Semper Vigilo Chapter 118: What Happens On Shore Leave…, a mass effect fanfic

Chapter 118. What Happens On Shore Leave…

6. May 2417 AD, Citadel, Tayseri Wards, Industrial Sector Level 20

Captain Armando-Owen Bailey ducked the holographic 'do-not-cross' line and nodded at the asari C-SEC officer standing guard outside the of the crime scene, a warehouse in the Tayseri Ward.

He hated coming to this part of the Citadel… and not just because of the things he'd seen after the geth attack on the station two years ago where Tayseri had been damaged the worst.

After ducking the line, walking through the opened door of the warehouse and glancing at the pair of turian investigators interviewing the two officers who'd been first on the scene - a salarian and one of the few batarians still left in C-SEC – Bailey reached the actual crime scene, a small community kitchen adjacent to the warehouse. He let out a sigh when he saw the bodies of five dead humans in black-blue tactical gear. They'd all died via gunshots – except for the one guy who had lacerations all over his body from a large kitchen knife which had subsequently been stuffed into the microwave alongside the mass accelerator likely used in the attack, an action that had then triggered the fire alert to which the nearby C-SEC patrol had responded.

Bailey carefully stepped over the pool of drying blood, noticed that one of the bodies was missing a gauntlet of all things and looked at one of the humans in body armor.

He was an Indian man in his thirties with clearly visible tattoos on his neck. There was a Neo-Monotheistic crescent cross, a depiction of a polar star … and an eagle diving towards its prey…

26th Airborne.

He glanced at another body, the one that had gotten the knife treatment. The Caucasian male was sitting on a chair and not wearing a shirt anymore. His arms had been restrained behind his back and while the blood from the cut throat that had finished him made it hard to tell, Bailey could make out a human skull biting down on a bolt of lightning with a backdrop of two crossed rifles – SR7s - on his chest. He took a step closer and realized that the skull had one more detail… the three capital 'A's written on its forehead: Army Air Assault. Below the skull and on top of the man's heart was a second set of four letters was still readable.

'NMLB'

No man left behind…

Looking around at the other bodies, Bailey noticed the overall athletic condition of the guys and the cleanliness of their kits… well minus the bloodstains.

"Bunch of dead hardliners," he muttered before brushing aside the implication and looked at the injury patterns.

Half these guys had been killed with shots through the t-box, the small area of the human head between the eyes that when hit reliably caused flaccid paralysis; thus preventing muscle spasms that could cause death-related muscle contractions, which for example could pull a trigger or drag a knife… In Special Response, they called it 'human model hostage rescue shot'. And the number of people living on the Citadel who could deliver several of these on heavily armed mercs was probably somewhere around the same number as Spectres living on the station…

He shook his head and moved on to a guy who'd apparently tried to take cover behind the central working area of the kitchen and then gotten shot in the foot and head. If Bailey were to guess and consider the way the body was laying, the shot in the foot had served to allow the shot in the head.

Again, who the hell could think of something like that when going up against several heavily armed mercs?

The C-SEC captain sighed and looked at a forth merc who clearly had the shots that had killed him bounced into him from the ground up. The markings on the floor were telling and once more raised the question: who the fuck could do something like that?

"What was that you just said about a hard line?" one of the turians, Chellick, asked. Chellick was a 15-year vet with stone-colored plates and the bare minimum of facial markings required to still be considered trustworthy. He'd snuck up on Bailey while he'd been inspecting the corpses.

"Just noticed the tats," Bailey muttered. "Did you run these guys yet?" Bailey asked while looking at the fairly obvious tattoos on the humans.

"What do you think?"

"Scumbags?" he guessed.

"Of course… Narcotics trafficking, extortion, assault and battery, armed robbery, illegal possession of… well everything," Chellick stated while pointing at the individual dead before stopping on the indian man. "That one has ninety-six unpaid parking tickets. Oh. And a warrant out for the attempted murder of an asari diplomat."

"How the fuck were these guys walking free with a rep-sheat like that?" … and a freaking warrant…

"That's a question you'll have to ask the Tayseri judicial system. Or maybe the human one, I don't know," Chellik muttered. "What I do know though is that back when I worked patrol in Tayseri's Lower Wards, we used to take turns beating guys like these with our stun batons before we shipped them off to court," the turian's mandibles pressed themselves against his grey plates when Bailey looked at him with an 'excuse me?' expression. "Sounds bad, I know, but it's a much harder punishment than what the asari judges were gonna give 'em anyway," Chellick responded casually. While the statement would've shocked any outsider, Bailey knew that actions like that made the Tayseri division soft compared to what the guys at Bachjret got up to. There was a reason why Bachjret departments shot the most people out of all of C-SEC… and it wasn't just because they had all the merc bars and night clubs…

Chellick spent another second looking at the crime scene and then audibly sighed.

"Come on, Bailey. You know what this is."

"Don't say it."

"The location, the modus operandi… the victim types … no witnesses… disabled security…"

"Chellick..."

"I guess the Ripper's not dead after all," the turian stated, drawing the eyes of all C-SEC staff present at the scene towards him. "What? We're all thinking it."

"For fuck's sake, Chellick," Bailey cursed…

The Tayseri Ripper was a sore spot for the C-SEC. He'd been a vigilante serial killer who'd been active on the Citadel for five years until he – supposedly a krogan by the name of Jackol Hrodt who'd been rejected from the Blue Suns – had died in Saren's attack on the Citadel.

"Maybe we should call in Attrako. The Ripper was his case. And he never bought into that whole Jackol Hrodt rejected Blue Sun crap," Chellick offered – the other turian hadn't either.

"I'm pretty sure he's too busy living on the royalties of his stupid book to give us a hand," Bailey quickly responded. Palaris Attrako had been the Senior Detective in charge of the Ripper investigation and after C-SEC had named Hrodt the chief-suspect, he'd resigned in a fit of rage, incapable of accepting that his profile didn't entirely match the Ripper's true personality.

"… I wouldn't be so sure about that. Attrako trained me, so I like to think that I know him pretty well. Let me call him. Trust me, he'll be back asking for a badge the moment I tell him he'll get another shot at the Ripper… He never could let go-"

"All units in the vicinity of Gaeron Botanical Gardens be advised," the voice of Tayseri dispatch cracked through the radio that Chellick had been carrying on his armor, "we've got reports of an armed robbery with a firearm. One victim injured, two more unresponsive. Medical services holding for your all clear. Who can respond?"

"Dispatch, this is Dilinaga-Five-Twenty-One. Show us responding. One minute out."

"Dilinaga-Five-Twenty-Two. Three minutes."

"Five-Twenty-Three just saw Twenty-Two turn. We're heading to the Gardens too. Also three minutes."

"Understood. Dilinaga-Five-Twenty-One, you're OIC on site. All responding units, I say again, Dilinaga-Five-Twenty-One is OIC on site."

"Twenty-Two copies."

"Twenty-Three as well."

"Tayseri Dispatch and all responding units, this is Invictus-Nine-One. We're tonight's special Response squad on stand-by for Tayseri. Flight computer shows us seven minutes out from the gardens. Three if we get permission to dive through the traffic lane."

"Acknowledged Invictus-Nine-One. Wait one on dive permission."

"Dispatch, this is Twenty-One. Crime scene clear. Send in the MS. Twenty-Two and Three, divert to suspect interdiction-"

"Understood. Do we have a perp description? What am I looking for?"

"Negative, not yet. I don't have got a witness on site and the only guy who saw anything's currently drowning in his blood. Tayseri, who the fuck called this in? There's no one here. Just three dead bodies."

"All responding units, this is Tayseri. Caller described a lone gunman. Human or batarian. Facial recognition from Five-Twenty-One confirms victims are known gang affiliates. Since the crime scene is secured and we don't have any further hints on prep-ID, you are not cleared for traffic dive, Invictus-Nine-One. I repeat. Do not dive through traffic to short-cut. How copy?"

"Invictus-Nine-One copies all. Didn't plan on flying our heads off today anyway. ETA six minutes, save some of the upcoming door knocking for us…"Chellick dialed the radio down and looked at Bailey.

"You know it'll be him. He's back and he's working his way through the lower wards. Call Attrako."

Bailey looked at the dead humans.

"I need to make a call to the embassy first."

"Anything I should know about?"

Baiely sighed and scanned the bodies again.

"These dickheads are Terra Novan nationalists."

Chellick blinked.

"Then what are they doing on the Citadel?"

"Good question, Detective."

Bailey went to walk away, but Chellick wasn't done yet.

"Bailey!" he called. "Call Attrako," the turian insisted. "Or I will," he added.

Bailey turned around and went to poke the turian in the chest with his bare hand. Since the turian was wearing combat-armor and was generally made out of metal, the gesture only served to hurt Bailley's fingers.

"Goddammit, Chellick, you want me to write you up for insubordination or what?" he threathened, ignoring the pain.

Chellick narrowed his bright-green eyes.

"I don't care what you do as long as it gets us the Ripper."

The stare-off lasted for some ten seconds in which Bailey considered how likely it was that he – who had climbed the career letter rather fast – was going to win a dick-measuring contest with the diligent and disciplined Detective Chellick the moment a (turian) Executor got involved in their disagreement…

"Fine. Go ahead. Call Attrako. Tell him to bring something to write…" Bailey murmured. "Looks like he'll get his sequel," even if that was exactly what C-SEC brass and … other important people didn't want.

The Ripper had been laid to rest for good reason and now a bunch of turians and their god damn sense of justice was going to fuck that up…

Twenty-One Minutes Later, 6. May 2417 AD, Citadel, Tayseri Wards, Level 29

Callsign Lancelot sat on the railing of Level 29 and watched the patrol cars fly up and down above him, in hot pursuit of a bataroam suspect.

Truth be told, he hadn't planned this particular part of his post-assassination get-away plan. The little mugging he'd just witnessed near the sight of his little murder spree from across the canyon-like sky-car lane that divided Tayseri's cityblock had just been a stroke of luck, something not usually found this deep in the ward.

As he observed C-SEC officers go about their job, a cigarette, batarian-made tobacco that was intentionally rare to come by on the Citadel, was smoldering to its death next to him. It was untouched by his lips and served little to no purpose outside of creating more conflicting evidence.

