MASS EFFECT: INTERCEPTOR 2

*Episode Twelve*

Arlen felt Afterlife long before he saw it. The vibrations of long bass notes made his feet buzz as the shockwaves worked up into his bones. He was making his way on foot to Omega's biggest landmark. The club was not only the most famous and hedonistic nightspot on the station but the seat of power of its most powerful gang leader, the asari Aria T'Loak.

Arlen remembered being told the basic facts during his first visit to Omega a year before, but he'd never gotten close enough to Afterlife for them to be relevant. Now, as he trod filthy streets, trying his best to ignore the equally dirty residents, he wondered if the music was there to remind them of the presence of their criminal queen.

The walls too shook, most being a bizarre combination of murky brown metal layered on bare asteroid rock, condensation shivering as the bass pulses fed through the stone. Above, the lights of the city barely managed to shine through a pall of thick smog, giving only vague impressions of the various superstructures poking out of the cavern roof. Arlen narrowed his nostrils as cheap street food mingled with the damp stink of mould and sweat.

The reverberations only got stronger as he progressed, until a door opened and suddenly a new stratum of music was added, a muted suggestion of drums to accompany the bass. At least he could now see the source of the city-swallowing racket.

Afterlife lay ahead, sloped walls rising like a ziggurat from the side of a suspended walkway before merging into another of Omega's ubiquitous column structures. It was isolated against a sheer drop, for all intents and purposes the literal edge of the world for the district's inhabitants. A gigantic lilac projection of an asari dancer ground and contorted against the wall while below, the club's name shone above the entrance archway. Twin columns of flame roared at either side of the dancer, promising lust and heat within.

Arlen's senses swam as he noticed the thick line of revellers waiting to get into the place. An elcor bouncer held them at bay, or perhaps it was the two batarian guards armed with assault rifles at the main door, but only the elcor's voice was deep enough to carry against the music as he barked irritated orders at the crowd.

A glint of white caught Arlen's eye and he saw Zwei and his crew loitering some way off to the side of the queue. The human seemed far more fresh and rested than Arlen felt, standing out against the rest of Omega's denizens in a clean white suit, again with his shirt open at the chest and sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was staring at Arlen with that predatory smile, grey eyes shining in the dark.

Arlen approached. They were all there, the turian twins on one side of their boss, Madsen and Naraya at the other. The asari too watched Arlen, an arm wrapped possessively around Zwei's thin waist.

'Your first time here, Ricky?' Zwei called out when Arlen was close enough to hear.

'Yeah. Not bad. For Omega, anyway.'

'It's one of a kind, and I ain't talkin' about the music.' Zwei flicked his head in the direction of the entrance. 'Let's go. I'm dying to get wrecked.'

The line of clubgoers groaned as one when the bouncer allowed Zwei's group through with just a brief nod. Arlen ignored the complaints as he climbed the stairs leading up to the entrance and the door parted to reveal a tunnel, holographic fire dancing up its arched walls. Arlen had heard of the human concept of Hell and wondered how close the resemblance was, in both look and temperament. As if to mock the comparison, a light, almost ethereal melody could now be heard echoing through the tunnel. It all felt surreal to Arlen, like an out of body experience as he trudged onwards.

The end of the tunnel opened out into a vast chamber and the music consumed them all. Directly ahead, an elevated ringed stage dominated the club, asari dancers in revealing costumes strutting and gyrating for the customers below. Above them, stretching to the ceiling was the same hologram as above the entrance outside, convulsing suggestively with lewd images rendered in pink and purple light.

The path through the club circumvented the stage and Zwei led them along it up to a bar only a few feet away. Arlen looked up to see the outer edge of the room stacked with tiers of dancefloors, tables and knots of standing crowds, the distinctive silhouettes of many species mere outlines against pulsing spotlights lining the walls.

'Drinks are on me tonight,' Zwei shouted as everyone clustered around him at the bar.

Arlen was never a big drinker but his need to dull the innumerable pains in his body and mind overwhelmed him. He nodded slowly. 'Whiskey. Straight up.'

The others took their glasses and vials of various liquors as they were dished out and Zwei held his aloft.

'To freedom, and the chance to continue scaring the living piss outta the galaxy!'

The gang chuckled and selected their own words to repeat from the toast. Arlen remained silent as he threw the vile, burning spirit down his throat. It was cheap stuff, that much he could tell and it made the cuts on his lips sting mercilessly.

Zwei looked at him, angling his head towards the back of the room. 'I got some business with the owner. You stay here and get familiar with this lot.' He gestured to each of his crew in turn, starting with the asari that seemed fused to his shoulder. 'This here's Naraya T'Sora, a mean little bitch who's good at just about everything. And you already know Mads. Niles Madsen, handy little tech who's not fussy about a little bloodshed now and then.'

He dipped his head to the turians. 'Tuvio and Tuvia, the twins. Brawn and brains, I'll let ya guess which one's which.'

Tuvia's slender mandibles flexed in annoyance, though she chose to direct it at Arlen. 'They're not mutually exclusive. Remember that.'

Arlen did his best to look like he was digesting the information, even though he knew more about all of them than they could have guessed.

'There's one more,' Zwei continued, drawing Arlen's genuine interest. 'You'll meet him at our little hangout, once we're done here.'

'Why isn't he here now?' Arlen asked.

Zwei shrugged. 'Because he ain't on Omega yet. He'll be getting in soon, coming back from a little errand I sent him on. Don't worry your spikey little head, Ricky. You'll get to know everyone, there ain't any rush.'

