing the trigger.