When it stopped burning, Lancelot threw a glance at it, climbed off the railing and then casually flicked the second gun he'd brought to the fight with the mercenaries, a batarian-made pistol, over the edge of the railing for the Keepers to find. Next he opened the large sling bag he was carrying, sprinkled a bit of batarian alcohol over his working clothes and rinsed his mouth out with another sip so that he also smelled the part. He spat the alcohol on the pavement and cleared his throat. He'd rather be drinking some Horizon-brewed beer, but that'd be too close to home for HSAIS' comfort, so he'd have to make do with what fit the narrative he was trying to build.

This way C-SEC wouldn't think of him as anything but a duct rat who managed to live past the age of 25 and was now day drinking his misery away. After a last look at the crime scene, he walked away from the railing with just the slightest hint of a stumble (he was after all portraying an experienced alcoholic).

He'd been down in the wards ever since he'd parted ways with Morneau at the Wave headquarters, doing the HSA's dirty work and generally having no idea what was going on with HSAIS. As a safety precaution for the environment he worked in (and to avoid him being tied to HSAIS if he were to perish in the various criminal parallel worlds he moved in), Lancelot went into a full info blackout whenever he started working in the wards. The only news that reached him right now were related to his primary mission, protecting Commander Shepard and by extension the HSA's interest on the Citadel, and as such, he lived in something of a microcosm.

Whenever he started working down here, his world ended with the Rapid Transit Station.

He liked it that way though.

It kept things nicely sorted.

The Horizon-native stuffed the hands into the pockets of the dark-brown working jacket that he was wearing and turned into a small alleyway that'd lead him further up again, wondering why the hell a bunch of human PMCs had gotten a kill-order for Commander Shepard.

While this wasn't the first time members of his species had tried to kill their own Spectres, one of his first assignments had been the … dissolution … of an IFS cell attempting to murder Anderson, this time the people involved weren't members of a separatist movement that had plagued the HSA for the last forty years.

They were TN-Hardline affiliated.

If he'd had to point to a human group (outside of the IFS) which would have a reason to kill a human Spectre, the Hardline was pretty much the last one he'd think of.

They were morons, yes, but they were nationalistic morons. The hardline pretty much worshipped everything related to the HSA, including Commander Shepard's actions and the reputation the human race had gotten because of her and her peers.

He turned the corner of the alley and quickly sidestepped a drunk asari to avoid bumping into her. He'd learned in his first year that intoxicated biotics were trouble and that most asari living this deep in the wards were just as inclined to violent outbursts as their krogan and turian peers - despite what all the travel guides wanted you to think about them.

After throwing a look back at the asari to check that she was still stumbling away from him instead of turning on his feet to mug him. Stuff like that was also a common occurrence this deep into Tayseri and it happened to him on a semi-regular basis. (It usually didn't end well for the mugger, though.) When he was sure the asari wouldn't pull a reversal, Lancelot returned his attention to the issue at hands.

He understood asari mercs, IFS cells and that weird Insight Group trying to kill a human Spectre. But human PMCs with a TNH connection weren't supposed to try and kill someone like Commander Shepard. They were supposed to silently fetishize her in their weird music and fanboy/-girl over her at every possible opportunity.

'Red angel of death, kill all the batarians left… sit nomine digna, what a hero you are…' it echoed through his mind for a second. A bunch of the marines who had rotated into the embassy security personal listened to that crap during their workouts and since Lancelot sadly had a pretty good memory in regard to everything he heard (a professional hazard) the tune was stuck in his mind alongside a dozen other Hardline songs…

Given the Hardline's evident relation to Commander Shepard, this whole mess reeked and he was almost tempted to say that it seemed like someone was intentionally trying to pin the murder of humanity's Spectre on human nationalists, no matter how stupid that sounded.

But only almost.

Since there'd been a lot of DNA to go around in the warehouse kitchen, mostly thanks to the gracious blood donations of the now dead PMCs, Lancelot had taken the liberty of running a few samples through the HSA's Armed Forces service records. The results had been exactly what he'd expected from a bunch of Hardline-affiliates. Barring one guy who'd washed out of NCO training after some assault charges collected on shore leave, all the people he'd just wasted had been Skyllian-Blitz vets. They'd left the armed forces in between the end of the Verge War and the attack on Eden Prime and unless someone had invented a security classification above his paygrade that could sufficiently censor any such operation, they'd had never shot at anything other than a batarian.

They were ideal TN-Hardline material and not the kind of guys who you'd think would pop a few rounds at a Star of Valor recipient like Commander Emily Shepard.

Lancelot walked under an underpass where a turian was in the process of consuming Red Sand. When their eyes locked, the brown-plated male lowered the inhalator in his hands containing the reddish aerosol and flashed his talons.

"Watcha lookin at, softskin? Keep walking," the addict snarled while quickly stuffing the drug-filled inhalator into a pocket of his worn army-surplus uniform. The turian was probably thinking Lancelot would try to rip the inhalator out of his hands and he wouldn't blame the spiky sand-addict for that notion. That sort of thing also happened here regularly.

Tayseri had always been a rough patch, even before a disproportionate number of people hostile to humanity's first Spectre had taken up residence in it (which had subsequently kick-started the whole Tayseri Ripper thing and really helped take the focus of the rest of his handywork in the other parts of the Citadel).

But ever since the wealthy topside had gotten the worst of Sovereign's attack and subsequent destruction, nearly everyone decent still left in the ward at that point had relocated to other parts of the Citadel, things had gotten significantly worse.

Now only those who couldn't afford to escape the increasingly impoverished portion of the heart of galactic politics and a small, rock-hard groop of people who considered themselves Tayseri natives at heart remained.

And well… people who were up to no good… sort of like him.

Lancelot yawned and passed a holographic billboard that activated when it noticed his presence. It played a quick, triumphant melody and then displayed a white chain of interlinked circles on-top of blue and orange square. The colors of the Confederation of Independent Planets. Lancelot stopped ever so briefly and eyed the billboard, an action the device clearly registered. As a reaction to his apparent interest, six lines of texts in six different languages (only one of which he could read without his translation contact lenses) appeared.

'Enlist today with the Confederate Security Corps and become eligible for CIP citizenship. United, for a prosperous and peaceful future.'

Lancelot raised an eyebrow.

Recruiting in Tayseri's lower levels screamed desperate.

Weren't the several million HSA soldiers deployed in the Skyllian Verge enough for the HSA's protectorate to feel safe?

He looked at the ad for another moment, which in turn prompted the billboard to start displaying clearly staged footage of a multi-species fireteam moving through a mock-up apartment block in a far too-brightly lit anti-terror raid setting, and then continued onward. Like a lot of people actually wearing the uniform he'd never been in favor of the whole Operation Sentinel mess and as such he hoped that ads like these were an indicator that the massive military presence of the HSA was slowly coming to an end. With what was headed for them those soldiers would be better used fortifying the colonies anyways…

As the Horizoner continued through the ward, he heard the whining of C-SEC patrol drones creeping up on him. In response, the blonde specialist pressed his chin to his neck so that his jacket was hiding half his face. While that would've made him look suspicious anywhere else, it made him look like just another Tayseri inhabitant who wasn't keen on having (another) run-in with law enforcement. After briefly stopping in front of him, the drone passed him without an incident. Although he was now firmly on the radar of C-SEC, the change of clothes he carried in his sling bag and the signal jammer in his watch that kept changing his registerable bio-signature ever so slightly would quickly remove him from it if necessary. Hence he was free to keep moving to his next stop, the directions to which had been delivered curtesy of the people he'd just iced.

Before bleeding out all over the kitchen floor the merc had name-dropped Klix-Wrecking, one of the three dozen ship-breaking companies that had set up shop in Tayseri after untold tons of debris had rained down on the ward. They were based on Level 9, the first layer of Tayseri not devastated by Sovereign exploding right on top of it and since taking a Rapid Transit during an active manhunt was just asking for a C-SEC traffic stop, the specialist would just do it the old-fashioned way and walk to the top.

As he set foot on the stairs and ignored the fresh green spurts on the walls (just like sanders inhaling on the open streets, fixers injecting themselves were also rather common this deep in Tayseri), he got a feeling that this would be another dark and sleepless night. There'd been plenty of those since he'd taken up this gig after JP's death and if there was such a thing as a day-night-cycle in the wards, it might've even messed with his bio-clock. But since there was no such cycle…

Let's just say that others probably would've complained about pulling all-nighter after all-nighter, but luckily for Shepard, Specialist Yegor Solovev did his best work in the dark of night and had never been much of a morning person anyway.

One Hour Later, 6. May 2417 AD, Citadel, Docking Bay D-24

"And you're sure you don't want to come along, Joker?"

"The Normandy's my baby, Commander. If she's staying, I'm staying."

"Even Mordin's taking a break."

"Yeah, you really should keep an eye on him now that you mention it. I mean I like the guy but maybe don't let him too close to anything volatile," the bearded pilot muttered before scratching his neck.

"Joker," Shepard stressed.

"I'm fine staying on the ship, Commander. I really am," he stated. "Besides, it's not like I'll be all alone. Legion's staying too. And so are Nagato and EDI," Joker paused for a second. "For the record, if I were a lesser man, I would now make a joke about all three of them being robots unfit to integrate into society."

"You just did that and since you left out Doctor Chakwas, your joke also doesn't hold up," Shepard pointed out. "Come on Joker. It's R and R on the Citadel. What sort of excuse do you have to miss out on a night out with the rest of the crew?"

"… I don't like crowds," the bearded pilot offered before adjusting his hat. "Or clubs. Or dancing. Or drinking. Sort of hard to pilot a frigate if you've got a hangover."

Emily was getting a distinct feeling that she was fighting a losing battle here. Still, she'd not quit yet.

"The Normandy's not going anywhere in the next couple of days, Joker, so you won't have to worry about having to fly it any time soon."

"Unless there's an emergency," the pilot countered. "I appreciate the sentiment, Commander. But I'm good. Really."

Shepard sighed when she realized there was no point in fighting the pilot over this.

"Fair enough. You know where to find us if you change her mind," thanks to her Spectre status Shepard had managed to secure access to the Presidium for her crew. Normally, military crews on shore leave weren't particularly welcome on the rich part of the Citadel and redirected to the clubs in the wards which had C-SEC officers patrolling them who knew how to handle a bunch of rowdy marines. But C-SEC Customs had made an exception when she'd signed the request with 'Special Tactics and Reconnaissance'.