Again, he looked to the back of the club. This time, Arlen followed his gaze to where a set of stairs curled up and around into some kind of private area, an observation booth of sorts with wide windows of darkened glass. Shadowy figures moved about within but Arlen couldn't make out anything else.

On the stairs, a batarian guard nodded in their direction and Zwei immediately finished his drink.

'I love this part,' he murmured with a sly grin.

He departed, making for the private booth with a hurried pace. Arlen watched him leave curiously. If he was going to meet the famed Aria T'Loak in person, Arlen wished he could eavesdrop somehow. He wondered what they were going to talk about, if the subject of Zwei's exploits on the Citadel would arise and if the T-Seven would be discussed. His yearning to listen in on that exchange almost distracted him from Naraya when she spoke.

'Not often Zwei takes a liking to someone,' she said coldly. Arlen wondered if she was capable of sounding any different as she turned around and leaned over the bar, signalling the bartender for another drink. 'I haven't seen anyone catch his interest for a long time.'

Seeing that Madsen and the twins were engaged in a conversation of their own, Arlen cautiously slipped beside Naraya, setting his own glass on the counter to be refilled.

'Is that a good thing?' he asked.

Naraya hefted her shoulders stiffly. 'You're not dead yet. That's usually a good sign. We'll see when he gets back from speaking with Aria.'

Arlen couldn't stop his eyes from flickering once more in the direction of that elevated booth watching over them all. The dark shapes inside shifted subtly, signifying what, Arlen had no way of knowing.

He tried to sound indifferent. 'What do you mean?'

A slight grin tilted Naraya's lips. 'What do you think he's doing up there? Having a private dance? He's getting information.'

'On what?'

'On you. Among other things.' A look of concern passed over her features. 'Aria and Zwei, they go back to when he first came to Omega. I don't know what was said, but he convinced her to help him take down a rival gang, something they both benefited from. He pays well for good information and gives her a discount when she needs a bloodbath done right. He's just making sure you're on the level. If anyone knows when someone isn't playing straight, it's Aria.'

Fear touched Arlen's nerves, making him purse his lips momentarily. He snatched up his fresh drink and finished it in a single gulp. 'Not sure how much Aria will be able to tell him. I don't operate in the Terminus much these days.'

'There's always somebody who knows somebody in our line of work,' Naraya replied. Her eyes bored into him, her voice as smooth and frigid as the ice in her glass. 'If there's anything we need to know about you, we'll find out.'

Arlen tried to focus on the new information he'd gleaned, insubstantial as it was. The mystery of how Zwei became established on Omega ten years ago was somewhat solved, though it did Arlen no good at that moment. It would do even less good if Aria was able to blow his cover.

Arlen refrained from ordering a third whiskey. He couldn't risk clouding his thoughts even further, even though a part of him wanted nothing more than to forget everything and sink into a final, black sleep.

Zwei returned more quickly than anticipated, smiling broadly at his crew.

'What's the word?' Naraya asked.

He didn't reply. He instead fixed Arlen with an oddly cheerful look before raising his thumb and forefinger at the bartender, who responded by pouring two shots of luminous blue liquor into a pair of red-ringed glasses. Zwei snatched them up, downing each in turn, his eyes never once leaving Arlen.

Smacking his lips, he finally looked at his team. 'We're cutting the party short. Aria's sorted us a short-notice flight to Bekenstein, well out of the way of any Citadel patrols. We're collecting on the Silver Coast job. You're coming with, Ricky. We need all the backup we can get, just in case our contact gets any ideas.'

The crew grumbled over their lost evening but no one argued. Arlen fell in behind them as they shuffled out of Afterlife, wondering whether this meant he'd been accepted into the group or if he could expect a bullet in the back of his head the moment his guard was down.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Zwei brought them all to a dusty warehouse in an unassuming industrial zone, not far from the main spaceport at which they'd arrived. It wasn't big, less than half the size of Afterlife's main chamber and it was made smaller still by the rows upon rows of old shipping crates stacked up to the ceiling, labels too caked in dust to be anywhere near readable.

Whoever owned the place had abandoned it long ago, it seemed. As Arlen sat on an overturned crate, he looked up to the flickering strip lights set high into the walls and marvelled at the fact there was still any power going to them at all. All they served to do was cast a musty haze over the dilapidation, just another small scene of rot and neglect on Omega.

They weren't waiting long before someone else entered, and Arlen was surprised to see the heavy bulk of a krogan casting deep shadows across the ground. He was padded by layers of flexible, dark blue armour, the same colour as the ridged bony crest on his head. He wasn't a particularly large example of his kind, but his yellow eyes glowed with fierce intelligence as they passed over the crew.

Zwei spread his arms to clap the krogan on both shoulders. 'There he is! You missed a hell of a show on the Purgatory, mate.'

The thick scales of the krogan's lips lifted in a smile, his voice a typical deep drone that made Arlen's chest rumble.

'I still can't believe you managed to get out so quickly. One day! A single bloody day! That's got to be a record.'

'All thanks to this guy,' Zwei replied, turning to Arlen. 'Kurdan Grond, meet Riko Pavek, my new best friend.'

Grond eyed Arlen up and down. 'Hmph. Another turian.'

'Yeah,' Zwei replied apologetically, 'but let's not hold that against him, eh?'

Grond continued to stare at Arlen. 'So, turian, how the hell did you manage to pull off the fastest jailbreak in Terminus history?'

As the words left Arlen's lips, he struggled not to hesitate at the thought of Cannis. 'A man on the inside and a highly effective computer virus. We practically strolled out.'

'Not before a lovely bit of the old bang-bang scream-scream though, eh?' Zwei cackled. He let his hands slide from Grond's shoulders and his tone grew serious. 'More importantly, you got something for me, G?'

Grond bared his teeth and from the shadow of his huge body he extended his arm. In his hand, flashing in the dim light, was a silver briefcase. The sight of it made Arlen's heart grow still in his chest, his every sense frozen in shock.

'Had a hell of a time picking it up,' Grond explained smugly. 'C-Sec was crawling all over the place, barely made the transport outta there. If you hadn't sent me that message before you got pinched, it would've been too hot to even try.'

Zwei laughed, a terrible, choking sound. He took the case from Grond, holding it in one hand while caressing it with the other. The looks of nervous awe from the rest of the gang confirmed everything Arlen needed to know l. This was the T-Seven.

'Good thing C-Sec are about as quick to move in large numbers as a herd of narcoleptic elcor,' Zwei muttered. 'You earned yourself a bonus, G. This here's our meal ticket. Just in time, too. We're heading out to Bekenstein on one of Aria's smuggling Kowloons.'

He looked over each of his crew in turn, raising his voice. 'Cheer up, you lot! In just a few short hours we'll be retiring on Illium with all the booze, red sand and asari whores we can wrap our faces around.'

Arlen feigned confusion. 'I don't get it, what's in that briefcase that's so valuable?'

Zwei gave him a look of mad glee that would've terrified him even had he not known the man held a weapon of mass destruction in his hand.

'Just something the galaxy's twisting itself in knots trying to get,' he said quietly. He summoned them all to his side with a flick of his head. 'Come on, we're leaving.'

Arlen joined the others, who remained tight-lipped as they trailed out of the warehouse. Arlen had never heard of Bekenstein, but the fact they were hitching a ride on a smuggler ship could only mean it was in Citadel space. If that was true, then JSTF would be able to source local police or military units and affect the course of the mission much more effectively than if Zwei remained in the Terminus Systems.

He made plan after plan, contingency after contingency, trying to work out how to extricate himself should he manage to snatch the T-Seven. Against all odds, Arlen now found himself staring at the success of his mission, but as always, it was one slip away from disaster.