Since this was their last chance to get some well-earned RnR before they headed through the Omega-Four Relay, she was hoping that the entire crew would tag along and that maybe she'd get all of them together to create the semblance of a sense of comradery before they needed to depend on each other in what might be the worst fight they'd fought up to now.

That had been her genuine hope.

And now they weren't even out of the docking bay and people were already starting to fall off left and right.

Before she'd talked to Joker, their resident assassin Thane had informed her that he needed to take care of some personal business down in Tayseri. He'd said that Lieutenant Callius knew what it was about and that'd be that.

Speaking of her turian XO, the minute the Normandy had touched down Callius had excused herself into the direction of the Presidium, something about needing to take a call at the turian embassy.

Finally (and expectingly), Samara had declined the invitation as well. According to her, her years of 'dancing the nights away' were over and she'd rather 'drink in the beauty of the Citadel without the distorting glasses of alcohol interrupting with the view'. Chakwas had offered a similar explanation, but stayed on the Normandy entirely. In regard to the doctor, Shepard suspected that Chakwas simply wanted to make sure they were stocked on everything they needed for the upcoming mission. Even in a best-case scenario, people would need to get patched up and Chakwas would be the one doing the patching…

With Joker out of the picture now too, that just left half of her usual associates. Garrus, Leng, Tali, Nader and (surprisingly enough) Mordin would stick around.

… for now at least.

"I take it Joker ain't coming?" Leng muttered from behind her.

"Nope," she replied to her fellow N7. "Apparently Joker doesn't like clubbing."

"Huh," Leng exclaimed before nodding. "A flyboy who doesn't binge drink shore leave away. Didn't think I'd see the day. Next you're gonna tell me he doesn't use the 'I'm a pilot line' to get with the ladies," he playfully smacked her against the shoulder before turning her around to the rest of the group. Shepard actually didn't see Joker doing that either, though, to be honest. "Ah lighten up already, Em. Even you can't talk everyone into anything. Come on. We're burning daylight here and I really wanna see if the Presidium manages to live up to Vakarian's stories."

Shepard inspected the group of individuals she'd assembled. A biotic marine who's civilian clothing seemed to amount to BDUs, poorly laced combat boots and a black hoodie, a turian in heavy combat armor that still had pieces of it chipped away from where a gunship's cannon had hit it, a quarian who radiated out-of-placeness and a salarian in a lab coat who could just as easily be mistaken for a doctor as he could be for a mental ward patient.

… even if Leng and her had dressed relatively normally, she somehow expected that they'd run into problems with the first bouncer they'd meet.

After giving her another smack the Asian N7 strolled off into the direction of rapid transit, followed by Nader, Mordin and finally Tali. She glanced at the upbeat and N7 and then at the turian.

"I haven't seen Kai this excited since he got to call in an orbital strike on a bunch of batarian pirates…" the red-haired N7 muttered before re-adjusting the long-sleeve, blue blouse she was wearing. Combined with the black trousers, she might've even looked like was an everyday late-twenties woman looking to party… but the tactical footwear in form of tanned combat boots sort of ruined that impression. "What exactly did you tell him, Garrus?"

"… I might have mentioned a place called Purgatory," the turian's mandibles flicked outward. "And the … eagerness… of its regular asari customers. Might've exaggerated a bit too," the blue-armored turian added the last part quickly. Then he evidently pressed a button on the side of his one-eyed HUD and an instant later it flashed with a bright orange color. "Oh no. Would you look at that. Looks like I just got an urgent message that I definitely can't delay reading as far away from Leng and any associated asari as possible…" he replied dryly.

"Garrus. You don't seriously think that you can set Kai up for a biotic ass beating then duck out on me by making your monocle light up, do you?" she asked with folded arms.

"No… but it was still worth a shot."

Shepard smiled.

"For what its worth, I'm glad that you're back to joking around," the N7 said as the two started to stroll after the rest of the crew. "After the whole post-Migrant-Fleet mole mess I was sort of worried that the two of you had burned your bridges," Shepard glanced at the back of her fellow N7. Instead of his usual uniform he'd opted for a dark-red leather jacket, grey trousers and brown oxfords (which unlike her trusty boots did not have a tactical application.) "Kai's usually not the forgiving type," she stated. "And I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't worried about you not trusting him anymore either."

"Why?" the turian asked neutrally while vigilantly looking around the corridors they were walking through. For Shepard and the crew the Citadel was a nice change of pace, but for Garrus, who'd worked these streets for years, being back here was probably an uncomfortable blast from the past.

"I like you Garrus, so please don't take this the wrong way… but ever since I've met you it's become pretty clear that you can be pretty damn stubborn and just a tiny bit vindictive. Especially when you think you're right," the N7 stated before looking at the turian to judge his reaction. He threw her a sidewards glance with icy-blue eyes and then shrugged.

"Just a tiny bit?" the turian asked in return.

"Okay, maybe more than a tiny bit…" Shepard muttered. "But you get what I'm saying, right?"

"Of course. Stuborness runs in the Vakarian family," he offered. "And while I'd love to go ahead and say that you got me all wrong, a couple of years ago you would've been right. Back in my C-SEC days I definitely wouldn't have trusted him after what happened. I never liked being wrong. Or waiting. And I always ended up letting that out on the wrong end," the turian went on. "You changed that about me, by the way," the N7 threw the detective a glance and his eyes went down and to the left in response. "Well. You and the rest of the original Normandy. Mostly Wrex, really, now that I think about it," Garrus added quickly. "Just thought I should say that before we hit the relay and either get awesomely disintegrated instantly or fail in some other spectacular fashion," he finished dryly.

"You can't think negative like that, Garrus."

"Negative? I said awesomely and spectacular, Shepard. Those are positive words," Garrus retorted before looking at her again. "In all seriousness though, I'm glad I got on board two years ago and I'm definitely not getting off anytime soon, even if you're hellbent on flying us straight into hell."

"Technically Joker will be the one doing the flying…"

"… you know that's only a marginal improvement, right?"

"Don't let him hear you say that."

"Why not? It'll keep him sharp… Turians thrive on negative feedback."

"Joker's not a turian, though."

"He… what? Are you sure, Shepard? I… I don't know what to say…"

"For the record, Garrus, I'm glad that you got on board back then too. There's no one I'd rather be doing this with."

"Me neither," Garrus nodded. "Well maybe Wre- I'm kidding."

"I know," she smiled before looking around the place. "So. This was your old neighborhood?"

"More like working-hood. I never lived anywhere close to the Presidium. Way too expensive for a detective salary," he pointed down a hallway. "Down there's the way to Tayseri Ward. That's where my apartment was at. Spent nearly decade down there before I moved out."

"And Tayseri's… good to live in?"

"Oh no. Bad place. Addicts. Gangsters. Mercs. Organ traffickers," he listed and then he trailed off for a second. "After I moved there, I walked the beat as a fresh shiny down there a couple of months after I got out of Academy. Only took me three shifts down there before I shot my first perp. Sand addict who came at me with a modded Carnifex and a sharpened pipe…"

"And you still lived there for a decade after that?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Rent's cheap and my neighbors kept me sharp."

"Why'd you move then?"

"Hm?"

"You just said you moved out. Why'd you do it?"

"Oh. Yes. Right. A Reaper sort of fell on top of my apartment building and exploded everything I owned. It's fine though, the landlord never would've given me the deposit back anyway… I might have boobytrapped my hallway with smart mines and cut a couple of holes into the walls of each room to stash some emergency guns."

"No kidding this time around?"

"Like I said, bad neighborhood," the turian offered. "I never bothered with looking for a new place after that. Sort of liberating to no longer get bothered with accepting packages for salarians who are never home."

Shepard looked at the turian.

"… that's called being homeless, Garrus."

"… technically yes…"

"Nothing technical about it."

"… alright. Yes, you're right," the detective offered. "What about you? Where does Commander Shepard go to bed when she isn't busy saving the galaxy?"

Shepard bit her lip.

"What? Any reapers drop on your flat recently too?" the turian chuckled.

"If you want to get technical…"

"I want to…"

"I might have never moved out of my parents' place," she stated. "I joined right out of school and then I did some barracks hopping and with N7 assignments going from post to post…"

"You just never found time to settle down," Garrus finished. "It was the same with Recon for me. Many beds, a lot of roofs, but no place to home."

"Exactly," Shepard figured while the strolled after the group. "You ever missed it while you were in?"

"What exactly?"

"Not seriously settling down, not having a home to come back to, etcetera."

"Shepard, I'm turian. Worse even, a Cipritinian from a family of career soldiers. Before I could even think about settling down, I got plucked out of my childhood bedroom and sent to basic training. When that was done, I spent a couple of years flying around on frigates and shooting at batarian pirates with the Recon Corps. When I got bored of that, I gave Blackwatch a shot, decided that I hated it and ran away to the Citadel to move to Tayseri of all places," Garrus returned. "Trust me when I say the topic of seriously settling down and coming back to something has never come up in my life."

"And you don't find that sad?"

"Can't miss what you never had. What about you? You ever miss it?"

"I'm a Spectre who got turned into a cyborg after getting a vision of the prothean's destruction implanted into my head, Garrus. I think settling down's not in the cards for me, even if I wanted to."

"Even if you wanted to?"

"It's not exactly something I can picture myself doing. Even less so now that I know what we're headed for."

"I get that," the turian offered. "I guess that means we'll both just have to stick to saving the galaxy every now and again then."

"Now that's a plan I can get behind."

Twenty Minutes Later, 2158 CE, Tayseri-Ward, Level 15

As a direct consequence of his profession, Thane had rarely returned to places he'd worked in the past prior to his retirement. In addition to the Illuminated Primacy not wanting to expose their drell agents, it was simply poor assassin-ship to be in the same place twice.

The Citadel was the sole exception to this rule.

Prior to meeting his wife, Thane had spent a lot of time on the station that acted as the heart of galactic civilization. He'd networked, abducted, extorted and killed at the behest of the hanar for years and as such he was deeply familiar with the station and its unique culture.