As he prepared himself for another journey in the company of these murderers, he consoled himself with the knowledge that even were he to die, at least the Citadel was safe.

~~~ME-I2~~~

A murmur of relief, and more than a couple of cheers, erupted from the command centre's staff as confirmation came through from Arlen's surveillance subdermals that the T-Seven had been located - and more importantly, it was no longer on the Citadel.

Lina leaned over the command dais railing. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, releasing nearly two days of relentless pressure and anxiety. Their job was far from done, of course, but the threat of death had been a constant burden on her and her entire team. Now that it was removed, they all had to be careful not to lapse into complacency.

She straightened and looked over the main display. The known members of Crimson Fist were shown on the large screens, all batarians with merciless expressions. They would be JSTF's next target, along with their turian accomplice - and one other.

As if in response to her musings, she felt the tremors of footfalls on the ramp behind her. She saw Lorica approach, looking tired after chasing Ferrata but still smiling wearly. Clearly the asari had heard the good news out of Omega, but it wasn't why she was there.

'He's all yours,' she said without preamble.

Lina nodded once and immediately walked past her and down the ramp, turning right to head for the exit into JSTF's sublevels. Lorica followed but said nothing more, knowing full well that Ferrata's apprehension wasn't an official arrest and couldn't be discussed properly in the command centre.

The lesson had been learned from Chellick a year prior. The less people they could implicate in anything outside normal C-Sec regulation boundaries, the better. Lina knew Lorica's team had more knowledge of the preceding events than anyone, but it was an unavoidable risk. She tried to assure herself that she trusted that Lorica believed in them, and that had to be enough. The best they could ever hope for was damage limitation. Damage avoidance was the stuff of fantasy vids.

Once they were in the quiet lower passages, Lina finally spoke, though she kept her voice quiet.

'How's Officer Lang?'

'Eddie? He's a little shook up but he'll be fine. He's in the infirmary getting checked out. He uh…wanted to wait for your official order to release him back to his precinct.' Lorica chuckled affectionately. 'Even after all he went through, he's still got that stupid smile on his face. He's a tough kid.'

'He is,' Lina agreed. 'I wonder if he'd be willing to consider a career change? We could always use effective field agents. Between that stunt he pulled in Molach's apartment and getting into Ferrata's office, he's got all the raw attributes we're looking for. He just needs a little fine tuning.'

'If you'd asked me a few hours ago, I would have said he'd jump at the chance, but that was a close call back there with Ferrata. I'm not sure he'd be too willing to sign up after having a gun to his head.'

'You may be right. It was just a thought, he's already done enough for us. I just hate losing a valuable asset. Speaking of which, we'd best hurry. I want to get this over with.'

Lorica gave her a troubled look and was about to respond before thinking better of it. She allowed Lina to lead the way as they took several turns through poorly lit corridors, until they came to a door manned by an armed turian guard. He was large and imposing, and he braced to attention as Lina and Lorica neared.

Lina didn't stop to chat. She entered the room to be greeted by a bank of consoles to her left, over which a pair of salarian techs were fussing. To her right, behind a wide pane of thick glass, Avrix Ferrata was seated in a bare chamber, his hands cuffed behind his back. A small table lay before him, stark white in the overly bright spotlights bearing down on the centre of the room, and on the table lay a pair of dark metal carry cases.

Lina paused for a moment as she eyed the scene. The glass was a two-way mirror, a classic interrogation room setup and Ferrata would've known that. She spoke to the techs without looking at them.

'Is everything ready?'

'Yes, Commander,' one of them replied. 'We'll be here keeping an eye on things from this side.'

'That won't be necessary.'

The techs looked at her, surprised, as did Lorica.

Lina pretended not to notice. 'Senior Analyst Da'Nante will monitor the interrogation alone. You are dismissed.'

The salarians threw Lorica a questioning glance but all she could do was shrug and tip her head in the direction of the door. As the techs departed, she locked the door behind them.

'I trust you have a good reason for sending them away?' she asked.

'We're not supposed to be doing this, remember?'

'They didn't know that. Plausible deniability was on their side and you know it. What's the real reason?'

Lina's response was as hard as stone. 'Ferrata tried to kill one of our operatives. He tried to sabotage our investigation and he knows enough about what happened here a year ago to blackmail Chellick into doing his dirty work. Worst of all, it looks like he's been playing Zwei Jaeger against us from the start. Arlen's putting himself through hell right now and it could all be for nothing, thanks to this man.'

Lorica drew closer. 'You didn't answer my question.'

Her eyes widened as Lina turned to her. There was a fire in the quarian's eyes that seemed to burn through her visor. Lina knew all too well how she must have appeared, and that same anger bled through into her voice.

'It's just us here, Lorica. No one to hold us back. I want all of these questions answered. More than anything, I want to ensure Arlen makes it through all of this alive, and to do that I'm prepared to use any methods I have at my disposal.'

Lorica blanched in cold horror. 'You can't be- Lina, you know that if you go too far, any evidence he gives will be inadmissible. If you-'

'I don't care about evidence,' Lina replied icily. 'I care about keeping our people alive. If you don't want to be a part of this, I understand. The door's right there. But I promise you now, I won't be leaving this room until I have what I need.'

A part of Lina was repulsed by what she was implying, amplified by seeing that same look of disgust etched on Lorica's face. But Lina meant what she said. All she felt at that moment was fury at those who had put her life and the lives of the few friends she had in the galaxy in mortal danger, and Ferrata was the only one she could get her hands on.

Perhaps Lorica sensed this, or she might have understood Lina's reasoning. Either way, the asari gave a slow, reluctant nod.

'I guess if you're set on going to town on this guy you're gonna need someone to keep an eye on his vitals. I'm no expert but I know enough to warn you if you're going too far.'

'Are you sure?'

Lorica's lips quirked in a feeble attempt at a smile. 'No, but I can't let you do this alone. There's too much at stake here.'

On impulse, Lina placed a hand appreciatively on her shoulder before heading for a door set next to the window. The lighting on the other side was harsh and she winced slightly as she stepped into it.