After stepping out of the elevator, he looked around himself, noticed that everyone was still as distracted from their surroundings as the last time he'd been here and, with a brief burst of biotic energy, launched himself to the second level overlooking the Nova Strip, the leisure boulevard of Tayseri-15.

While others were here for pleasure, Thane was here out of familial ties.

After speaking to Lieutenant Callius, Thane had gotten his chance to contact his son Kolyat… and received only silence in return. Given the strenuous state of their relationship, he'd be prepared for the eventuality of Kolyat not wanting to speak to him and been ready to accept that he might part from this life without having gotten the chance to say farewell.

Or so he'd thought.

When he'd received only silence, Thane had spent the rest of the trip to the Citadel leveraging old favors and hitting up past contacts to locate Kolyat. While Thane, like any good drell parent, was ready to trust his child to make the right decisions when they became adults (by drell standards Kolyat had been mature for nearly six years now) he also couldn't simply shut off his parental worry and conscience.

(He realized that this was rather ironic coming from an assassin who viewed his soul as disjointed from his body and as such could make himself do just about anything… but it was nonetheless true.)

When he'd started his investigation, Thane had told himself, that he'd stop when he knew Kolyat was safe, that the choices his son had made were proper and that a good life would await him, and he liked to think that that's exactly what he would've done if that had ended up being true.

…sadly though, Kolyat seemed to follow in his father's footsteps.

An old contact of his, a former duct rat turned smalltime criminal called Mouse, had informed Thane that Kolyat had fallen in with what Mouse had described as 'some serious bad news'. Apparently, Kolyat was misusing the snippets of training Thane had given to him as part of their father-son time to work as a hired gun for a figure that seemed intent on starting a war in Tayseri. Mouse hadn't been able to identify this person, at least not outside of saying that he was a 'dickhead from the colonies' whom Kolyat seemed to have been approached by months ago.

… he'd also told Thane that this human was intending to send Kolyat on a suicide mission to eliminate opponents of his that were about to arrive on the station.

With that information Thane had all he needed.

The retired assassin walked through the darkened second level of the Nova Strip and eyed the only other drell walking through the boulevard and fairly obviously scanning the crowd for someone.

He'd like to think that he'd taught Kolyat to be more subtle than this, but truth be told, the reason there'd only ever been snippets of training from his side were that Kolyat, by drell standards, wasn't exactly suited for the way of life his father had chosen. He'd never lacked the will to repay the Compact, the debt all drell owned to the hanar, but he was too kind of a soul to pay the tribute that serving the Illuminated Primacy the way Thane had served them asked for.

Or at least so Thane had thought.

The concealed handgun hiding underneath Kolyat's coat and the ease with which he strode through the crowd despite its weight pressing down on his hip told a different story. This wasn't the gait of someone who was a stranger to being armed and on a mission.

Thane peeled his eyes off Kolyat and looked at the boulevard, wondering if the handler of his son was watching too. Then his ears picked up on the faint sound of footsteps behind him. In an instant, he was gone, hidden behind the rotating fan blades of a ventilation duct.

He observed the person who'd just joined him on the restricted layers of the boulevard. He was a barefaced turian with a white, elaprian complexion clad in all black turian formal wear. He leaned on the railing and then turned his head, staring into the blackness of the ventilation shaft with dark-green orbs.

Their eyes met only because Thane allowed them to.

"Thane Krios," the turian greeted.

"Rolan Quarn," Thane retorted.

As mentioned, Thane had made many associates on the Citadel.

Rolan Quarn however had made an associate of Thane.

"What brings you to the Citadel, old friend?" the turian responded, his voice raspier than Thane remembered it being. He would've passed it up to the turian becoming old… but Thane, like most of the galaxy, had no clue how old Quarn was and if he was even a real elaprian.

"Aren't you supposed to be in a high-security prison?" Thane muttered before jumping fast the rotating fans again.

"I grew bored of the hastati's taste for interior decorations, so I decided to shorten my sentence a little," the turian responded before jumping up and sitting on the railing, his back turned towards Nova Stripe. "Besides, sixteen years in max-security didn't feel proportionate to the few corrections that I made on the volus economy."

"You stole twenty-two identities and bankrupted four volus-affiliated corporations, Quarn," Thane recalled from memory, his eyes once more on Kolyat. "That's hardly what I'd call a few corrections."

"See now you're starting to sound like the judges when I told them that their money was simply needed elsewhere," the con-artist responded casually. "You know I was fairly confident that my sources were pulling my plates when they told me that Thane Krios was back on the Citadel and working free of charge for a human Spectre of all people…"

Thane thought a second about where Quarn could've gotten that information.

"Mouse seems to have grown less trustworthy over the years," he said before cracking the hint of a smile at the idea that his former ward was learning to stand on two feet.

"No, I'm just more convincing than you are," the white-plated turian responded before kicking himself off the railing with an agility and speed that betrayed the physical threat he posed. Personally, Thane had always subscribed to the popular Citadel-Underworld theory that Rolan Quarn was an alias used by a TNI reject; that the turian was a disavowed intelligence officer who'd grown so disgruntled with the Hierarchy and its protectorate that he was using the years of training that had been invested into him to cause as much havoc for the turian and volus governments as possible.

While some would say that his actions made him an economic-terrorist, Quarn insisted on the fact that he couldn't be a terrorist since terrorist employed violence and he didn't. As far as Thane could tell, that was true. He'd never seen Quarn lift as much as a finger to hurt someone, not even in self-defense. The turian always vanished way before the fighting broke out and failing that, disappeared the instant it started, "Don't hurt Mouse for the little breach of confidence," Quarn stated.

"I didn't plan to," Thane shrugged. "Half the galaxy's law enforcement agencies are searching for you, Quarn. Why come here?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Yes. But I am not wanted on the Citadel. You are. Why come here, Quarn?" he repeated.

"Because I still believe in the old virtues of my people," Quarn responded while tilting his head and inspecting one of his talons. "I own you a debt Krios. Honor demands that I repay it," the turian said before pointing at Kolyat. "Your son is about to commit an irreversible mistake. The people he's working sent him after a target other, one that might be a bit too close to home for you," Quarn's dark-green eyes scanned the crowd. "I'm repaying my debt by telling you a name. Commander Shepard."

Thane blinked.

"Shepard's Kolyat's target?" he asked, possibly sounding somewhat impatient. "Why?" he asked, briefly considering if he should warn the commander but then realizing that Shepard being made aware of the danger would also put Kolyat into the line of fire. And despite the importance of Shepard's mission, his own promises of loyalty to her cause and his deep desire to help with making the galaxy a little brighter before he died…. Kolyat's safety still dwarfed everything.

Instead of replying, Quarn frowned and seized Thane up.

"You look different, Krios. Weaker, older," the assessment hurt Thane's pride, but he knew that it was true. None of the people he surrounded himself with now had a past version of him to compare him to, but Quarn did and as such the difference was probably fairly obvious to the turian. "Kepral's really getting to you, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"How long?"

"They gave me six months. That was two years ago."

"Always the fighter," Quarn noted. "Stop your son. Otherwise someone else with less of an interest in his wellbeing will," the elaprian con-artist said with a wave of his hand before walking away. "Farewell Krios. I have a feeling we won't meet again."

"That's what you said last time," Thane noted duly.

"True. But this time I actually mean it. Go stop your son, Krios," Quarn muttered before going down the flight of stairs he'd come up from, leaving Thane to consider why someone would send his son to kill a turian politician and how to best prevent that.

In another spur of parental worry, he admitted to himself that he needed help with railing in Kolyat and dialed up the one person on the Normandy he could think of to ask for help right now.

Ten Minutes Earlier, 2158 CE, Presidium, Turian Embassy

After making sure that the room was sealed behind her, Callius punched in her set of clearance codes and watched as the terminal in front of her started to build a direct line towards Taetrus-Command.

While she'd originally wanted to partake in the festivities Shepard had promised, she'd gotten an encrypted message from an old acquaintance of hers. One delivered straight to her Blackwatch communication channel despite the sender not being part of her legion.

The build-up lasted for another second and then a black-plated turian with taetrian-green facial marks appeared.

Ractus Xzander, a lieutenant in the Turian Naval Intelligence branch of Taetrus.

They'd last talked after recruiting Vakarian on Omega where they'd run into a group called the Talons. One of their members, a guy named Ilarian Dex, had been a convicted Taetrian separatist. As further investigation on Ractus' part had proven, Dex had also been a close acquaintance of Judicator Kihilix Tanus, an influential figure of the Facinus movement that semi-regularly plunged Xzander's home into civil war … and an official of the Taetrian Colonial Cluster government.

Since she hadn't heard of Tanus' arrest on the news after their conversation, Callius had assumed that whatever 'worthwhile' information (that was the term Ractus had used to describe her findings the last time around) hadn't actually been worth that much after all.

"Nilia. It's good to see you," Ractus started. Callius could count the people who called her by her first name on her two three-fingered hands and Ractus was one of them.

"Likewise," Callius responded, interested to find out why Ractus had gone through the trouble of going through Blackwatch to contact her. (No small feed for a lowly TNI lieutenant, mind you).

"I'd love to chat about how you've been but I'm afraid that'll have to wait," the black-plated turian stated before taking a breath. "The situation on Taetrus hasn't improved since the last time we talked. Despite the intel that you gave us relating to Judicator Tanus, Primarch Valen refused to act. He says that arresting Tanus would risk all-out war with the Facinus faction."

Callius' facial plates contracted into a serious expression. Like most turians her age, she remembered the last insurrection on Taetrus and the hastati crackdown on the separatist capital of Madra. Unlike most however, she'd been on Taetrus for the final blow, trailing behind the hastati squadrons as they went door to door, always on stand-by to intervene if they ran into a situation they couldn't deal with.

"Since when's Valen concerned with fighting Facinus?"

"If I had to guess, I'd say he's had the blood of fifty thousand Madrians on his hands. He doesn't want a repeat of the last war, and honestly, I can't blame him," Ractus sighed. "But even if I understand his motivations… I still have to tell you that he's wrong," the turian spy paused. "If anyone hears that I told you what I'm about to tell you, I'll spend my days toiling away in a working camp somewhere on Altakiril, so just keep it to yourself, alright?"

"Alright."

"With a little help from the humans Special Logistics branch, I managed to get some people on the inside and what they're reporting is… worrying," Ractus elaborated. "Facinus has flipped their entire narrative on its head. They're more fanatic than ever before and while the useful idiots who make up their rank and file don't know it yet, their leaders' idea for liberating Taetrus has changed. They no longer want Taetrian independence and a sovereign Mactare System. They just want to kill as many loyalists as possible. Anti-matter, nuclear, kinetic, biological, chemical," Ractus listed while he closed his eyes. "They don't care about the how. They just care about the end-result and how quickly they can get it," he opened his eyes again. "And before you ask, yes. I tried telling the Primarch…"

"… and?"

"And he wants to hear none of it. Says that our people on the inside are just listening to madmen that don't represent the rest of Facinus."

The Blackwatch lieutenant narrowed her amber eyes. An organization changing its entire self-declared goal to something that'd harm the military readiness of one of the most populous, most important industrial centers outside of Palaven… now why did that make her suspicious?

"Sounds like your Primarch's the real separatist," she stated before looking at the hologram of the slender turian and realizing why he had come to her.

Since Ractus was now 'only' a lieutenant and serving on Taetrus as a punishment for the same infraction that had gotten him stripped of his posting as the acting commander of the TNI's Aephus branch (an assignment that could've seen him rise high into the upper-most ranks of the Hierarchy if he'd only known when to shut his mouth), he probably couldn't go over the Primarch's head and report straight to Palaven. And even if he could, people probably wouldn't bother with listening to him.

That was the downside of the strict hierarchical society they lived in. Once you were branded as something, you stayed that way. Callius liked Ractus. They'd been close friends during his time on Aephus for years and stayed connected past his demotion and reassignment.

But despite all the sympathy and respect she had for the turian and the work he'd done on Aephus, he was still an officer who'd disobeyed a direct order of a superior, a general to be precise.

An action like that left a permanent, irremovable stain on your reputation and service record and no matter who you were or how hard you worked, you couldn't ever fully recover from its implications. It had been ten years since Ractus' demotion but in an argument with the Primarch it might as well have been yesterday.

The formerly high-ranking TNI officer had never told the Blackwatch lieutenant about how he'd gone from 'Branch Captain', the TNI equivalent of a Colonel, to Lieutenant inside of the span of a five minute argument and she'd never asked either, figuring that a spy would only tell you something if they wanted to anyway.

"I think it's worse than that, actually," the far-too-old for their rank lieutenant (a description that could apply to her perfectly as well) stated. "Nilia. I know I shouldn't know this, and I also know that you'll definitely ask me where I got it from considering my security clearance for anything not related to Taetrus had been reduced to ashes… but what's going on here on Taetrus… it sounds exactly like what happened with Saren Arterius and the other cases like him."

"Indoctrination," she offered.

"I can't explain how or where or when they got compromised, let alone proof it," Ractus began, "but you have to admit that it's as good of an explanation for a Facinus that cares more about destroying Taetrus than it does about liberating it and a veteran Primarch with a paralyzing fear of conflict."

Despite her own supiscions, Callius pointed out the obvious flaw.

"Even if what you're saying about Tanus makes sense… Valen's a primarch. He has to submit to regular screenings and all his movements are recorded. If there was something off about him, someone would notice eventually."

Ever since Sovereign's take-over of the general's brother, the Hierarchy had taken precautions. For the last two years, turians in significant leadership positions were required to attend mandatory, monthly 'psychological and medical evaluations to judge suitability of profession', which in reality was just a fancy word for TNI probing someone for early signs of indoctrination, and could go nowhere without an exact record of their movements being created. While the measures were mostly unpopular, all the turians who had to take part in them were ranked high enough inside the Hierarchy to know about the Reapers' ability to indoctrinate people and as such, all complied with the restrictions. Hence, the odds of a turian leader becoming a Reaper puppet were slim to none… unless of course they'd been compromised much earlier.

"I noticed, didn't I?" the turian spy offered in return. "I know how this sounds coming from me, believe me, I do. But we can't ignore the writing on the wall," that sounded like Callius wasn't the only turian formerly posted on Aephus who was spending time around humans, "The Reapers are playing both sides here on Taetrus. They're planning something big for the start of their invasion and if they manage to see it through, fifty thousand dead Madrians will be the least of my worries," Ractus folded his hands in front of his chest. "They won't listen to me, and they won't listen to you. But they will listen to their precious Desolas Arterius," he said the name with as much disdain as you'd expect considering the turian she was sworn to protect with her life was the same turian who'd done everything in his power to get Ractus removed from TNI entirely.

"How'd you know about all of this, Ractus?"

"Despite your general's efforts, TNI never lost its entire faith in me. I'm the best in the business, Nilia. They'd be damned idiots if they hadn't kept me up-to-date with a threat to the very existence of our people," the (former) Colonel Xzander stated, showcasing a hint of the arrogance she'd always suspected to be the root of his crash to the bottom of the Turian Officer Corps. "I'll send you what I have and you'll talk Arterius into hearing me out."

"Why not just have me give him the information?"

"I need to make my case, Nilia. Information or not. Talk to Arterius."

"When you put it like that, it sounds dangerously like an order, Ractus," Callius pointed out. "We're the same rank now, remember?" she observed, maybe a bit too harshly.

"The only reason it sounds like an order is because I know that you understand what's at stake here, so you'll bring this to the general and make him listen, even if it is me he needs to listen to."

"He won't be happy to hear from you."

"And I won't be happy to talk to him. But either way, he'll listen. Arterius is smart enough to not let pride get in the way of the good of our people."

"That however sounds almost like a compliment,"

"Just because he ruined my career over a small disagreement and called in a couple of favors to get me reassigned to the worst possible post he could think of for a taetrian-born TNI officer, doesn't mean that I'll dismiss his leadership qualities," Ractus offered before her omni vibrated, probably with whatever evidence the turian spy had collected.

"That was quick," she observed.

Ractus blinked.

"That wasn't me."

She opened the omni-tool and read the message she'd received. It was from Thane and…

'Lieutenant, I fear my son is about to commit an irrevocable mistake resulting in consequences on a scale he cannot fathom. Tayseri-Ward. Level 15. I will find you. Please come alone.'

Given the prospect of a reaper-sponsored annihilation of millions of taetrians, she considered ignoring the message at first.

"Send me the package, I'll talk to the General right…." Callius began before glancing at the message again and feeling her conscience get the better of her. "… after I deal with this. I need to go, Ractus. Watch your back until you hear from me. You're never going to make it past lieutenant again if you get murdered in your sleep," she stated, referring to an issue her general had been made aware of after his last stay on Menae.

"That's become something of a risk for observant officers, hasn't it?" the spy murmured.

"Yes. So be careful."

The turian intelligence officer lifted the barrel of a Carnifex into view.

"What do you think I've been for the last ten years?"

The hologram cut out and after a brief stop at the embassy's security post, Callius was off to the nearest rapid transit.

Meanwhile, 6. May 2417 AD, HSASV Normandy, Helm

"And…and…. Goal! Another point for the Cyone Mind Flayers. This should be it folks. I don't think the Asteria Spiders are going to be able to catch up on a three point lead," the Bioti-Ball announcer commented, blissfully unaware of the fact that he'd just made Joker throw his headcover to the opposite end of the helm.

"God dammit you gotta catch that. How did you not catch that?" the pilot cursed before rising from his chair and walking to where he'd just tossed his trusty SR-1-hat. When he passed the socket that served as EDI's connection to the cockpit, the AI announced its presence.

"Flight Lieutenant Moreau, I'm detecting rising norepinephrine and adrenaline. Are you experiencing a medical emergency?"

Joker paused his somewhat slow and careful walk and looked at the blue avatar.

Although several (Council-aided) breakthroughs in the late 24th and early 25th century had cured his light case of Vrolik Syndrome and allowed him to join the navy (something people suffering from more severe cases couldn't claim ), he'd never to get past the psychological barriers his illness had forced onto him. When you spent the first eighteen years of your living with glass bones, it was hard to unlearn the carefulness of every action that had kept you alive and unbroken all those years.

So while he was cured and his bones no longer snapped when he picked up something a bit too heavy, his gait and behavior served as a reminder of Vrolik.

As did the bluish tint of his sclera, which everyone who'd ever seen him outside of the artificial light of human space installations always pointed out.

"No. Just a financial one," the pilot remarked before bending down and grabbing his SR-1 hat after a second of hesitation. "I have a lot of money riding on the Spiders taking the cup and here they are, shitting the bed in the damn quarter-finals…"

EDI's mouth blinked once.

"It seems unreasonable to bet on the outcome of a match when the participants have not yet been determined," the AI observed.

"You're right," he said while pointing at the avatar. "But what can I say. I'm a sucker for loyalty. And you know what they say about the Asteria Spiders… once you're caught in their web of fans…"

"Can I assist you with this matter?"

"Unless you're gonna hack into the sport betting network and change my bet, then no, probably not," the Normandy's helmsman dusted off his hat and put it back over his unkempt brown hair.

EDI's mouth blinked again, this time red.

"Preliminary analysis suggests that their cyber-defenses can easily be overcome. Entering their system and changing the inputs you've made shouldn't be challenging."

Joker raised his eyebrow.

"Yeah, but it'd still be a crime," the pilot offered. "I mean don't get me wrong. I'd love for you to do that… but didn't the navy like teach you about how hard C-SEC prosecutes finance-related offenses? They'll come kicking down the airlock the moment they detect you."

"I have adequate knowledge of all applicable codes of law within Citadel Space. Furthermore, I can reassure you that C-SEC will not enter risk breaching the Normandy to arrest you. While we are on the Citadel, this docking bay, and all warships docked within, are treated as HSA territory. Therefor the risk of persecution is minimal," the AI retorted. "Finally, I am confident that the betting bureau would never notice my interference."

"Ignoring the fact that they'd just get the MPs to toss me out of the docking area, I'm getting the feeling that this some kind of secret test or character that you're running on me right now," Joker muttered perplexed. He was pretty confident that this was some con on the AI's part so that she could write him up for illegal use of HSAN equipment and get him kicked out of the fleet… it'd be in line with the sort of wickedness he expected from the AI.