Ferrata stared blankly into the mirror in front of him, unwilling to acknowledge Lina's presence. She didn't care, nor did she announce herself with any sort of cliched speech. Any attempt to intimidate him would more than likely fall on deaf ears.

Lina made for the cases on the table, speaking not as some prelude to the interrogation but to air her dark thoughts, as if doing so would better prepare her for what she had in mind.

'You seem calm, considering your situation.'

Ferrata's nostril slits narrowed. 'I have nothing to be afraid of. You're wasting your time.'

'I'd say you have plenty to be afraid of,' Lina responded matter-of-factly. 'If you're not scared, then you honestly have no idea what we're going to do to you if you don't talk.'

The turian scoffed. 'Don't be stupid. You might scare the beat officers with your reputation but JSTF is a C-Sec organisation. You can't do anything to me beyond sit me here for a few hours asking the same questions I've been throwing at perps all my career. Take your scare tactics elsewhere, quarian, they won't work on me.'

Lina opened the nearest case with a push of a button. The top split open to reveal several shelves of surgical instruments, clear plastic tubes and vials of pus-coloured liquid. When she opened the second case, it instead hummed with energy and a miniature console unfurled from the top. She set about connecting some of the tubes to the second case, and to some of those, the vials.

'What are you doing?' Ferrata asked, frowning.

Lina didn't answer. She set about assembling the odd device with a distant automation, pushing whatever reservations and fears she had deep into the recesses of her mind. She'd been doing just that for the past two days and it was unsettlingly natural to her now. All that mattered was her goal and she wouldn't let anyone dissuade her, least of all herself.

She responded as she worked. 'As I said, you have no idea. No idea what we'll do to you, no idea of how far we're willing to go to get what we need, and no idea at all of what the Joint Security Task Force truly is.'

Ferrata's jaw jutted out defiantly. 'You can't hurt me. The executor will shut you down so fast-'

'The executor isn't here,' Lina interrupted. She turned to face him, lacing her arms across her chest as she stared down at him. 'You're no longer on the Citadel, Ferrata. You're no longer in this galaxy. You're in a world where a quarian can look into a turian C-Sec captain's eyes and tell him that for what he's done to her team, she will make him beg for mercy. Everything you thought was certain, all the things you've learned in your decades of service, mean absolutely nothing here. We have the tools and the stomach to bleed every inch of you dry in the most painful ways imaginable and make your corpse disappear. You'll be just another missing person in the Citadel obituaries.'

Ferrata's lips moved desperately to try and work saliva into a mouth that had gone hopelessly dry. His voice cracked with mounting fear. 'I-I told you, you're wasting your time. Your threats are pointless!'

'Oh, I'm not threatening you,' Lina said coldly. With care, she finished attaching the last of the sickly vials to the machine and withdrew a pair of long silvery needles from the first case. 'We're long past threats, Captain. The fact is, you put someone I care deeply about in real danger. That means I want nothing more than to make you hurt. Now, I want to know about your connection to Crimson Fist, and I want to know if Jaeger's appearance at the casino was more than just coincidence. But more than anything, I want to know what you told him about Arlen.'

'The Kryik kid?' Ferrata asked, his features twisting in disbelief. 'What's he-'

He grunted as Lina inserted the needles into the joints of his arms. They had been attached to the tubes that now ran into the other case, the console now blinking expectantly as it waited to be activated.

Ferrata sensed what was to come and he raised his voice. 'I don't know anything about what all this has to do with Kryik! He's been put on leave, he's not supposed to be-'

His head rocked back as Lina struck him hard with the back of her hand.

'Don't lie to me!' she shouted furiously. 'Do you expect me to believe the head of the Interceptors just so happens to be obstructing an investigation into a missing WMD, all while one of his agents' primary suspects steals that WMD from under everyone's noses? You expect me to believe it's all just a damn coincidence? Do I look like an idiot to you?'

Ferrata coughed and a trace of dark blue lined his lips.

'I have nothing to say to you,' he spat hoarsely. 'Go to hell, all of you.'

Lina had no quip or snappy retort. She didn't need to scare him. The fluid in the vials next to her were filled with a chemical compound she couldn't even pronounce. It was issued to field agents operating outside the Citadel, those who needed to conduct interrogations in the dark, well away from the watchful eyes of C-Sec officials. It was too useful to be banned by Citadel law, but no Council government would ever have admitted to even its occasional use.

The salarians she'd encountered a few minutes ago were JSTF's in-house interrogators but this was off the record, and Lina had seen enough to know the bulky console into which Ferrata was plugged was programmed to not go over the limits of his body. Lorica was standing by to monitor his vital signs. All that was left was to answer that sickening look of challenge he now threw in Lina's direction.

She pressed a button on the console and after a brief beep, it began to vibrate gently. The vials began to gurgle and bubble and feed their grim burden into the tubes. Immediately after the liquid reached Ferrata's arms, leaching into his veins, the turian began to buck and spasm against his restraints.

His breath hissed through his nose and his eyes watered. The chair rattled as he trembled involuntarily, and Lina knew that every one of his senses were burning with white-hot agony.

Behind the two-way mirror, Lorica looked on, her expression troubled as Ferrata's mouth parted to let out a scream that she thankfully could not hear.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Evening fell on the Presidium and most viewed it like an eviction notice. Whether politician, banker or high-end merchant, few wanted to shut their doors as the time came to wind down for the night cycle. Although the ring was darkened for only four hours each day, it was a gradual process, emulating the slow dawn and dusk of nature.

As the simulated sky began to bronze, that was the cue for everyone to check their clocks and omni-tools and wonder where the day had gone. It was then time for the myriad bars and restaurants that served the galaxy's elite to come to life, their light and noise mirrored in the Presidium's lakes all around its massive curvature.

The eatery Ciro had chosen was modest but one he always enjoyed, perhaps because it wasn't the most fashionable. From the outside it was just another opening in the Presidium's sweeping curves, lit a gentle amber against the darkening architecture as night fell. Inside, however, it was warm and homely. Tables and chairs of real wood and candles of wax, pieces of art from every species and culture dotting the walls, all fascinating to look upon but none too garish as to distract from the food.