"I am merely stating facts and offering options."

"Sure you are," he retorted before sitting back down in the chair just in time for the Cyone Mind Flayers to fire another one into the Spiders' goal… "ah man…" he mumbled.

"My offer to assist your financial future remains," the AI offered from behind him.

Joker looked to the ceiling and folded his hands like he'd learned in that weird Neo-Monotheistic mission back on Tiptree that his parents had dragged little Joker into until the one faithful day where he'd started making fart noises during some sort of silent contemplation prayer.

"And lead us not into temptation…."

"Matthew 6:13. Bible. Collection of religious human texts," a new voice offered, prompting Joker to spin in his chair … and look right at their geth guest. Because Legion had taken one for Callius and since half the crew was off the ship anyway, the AI platform had gotten some roaming privileges from the Commander and her turian XO.

He wasn't sure just how exactly he felt about that just yet. It was probably negatively, though.

"Uhm. Hi, Legion," the now outnumbered organic occupant of the helm stated before looking at the piece of black-golden turian armor now covering the large geth's torso. It made for a weird sight, even if the shades of black matched. "How's the… chest wound? Everything peachy? You recovering good? Ready for round two? " he asked while somewhat awkwardly bringing up a guard the way they'd taught him to in all of the two weeks of military hand-to-hand frigate pilots had to take part in during their training (something he was immensely grateful for because again, psychological blockade thanks to glass bones).

He'd be lying if he'd claim that he wasn't the least bit intimidated by a purpose-built two-point-one-meter-tall killer robot standing perfectly still in the cockpit.

Like come on... who wouldn't be? According to Tali'Zorah this thin- Legion – was literally a walking weapon originating from something called Project Kaziel, the quarians attempt at becoming a military superpower with an army of Legion-clones. (Could he call them clones if they was robots?)

The geth's single optical sensor spun in response to Joker's question.

"All of our systems are functioning nominally and the alterations made to our platform by Callius-Lieutenant have been fully accounted for in all possible combat scenarios. We are ready to engage the Collectors and other hostiles at any time," Legion responded. "What is the status of your platform, Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant? Are you ready for sustained ground-combat?"

"Not exactly my job, but yes, I'm … my platform's good. Totally good," Joker stated before the Bioti-Ball match suddenly took a turn. "And the Spiders close the gap! With ten more minutes to go, they may not be out for the count just yet!" the announcer declared, prompting Joker to jump from his chair. "Yeeees!" the ace pilot shouted before remembering that he was currently being observed by two very alien artificial intelligences. He quickly cleared his throat and sat down again, only the sound of the announcer, the somewhat muffled cheering of the stadium-crowd and the distant noises of Nagato and the technicians working on the level below them keeping him company. As the two all-asari teams started to play again by tossing the small ball over the field with the help of their biotics, Legion spoke up.

"Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant, we have an inquiry."

Joker threw a sideward glance at the geth, which had somehow moved right next to him without making a sound. 'Damn infiltration platforms', he thought. "How can I help you Legion?"

The geth's flashlight head turned towards the pilot.

"What is the purpose of the biotic conflict you are currently observing? Are the asari engaged in internal, resource-caused warfare?"

"War? What the hell are you talking- Wait. They sent you out of the Veil to make contact with organics and you don't know what Bioti-Ball is?"

Legion's eye flashed teal for a short second.

"Bioti-Ball, a team-based field game originating from an old asari custom first popularized in Year 1844 Citadel Era," the geth suddenly stated. "Thank you for clarifying our extranet search perimeters, Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant. We now understand the purpose of this conflict. We do however question why the inventor of this sport decided against calling it Biotic-Ability-Based-Ball-Related-Score-Decided-Team-Engagement."

Joker looked at the geth a bit dumbstruck and swallowed down the answer 'because that sounds dumb as hell' reply in fear of curbing Legion's … curiosity? (Were geth capable of that?)

"That's it? That was your inquiry?"

"Yes. We appreciate your assistance in furthering our understanding of organic customs, Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant."

"… why do you call me that?"

"Is Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant not the preferred unit designation of Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant?"

"Hell no it's not."

Legion stayed silent for a second.

"We have observed NRPD-642-3-4-9-02-02-2413 refering to you as Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant and therefor concluded that it is your preferred unit designation."

"NRD-wha-" he paused for a second. "You mean EDI?"

"Yes. We refer to the EDI-Intelligence."

"EDI calls me Flight Lieutenant Moreau, not Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant."

The geth's eye spun.

"We fail to detect a noticeable difference."

"You mix up the order," Joker retorted. Again Legion's eye clicked around its lense.

"We cannot detect the error you refer to, Moreau-Flight-Lieutenant."

"You just did it again."

"Data unavailable."

"EDI?"

"Even if he communicates in English, Legion's programming is based on the quarian language of Khelish. I believe the fundamentally different grammatic structure of both languages makes it impossible for Legion to recognize a noticeable difference between the way he addresses you and the way you wish to be addressed by him."

"Alright, first of, that makes zero sense. Secondly, I don't wanna be addressed as Flight Lieutenant anything. Just call me Jeff or Joker or whatever. Can both of you do that?"

Legion simply offered an awkward looking nod.

"Affirmative. We will henceforth refer to you by your preferred designation, Jeff-or-Joker. For the sake of data-storage conversation, further re-designations will not be available in the next Rannoch orbital rotation," the eye of the geth than ran some scanner threats over the game. "We will now withdraw to further study the Biotic-Ability-Based-Ball-Related-Score-Decided-Team-Engagement. If you require our assistance, we will be available via the intercom or reasonably loud vocal action," did he mean shouting? "We wish you a pleasant recharging-period, Jeff-or-Joker," then the geth quietly and quickly walked away, leaving the helmsman alone with the AI.

"Is he for real with that name?" he asked, not even starting to think about how he'd maybe just gotten Legion hooked on Bioti-Ball or whatever he was gonna call it now.

"I see no reason why Legion would joke. Geth do not have a concept of humor."

The pilot sighed.

"What about you? Any funny quips?"

"No. I do however have a remark about your request to be addressed differently. Navy protocol dictates that I refer to you by your rank, Flight Lieutenant. I'm afraid I cannot comply with this particular wish."

"You just offered me to break into the Citadel's cyber security to change my betting, but you can't call me Joker because of protocol?"

"Affirmative."

"Are you fucking with me right now?"

Just as the announcer declared that the Spiders had just evened the score, EDI's avatar blinked out of existence without another answer.

"Just my luck to get stuck on a ship with not only the only turian who thinks he's funny but also two Ais who had their humor patch installed the wrong way," he mumbled before looking at the scoreboard and hearing another strange rumble below him. He scratched his beard. "…now if only Nagato doesn't blow all of us up…"

"There is no need to be concerned about a critical incident relating to the Normandy, Joker," EDI's voice stated, surprisingly not fucking with him but also not manifesting in form of her avatar this time around. "First Lieutenant Nagato is incapable of causing damage to this vessel."

"You sure have a lot of confidence in that guy considering he voted in favor of spacing your server when you went offline over Haestrom…"

"Excluding his training and service record which suggest a high degree of care and professionalism that would lower the odds of an incident," EDI began, "First Lieutenant Nagato is incapable of damaging the ship because he has left the Normandy thirty minutes ago."

Joker looked at the screen.

"Huh. Guess he was up for shore leave after all," in that case it was just Chawkas, Gardner, the technicians and him left then.

And well… the AIs.

"And the Mind Flayers hit it again! So much for the Spiders lead and with just two more minutes to go… I think this might be it for the Spiders this season," the announcer declared.

"Oh man…"

Twenty-Three Minutes Later, 6. May 2417 AD, Tayseri Ward, Level 9, Klix Wrecking

Lancelot took one look at the moving hologram of a huge, red krogan hitting a piece of metal with a gravity hammer, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and then walked in through the front door of the ship-breaking company's loud compound.

This was the place the merc had pointed him at when he had promised him medigel in exchange for information (a promise he naturally hadn't kept because why the hell would he save someone trying to kill Commander Shepard).

According to the merc, Klix Wrecking served as their base of operations and the owner of the business had helped them get their gear past costumes. He'd heard about places like this before.

While things had tightened up even more in wake of the geth attack, a company with a job description that consisted of scrapping off the battle scars on Tayseri, of which plenty remained even after two years, wasn't going to get looked at twice when they hauled a cargo-freighter full of battle debris (including the occasional gear of killed defender, which officially still turned up to this day and definitely wasn't actually a gun-running operation) into their compound.

The how, what and where of what he was trying to stop made sense.

The why however…

With a press of a button on the sling, he turned on the shield generator hidden in his pack and stepped through the door. After a quick look around the dark-green room, there was only a waiting bench, a counter and a table with some uneven legs and some trash on top of it, he turned to the clerk, a VI hologram of the same krogan displayed outside on the billboard.

"Welcome to Klix Wrecking and Ship Breaking! Got trash to dispose? You came to right pla-pla-pla-" the VI stuttered before a door pulled open and a female krogan waltzed in. Compared to the males of her species, she stood out by being (slightly) smaller and having no noticeable bumps or crests in the orange armorplates on her forehead. Other than that, she was still a two-hundred-kilo murder-toad who could beat him to death with his own arms and probably would if he said the wrong thing, like for example 'hey, why you helping guys trying to whack Commander Shepard?'.

"Don't mind the VI. He's been broken ever since the last extranet blackout," since Tayseri didn't have enough issues outside of having been the main battleground of the geth's attack on the station, the ward had also experienced regular extranet failures ever since the invasion.

Officially, the problems were caused by permanent damage to the servers inside the ward's inner superstructure that the Council wasn't daring to fix due to a fear of aggravating the keepers. That explanation only made sense when you ignored that the Council had put the servers inside that inner superstructure, though and (in Lancelot's case) forgot about the classified briefing outlining the possibility of a large number of geth programs having migrated into the extranet access ports of Tayseri during the closing hours of the ground fighting. "The name's Klix Zura," the krogan introduced herself. "And since you don't look like you own anything remotely large enough for me to break apart, I'm just gonna guess you're here for a job offer?"

Lancelot raised an eyebrow. Didn't these companies exclusively use drones to do their work?

"Okay. Not a job-offer then," Zura reasoned before picking up a small, stained towel and using it to clean her hands. She mustered him for another second and he felt her eyes linger on his slingback. "You know only undercover Blues wear crap like that, right? Old Tayseri rule."

In response to the statement Lancelot opened a smaller compartment of his slingback and tossed a bloodstained HK gauntlet onto the counter.

"Undercover Blues don't usually carry something like that around, though, do they?"

The krogan looked at the bloody piece of bodyarmor.

"No, they do not," she stressed. "Whatdya want?"

"Just by looking at this place, I know you're knee deep the same kind crap all your fellow wrecking companies run on the sidelines."

"Go figure, another hitman," the krogan said, unknowingly telling Lancelot that she was around humans often enough to use their expressions. "Fits with your look too. You got those dead contract killer eyes. So what do you need? Rifles, shotguns?"

"Information," Lancelot replied before pointing at the black gauntlet. "You helped a bunch of guys smuggle this on the station. What do you know about them?"

The krogan leaned on the counter on the opposite end, making it creak in the process, and picked up the piece of armor.

"What makes you think I'll talk to you?"

"Other than the fact that C-SEC is just one hot tip away from bringing down the hammer on this place?"

The krogan nodded.

"I pay better than your usual customers," the specialist offered before flashing a credit chit. It wasn't his usual method, especially not with scumbags of the highest order who were looking to whack the family of his colleagues, but in this case, it was the best play.

He tapped the chit against the counter, knowing that all transactions wired from HSAIS' bribery accounts eventually bombed and the receiver's information always ended up with C-SEC's financial division through some incredible coincidence (definitely not HSAIS's people inside C-SEC, if such a thing existed that'd be infiltration of a Council institution and highly illegal), leaving the bribed without their money, a visit from the authorities and, usually, jailtime.

"Sound argument," the krogan responded. "Alright. I know you humans don't like hearing it and call everyone racist whenever we point it out, but you people all look the same," Lancelot shrugged in response. "It also doesn't help that you're frequent fliers when it comes to Tayseri crime," Lancelot shrugged again. "So if you want info, I'm afraid you're going to be a bit more specific than that."

"Five guys. They came in about a week ago, ordered military gear like that gauntlet there and they definitely looked like they knew how to use it," he started. "They weren't interested in small-talk, probably talked down to you, actually," the Hardline weren't friends of the krogan for a myriad of reasons, starting with the merc-intervention. Neither was Lancelot, mind you, but unlike them, he didn't let it show when he was talking to a toad.

"Ah. Them," Klix Zura leaned further onto the counter, probably thinking that Lancelot wasn't noticing how her hands were fidgeting for something. He'd assume that it was a gun and as such, he was mentally preparing himself to add another tick to the list of people the Ripper had sent six feet under. "Yeah. They came through here just yesterday actually. What do you wanna know about them?"

"Everything you got. What they bought, how they paid, what they talked about while they were in the store…"

"See, they weren't all that talkative. Just tossed this on my counter and told me to 'get them their shit'," the krogan stated before her arms stopped fumbling and she produced a credit chit from below the counter.

Huh. No gun.

"Can I?" he asked politely, as if he wouldn't anyway.

"Knock yourself out," yup. This krogan arms dealer spent a lot of time around his people…

Lancelot tapped the middle of the unmarked black piece of plastic and watched a hologram pop up displaying the number 39,000 and a notice 'dranspord fieh'. He'd assume they meant 'transport fee' and since the HSA's centralized education system had effectively eliminated illiteracy, he'd also assume that whoever had written this either wasn't an HSA citizen (which ruled out the killed mercenaries), wasn't human at all but rather an alien who'd taught itself English or… was trying to appear like either of the above groups to hide the fact that they were an HSA citizen after all.

"They didn't say anything else?"

"No. Just sat their asses down, kicked their legs up and had some snacks while I got them their shit," the krogan shrugged. "They broke my table too. You're welcome to pay for that as well, by the way," she added, turning Lancelot's attention to the sitting benches and aforementioned table. There was still some garbage left on the table, protein-bar wrappers, plastic bottles…

"You tidy up after them yet?"

"I might run some guns, but this is still a wrecking company at heart, genius. The people coming in here are almost always scrap metal sellers covered in rust. What do you think?"

"I'll take that as a no," Lancelot stated before walking over to the table and flipping over one of the wrappers and looking at the ripped remains of a stylized 'HK' logo. Since humanity's biggest military-industrial enterprise wasn't exactly known for their quality chocolate, he'd assume that the mercs had been feasting on the remainders of their travel-supplies.

Lancelot looked at the wrapper for another second, then he crumbled it up and, without looking, tossed it to the nearby bin. As expected, he missed his mark by a mile.

He didn't mind though; his thoughts were occupied elsewhere. Someone with Hahne-Kedar ties was shipping Hardline affiliated mercenaries to the Citadel to kill Commander Shepard.

He thought back to his run-in with Magic a couple of weeks ago. The only reason the two men had met (and subsequently fucked up the Final Wave HQ in a spectacular fashion) was because some group calling itself Insight had tried to kill Shepard on Illium (the same asari was now dead, courtesy of the Commander). Insight had first been reported by Morneau as a player in the Shadow Broker op – a player with a connection to Hahne-Kedar Robotics, the subsection of the arms contractor responsible for building – among others – the Paladin exo-suits and their (more recent) smaller sibling, the automated Vanguard mechs.

"I think it's time you pay me now?" the krogan suggested, tearing him from his thoughts. When he turned around, he was looking at the barrel of a snub-nosed mass accelerator. "With the whole chit, naturally."

So she'd make a move on him after all. Good. He was always glad when people didn't let his expectations down.

"Come on. Put 'em up," she said before gesturing for him to raise his hands.

"This is how you do business?" Lancelot wondered before slowly putting his arms up and folding them behind the back of his head.

"This is Tayseri, honey. Are you honestly surprised that I'm robbing you?" the krogan said in return.

"No, I was hoping you would actually, makes the clean-up a bit easier on my conscience," he replied.

While he could just give Zura the credit chit and hope she didn't shoot him in the back, the gun-runner could tie his face to the mercs… and that was a loose end his mission perimeters didn't allow for. If they were dangerous to the mission, they had to be removed, no exceptions.

"Wha-" the larger krogan female started before the smaller human male smacked his watch against the metal bracelet he was wearing on his other wrist. The action produced a tone that was completely inaudible to humans but paralyzingly painful to the superior hearing of a krogan.

The bracelet Lancelot was wearing was actually a sonic weapon prototype, which had been developed in the aftermath of the mercenary intervention with the … assistance … of some Blood Back volunteers.

It had been the good old days (the ones he didn't remember and definitely wouldn't want to have been a part of) when the HSA hadn't yet recognized the Citadel's Universal Charter of Sapient Rights and everyone had been pissed enough about the merc massacres to not care when the alphabet soup that made up the HSA's military RnD and intelligence sector went a bit overboard with their ambition.

The device, spearheaded by Cerberus alongside a vorcha neural toxin that had completely failed in its intended purpose (it just made them more aggravated instead of dead), worked by exploiting krogan physiology and had never seen widespread use because it was frankly unemployable in the usually incredibly loud conditions of a battlefield.

The key problem with the weapon was that it stopped working the moment gunfire erupted, because that was when krogan ears started to dial their sensitivity down to protect themselves from the loud noise (this little aspect of krogan physiology was incidentally one of the reasons why nearly none of the Blood Pack mercs had been seen wearing helmets and why Cerberus had started to look into krogan hearing to begin with).

So from a military point of view, the thing was useless and outside of limited use among law enforcement who might like to take down a krogan without deadly force, the HSA had never employed it in any meaningful capacity, certainly not among its combat arms.

… it did have its uses on the Citadel though, particularly if you ran around places with angry krogan criminals, and as such it was one of the countless gadgets that Lancelot had collected over his years of being the Tayseri Ripper.

As Zura dropped to the ground alongside her gun and started to lock up in response to the sonic emitter, Lancelot lowered his hands and smirked.

With a more trained opponent, he'd worried that they might have the clarity of mind and strength of will to ignore the pain for just a second and shoot him to stop the source of the noise (that's what the shield was for) but since the would-be robber was just a ship-breaking thug, no such thing happened. The dark-blonde specialsit took three large steps towards the counter and looked at her for a second. Next he put on a black latex glove, pulled on the bloody merc gauntlet he'd brought with him and grabbed the gun off the floor. One of Zura's green eyes looked at him and its pupil widened.

"Wait wai-"

Lancelot pulled the trigger six times in rapid succession, aiming for the point where the second and third orange plates closest to the nose had fused incorrectly. The krogan's slightly brighter orange and yellow blood spurted from the exit wound and the arms dealer died when her brain was perforated in a violent fashion.

When he was sure the krogan was dead, he put the gun down on the counter, placed the gauntlet next to it and snagged the credit chit off the counter. He threw it into the insolated compartment of his bag where he'd previously kept the gauntlet, just in case it had a tracking software installed, and then walked out the front door, having effectively tied this crime scene to the last one. As a glance to each side confirmed, no one had seemed to care about the loud noises coming from a ship-wrecking company specializing in breaking down military gear.

He adjusted his sling bag and looked at his omni to check on Shepard's reported position. Still on the Presidium, still safe and secure. If he ever got the opportunity, he'd definitely thank whichever creepy Cerberus nerd had decided to chip the commander during Project Lazarus. It made his job much easier, albeit even more stalker-y.

As he walked through Level-9 of Tayseri with his head buried in his jacket and his eyes (seemingly) glued to the ground, Specialist Yegor Solovev thought back to the train of thought the now dead krogan mugger had interrupted.

While he'd foiled this attempt, Insight clearly wasn't done with trying to end Shepard's life.

After the commander left the station, it probably time he returned to the embassy and broke his radio silence.

While that obviously meant catching up with dozens of reports and the general day-to-day tasks of a specialist, it seemed that he was long overdue a check-up on this PGI hornet nest that Morneau had kicked when he'd put the Broker on display.

If Insight, Hahne-Kedar and the Hardline were pulling on the same cord, they were in a lot of trouble… and somehow he seriously doubted that those three groups had decided to work together without some outside (reaper-y) force deciding to help. As such he started heading upwards to where the tracker was pinging Commander Shepard: the Presidium.