More than anything, it was the atmosphere Ciro loved the most. There wasn't enough room in the venue for live music like the most expensive places, but what was piped in was soothing and inoffensive. It allowed everyone to talk without interruption, a rare trait in any nightspot.

Eris grinned at him curiously from across the table. She still wore the same formal work dress he'd seen her in earlier, which made him feel significantly less self-conscious at wearing the same suit straight out of the office. There was no judgement in her earnest expression, which made Ciro all the more glad he'd invited her along.

'What's on your mind?' she asked.

Ciro gave a brief tilt of his head, akin to a shrug. 'Simply wondering what kind of music this is. I haven't heard it played here before.'

'I believe it's human. "Smooth jazz" they call it.'

Ciro's mandibles pulsed, deepening the black lines along his creamy brown skin. 'That was just off the top of your head. Are you an aficionado?'

The young asari bobbed her head enthusiastically. 'I love all kinds of music. Salarian flute operas, turian battle poetry, even that "metal" sound that's getting quite popular. Did you know the humans have only been listening to it for a couple hundred years?'

'It's not quite my cup of tea,' Ciro chuckled.

'Oh, I'm not exactly crazy about it, but don't you think it's remarkable? We asari are lucky if we come up with something new in a single generation. Our music scene has been opera after opera for thousands of years now.'

'You know, I never looked at it like that. I suppose there's a downside to living at such a slow pace compared to the rest of the galaxy.'

Eris pursed her lips. 'I guess that's why I'm here. I don't want to be like my mother, much as I love her. She's a priestess of Athame, back on Thessia. I mean, I love her with all my heart but she's about as conservative as an asari can get. She found a bond mate early, settled down, and I was born into a very safe, static environment. I just didn't want to end up stuck in one place for most of my life.'

Ciro looked down at the table, briefly and uncomfortably. 'That's not such a bad thing. Many children aren't born to loving parents, or lose theirs before they can truly get to know them. For some, the idea of a stable childhood is a distant dream.'

Shaking her head, Eris brought a palm to her face. 'Oh Goddess, you're right. I'm sorry, I must sound like such a spoiled brat.'

'Not at all,' Ciro rushed to say. 'It's only natural for a young lady like yourself to want to branch out.' He paused as a human waiter brought them each a small plate of appetisers, speaking again only when he had departed. 'Is it really as simple as that? The reason you came out here?'

Eris replied between forkfuls of wiry green salad. 'Yeah, it was a pretty boring life on Thessia. I was pretty much pushed into becoming an acolyte from the moment I could walk and talk, but the more I learned about the larger galaxy, the more I wanted to be a part of it.'

She gave Ciro a mock stern look, her brows furrowed. 'Mother was oh-so afraid I'd become one of those siari "harlots". She used to say all that "all life is one" stuff was just an excuse to bond with whoever and whatever they wanted. Always the monogamist, my mother.'

'And what about your father?'

Eris stopped midway through eating and stared at Ciro like he was an oncoming shuttle. She spoke with her mouth full.

'I can't say, it's too embarrassing.'

Ciro frowned. It wasn't real reluctance in her voice, nor real embarrassment. 'Why's that? Come on, you can tell me.'

She rolled her eyes. 'Okay, well, he was a turian.'

Ciro's expression grew puzzled. 'That's not so bad, surely?'

'That's not the embarrassing part. What is, is that, well…' She looked askance and this time, her cheeks became flushed. '...he was a lot like you.'

Blinking, Ciro put down his fork, his appetite suddenly waning. 'Well, if I didn't feel old before, that'll certainly do the trick.'

With a remorseful look, Eris reached across the table and laid a hand on his wrist. 'No!' she said imploringly. 'Please don't take it like that! You see, this is why I didn't want to tell you!'

Even though he'd been half-joking, Ciro couldn't help but wince at the very real sting of insecurity that came to him. It shamed him, and enough of that showed in his features for Eris to lean in a little closer.

'I'm sorry,' she said quietly. 'It's just that you remind me of him. He was always a gentleman, always so kind and noble. That's not a bad thing, is it?'

He returned his eyes to her. 'No, it isn't. Don't apologise, I shouldn't be this self-conscious at my age.' He sighed. 'It just hit me, that's all. I've been stuck around old men and asari matrons for so long that I'd forgotten the point at which I became one of them.'

Eris withdrew her hand. Her gaze shimmered with genuine fascination. 'You've been working here a long time. Don't you have anyone waiting for you at home?'

'No. Well, not anymore. My wife died nearly ten years ago. Shuttle accident.'

'I'm sorry,' Eris said softly. On instinct, she stretched her hand out to his again but the gesture faltered before it began. She settled for gazing into his eyes, a look that made Ciro blink hard to dispel a multitude of feelings he didn't understand.

'It's okay,' he replied before making a dismissive gesture. 'It was a long time ago and I've come to terms with it. Perhaps that's why time has snuck up on me so suddenly. When Artevia died I submerged myself in my work and I never came back up for air.'

'What was she like, your wife?'

'Hm,' Ciro grunted. He grinned bitterly. 'Now it's my turn to be embarrassed. She was a lot like you.'

Eris laughed. 'Well, at least we've been through this routine already and I know better than to assume that's a slight on my age.'

'That's right.' His words took on a distant, reflective tone. 'Artevia was younger than me, but not by much. She was so full of life, so vigorous. When you spoke to her, you felt energised. When you held her, it was like embracing a star.'

He stopped and shook his head. 'And here I was supposed to be giving you professional advice. Look at us, here for an hour and all I've done is pry into your personal life while harping on about mine.'

This time, Eris didn't hesitate to grasp his hand. 'Don't be silly, this is the best time I've had since coming to the Citadel. And I'd really, really like to do this again soon. Wouldn't you?'

Ciro grunted gently, a laugh that sounded more a snort than anything and not a noise he wanted to make. Again, a whirl of strange emotion took him as he looked once more into Eris' eyes, seeing something in their cobalt depths that excited him in ways he hadn't known for many years.

'Yes,' he finally answered. 'I would very much like that.'

She beamed at him and again, they settled into a rhythm of easy conversation that felt as if they'd known each other for years. It made the evening pass by all too quickly as the sky grew dark and they became just another part of the soft ambience spilling out of the restaurant into the pale Presidium boulevards beyond.

~~~ME-I2~~~

Arlen winced as a jet of cool, clear air hit his face and sunlight, real sunlight, stung his eyes. It all flooded in from the widening crack of the cargo bay door, which opened teasingly slowly. The rest of the gang milled about in the cramped space, propped up or sat upon large shipping crates that Arlen had only recently discovered contained illegal weapons of all kinds.

He wasn't surprised Zwei had sourced a ride on a smuggler's ship to get to Bekenstein. The planet was not only in Citadel Space, but a stone's throw away from the Citadel itself, in the nearby Boltzmann system. What had surprised him was just how fast the ship truly was, easily able to evade any C-Sec patrols out in space with blinding speed. That they'd made it there from Omega in just a few hours almost made Arlen pity his comrades in the Patrol division. They had no chance while their prey had ships like this.

None of the gang had spoken to him on the ride over, and they'd spoken little to each other. Perhaps it was the unnerving presence of the T-Seven case, but there was an odd tension running through the group that reminded Arlen of a squad heading into a combat zone. It wasn't a good sign.

He blinked as a picture of the outside world gradually formed beyond the dark lines of the cargo bay. It was still early but it was winter in this part of Bekenstein and already the pristine cloudless sky was turning a deep, dark blue. Pale orange and teal washed the horizon in watery streaks as the sun began to disappear behind a bank of black hills, themselves beginning to twinkle with dozens of lights. Not far along the ridge rose a splendid city of silver spires, not unlike what Arlen remembered of Illium.

An armoured figure emerged in front of the cargo bay door as it completed its descent with a shuddering thump. The emblem on the man's chest bore the same twisted sun as the ones Arlen saw in the Omega spaceport.

'He's waiting,' the merc said.

Zwei led the way, stretching his wiry arms as he stepped into the lambent dusk. Arlen followed with the others and the moment he was out he took the opportunity to assess his surroundings.

They had touched down on a private landing pad on a small private shipping dock. The closed floor-set hatches of underground freight elevators surrounded an area littered with crates and containers, and at the opposite end was an enormous blast door set into the side of a sheer rock cliff. Arlen's lips parted as he craned his neck to see a beautiful mansion above, an elegant construction of white walls and glass.

As they made their way down a ramp into the loading area, another figure caught his eye. Surrounded by mercs was an imposing man in a formal suit of cream and white. Even from a distance, Arlen could see that his impeccable appearance extended to his physical features, with a wedge of dark hair sitting above a square jaw lined with a finely trimmed beard and moustache.

The two groups halted opposite one another and Zwei was the first to speak, spreading his hand in a welcoming gesture that Arlen knew better than to believe was genuine.

'Donnie! Always a pleasure.'

The man bristled with obvious annoyance, placing his hands behind his back.

'Even if we were on first name terms, Mister Jaeger,' he said sternly in a thick accent Arlen didn't recognise, 'I would ask that you drop the nickname. It isn't even Donovan to you. It's Mister Hock.'

'Oh, you're hurting my feelings here, Donnie,' Zwei replied with a challenging, unpleasant grin. 'After all the trouble I went through taking care of your competitor on the Citadel.'

Hock's eyes blazed. 'I paid you to corrupt Mister Khan's accounts, not go on a wild police chase and bring the eyes of the galaxy on my operation.'

Zwei shrugged. 'The eyes of the galaxy don't reach Purgatory, mate.'

'Another thing that bothers me greatly.' Hock stared at the gang with narrowed eyes. 'You were sent to the other side of the galaxy out of nowhere, less than twenty four hours after robbing a casino and murdering a Citadel Security agent. Not only that, but you end up breaking out of Purgatory the very next day. Don't you think that's all a little suspicious?'

Zwei returned his glare unflinchingly. 'I ain't privy to C-Sec's motivations. My guess is that pig I offed was a friend of someone high up, and they wanted to lock us up and throw away the key rather than put us on trial. You know how soft those asari judges are. As for the breakout…' He glanced at Arlen. 'Call it a fortuitous meeting of fates.'

Hock said nothing for a time. There was only the slightest movement of his eyes as he scanned each member of the gang in turn, searching for some sign of deception. His guards too looked at them intently through circular yellow eyepieces, their fingers twitching a little too close to their triggers for Arlen to be comfortable.

At last Hock nodded once, sharply, before turning around and marching towards the blast door. Zwei followed and led the rest of them in Hock's wake.

The blast door opened with a colossal drone, cautionary strobe lights flaring in pulses of yellow beyond. It revealed a long tunnel leading into the mountain directly underneath the mansion far above, something that wouldn't have looked out of place in a military installation.

That was no accident, Arlen realised as he trod the paved floor worn smooth with actual wheels and tracks along with the exhaust of hauler and shuttle engines. Banks of pipes ran along the ceiling, closely following some kind of rail haulage system designed to transport heavy cargo. It was when the cargo itself trundled past Arlen's head that he realised the true extent of Donovan Hock's profession. It was an enormous missile, not a disruptor torpedo for warships but a ballistic missile already fitted with a warhead.

Hock wasn't just a smuggler. He was an arms dealer who supplied weapons that could end nations.

The revelation chilled Arlen's blood and he risked a sidelong look at the T-Seven swaying in the grip of the krogan Grond. He knew then that whatever happened, he couldn't allow the bomb to pass into Hock's possession.

As if reading his thoughts, Hock too cast a glance over his shoulder at Grond, then down to the T-Seven. 'I assume that is what all the fuss is about?'

Zwei frowned. 'Fuss? I ain't got a clue what you're talkin' about, Donnie.'

'Don't be a fool. The grapevine is filled with talk about Crimson Fist and their lost suitcase nuke. They're offering a lot of money to get it back.'

'Well, I ain't exactly in tune with the grapevine these days,' Zwei responded with a cocky smirk, 'but I had a feeling you'd be interested in this little gizmo. Figured since I was collecting on the Khan job I might as well give you first refusal, if you're interested in a second-hand WMD. It's a little scratched but by the way everyone's going nuts for it, I'm assuming it's in working order.'