… he'd need a change of clothes before going there, though.

Fifteen Minutes Later, 6. May 2417 AD, Citadel, Presidium

"I'm telling you, it's the jacket. You look like a discount tough guy. No bouncer's gonna let you in like that," Shepard heard Nader say to Leng after the third bouncer had rejected their little group.

"Okay, first of, ouch. Secondly. Nah. No way," Leng retorted before pointing at Mordin. "It ain't old faithful. It's him."

The salarian glanced up.

"Me?"

"No offense doc, but I'm pretty sure you give every bouncer who sees you a shit-ton of red flags."

"Impossible. All bouncers up to now were elcor."

"And?"

Mordin blinked and looked at all of them as if his reasoning for the statement was self-explanatory. After another second and the clear realization that his witty comeback was above all of their collective knowledge, he explained.

"Elcor partially colorblind. Incapable of perceiving shades of red and yellow. Cannot raise any flags in this color, even if I tried."

"Then they can probably just smell that there's something off about you."

"Impossible again. Salarian body odor perceived as remarkably pleasant to average elcor noses."

"See now you're just making shit up," her fellow N7 stated before bringing up his omni-tool and holding it into Nader's nose. "According to this little map here, we still got seven places left on this layer, then we'll have to collapse our advance and divert to the secondary layer if we still want to have enough time to get properly shit-faced in Purgatory," he lowered the hologram and pointed in the general direction of the next queue. "Alright. Fall out an double-time it. The war on sobriety won't get held up by some picky bouncers."

"I'm thinking I'm with Jack on this one, maybe it's not the jacket but what's inside of it," the quarian to Shepard's left muttered before tilting her head and looking at her and Garrus. "Is the Petty Officer always this… eager to become intoxicated?"

"Kai likes cutting loose," Emily retorted before folding her arms and watching as the Asian man, his biotic companion (and still surprisingly) Mordin began to wander off in the direction of the next venue. "I'm more surprised that Mordin's around for it, though."

"I'm still saying it's a con, by the way. He's probably going to start pricking people with needles once they hit the magic fifteen drinks line."

"Fifteen drink line?" Tali asked curiously as the three seemingly less alcohol-inclined members of the crew started to follow their companions. (or well, maybe just the two of them.)

"Fifteen drinks is the point when I stop feeling needle pricks," the turian explained.

Shepard quickly compared Garrus' 'line' to her own and drew a quick conclusion.

"Fifteen drinks is a lot of alcohol for any one person to drink, Garrus… you doing okay there?" she asked, now somewhat concerned for the turian's liver.

"Of course I am. I don't drink that much anymore. As a matter of fact I've hardly touched alcohol since I left the army for C-SEC. I didn't want to play into the stereotype, you know?" the turian offered casually before looking at both of them. "Yeah. I probably should've led with that in retrospective, shouldn't I?" he went on before rubbing the scarred side of his face. "I'm fine. Really."

"Good to hear," Shepard nodded, making a mental note to ask Mess Sergeant Gardner about their stockpile of dextro-alcohol when they got back to the Normandy… if only to be sure Omega hadn't brought up any old habits…

"Why did you start drinking that much to begin with?" Tali wondered out loud.

"You like asking the uncomfortable questions, don't you, Tali?"

"I've got a lot of catching up to do when it comes to getting to know you guys… so yes," the quarian responded.

"I had the usual reasons. Boredom, pear pressure, a bit of guilt, a bit of heartbreak and a damn long list of unresolved father issues…" Garrus started to list casually. "It was mostly the boredom on shore leave though."

"One of my shipmates always used to say that if shore leave is boring, it's probably your fault," the newest addition to their team offered.

"You've ever been on shore leave on a turian colony?"

"No…."

"Then trust me when I say this. You'd start drinking from boredom too, no matter what you do," the turian offered before they reached the human bouncer who eyed them for a second (particularly Kai) and then stopped to look her in the eye. Then he flashed a bright smile and made a sound Shepard wouldn't dare call an excited squeal…

"Oh. My. God," the pale man stated before putting his hands in front of his mouth. The action revealed a pair of tattoos on the back of his hands that when joined together formed an over-stylized grin. It "You're Shepard. Commander Shepard," he gasped, "in front of my door… I can't …." He caught himself and suddenly leaned forward, "you aren't here on super-secret-Spectre-stuff, are you? Wait… are you?" Since he was getting a bit too close for her comfort, she gently but firmly pushed the enormous guy away from herself, or rather herself away from him.

"No. No super-secret-Spectre-stuff," she offered, noticing the amused looks of her crew mates. If this was already funny to them, she wondered how they would've reacted to that weirdo from two years ago. "Just here for some shore leave," she added, ever so briefly thinking back to her last run-in with a 'fan'.

The bouncer squinted.

"Is that… Spectre code for something? Cuz you can tell me if it is," he stated before lifting his sleeve to reveal a poorly tattooed N7 logo. "We're on the same team."

.. great that sort of fan then…

Leng called something from behind the bouncer while rolling his eyes and despite not hearing it, Emily would guess that it was nothing nice.

"Excuse me?" the bouncer asked. Her friend's statement had been overshadowed by a convenient beat of music.

"He said nice tattoo," she offered with a smile before pointing at the door. "So can we…"

The bouncer didn't let her finish.

"Yes. Yes of course!" he exclaimed before taking a step sideways. "Tell the bartender, Nyomi, to put it all on my tab!"

"You really don't-"

"Yes. Yes I do. This place wouldn't still be standing if you hadn't shown up when you did two years ago," the pale man offered before waving for them to enter. "Now go. Shore leave time!" he ordered, to which the group obliged.

"Alright. That was… weird" she started as the rest of her group walked inside.

"God damn amazing you mean," Kai finished before throwing an arm around her and trying to lead her into the club. "If this is the kind of effect you have on people around here, you're the designated point man for the rest of the night, Em. 'specially when we hit Purgatory."

"Yeah, I don't think - " a buzzing of her omni-tool interrupted her protest.

'Sorry for the disturbance during shore leave, Commander, but there's an issue with the project. Please meet with me at the following coordinates.' – 1Lt. Nagato.

"Hey Kai, you good with maybe dialing it down a bit and looking after the rest of the crew for a while?" she asked the Petty Officer.

"Why? You duckin' out on us already?"

"Afraid so."

"Cone on. Seriously? Why?"

"Something's come up with Nagato. I gotta go."

"That little- alright. Yes. I got it. You better hurry up though. I make no promises for what happens when I walk into Purgatory."

Codex: Wards of the Citadel

Most of the fourteen million people who call the Citadel their home live on one of its wards: Zakera, Tayseri, Bachjret, Kithoi or Shalta. Unlike the Presidium, which is located on a ring around the Citadel tower and showed clear signs of being intended for the habitation of organics at the time of the arrival of the first asari explorers, all evidence collected up to now points to the Wards having started out as improvised shelters built on the inside of the protective casing of the Citadel.

It is theorized that these shelters, originally intended as temporary housing for the working staff of what would've easily been the most monumental construction project of the protheans time, remained standing at the conclusion of the project and then began to expand in size as the Citadel's importance as a hub for galactic civilization grew.

The shelters, today located at the very bottom of each ward's urban landscape, were still partially inhabitable around the time of the asari's discovery of the Citadel but went through a massive re-construction to accommodate for a rapidly increasing population. During this reconstruction efforts, it was discovered that much of the Citadel's interior surface is covered in markings of industrial welding equipment, indicating that the joint asari-salarian project to expand the housing capacity of the station was not the first of its kind.

Further research into these markings found that the tools used in the previous alterations made to the station were based on the principles of magnetohydrodynamics. At the time, this discovery was considered with little interest, however with the revelation that the markings created by these tools match the effects of the weaponry used by the experimental geth dreadnought that attacked the Citadel in 2415 AD, calls for a further investigation into the exact nature of the Citadel have been –

[Error. Your omNi-tool hAs lost connection to the Zakera-ExtrAnet-port. Please reconnect at your eaRliest convenience to continue usage of the CitAdel Codex Application. AlternativeLy, you may access the latest offlIne Version of the CitadEl Codex Application. Thank you for uSing the Citadel Codex.]

A/N:

And we're back!

With summer slowly lurking around the corner, I figured I'd drop another chapter for you guys. A humorous one at that too! (well, if we ignore Lancelot murdering his way through Tayseri, at least.)

I don't actually have a lot to say about this chapter (which I say all the time, I know) other than it's the first part of the penultimate segment of Shepard's plot for Part V. Like I indicated earlier, there's not a lot (canonicial) Mass Effect 2 left in SV's narrative and we are making big steps towards what this story has always building up to, SV's take on the Reaper War.

Since its been quite a while since I've summarized what we actually have going on at the moment and I know that SV's scale can be hard to keep track of, allow me to quickly give you a rundown of the currently active plot lines:

- The Collectors (Shep & Company)

- The Arrival Countdown (Haugen & Company)

- Section 13, the Terra Novan Hardline and Project Group Insight (Morneau & Company)

- Liara, Kaiden, Desolas, the Crucible (and others) and the adventures with prothy the prothean.

- the ... curiously... high number of separatist activity in various parts of the galaxy (Taetrus joins Sur'kesh, yaaay!)

- the IFS doing what the HSA was doing 30 years ago and thinking they're the first ones to do it (That's Vega, Drescher and their new buddies)

- the League of One doing ... who the hell knows, really?

- the missing pieces of Sovereign still being mostly missing Bau & Nihlus are in this plot segment, for those wondering)

- Mr. Lawson thinking its a good idea to run for office on a platform of corporatism and ultranationalist voters (works 10/10)

- Harper (still) trying to keep everything from falling to pieces while probably raising his stroke risk to 100 %

- the Harbinger slowly floating towards the galaxy to *assume direct control* and fuck everyone's shit up.

So yeaaah. Still a lot, but they are starting to merge faster now that we are approaching the cliamx of ME2.

For the record we're at 873 reviews, 1409 favorites and 1502 follows (makes my monkey-brain happy to see new numbers in front of the other numbers).

As usual, review and let me know what you think.

PS: I'm still working on the next entry of the anthology series alright, we just sorta hit a bit of speedbump. I'm getting there tho, I promise.

See you around next time.