'We have our ways of finding out. Without opening it, of course.'

From what Arlen had been told, the case was impervious to scans, but he figured if anyone was able to judge a weapon's worth, it was this man. Hock exuded danger, from the deliberate way he spoke to his predatory stride and he didn't seem the type to say things he didn't mean.

At the end of the tunnel, another large door opened to an enormous room. Arlen could barely hide his shock at seeing row after row of artworks, antiquities and historical relics. He recognised some of the sculptures on display as turian, famous works that had been stolen from museums and were now known only in history texts. There were asari and human statues, krogan monuments from the days of the Rebellions, but it was what lay at the far end of the chamber that truly caught his eye. It was a female human head of gigantic proportions cast in greenish metal, adorned with some sort of pointed crown. It was awesome to behold, and yet Arlen couldn't help but wonder if there was a body somewhere on the human homeworld to which the head belonged.

Hock stopped everyone just a few paces away from it, placing a hand on a waist-high pedestal. There was a small, odd-looking weapon on the pedestal and Zwei too looked at it inquisitively as he neared.

Hock noticed his interest. 'The Kassa Fabrications M-Twelve Locust. A fine weapon on its own, but this one is very special. It has the blood of two Earth presidents on its hands.'

'You don't say,' Zwei murmured, casting his eyes over the gun in fascination.

Arlen didn't know what to think of it. It was an ugly grey thing, too large to be a submachine gun and far too small to be a rifle, and all its weight appeared to be at the front. He supposed it must have been somewhat effective, to have claimed such high-profile victims but any weapon had that potential.

He thought nothing more of it as he re-focused his attention on Hock.

'I take it you have a number in mind for this new "acquisition"?' the man asked.

Zwei raised his pale eyebrows. 'Considering the effort it took to get hold of…both times…then there's the inconvenience of getting chucked into Purgatory, the standing rate for the casino job-'

'Stop wasting my time and name your price,' Hock snapped.

Zwei smiled, that look Arlen had come to detest.

'Twelve million,' he replied steadily, holding Hock's gaze.

Hock appeared to consider the offer, and before long he too smiled, though it was barely a twitch of his thin lips.

'I think that's a little steep. After all the trouble you caused me, I believe some compensation is in order. I hired your little gang to break into Elijah Khan's accounts and disrupt his operations, not to cause a public spectacle, taking hostages and killing cops like a bunch of amateurs.'

Slowly, Zwei crossed his arms. His expression remained unchanged, but his voice lowered into a rasping growl.

'I don't think I heard you right, Donnie. It sounds like you're trying to weasel your way out of paying us.'

Zwei's teeth were bared now, like a snarling wolf, turning his grin into a look of real threat. It was something Hock's guards could feel and they circled around the gang, their intent clear. Arlen took note of their locations in his peripheral vision. If a fight started he wasn't sure if he'd last any longer than a few seconds without armour but he planned ahead nonetheless, instinctively gauging distances and deciding his actions several moves ahead.

For his part, Hock was unmoved by the growing sense of threat. His gruff voice didn't waver. 'On the contrary, you'll get your credits for the job - it was successful, after all - but I believe I'm owed something extra.' He eyed the T-Seven covetously and his hand tapped the pedestal. 'Put the bomb right here and you'll leave with your pay. If you refuse, then you won't be leaving at all.'

Arlen tensed as the ring of mercenaries raised their weapons. Zwei barely reacted.

'Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be,' Hock said smugly. 'Not that I care about the lives of a bunch of Omega scum, but I would rather keep your blood away from my collection. I recommend you show more intelligence than you did on the Citadel and do as you're told.'

Still Zwei's expression did not change as he held out his hand to Grond. The krogan kept his baleful glare on Hock as he placed the bomb case in Zwei's grasp.

'Must be pretty tricky with that accent,' Zwei muttered as he stepped forward. 'You should be in all the vids with that accent.'

'Put it on the pedestal,' Hock said slowly.

The two men held each other's eyes unflinchingly.

Arlen sensed the change long before he saw it. In the dangerous silence that fell over them all, he felt a tingle deep in his bones. Then he saw the air around Zwei shimmer ever so slightly.

The human placed the T-Seven on the pedestal as commanded, though as he did so his eyes widened, making him look as insane as he truly was.

'I like you, Donnie. You're a real barrel of laughs.'

It all happened in an instant. Zwei unleashed a biotic blast and in the blink of an eye, he wasn't there anymore. Neither was the Locust.

Hock grunted in shock and stared out the corner of his vision at the priceless weapon now pressed against his head. A haze of blue energy painted the air between Zwei's last position and his new one directly behind Hock, and his other arm slithered around Hock's neck.

The mercs were visibly stunned but the gang were ready. Arlen could only copy them as they drew their own guns, pointing them at the mercs, but no one dared shoot while Zwei held the Locust to Hock's skull.

'Easy now, you lot,' Zwei taunted the guards, letting out a terrible laugh. 'Unless you wanna see a new exhibit called " Brains of Donnie".'

Arlen's thoughts were a raging storm. As Hock's men trained their trembling rifles in all directions and Zwei's gang did the same, all Arlen could do was hold back that single, suicidal desire to snatch up the T-Seven for himself and flee.

As the reality of the standoff sank in, however, he knew he wouldn't make it more than a few paces before Zwei himself put him down. All the Interceptor could do was watch helplessly as the madman dictated the situation in whichever twisted direction he desired.

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